#but I still find myself struggling to make it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkmatilda · 18 hours ago

Text

𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you thought that after a certain misunderstanding, your relationship had taken on a purely platonic and friendly form but then the investigation sent you to the freezing wilderness of alaska, where every night you find warmth in his bed.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x fem!bau reader, the same reader as in my story "the bolter" but it's not necessary to read it before! there are no major references, but people who have read it might treat this as a continuation (if they want to). in this story, we still have our wonderful queen elle greenaway, gideon and morgan, and many of my attempts (not always successful) at being funny. mostly smut with A LOT of plot, description of the case, oral (f receiving) and some much actions but described in a subtle way. a little bit of angst, but I wouldn't be myself if I didn't add some. again, GLASSES REID!!

𝐚/𝐧: first fic at the beginning of the month, i really wanted to post it today. i think it's time to start posting christmas-themed works? would you be interested? by the way, i hope december will treat you kind <3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 11k

“I’m freezing, God, I’m freezing.”

“Me too, look how I’m shaking, I swear, one more hour and my feet will fall off, and then my toes…”

“Guys, for god’s sake!” Morgan finally spoke up, his voice tinged with impatience. The hood of his waterproof, windproof jacket covered almost half of his face, and even so, he was clearly the lightest dressed of all of them. “We’ve landed.” He pulled off a glove to check his watch. “Just under fifteen minutes ago. You still don’t know shit about freezing, so stop complaining like a bunch of old women in a knitting cycle…”

“I’d love to be an old lady in a knitting circle right now,” you sighed, your breath immediately turning to steam. You exchanged a look with Reid, who was freezing just as much as you were, and together, you had been driving Derek crazy with your whining. You all had similar gear, thermal layers, and jackets designed for extreme conditions, but it still wasn’t enough. “Sitting by the fireplace, knitting a sweater. Gossiping with other retirees.”

“Exchanging gingerbread recipes,” Spencer suggested, his tone just as wistful.

“And sharing tips for dealing with worms in our cats’ anuses,” you added.

“I’m done," Derek muttered.

Your work often sent you to various corners of the United States, but it rarely involved Alaska. Well, due to the state’s relatively low population density compared to others, fewer crimes were committed there, especially at the federal level.

However, in recent weeks, strange disappearances had occurred—teenagers and young men. Their bodies were found in remote areas, deep in the forest or in completely uninhabited wilderness, places so isolated that even an experienced survivalist would struggle to find their way out.

The local police, as local police often do in most criminal cases, initially pretended there wasn’t a problem, insisting the victims had died as a result of tragic accidents, simply getting lost during a hike. But when the number of deaths began to rise, and the victims included even high school students—locals who were well aware of the dangers of wandering alone after dark in such perilous areas—the case landed on JJ’s desk.

And so, you found yourselves in the brutally frigid surroundings of Fairbanks, heading toward the inn where you were supposed to drop off your things and immediately dive into the investigation.

"The temperature this week is going to range from 15 to 5 degrees Fahrenheit," Spencer informed you over his shoulder as he opened the car trunk to retrieve the luggage. "Of course, that's during the day. At night, it’ll drop as low as -4 degrees."

Elle shivered as he handed her her bag.

"I was doing just fine without those numbers," she said, nudging you lightly with her shoulder—a touch you barely felt through the thick layers of clothing. "What do you say we make up for this with a New Year’s trip? Mallorca? The Himalayas?"

"I’m dreaming of the Caribbean," Morgan chimed in. "Beaches, sunshine, and cocktails—that’s what I’ll be dreaming of tonight."

"And half-naked sunbathers," you added.

"And half-naked sunbathers," he agreed with a grin.

Elle trudged ahead, sinking into the snow up to her calves. The inn was a sizable wooden building, adorned with balconies and terraces that, given the weather, likely went unused, though they added considerable charm. It was tucked away in a secluded spot, offering privacy and a peaceful atmosphere—ideal for work.

You lingered by the car, waiting for Reid to grab his things, unwilling to leave him behind.

“Do you know much about the northern lights, Rudolph?” you teased, nodding toward his red-tipped nose. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing them.”

“Well, then you’re in luck,” he replied, looking at you with a slight smile. “We’re in one of the best places to see them, during the season with the longest nights. They’ll be visible pretty early, though the most stunning views will probably happen between ten at night and two in the morning. I’ve always wanted to see them in person too.”

"So, what do you think?" you asked, raising your eyebrows. "Midnight, at my door, and we’ll go play aurora hunters?"

You shivered just at the thought. Of course, you were joking—there was no way you'd even stick a single hand out from under the covers at this hour with those freezing nighttime temperatures. You planned to admire the beautiful phenomenon from your room window. Warm, you hoped.

"Alright. Just make sure you bundle up,"

"Sure. Thermal thong and all that."

Your room was on the same floor as Elle's and JJ's, and you were glad to have them just behind the next door. Unpacking took you only a minute, and within that time, you were all together, sitting as a team, going through the case files.

“These boys were so young,” JJ remarked, shaking her head with a hint of dread. “Sixteen, the youngest, twenty-four, the oldest. They were found in such remote locations that if it hadn’t been for the ongoing professional search and the dogs, who knows how long it would have taken before anyone stumbled upon their bodies.”

“Given the heavy snowfall, they might not have been found until the thaw. What do their parents and families say about all of this?” Hotch asked.

“Unanimously, they believe their kids would never have ventured that far on their own. This is where the mystery starts, though, because there were no wounds on their bodies, except for the ones they inflicted on themselves in their attempts to survive in the cold.”

“So, it looks like someone kidnapped them, drove them out to a place you’d never get out of without serious survival skills, and just left them to die?” Derek asked, baffled.

“Seems that way. Yesterday, an eighteen-year-old named David Moore was reported missing. Normally, it probably would have been classified as a delayed return home or maybe a runaway, and the police wouldn’t have even taken the report. But given the current circumstances and the rising panic among the locals, his parents decided not to wait. A wise decision.”

"How many hours has it been since he went missing?" you asked, running your own grim calculations in your head. "Around eight, right? Is it even possible for him to survive the night out there in these conditions?"

"That depends on what he was wearing and the specific location where he was left," Reid explained, thoughtfully cleaning the lenses of his glasses. You realized it had been a while since you’d seen him wearing them—he used to wear them daily, but lately, it was only on occasion. For a moment, you found yourself staring at his face, liking how the dark frames suited it.

"His parents believe he was likely abducted on his way home from tutoring," Elle noted, flipping through the case file. "People around here dress warmly as a habit, but even so, I doubt his everyday clothes would be particularly suited to weather like this. At night. In the middle of the woods."

An uncomfortable silence followed her words, broken only by Hotch clearing his throat.

"Anyway, we need to join the ongoing search efforts. We’ll be more useful out in the field than trying to build a profile with the scraps of information we have. I’m not sure if I need to remind you, but out of habit, I will: be cautious and don’t, under any circumstances, stray from the search group. They know this area."

Before you all moved out to get to work, Reid shot you a fleeting glance. Like a dad, you mouthed silently, and he let out the faintest chuckle. You both enjoyed spotting those unmistakably parental tendencies in your boss, though they were directed at you and the rest of the team.

Hours of searching had, unfortunately, yielded no results—the crushing pressure of time bore down on you all. The knowledge that each passing moment was stripping this boy of his chances for survival felt almost unbearable. If he had somehow managed to survive the first eight hours in the forest, sixteen seemed an increasingly unlikely feat.

And yet, hope lingered. The group, driven by his distraught family, refused to stop, likely continuing to scour the area despite warnings. Meanwhile, you stood in your hotel room, so close to the window that the cold glass brushed against your nose.

Your thoughts were consumed by the case and the fate of the teenager. Just as Reid had said, the sky was illuminated by that breathtaking greenish glow. Watching it felt almost surreal, and you wanted to take in as much of it as your eyes could hold.

If it weren’t for the fact that you had frozen to your very core during the search, you might have stepped outside to see it more clearly.

Just as the thought crossed your mind, there was a knock at your door.

You furrowed your brow, not expecting anyone. When you opened it, you came face to face with none other than Spencer. Well, it was hard to tell it was him at first. He was bundled up so tightly in layers of warm clothes that his body lost its natural shape and resembled more of a puffy ball than a person.

"Hey," he greeted awkwardly, raising his hand hesitantly and scanning your appearance from head to toe. "You're not ready yet. Sorry, I think I came too early. I thought we were meeting at midnight..."

"We were meeting?"

"For the northern lights hunt, you forgot? I checked the Kp index, it's a measure of aurora activity that determines its intensity, and it turns out tonight is really favorable... wait, why are you laughing?"

His furrowed brows and face, barely visible in the dimly lit hallway but clearly confused, only made you laugh harder. Shaking your head in disbelief, you covered your smile with your hand.

"Spencer, I was joking," you said, suddenly feeling guilty that your sarcasm had led him to spend time and effort preparing for a night out. "There’s no way I'm going out in this cold. I’d rather dive headfirst into boiling water, at least that would be warmer."

“Oh,” he let out a short, disappointed sigh. He quickly nodded, as if trying to accept the situation, and forced a more neutral expression. “I—I really thought you were serious. Sorry for... for waking you up, then.”

For a moment, you stood in silence, your hand resting on the doorframe. An odd, unexpected thought sprinted through your mind. It had been such a long time since the two of you had been together like this, late at night, in the same room...

“Well, in that case,” he cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry again. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Forget I came here and embarrassed myself. That’s all. Sorry. I should probably go if I want to avoid being completely sleep-deprived tomorrow...”

“Go where?” you interrupted, suddenly standing straighter, alarmed.

“Aurora hunting.”

“By yourself? Spencer, have you lost your mind?”

He opened and closed his mouth, caught off guard by your outburst.

“Well, I don’t know when I’ll ever get another chance like this, being in the Arctic Circle...”

“It’s pitch dark and freezing cold. You don’t know the area—”

“...I’ve had a chance to look around, and I’m not going far. There’s a small hill just behind the inn—”

“...And there’s a freaking serial killer on the loose around here, did you forget?”

“Well, I have a gun.”

“Well, I’m not letting you go,” you cut him off firmly, crossing your arms over your chest. Spencer tilted his head, clearly ready to argue further, but before he could speak, you added, “Give me five minutes.”

“What?”

“Five minutes to get dressed. I’m coming with you.”

At first, you could have sworn a faint smile flickered across his lips. But then, just as quickly, he shook his head vehemently.

“No, really, you don’t have to. Not just because of me. I’ll be fine…”

"Five minutes," you repeated once more, slightly flustered and trying not to dwell on the fact that the moment you stepped outside, you’d likely regret this decision. “Wait here. Or come inside—I don’t want to shut the door in your face.” As you spoke, you opened the door wider, inviting him in.

Without wasting another second, you headed straight for your suitcase. Okay, how many layers does one need for a night outside in Alaska?

“I actually bought a set of thermal underwear specifically for this case,” you said, pulling out the essentials from your bag. Most of what you’d worn during the day would work fine, but you debated adding an extra sweater and another pair of socks. “And, oh my God, I hate it. I’d rather wear lace thongs 24/7 than spend more than eight hours in this bugger.”

You glanced subtly over your shoulder, curious to see his reaction and waiting for his reply. It wasn’t like you wanted to embarrass him, but you absolutely adored how, in response to even your most suggestive remarks, he could always respond with complete seriousness—like he was dissecting some profound issue. Judging by the furrow of his brow, this time would be no different.

“Really? You know, thermal underwear is generally associated with comfort. The fabric is typically elastic, soft, and breathable. High-quality models are even seamless, so they don’t cause any chafing. Maybe you bought a poorly fitted one?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, I have no expertise in this area. It digs in so much, though, and I have to keep myself from adjusting it. Can you imagine me sticking my hand in my pants right in front of the missing boy’s family?”

He hesitated before responding.

“Not really. But I can picture Hotch’s face.”

“And I can picture a termination notice on my desk the next day,” you quipped.

You grabbed all the clothes you had gathered and disappeared into the bathroom to layer them on. It wasn’t a quick job—by the end, you felt like your movements were completely restricted by the weight of it all—but at least you were prepared. When the first merciless blast of Alaskan air brushed against the tiny exposed part of your face, it didn’t immediately make you want to run back inside screaming.

Instead, you sighed in awe.

"I know I’ve invoked God's name a hundred times already, but God, this is beautiful," you said, feeling your own words too inadequate to describe the miracle above your heads. The streaks of light stretching across the sky, an intense green with a certain transparency, a glassy quality, the stars peeking through it all.

Spencer turned to you over his shoulder. He was only a couple of steps ahead, but he kept doing it as if afraid that in a moment of not seeing you, you'd fall into the snow and disappear forever.

“Wait until we get to the spot,” he said, his smile clearly excited. In his dark eyes, the light seemed to reflect and stay there, even when he blinked, as though he had already absorbed it all deep inside. “It’s only ten minutes away, but it makes a difference.”

"I hope you're not one of those people who says, 'Oh, it's just around the corner, we don't need a cab!' and then leads you to walk halfway across the city" you scoffed. You tried to keep your gaze fixed on his back, his lantern swinging in his hand. Alaska, the vast empty terrain, the thick layers of snow, seemed to hide some sort of mystery beneath them, and it filled you with a fair amount of fear. "Will you shield me with your chest if a bear jumps out at us?"

"Actually, yes, I would," he replied. "But not because of heroism, it's more because I have bear spray in my pocket, and by that very fact, it's probably my duty."

"Okay, let’s make a deal: you protect us from a potential bear attack, and I’ll take care of Bigfoot. By the way, that legend never really scared me. A monkey with gigantic feet just sounds too ridiculous to me. Remember that episode of History's Mysteries that we watched at your place?"

You both shared a love for a certain TV show about conspiracy theories and famous mysteries from around the world.

"Of course. You know part of it was filmed right here in Fairbanks? Bigfoot never really fascinated me either, but I liked that at the end of the episode they also mentioned other Alaskan legends. Like The Kushtaka, for example."

"I don't remember that. But I'm not sure I want you to tell me," you confessed, taking a breath, the cold biting into your lungs. Despite the layers of clothing, it was getting colder and colder, but at least you'd finally reached the spot Spencer had chosen. He was right; the vast plain on the small hill was perfect for watching the aurora. You had the feeling that the sky was only an inch above your head, and a childlike urge to reach up and touch it. "Alright, you've got me too intrigued. Go ahead."

You noticed that, unlike you, Spencer wasn't tilting his head back to gaze at the sky. He was looking at you.

"The Kushtaka is a creature from the folklore of the surrounding tribes. It is most often described as a hybrid of a human and an otter..."

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

"Otters, seriously? Is that supposed to chill me to the bone?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow in a somewhat sarcastic manner.

"Okay, let me tell you the story differently," he proposed in a similar tone, swallowing as if to prepare himself for the tension-building drop in his voice. "Just like now, we're heading out to see the northern lights. Just the two of us, surrounded by nothing but darkness. The sky is overcast that day, and there’s hardly any light to see." At that moment, he switched off the flashlight he was holding, and his previously well-lit face faded into obscurity. You crossed your arms over your chest, silently promising yourself you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being scared.

“In this story, do my thermal undies also ride up so uncomfortably?”

“Your underwear isn’t a significant part of this tale. Anyway… crap, where was I?”

“The thought of my underwear distracted you?”

You heard him sigh, almost in exasperation, and a sly smile spread across your face.

“Let me continue. No more comments about underwear.”

“My underwear or in general?”

“SO WE’RE HEADING TO SEE THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. It’s dark, it’s creepy, and you’ve got chills running down your spine. Then suddenly, you realize you’ve lost me.”

“Phew,” you exhaled with theatrical relief. “Finally got rid of that creep who kept obsessing over my underwear.”

"You know what, I’m done. I’m done. I won’t tell you the story about the human-otter hybrid."

“I’m devastated by this fact!” you assured him in the same overly dramatic tone. Taking it a step further, you jumped toward him, desperately grabbing the fabric of his jacket. “Dr. Reid, please, I beg you, tell me about the human-otter hybrid. I need this. I’ll sell my soul and body, just please…”

Spencer threw his head back, laughing, and as you tried to calm yourself down, you leaned against him. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance, sending both of you toppling into the snow.

“Damn, we’re going to be wet!” he groaned, trying to get up from the deep snowdrift you both had fallen into. It wasn’t the easiest task with all the layers of clothing and a girl who was dying of laughter on top of him.

“I think that’s enough of our aurora watching,” you said once you both finally managed to get back on your feet. Despite the ski pants and very, very warm clothes, you were starting to feel frozen. “And enough of your legends. It’s late, and we should head back.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he complained, sounding like a little puppy that had been scolded for peeing on the carpet.

“You can tell me on the way,” you replied. “Come on.”

You sent one last glance toward the sky before moving forward, your mind focused entirely on the vision of a hot, soothing bath and a blanket with an extra layer for warmth. For the rest of the walk, Spencer didn’t try to use his low voice or mysterious narrative tone. He finished the story in his usual manner, sounding more like a fascinated lecturer. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed—he had sounded really sexy earlier, you had to admit.

When you both got back to the guesthouse, you glanced at the stairs leading up to your room and shook your head in refusal.

“If I don’t get under at least five blankets right this second, I’m going to die, so sorry my dear, but I’m coming to you and I won’t leave until I’m warm, or I’ll never leave at all,” you said quickly and firmly.

Spencer raised an eyebrow but replied just as energetically.

“I don’t think I have five blankets in my room.”

“Three will be fine.”

And that's exactly how it went. First, you took off your jackets, and then, in your typical everyday clothes, you quickly jumped into bed, covered with the duvet up to your neck, waiting for the pleasant warmth to spread across your bodies.

“Was seeing the aurora worth all that suffering?' you asked, turning onto your side in bed so you could face him.

'Well, it wouldn't have been suffering if someone hadn't shoved both of us into the snow...'

He said this while lying on his back, but shortly after these words, he followed your lead and also turned onto his side. Your breath became shallower. It had been almost a year since you last had him this close, almost a year since you slept together, and then decided to let the situation fade into oblivion.

Honestly, you almost succeeded. After all, that incident was like every other encounter you had with guys. Spontaneous, one-time, followed by bolting. But you didn’t see those other guys afterward. Every day at work, forced to watch him wipe his glasses, his damn glasses, with the same fingers he…

“Are you thinking about something specific?” he suddenly asked, his voice eerily similar to the one he used to tell you the story on the hill, a voice you found so sexy.

That was the kind of man Spencer Reid was. Always wanting to know what was going on inside your head.

You sighed, probably too loudly.

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking right now,"

You felt a little pathetic, realizing that your whole excuse about not being able to go to your room was just a pretext to end up in his bed. Once again. This whole trip to Alaska must have really messed with your head. Or maybe it cleared the fog in your mind and left a single thought, naked and defenseless. You wanted him.

"I know how pathetic that sounds, but I always want to know what you're thinking," he replied after a moment, swallowing audibly. You heard it clearly, you were so close. So close...

You had to make a quick decision: whether to continue and face the consequences the next day, or, perhaps worse, to be rejected? It was possible that he had learned from your last time together, and didn’t want to get involved with you that way.

"I can show you what I'm thinking," you finally proposed, not blinking for a long moment, just carefully studying the features of his face, any signs of uncertainty or tension.

Because there was that one small seed of probability that he wanted you too.

His lips parted, but were immediately covered by your kiss.

Slow and curious. How did he taste after all this time?

Maybe it was a thought whispered by the moment, but you had the feeling that even better.

You didn’t play the role of a taster for too long. Soon, still not pulling his lips away from yours, you lifted yourself into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your elbow on the bed, pressing closer to him with every passing moment, more intensely and hungrily.

Something seemed to haunt you, preventing you from moving any further. Something in his posture—lying on his back, surrendered to your control, yet somehow absent.

You pulled away from his lips, your gazes meeting. There was a certain weakness and sadness in his eyes.

"Is something wrong?" you managed to ask, your voice strangely trembling.

Spencer suddenly sat up, straightening himself, though there was still a slight bend in his shoulders. His movement forced you to pull away from his chest.

"I can't do this," he confessed quietly, taking a deep breath. "I can't sleep with you." In a way, it hurt more than if he had simply refused to let you kiss him. Your forehead furrowed in disappointment and... shock?

"Why?" you asked directly, foregoing any excuses about not aiming for that. Because you had been.

He let out a laugh, filled with pity.

"Because after this, I won’t be able to stop thinking about you. And you, after tonight, won’t want me anymore."

You were breathing heavily, completely unsure of what to say. His words were painfully eye-opening, first and foremost. And secondly... true. Because did you plan, like a normal person, to wake up next to him, greet him, date him? That wasn’t how you operated. In your plans, there was always just one option—escape. Exactly like that time.

You slowly began to slide off the bed, his hand moved to reach for yours, and you hoped he would take it, but at the last moment, he hesitated. He hesitated.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you reassured him, yet you didn’t look at him the whole time. You sounded stiff, almost reproachful, even though you were the one who should be reproached. You were the problem.

You looked around the floor, used to picking up your clothes from it, but this time there was nothing. Except for the jacket hung up and the ski pants you’d pulled on over your regular ones to avoid freezing in the cold night. Leaving without a word seemed excessive.

Your back rested against the door as you turned to look at him. Your quick-thinking mind raced, searching for something to say to at least salvage some dignity in this situation…

“Let’s pretend this didn’t happen,” you finally suggested.

Spencer was still sitting on the edge of the bed, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to get up or stay there. Eventually, it seemed like he stayed, though you weren’t sure, having already turned toward the door, your hand pressing on the doorknob.

“T-think that’s the best solution,” he admitted, just as one of your feet stepped into the hallway.

Then, you heard someone whistling.

You immediately stepped back into his room, keeping your face turned toward the door.

“Damn, it’s Morgan,” you said, recognizing the person in the hallway by the sound alone. “We better not let him see me leave, or he’ll never leave us alone…”

You expected that when you turned around, you’d find him still sitting on the bed. After all, you hadn’t heard him get up, hadn’t heard him approach. You certainly didn’t expect that, when you turned, his lips would almost immediately attack yours.

It was so unexpected, so sudden, that the back of your head slammed against the door.

“Fuck, sorry…”

But you didn’t think for a second about the pain, nor did you focus on why Spencer had suddenly changed his mind. Your attention was solely on the two of you, two desperate pairs of lips pressing together and pulling apart, never staying away for long.

He pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around your waist. Unlike the last time, it was your back that hit the mattress first. The cool surface, the heated bodies, and the weight of the layers of clothing between you both.

"You've changed," you noticed.

A different dynamic. The pace was set by him—just moments ago, you were standing by the door, and now, half of your clothes were gone, while the soft skin of your neck was buried under a cascade of messy, impatient kisses.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his face hovering above yours, one hand resting on the bed next to it.

"I haven't gotten enough to say for sure," you replied, teasingly. "But I get the feeling you're more confident now. A lot of practice since last time?"

He shrugged.

"I don't think it's about practice," he said, his hand sliding down your side until it stopped at the waistband of your pants, lingering there but not moving any lower. You reached for his hand, brushing against it before trailing your fingers along its length up to his forearm, feeling one of his veins beneath your fingertips. "I guess... I was just scared you'd leave, and I had to stop you somehow. That’s why I rushed," he admitted.

His gaze lingered mostly on your face, but it wandered across your body, his frustration clear as he eyed the layers of clothing still in his way. Something about his desperation and impatience stirred something playful in you, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.

Propping yourself up on one elbow, you tilted your chin to look at him.

“If I tried to leave right now, how would you stop me?”

The corner of his mouth twitched at your question, but he decided to play along, nodding thoughtfully.

“I think I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Care to show me?” you asked, your voice dripping with challenge.

For a moment, he didn’t move at all, just kept staring at you, until he allowed himself that first, utterly shameless drop of his gaze and a soft sigh. His lips began their journey, starting at their usual, safe spot on your neck, trailing toward your shoulder, and crossing over your collarbone with deliberate intent. You were still half-sitting, struggling to steady your breathing so your chest wouldn’t rise and fall too much or too quickly, trying not to disrupt him. The first hint of uncertainty appeared between your breasts when his kisses momentarily softened, carefully exploring unfamiliar territory and testing your sensitivity.

You struggled more and more to keep yourself from collapsing fully onto the mattress. But when his cool tongue met your skin, pressing against it so firmly that his forehead brushed against your stomach, relentlessly moving lower, you couldn’t hold out any longer.

He was between your knees, bent in anticipation. He reached them, sliding his hands down your thighs and coaxing them to relax. He fumbled a bit while unbuttoning your pants, and had trouble sliding them down while you were lying there. You lifted your hips to help, even tried to do it yourself, but he stopped your hands, placing them above your head.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said softly, finally freeing your legs from both pant legs. His hands wrapped around your ankles, his thumb tracing gentle circles around one of them, which somehow completely seized your attention, and you focused solely on that subtle motion. For a moment, you closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you noticed that his chin was just above your panty line. "Actually, it will be much more pleasant for you if you just focus on feeling and nothing else. I was supposed to show you my ideas, remember?"

“As someone who apologized for being in too much of a hurry, you sure have an unexpectedly large amount of patience now,” you remarked with reproach, lifting your head again. Maybe keeping it down allowed for more comfort and relief for your neck, but on the other hand, the sight of his face immersed between your thighs was simply priceless.

If the sight itself was priceless, how do you describe that feeling?

With every move of his tongue, your hips swayed, adjusted to the rhythm. Often tense, trying to find some outlet, especially when sighs escaped his lips and his cool breath penetrated through you.

"Think I'm gonna cume embarrassingly quickly," you confessed, unsure whether he even understood anything from your sentence, which was at least interwoven with two moans. Three.

When it happened, you uncontrollably squeezed his head with your knees, a similar groan also came from his mouth.

Spender didn’t stay in that position for long. When you opened your tightly shut eyelids, his face was right above yours, stretched in such satisfaction, as if he was the one receiving pleasure.

"Was it too quick for you?" he asked, still absorbing you with the same gaze, which seemed to pulse with desire. "If you want, we can try again, you’ll surely improve..."

"My God, when did you become so cocky?"

He chuckled, but instead of answering, he once again pressed himself against your body and skin, closing his eyes in devotion and lingering on each spot for as long as it took, as if he could never be satisfied, no matter how much he took in.

Your hands, instead of tormenting the innocent fabric of the blanket, moved to his back, tightly embracing his neck and basically everything they could latch onto. All of his earlier composure seemed to evaporate; you didn’t even have to ask twice to make him slide in. It actually sounded more like an order than a request, a bit desperate, it's true, but still an order.

"How is it even possible that it feels even better than the last time?” His words, his lips, ticked your neck as he moaned out this question. "Just... I feel like I won’t have enough of you tonight."

"The night is long," you said, almost into the air, not really paying attention to the meaning behind it. "Tomorrow night too."

Spencer stopped, completely. His eyes desperately searched for yours, and when he finally found them, they widened in disbelief.

"Tomorrow night too?" he repeated. "But I thought... I thought you didn't want anything more than a one-night fling…”

"It's already our second," you reminded him. "And I'll be completely honest with you, I don’t want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of you. Let's make a deal, okay?"

"A deal?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it in a moment, but right now...Oh God, I think I’m gonna…”

You both got dressed right after, but not because either of you intended to leave. The temperature inside simply didn’t allow for sleeping naked, no matter how warm you were after sex.

"So?" he asked, handing you the piece of paper you had sent him to the bathroom for. Then he sat on the bed, facing you. "What did you mean by this deal?"

"Well, after thinking about it, I'm not sure if it's a good idea after all..."

"I want to know, even if just out of curiosity."

"You want to know everything, Spence. But fine. I thought maybe... while we're in Alaska, we could just, you know, allow ourselves to do whatever we want. In more direct terms, fuck each other as much as we want.”

It sounded a bit...crazy? Spencer kept his gaze suspended in the air for a moment before turning it back to you, questioning.

"But only as long as we're in Alaska?"

"Exactly. Since there's only one floor between us, why not take advantage of it?" you tried to joke, lightening the mood.

It didn’t seem to have much effect on him.

"But what happens next? When we get back?"

"Do we really have to think about that?" you wondered, moving closer to him, to the body that just moments ago made you feel so good. "We'll get used to being apart, just like before."

"Okay," he sucked in a breath, clearly torn over the proposal. "I mean, no, I didn’t mean okay... because it doesn’t seem like a great idea, but on the other hand... on the other hand, I really, really want you, even if it only means for this short time."

You smiled, though deep down, somewhere very deep, there was something somber in that gesture.

Ignoring that, you kissed him to seal the deal. And not just that.

"That was for good night and goodbye."

"Goodbye? You're leaving?" A clear look of disappointment crossed his face, but he quickly shook his head, trying to get rid of it. "Good night, then."

"It's not that I don't want to stay. It's just that it would be better to be well-rested for work, and I don't think we'd sleep properly if I decided to spend the night here. “

You saw him open his mouth, ready to protest, but you had already gotten up from the bed and started gathering your remaining things.

"Wait," he called as you were about to leave. "You said... you said something that's been bothering me, you know? I can even quote it, so listen up. You said that you don't want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of me."

You couldn't help but let out a burst of laughter.

"And that bothers you?"

"I don’t understand what you meant by that. What in my behavior makes you feel that way?"

"A lot of things."

"Like what?"

"I'll tell you someday. Maybe it's better if you're not aware of it."

"Hey, now I won’t be able to sleep!"

"Anyway, good night, sweet boy."

Almost the first thing in the morning, you found yourselves at the local police station, full of disappointment and anxiety. You had to inform the parents of the missing boy found in the forest that he had been located. But unfortunately, it was not good news.

The first hours of the day passed in constant analysis and discussion, until finally, around noon, you gathered in front of the town's police officers, ready to deliver the profile. You didn’t have much time for any reflection on the previous night, or even for a conversation with Spencer. A sober one this time, when you weren’t intoxicated by desire and each other.

You stood in the corner of the room, listening to Hotch and Gideon.

"The UNSUB is a white male, likely with military experience or, at the very least, extensive survival skills, estimated to be around 50-60 years old. He abducts teenagers, boys, and young men who look younger than their actual age, which suggests he doesn’t know his victims very well."

"If he observes them, it’s for a short period. He doesn’t have time to get to know them but understands their routine and daily schedule well enough to know when to strike."

"He doesn’t drug his victims, which means he is physically capable of abducting them without assistance. This ties into the type of victims he selects. All these boys were more the intellectual type than athletes. When abducted, they were coming from school, tutoring sessions, or the library. David Moore, for instance, was tall but lanky. His family described him as gentle, with a big heart and a passion for learning."

"The UNSUB abandons them in remote forest locations. Forcing them to fight for survival gives him a sense of control and serves as a way to prove his belief that modern society and boys today are incapable of handling adversity. He openly despises them, viewing them as weak and effeminate. His mindset reflects a toxic approach to gender roles and what he considers the traditional male archetype."

“White men aged 50-60 with survival skills make up about half the population here,” a policeman noted. “Take me, for example…”

Hotch began providing more detailed information, while Gideon stepped out of the center of the room, and the atmosphere became more relaxed.

You approached Reid, who was sitting in a chair, and ruffled his hair with your hand.

“Watch your back, genius-boy,” you warned, standing behind him. From his seat, he tilted his head all the way back to look up at you. A smile instantly appeared on his face.

“You might just be next. And we wouldn’t want that.”

“So, you think I’m effeminate?”

"I know very well that you're not. But you do have that intellectual spark in your eyes. And, you know, those glasses don’t help."

Ever since you’d been in Alaska, he’d worn them less often because, as he’d told you while chatting in bed, they kept fogging up. But now, they were perched on his nose, making him look... delectable. Simply delectable.

The rest of your team approached, Elle's gaze lingering on your hand resting on the back of Reid's chair. As usual, she had to notice everything.

"I need to send you all to a few places to check out some individuals the police have identified as matching the profile," Hotch announced. "Y/N and Elle, I’d like you to speak again with the bus driver who drove David Moore just before he was abducted. Once he understands the profile, he might be able to recall more details."

You lingered in the room, wanting to exchange a word with Spencer. In complete privacy... He was slowly wiping his glasses, as if hoping for the same. Watching the movements of his hands, you shook your head.

"This is it—what you asked me about yesterday. What makes me sexually frustrated. Our agreement still stands, right?" you asked, running your hand along his shoulder, just to touch him. Even though the many layers of clothing made it almost impossible to really feel him.

He looked at the glasses he was cleaning, then at you, disbelief written all over his face.

"That's what you meant? Cleaning glasses?"

"Don't judge me. It's about the motion. Or maybe the glasses themselves, I don't know. Maybe I’m a fetishist. Anyway, are you going to answer my question?"

Still seated in the chair, he had to tilt his head back to look at you, which reminded you—just a little, okay, a lot—of another situation where he was down below.

"What about you?" he countered. "You haven’t changed your mind?"

"Absolutely not."

"In that case, yes. It still stands."

“Oh, I don’t know what I’d do if you’d answered differently. See you tonight, then,” you promised, glancing around the room to make sure none of your team members were still there. Just a few local officers... who weren’t paying much attention to you. Even if they were, it wasn’t their business.

You leaned in quickly to kiss him. He closed his eyes, as if hoping for more.

“Not now, and not here. I need to go find Elle. Hotch gave us an assignment. Have a good one.”

You walked away, feeling his gaze on your back.

You found your friend in the car, one of those suited for tough terrain, with high tires. She was sitting behind the wheel, tapping her nails on it.

"So, what was the address of that driver?" you asked, fastening your seatbelt.

"Forgive my bluntness, darling, but I’ll die if I don’t know. What was that all about?"

"What do you mean, ‘What was that all about’?"

"Oh, come on, you know exactly what I mean. Messing with his hair, the chair, the looks. Are you two sleeping together again?"

You technically had no reason to hide anything from her, after all, you trusted her completely and had never hesitated to talk about your sex life. But this time... you kind of liked the idea of keeping whatever happened between you and Spencer just between the two of you.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. We're just acting like we usually do," you said.

"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow, slowly pulling away from the police station, her gaze shifting between the road and you. "Then what were those sounds last night from his room?"

"Oh shit, did we make noise?"

She smiled triumphantly.

"I don't know, you tell me. I'm just teasing you. I'm on a completely different floor. But I'll take that as an admission of guilt."

"Manipulative bitch!"

"I'll take that as a compliment. So?"

You rolled your eyes with a heavy sigh, but eventually, you confirmed her suspicion with a nod.

"I thought you didn't sleep with the same guy twice."

"The air in Alaska really does something strange to me."

"Sure. The air," she scoffed, and you furrowed your brows in slight confusion, looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate. The car glided along one of those completely empty, snow-covered roads where there was nothing to focus on. "You know, I wonder why you just don't admit that you like him?"

"I don't hide the fact that I like him."

"Then why not give it a try?"

"Try what, Elle?"

She glanced at you sideways, her lips tightening at your obviously irritated tone. She didn't mean to upset you, of course, but that's how you felt. She sighed, as if thinking about how to approach the subject.

"You've learned to live with it," she finally began, slowly and cautiously weighing her words. "With that fear. Of intimacy and commitment."

"It's just a preference."

"No, it's not a preference. It's fear. You're afraid that if you get emotionally close to someone, you'll be abandoned, and you don't want to risk another painful loss. You want to have full control over the relationship and disappear when you feel like it's fading. Usually in the morning. It's a common mechanism, and it's not just about you. And no mechanism can be broken without making an attempt."

"Elle, stop. You're profiling me, and you know how much I hate that."

And actually, you hated being confronted with the truth about yourself and being internally forced to draw conclusions about yourself.

It was easy, living without reflecting on oneself. Especially when those reflections were painful. You could hurt yourself, unsuccessfully trying to confront them, or flow along with their current, completely subordinated to them and deaf to the words of others, who said you were only hurting yourself in the bigger picture.

Elle dropped the subject, as you had arrived at the house of the man you were supposed to interview. She didn’t bring it up again afterward. The hours at work passed, and you only waited for that specific moment when you'd cross the threshold of that room again.

The previous night danced vividly in your mind, never slowing down or taking a break for a moment. As soon as he opened the door, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his face, and unbuckling his belt.

Spencer took a sharp breath, shocked and amused, as soon as you touched him.

"It would be incredibly awkward if someone were at my place right now," he chuckled into your mouth, half of his sentence drowned out by your kiss.

You pulled your face away just slightly, raising your eyebrows. It was only then that you noticed he was wearing glasses. Oh, he was so completely unaware of what you were about to do to him...

"How many people do you bring to yourself every night?" you asked.

"In that regard, only you. Besides, this is only the second time, so I wouldn’t call it every night... but I could always be here with someone, talking..."

"Keeping each other warm," you added.

Your hands slid under the fabric of his clothes, brushing the lower part of his stomach.

He noticeably tensed under your fingers, swallowing slowly, impatient and pleading.

"Engaging in a worldview discussion and exchanging conclusions," he finished, a smile playing on his lips.

"Uh-huh. Exactly like we are now. Honestly, does that turn you on? Do you want me to share my political views while you’re eating me out?”

"This is probably the only scenario in which you could make me not feel pleasure because of it."

His hands hesitated, roaming uncertainly across your body, unsure of where to start. They brushed over so many spots, moving from one to the next, chaotic and desperate.

You didn’t know where to focus – on the lips in the hollow of your neck, on the hand on your hips, or the other, slipping lower and lower?

Or perhaps on that sound, right by your ear, sweet, pleading whimper?

Moan left your body just for that reason and you already knew how you wanted the rest of the night to unfold.

You gently pushed him back, and with quickened breath, you dropped to one knee, then the other.

"After yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about you," you confessed, making sure your lips were close enough to his body as you spoke. You heard him inhale sharply, whispering something under his breath. "I couldn't focus on work at all. So today, I want to take care of you, completely."

You thought he would be satisfied with the offer; well, it was hard to deny that he was. Still, for some reason, he started shaking his head.

"N-no, that's not... I want to do it. Take care of you, I mean."

You couldn’t stop smiling, but at the same time, you weren’t about to back down, which should probably be enough to describe the dynamics of the following hours.

At times, it was brutally slow, while at other moments, it was hurried and impressive. Sometimes, you interrupted each other constantly, unable to stop talking, and at other times, the only sound filling the room was your two breaths, the only constant, restless, and laced with moans and cries.

"You’re not leaving me tonight, right?" he asked, drawing closer to your body and holding you almost pleadingly. You laughed against his skin, shaking your head in denial.

"At some point, I will have to. For about fifteen minutes, before everyone wakes up."

"You’ll say you just came by for something. To ask a question or something," he tried to convince you.

"Oh, at this early hour, looking like I’ve just done a two-hour workout? Derek would eat us alive. His eyebrow would never drop again. If I ever end up in hell, it will be with him there, looking at me like that." You tried to mimic his expression, tensing your jaw as you did.

"Stop, I feel harassed."

"You see? And if he found out about us, this is how the next... God, I can’t even predict when he’d get tired of it. Maybe in a year. Do you want to suffer for another whole year just to be with me for an extra fifteen minutes?"

"I’d be able to survive that," he declared quietly, placing his hand under your head and playing with your hair with one of his fingers. "But if you don’t want it, I’m not going to waste time and try to convince you."

"Sure," you scoffed playfully. "So many things could be done in that time."

"Like what?" he asked, clearly intrigued. "Try to sleep. What were you hoping for?"

"Nothing, nothing. But you used a plural in that sentence and then only gave one thing. So, I’m waiting for the rest."

"That’s an overinterpretation."

"More like a simple analysis of sentence structure."

"Maybe sometimes it's better to analyze a little less. Spencer."

"I don’t think I’m capable of that," he admitted, his tone a little more serious. You furrowed your brow, looking at his pale face in the weak light, showing signs of the night’s exhaustion. "That’s just how my brain works. It doesn’t give me much time to rest."

You often wondered what the world looked like from his perspective. How, in many ways, his genius was both a revelation and a curse. But you’d never heard him complain about it—until now. In fact, it wasn’t even a complaint, just a statement of fact, somewhat melancholy.

You kissed the top of his head, hoping it would have a soothing effect.

And indeed, it worked. He moved even closer to you, rested his head, and after a moment, almost at the same time, your eyelids fell.

The morning passed slowly and longingly, even though you were still so close to each other. However, there was the awareness that with the arrival of the day, you would have to wait many, many hours before you saw each other again. In a similar way, you meant. After all, at work, you constantly spent time together, which only made everything more difficult. It would have been much easier to push him out of your head and focus, if it weren’t for that.

Meanwhile, Spencer, perhaps trying to gently play on your nerves, cleaned his glasses much more often than necessary. But there was also the possibility that he was doing it the same amount as usual, and you were just imagining it.

"Are you doing that again?" Morgan nodded in his direction as a greeting when you were sitting in the guesthouse room that served as your team's meeting place. There was a long table in there, similar to the one in your office, but much narrower. Sitting across from Reid, you could easily touch his hand. If you wanted to. "Is this some new nervous tic of yours? Polishing them?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Spencer furrowed his brow in mock surprise, stopping the corner of his mouth from twitching. You kicked him under the table, and he couldn’t suppress a gasp.

To hide your amusement, you covered your face with your hand, but Morgan immediately picked up on it.

"Is this some new inside joke of yours?"

"He’s literally just polishing his glasses, leave him alone," you said.

Morgan’s eyebrows raised in the same way you had imitated him the night before. Neither of you could hold it in and burst into laughter.

"What’s going on?" JJ asked, walking into the room.

"Something very strange is going on," Derek announced mysteriously, staring at you both intently. His hands were resting on his hips, and his head tilted in thought. "Something very strange..."

Then Hotch arrived, even more serious than usual, which immediately dispelled the good mood. The rest of the team also arrived—Elle and Gideon—and everyone took their seats at the table.

"In the past few hours, there hasn’t been any concerning missing person reports," Hotch informed you. "On one hand, that’s good; on the other, it means the unsub will strike again soon. And we can’t let that happen."

"And you even have a plan," Gideon stated, with some sort of understanding in his eyes.

Hotch looked at you all with hesitation before nodding in confirmation.

"That's right, I have. I've concluded that we have no choice but to set a trap."

At those words, his gaze rested on Spencer, which was enough for you to figure it all out even before the main subject did.

"With all due respect, Hotch, have you lost your mind?!"

And how exactly do you envision this?" Elle asked, not as shaken as you but clearly concerned. "Sure, he fits the profile of his victims, but how is he supposed to set himself up? Walk around town and hope to get kidnapped?"

"At least two of the victims were abducted on the same stretch of road, after getting off the bus at the same isolated bus stop while walking home alone. It’s an exceptionally safe location for him," your boss explained.

"Honestly, I’m not convinced," Derek interjected, staring ahead with a furrowed brow. "I just don’t think he’d use the exact same spot again. Word has probably spread around the area that the FBI is on the case. He might be more cautious and change his methods."

"But he might just as well try again," JJ said quietly. You looked at her with clear surprise, as you had expected that, with her characteristic care for the team, she would be against the idea. "Right now, it’s the only thing we can do to try to prevent another abduction."

You drew a breath, understanding her arguments but remaining entirely opposed. Your gaze finally fell on Spencer, for the first time since the idea had even been brought up. He was sitting very upright, his brow furrowed, and he slowly began nodding.

"JJ’s right, it’s the only thing we can do," he said. He wasn’t looking at Hotch, nor even at the team as a whole—he was looking at you, directly and only at you. A calming, slightly nervous smile crossed his face, making you scoff. "Nothing’s going to happen to me. You’ll all be around, on the bus, near the stop."

With his words, the decision was made, and all you could do was shake your head in disbelief.

"I want to be on the same bus," you declared desperately, crossing your arms over your chest. You simply couldn’t reconcile with the fact that Spencer was willingly putting himself in harm's way—especially when the unsub's desire was to hurt people like him. "I’ll pose as a civilian. A random young woman. I shouldn’t seem like a threat, and someone from our team has to be inside."

"You’re right," Hotch replied, looking at you with sharp attention. "But it will be Elle."

You and your friend exchanged a confused look, startled by the firmness in his voice.

"I don’t think it makes much of a difference," she tried to intervene, which made you feel grateful.

Although, it didn’t change anything…

"I’m not obligated to explain myself to you about this decision, especially in front of the entire team. This is an order," Hotch announced with almost brutal professionalism. "The only thing I can say is that we need someone who won’t break character until the very end. Someone who won’t let emotions cloud their judgment."

"Are you sure you’re up for this?" Gideon asked, directing the question at Spencer. His tone was understanding, prepared to accept any refusal without judgment.

This time, he didn’t look at you. As Spencer nodded in confirmation, he actually avoided your gaze.

"Then we have the whole day to prepare for the sting. Let’s hope this leads to catching the unsub," Hotch concluded the meeting, signaling that you could leave the table.

You were torn between staying and screaming at your boss or leaving the room after Reid. Well, the second option wouldn’t get you fired. And, honestly, it seemed like the better choice. It turned out he wanted to talk to you too, as he was clearly waiting for you in the narrow hallway of the inn, where animal antlers hung on the walls and an informational board about moose was displayed.

"Are you angry because I want to do this?" he asked, the narrow walls around you making you stand quite close. Well, not as close as you could be, but close enough to add gravity to the conversation and allow you to study his face carefully.

Especially his determination. The determination for this job, for solving the case, and for preventing others from suffering the same tragic fate at the hands of this killer. Finally, you understood that your reaction was a bit irrational. Because if the victims were young women with your looks... you’d agree to it without hesitation. Some hypocrisy, huh?

"No. I'm just terrified that you're going to do this," you confessed, your honesty and concern making his face twitch in surprise. You snorted, trying to ease the tension. "I’m angry at Hotch for calling me emotionally unstable in front of all of you."

Spencer smiled gently, though there was stress hiding behind it. He may have been determined to go through with it, but that didn’t change the fact that there was fear accompanying him. He tried not to show it, but anyone in his position would feel it.

"Well, in his defense, he phrased it a bit more subtly."

You let out a soft laugh, stretching your arm out to gently touch his forearm. As your hand slid up, you leaned in a little, the simple gesture helping you feel more grounded and at ease.

His gaze followed your movements with a gentle satisfaction. You didn’t pull him closer, you were simply stroking his arm in that easy, caring way that calmed both of you.

"You’ve never done this before, have you?" you asked quietly. "You’ve never put yourself in this position like this."

He shook his head in denial.

"I’m really... really worried that I’ll do something wrong and we won’t be able to catch him because of me."

"You should worry about yourself, Spencer. Not about that. I’m sure you’ll play your part better than anyone could. "But I really regret that I won’t be able to be right next to you, in case something goes wrong."

His lips parted and closed in a kind of... amusement?

"I was going to say that maybe Hotch could be convinced, but then I realized, no, he won’t be. No matter what you say. And besides, having you there wouldn’t let me focus fully."

"I’m aware of that," you joked, tossing your hair dramatically. "After all, I look stunning."

"I was more referring to the fact that I’d be focused only on making sure nothing happens to you, but yeah. That’s one of the reasons too."

You fell silent, oddly moved by that confession. It was so simple, driven by care, affectionate. And it definitely made your head spin in the context of your relationship. You shook your head, pulling yourself away from those thoughts. As long as you were in Alaska, you could afford anything. After that, who knows.

You swallowed and put on a playful expression, it came with some effort, but you managed.

"Okay, genius-boy. Let me prepare you. You need to know how to behave."

"I thought I was just supposed to be myself," he noted, letting you pull him by the wrist.

"Well, mostly, yes. But it's still better to rehearse, get you into character. Don't you have any random fun facts to share?"

"I always have some fun facts to share. An endless amount."

"We'll see."

For the rest of the day, up until the inevitable moment of setting the trap for the unsub, you listened carefully to everything he had to say. His constant chatter allowed him to occupy his mind, pushing the stress aside to the point that, when it was time for him to head to the designated location, he seemed almost surprised that the hour had come. Only then did certain shadows begin to cross his face.

You paced restlessly around the inn as the whole team prepared. Your task was to take a position with Gideon at a certain distance from the bus stop, to cut off the unsub's escape route if necessary. The bus driver had agreed to cooperate, and JJ was giving him instructions, asking him to act as naturally as possible. There were to be no civilians on board, only Elle and a few inconspicuous local police officers. Hotch and JJ planned to follow the bus from a distance by car. Morgan was to lay low at the bus stop, also posing as a civilian.

You moved closer to Spencer, breathing heavily, his presence alone calming you down.

“You’ll be fine,” you reassured him just before you were about to leave. Morgan gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and everyone was still gathered around you. You gently hugged him, just as any other friend would, just like Elle and JJ had moments before.

He, on the other hand, wasn’t concerned with appearances. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head in a strong, lingering embrace.

“Y/N, you and Gideon need to go now," Hotch interrupted.

As you were walking away, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that he also gave Reid a brief squeeze on the shoulder.

It was a truly tense moment. You found yourself in a position where you had no visibility on what was happening inside the bus, nor could you gauge the gravity of the situation. All you could hear through the earpiece was Elle's whispered signal informing you that the suspect, fitting the profile, had just entered the vehicle.

And even though you didn’t have high hopes for the plan, everything unfolded exactly as it was meant to. Spencer exited the bus, and the unsub followed him. The suspect seemed intent on tracking him down that desolate, shadowy road, planning to attack and abduct him. But at the last moment, Reid turned, and before the man could react, he was surrounded by the police.

On your last night in Alaska, you found yourself on top, with his head resting against the headboard of the bed, his hands placed on your hips, and in a position where you could look at each other and talk.

"You really did great today," you praised, leaning in to gently kiss his collarbone.

He didn't seem flattered by your words, no smile on his lips, just that sad, aching expression that caused you pain. Wanting to shake off the feeling, you quickened your movements, hoping it would work, but then he tightened his embrace, making you slow down once again.

"I want... I want to enjoy you," he said with a slightly embarrassed tone, his fingers tracing restless, tender circles on your bare skin. "Since this is our last time together."

For a moment, he gazed at your face, as if hoping you would say something. But he couldn't find any trace in your expression that would suggest you had changed your mind. The small, naive spark in his eyes faded. Elle's words about breaking the cycle echoed in your mind, but not in your heart. You couldn't turn them into reality; you simply couldn't. The agreement remained the agreement.

Once you returned, everything would go back to how it was before.

another author's note: I plan to create a tag list and I want to know who among you would like to be on it. please, let me know in the comments.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal mind #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

292 notes · View notes

mr2swap · 8 hours ago

Text

Swap syndrome 2: armpit addiction.

-damn heat… -

The time on my cell phone showed 2:05, the idiot Travis had made me wait but in a way that made me happy I would have to charge him $50 more for being late.

Today was a very fucking day at the gym, it was so hot that I had to change my shirt, but still the rancid aroma of sweat coming from my hairy armpits filled the interior with my car, I was in the same parking lot of the gym where it is only A couple of minutes had left a huge sweat stain on the floor.

But despite everything I loved my new life, after the great shift and finding myself in this boy's hot and muscular body, from the beginning I knew this was a good thing, when I woke up in Travis's bedroom and looked down to see two juicy pecs, a sculpted six-pack and long, hairy legs, the first thing I did was take out my huge cock that was hidden among a leafy bush of hair and give myself the best handjob of my entire life.

It had been a little over a year since that moment, I quickly got used to Travis' life, kept his muscles big and strong and all thanks to his tiny YouTube channel where he showed all his exercise routines, but that was all wasted talent for Travis' glorious, beautiful body.

I no longer had my college degree or anyone to turn to, yet I was able to easily make money from all these fags, who wanted to sleep with me and this body.

Still not in the same city where I used to live, I watched the news and learned everything that had been happening in the world and that the real Travis was out there in my tired, flabby 40-year-old office worker body.

A tapping on my car window brought me out of my thoughts, it was the real Travis I grimaced in disgust as I looked at my old face once more in front of me, I looked at the time on my phone once more, and now it was 2:07 that now meant $70.

The door of my car and Travis jumped inside it, his first action was to completely inhale the disgusting smell inside the car, after that he lunged at me trying to reach my armpits, After that he lunged at me trying to reach my armpits, but in one movement I moved his old, ugly face away from me.

-You know the rules Travis, first I want the bills-

He extended one of my hands while he took out his wallet and extended a small wad of cash. In one quick movement, I snatched the bills from him and began to count them one by one while a nervous expression formed on the real Travis's face.

-Are you fucking with me? Only $500? -

There was nothing left of the old confident Travis, the confident, outgoing boy had disappeared, in his place there was only a perverted faggot who paid me for a few minutes of my attention due to swap syndrome. When we swapped our bodies, I thought I would get rid of him to always, but this pathetic middle-aged man was clinging to me like a leech trying to get close to me with his twisted homosexual intentions. I didn't really care what he did with my old body, but I thought I could make some money a month by squeezing every penny of this situation.

-Please! Just, just 5 minutes! I had to pay this month's rent and my landlord told me that if I was late another month he would throw me out on the street.-

I rolled my eyes as Travis the bitch kept giving me stupid excuses about how hard it was to find a good job now that he was a middle-aged man and he was tired all the time from working so much.

-Okay, just shut your fucking mouth.-

I put my hand on his head and pushed him into one of my hairy pits and choked his nose with the sour sweat that was collecting in my armpits. The initial struggle quickly turned into pleasure, I could feel Tyler's breathing slow. He shook until he filled his lungs, his mouth savored the curly hairs of my armpit and sucked up the small drops of sweat with his dirty tongue as if he had crossed a desert.

Tyler's small hands slid to his crotch and he began to frantically massage his cock over his pants, occasionally Tyler would move away from my armpit to get some air and lick my muscular arms with his disgusting sticky tongue, I watched as they passed minutes on my cell phone and before 5 minutes had passed, Tyler's small wrinkled cock soiled his pants with semen.

I pushed Tyler away and a satisfied smile formed on Tyler's face, his chest rising and falling as he tried to recover from the addictive experience he had just experienced, a few hairs from my armpit had stuck to his face and a stain of sweat had formed on the collar of his shirt.

I didn't have time for this, this experience had made me horny, I wanted to unload the enormous amount of cum that wanted to escape from my huge hairy balls, but the disgusting man next to me was not worthy of this...nor did I have another $500

I extended one of my long, muscular arms and opened the door of my luxurious sports car.

-Now get out bitch, see you next week-

As soon as I clean every trace of Tyler from my car, I'll call some of my girls, so I can fill their pussies with my beautiful, hot seed.

This is a second installment of the swap syndrome story, but the only thing they share in common is the same syndrome that is spreading among those affected by the great shift, you can see more by visiting my Ko-fi page:

Hello, if you liked this story, and you want more, you can take a look at my new Ko-Fi page to see my most recent stories, see my new stories and support me to continue creating this hot content.

#body swap #male body swap #bodyswap #body switch #the great shift #male transformation

96 notes · View notes

artsymeeshee · 6 hours ago

Text

Been in a weird headspace lately and I wanted to put my thoughts and feelings out to give a better idea of what's been happening. Putting under a read more/feel free to ignore.

I've talked about my struggles mentally on and off for a while and this one has been an ongoing thing for me and it's one I feel has begun to stick out more as time goes on.

I don't see myself as a good person. Most of the time I feel like I'm a bad person. And there's a lot of factors that play into this. One, is the things that I draw, which sounds absolutely crazy. Even I think it is as well.

It's no secret that my main priority has always been familial/platonic themes because that's how I've always viewed Gravity Falls as. And I know a lot of people do as well. It's one of the main themes of the show for crying out loud. And it's not to say I'm getting tired of it. That's a thing that has never crossed my mind, ever. It's more so along the lines of thinking it's too boring or falling back to that feeling of feeling bad because I don't make ship art. And I know I shouldn't feel bad about it and there's plenty of others that gladly do it. It's just one of those things that I'm not sure I'll really accept. And I'm always always grateful for the ones that tell me they appreciate all the family bonding/themes in my art. I guess the feeling of loneliness plays a part in that as well. I'll still make all the family things as long and as much as I can, but I won't deny the feeling of loneliness I get sometimes.

I do have that strong feeling that I am made to do something more and actually be someone and not the usual husk of a terrible individual I fall back on so many times. I won't deny anxiety and fear has taken a big hold on me lately. And it's also driven me to isolate myself in a sense and made me a cold person. I was so much more open years ago and now I've closed a good part of me away because... maybe I realized my "correctness" of myself being a bad person and who would even want to be around someone like that, so it's easier to hide. And I'm always afraid that one day I'll do or say something to no longer make me feel like I'm safe to approach. I've gone through so many people I've found that I've grown to like only for them to be an awful person and it sucks. I never want to be like that.

It's also been hard to not fall back to up and leaving. Whether that be online or real life. Last year was a time I fought with staying or leaving and it was always hard to decide to stay because leaving seemed like the only option I deserved.

I'm aware my ongoing battle with depression has hindered me a lot and it's a main factor for all of my negative feelings and thoughts about myself. And I don't want it to always resort to being the final say of who I am. I would like to find and show that part of me I feel people deserve to see.

I'm going to be honest, putting my raw emotions and thoughts like this is always scary. I'm sorry for the unexpected and serious post. I hoped I didn't make it too annoying or bring the mood down, but I needed to clear an ongoing struggle I've had for a long while. Thank you all for the constant support. Thank you for liking my silly, dumb, wholesome, sometimes feelsy art. Wanted to state another serious thing because life is so unexpected and you never know what will happen, but if something were to happen to me, I really can't explain how grateful I am for the love I've gotten from my time sharing my art. Thank you. Truly. 💜

#long post #maybe might delete this at some point?

125 notes · View notes

nthspecialll · 1 day ago

Text

Molly O'Shea, a fine lady?

Molly is known to be a very high society lady, and most certianly acts the part, however there exists a theory that she in fact might not be born into wealth. It is quite an unpopular theory, however I will give myself the freedom of showing the four pieces of evidence I have found and allowing you guys to make your own interpreations of it.

The very first thing a lot of people, myself included, is the vague langauge of her Rockstar introduction:

Most notibly the "she claims to be from a well-to-do Irish family", a very loose langauge that can't really be found with any of the other characters who have a very stern and direct langauge without this wavering. Like what do they mean "she claims to be"?

The second thing people notice is in the mission Polite Society, Valentine Style where Tilly asks if they should have asked Molly to come with them and Karen replies "oh no, Miss O'Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes for us or to do any real work. She is a society lady, now." The empthasis on "now" has caught a lot of peoples attention as it seems to be something that hasn't always been there, which would contradict Molly's own claims.

Third piece of "evidence", if you wish to call it that, is part of a camp convosation with Sean:

(Sean) CMLL9_ACT_A_11 = ~z~I knew it. You're a snotty nosed little West Briton.

(Molly) CMLL9_ACT_A_12 = ~z~I am no such thing.

(Sean) CMLL9_ACT_A_13 = ~z~'Course you are. I see it now...

(Sean) CMLL9_ACT_A_14 = ~z~You probably have a family with big farmhouses and titles...

(Sean) CMLL9_ACT_B_1 = ~z~Ah, you're all the same.

(Molly) CMLL9_ACT_B_2 = ~z~Hey! Don't you spread lies about me!

Strangely enough I have never heard that last line in the game despite it being in the files mixed with all the other stuff that hasn't been cut, it is also still in the audio files, so I don't really know why I haven't found it in game.

The last thing I wish to present is once again a convosation with Ms Karen Jones, who seems to know a lot more about Molly than the rest of the gang, as well as being the only one to truely grieve her.

The convosation is in chapter four when Molly is pacing and having self doubt. Karen sees her, they talks shortly until Karen tells her "Listen... it's a hard life, this world... for anyone born without means. Any as judges those who find it hard, is a fool. I'm a lot of things, I'm not quite a fool." Which seems like a very strange thing to say if you are trying to comfort a person who was born with means as it hints at Karen understanding Molly because they both struggle due to a lack of money.

These are the pieces of "evidence" I have found, I will not claim I am 100% right about this as there is also evidence pointing the other direction, but I thought I would share either way.

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption community #red dead redemption two #john marston #red dead fandom #rdr john #rdr2 molly o'shea #molly o'shea #rdr2 karen #karen jones #nthspecialll

61 notes · View notes

monsterblogging · 2 days ago

Text

So. I'm a Millennial who grew up with undiagnosed autism and ADHD, and to make a long story really short my childhood was often a hell combo of understimulation and being unable to focus on things I "should" have been able to focus on (according to my mom who was always comparing me to other people I now realize were allistic).

I need you to understand this and keep this in mind: I'm a Millennial who has always struggled with autism and ADHD.

Over the last few years, however, I experienced a sharp drop in cognitive function. Shit fell out of my memory at an unprecedented level and I found it harder and harder to concentrate.

I'm not going to say any one thing caused this. I think it's a number of factors. COVID, political stress, and I'm guessing an unhealthy amount of time spent on social media (very easy to do when you're disabled) have all played a role. There could be other factors as well, I don't know.

Several days ago, something finally happened that scared me. I decided to watch Sailor Moon - you know, the anime created for kids, featuring one of the most ADHD-coded protagonists of all time, that thousands of little kids with ADHD watched all the dang time. And I found myself struggling to concentrate.

I knew that if I couldn't sit through a high-energy children's anime without my mind drifting off or blanking out, something was seriously wrong.

So, I made a decision: I was going to make myself sit still and watch this cartoon on fullscreen without going to check Tumblr or Discord or whatever.

I've been clasping my fingers and squeezing my hands when I get an urge to click away. I've been making myself focus on the shading and textures whenever my mind starts trying to drift off.

And the thing is?

It seems to be working.

My brain function is still far from great, but I'm already seeing small improvements. I'm not struggling to remember, say, which music file I'm looking for quite so bad.

I'm also extending this to other things, too. If I'm trying to do a chore and I find my mind drifting off or blanking out, I make a conscious effort to pay more attention to what I can see, hear, feel, etc.

Again, I have ADHD and autism and I know that my brain will always be a bit shit at some things. But it's also so, so important to put in an effort to stay focused and grounded - because if you don't, it's only going to get worse.

#autism #adhd #audhd #mental health

67 notes · View notes

w1w2 · 2 days ago

Text

If You

Kim Chaewon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: After a breakup, Y/N and Chaewon navigate the lingering ache of lost love, each weighed down by memories and regrets. “If you’re struggling like I am, Can’t we make things a little easier?”

For better experience listen to IF YOU by BIGBANG

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Rain fell steadily against the windows, the sound a soft rhythm that filled the stillness of the apartment. Y/N sat hunched over her desk, her fingers brushing absentmindedly against the screen of her phone. Her bedroom, usually alive with warmth and color, felt muted tonight. The fairy lights strung along the walls barely flickered, and the soft hum of the heater failed to chase away the cold she felt deep inside.

Her thumb hovered over a photo album labeled Us. She hadn’t opened it in weeks, telling herself she’d moved on or at least trying to believe it. But the quiet pull of nostalgia had a way of finding her, especially on nights like this. With a heavy sigh, she tapped on the folder.

The first image was a selfie of her and Chaewon, their cheeks pressed together, grinning under the golden haze of a setting sun. Chaewon’s fingers had been loosely wrapped around Y/N’s wrist, a bracelet glinting against her skin.

Y/N smiled faintly at the memory, but the ache in her chest quickly followed. The weight of the silence in her room pressed down harder, and she swiped through the photos slowly, each one unraveling pieces of the past.

There was one of them at a café, Chaewon holding up a latte with a heart-shaped foam art and a playful wink. Another at the beach, their feet buried in the sand, the ocean stretching endlessly behind them. And yet another of Chaewon asleep on Y/N’s shoulder during a late-night movie marathon, her face peaceful and angelic.

Y/N’s hand trembled as she locked her phone and set it down. This was a mistake, she thought. Letting herself drown in these memories always left her feeling emptier. But tonight, she couldn’t stop herself.

She turned to her desk drawer and pulled out a small, velvet-lined jewelry box. Inside, nestled against the soft fabric, was the bracelet. Silver, delicate, and simple. Chaewon had chosen it carefully, telling her it reminded her of Y/N “elegant and understated but beautiful in a way you can’t stop noticing.”

Y/N traced the cool metal with her fingertips, her mind pulling her back to the day she received it.

Flashback

It had been their first anniversary, and Y/N had expected nothing more than a quiet dinner together. They had agreed to keep it simple, both claiming they didn’t need grand gestures.

Chaewon, however, had a way of surprising her.

They were walking home after dinner, Y/N laughing at a story Chaewon had told about one of her members accidentally locking themselves out of their dorm room. The streetlights cast warm pools of light around them, and the crisp evening air carried the faint scent of blooming flowers.

“Wait,” Chaewon had said suddenly, stopping in her tracks.

Y/N blinked, confused as Chaewon rummaged in her coat pocket. “What are you doing?”

Chaewon looked up with a sheepish grin, her cheeks slightly pink. “I said no big gifts, but…” She pulled out a small box and held it out. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Y/N’s heart had skipped a beat. “Chaewon…”

“Just open it.”

Inside was the bracelet. The delicate design caught the light as Y/N lifted it from the box, her breath catching in her throat. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Chaewon took it from her hands and gently fastened it around her wrist. Her fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against Y/N’s skin. “Now you’ll always have a piece of me with you,” she said softly, her voice full of affection.

Y/N had stared at her then, struck by how much love Chaewon could pour into the simplest moments. She threw her arms around her, holding her tightly, their laughter mingling with the quiet hum of the city around them.

End of the Flashback

The memory was so vivid that for a moment, Y/N could almost feel Chaewon’s arms around her again. But as she opened her eyes, reality crashed back in. The bracelet was still there, cool and unmoving in her hand, but Chaewon was gone.

The emptiness in the room felt unbearable. Y/N clenched the bracelet tightly in her fist, her knuckles whitening.

“What happened to us?” she murmured into the silence.

Her mind spiraled with questions she’d asked herself countless times before. Had she taken Chaewon for granted? Had she missed the signs of her growing unhappiness? Or had the weight of their lives—Chaewon’s demanding schedule, the secrecy of their love—become too much to bear?

She placed the bracelet back into the jewelry box and closed it gently, as if sealing away the memory. But the ache in her chest remained, sharp and persistent.

This was her routine now—revisiting their past in quiet moments, replaying every detail until it felt like she was living it all over again. It was both a comfort and a torment, a way to feel close to Chaewon but also a reminder of how far apart they’d become.

The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the window like a heartbeat. Y/N leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the raindrops racing down the glass. Somewhere out there, Chaewon was living her life, moving forward, maybe even smiling again.

Y/N wondered if Chaewon ever thought about her, if she too had a box of memories hidden away. Or maybe she had already let go, the way Y/N couldn’t seem to.

Her throat tightened as tears blurred her vision. “If you…” she whispered, the words trailing off into the quiet room.

For a moment, she allowed herself to hope—just for a moment—that Chaewon missed her too.

But that hope carried her back to the moment she couldn’t stop replaying in her mind, the moment everything fell apart.

Flashback

The park was quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional laughter of children playing in the distance. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, as if the universe had decided to wrap the day in beauty, completely unaware of the storm brewing between two hearts.

Y/N sat on the edge of a weathered wooden bench, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. The coolness of the wood seeped through her jeans, grounding her in a reality she didn’t want to face. Chaewon stood a few feet away, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Her figure was silhouetted against the setting sun, but the tension in her posture betrayed her calm façade.

The silence between them was deafening.

Finally, Chaewon broke it. Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to say this.”

Y/N turned to her, her heart pounding so loudly she thought it might drown out the words she didn’t want to hear. “Just say it,” she urged, though every fiber of her being wanted to run.

Chaewon took a deep breath, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I’ve been thinking about us. About everything.” Her voice wavered, and she paused, struggling to find the right words. “And I… I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Y/N blinked, the words not registering at first. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Chaewon turned to face her fully, and for the first time, Y/N saw the pain etched on her face. Her eyes were glassy, her lips pressed into a thin line, as if holding herself together was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“It’s not you,” Chaewon said quickly, taking a step closer. “It’s everything else. The pressure, the schedules, the constant hiding… I thought I could balance it all, but I can’t.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “So, what? You’re just giving up? Throwing us away?”

Chaewon flinched, her eyes darting to the ground. “I’m not throwing anything away. This is the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.”

“Then don’t make it!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she stood, her emotions spilling over. “We can figure it out, Chaewon. We always do. I can wait for you. I’ll be patient. Just… don’t do this.”

Chaewon looked up at her, tears now brimming in her eyes. “You deserve more than waiting, Y/N. You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, their whole life. And right now, I can’t do that.”

The words hit Y/N like a punch to the gut. She staggered back, shaking her head. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve. I choose you, Chaewon. Isn’t that enough?”

Chaewon stepped forward, reaching for her, but stopped herself halfway. Her hands fell limply to her sides. “It’s not enough for me,” she whispered.

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and rustling the leaves above them. Y/N stared at Chaewon, her vision blurring with tears. “You’re lying,” she said, her voice hollow. “You’re just scared. Scared that I’ll see you struggle, that I’ll know you’re not perfect. But I already know, Chaewon. I know, and I still love you.”

Chaewon turned away, her shoulders shaking as she bit back a sob. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” she said, her voice breaking.

Y/N took a step closer, desperate to close the growing distance between them. “Then tell me you don’t love me,” she demanded. “Say it, and I’ll walk away right now.”

Chaewon froze. The words lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. She turned back to Y/N, her face streaked with tears. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Say it,” Y/N repeated, her voice trembling.

“I can’t,” Chaewon admitted finally, her voice barely audible. “Because I do love you. More than you know. But love isn’t enough.”

The finality in her tone shattered something inside Y/N. She sank back onto the bench, her body numb. The coolness of the wood beneath her felt sharper now, almost painful.

Chaewon crouched in front of her, their faces inches apart. “You’ll be okay,” she said softly, though her own expression betrayed the words. “You’re strong, Y/N. Stronger than me.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend this is for my sake when it’s killing both of us.”

Chaewon reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against Y/N’s cheek. For a moment, they stayed like that, frozen in the fragile space between holding on and letting go.

“I’m sorry,” Chaewon whispered, her voice breaking. She stood, her hand slipping away as if it physically hurt her to let go.

Y/N watched her take a step back, then another. Her silhouette blurred as tears filled Y/N’s eyes again. Somewhere in the distance, a bird took flight, its wings slicing through the golden sky.

“Chaewon…” Y/N called out, her voice small and desperate.

Chaewon stopped but didn’t turn around. “I’ll always love you,” she said softly, the words carried away by the wind.

And then she walked away.

Y/N sat there long after Chaewon disappeared from view. The sunset had faded, the sky now tinged with the deep blues of twilight. The sounds of the park grew distant, muffled by the weight of her grief.

The bird circled overhead before flying out of sight, leaving Y/N alone with the emptiness.

End of the Flashback

The memory faded, but the ache it left behind was as sharp as ever. Y/N rubbed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, the faint hum of rain against her apartment window grounding her in the present. It didn’t matter how many times she revisited that day—it always felt as raw as if it had just happened.

She let out a slow, shuddering breath, running her fingers through her hair. The stillness in the room was suffocating, so she grabbed her coat and keys, deciding she couldn’t stay here any longer. Maybe a change of scenery would help, though deep down she knew better.

Moments later, she found herself standing outside the café, her hand resting on the door handle.

The café smelled of roasted coffee and freshly baked pastries, a comforting blend that had once been a backdrop to Y/N’s happiest moments. She pushed open the glass door, the small bell overhead chiming softly. The sound felt familiar, like an echo from a distant memory.

The barista greeted her with a polite smile, but Y/N barely noticed. Her gaze instinctively went to the corner booth near the window—their booth. It was empty, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sunlight. For a second, she hesitated, considering sitting elsewhere. But her feet carried her there anyway, as if her heart couldn’t resist the pull.

She slid into the seat, running her hand along the polished wooden table. The grooves and scratches, so subtle to most, felt like a map of memories. Chaewon had once doodled on a napkin here, sketching a caricature of Y/N that had them both in stitches. Y/N had kept that napkin, tucked away somewhere she couldn’t bear to look now.

The barista brought over her usual—a caramel latte, the same drink Chaewon had loved. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said casually.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, her voice quiet. “I’ve been… busy.”

The barista nodded and left her alone. Y/N wrapped her hands around the warm mug, staring into the swirls of foam. She couldn’t stop her mind from wandering, from pulling her back to a time when this seat across from her wasn’t empty.

Flashback

“Is it weird that I like dipping my croissant into my latte?” Chaewon asked, breaking off a flaky piece of pastry.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “It’s not weird, just… very you.”

Chaewon pouted, pretending to be offended. “You’re saying I’m weird?”

“You’re adorable,” Y/N corrected, leaning forward to steal a bite of the croissant.

Chaewon grinned, her eyes crinkling in that way that made Y/N’s heart race. “Good save.”

They sat there for hours, talking about everything and nothing. Chaewon’s dreams, her fears, her struggles as a leader. Y/N had listened intently, holding her hand across the table and promising her that she’d always be there, no matter what.

End of Flashback

Y/N blinked, the memory dissolving like sugar in hot coffee. She glanced at the seat across from her, and her chest tightened. The space felt too vast, too empty.

She took a sip of her latte, the sweetness doing little to ease the bitterness in her heart.

Later that day, Y/N found herself walking aimlessly through the streets. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but her feet seemed to lead her toward the park. It wasn’t the same one where they’d broken up, but it held the same quiet serenity, the same crisp air that felt too sharp against her skin.

As she passed a group of teenagers laughing and taking selfies, a voice called out to her. “Hey, aren’t you Y/N?”

She turned to see a young girl, probably no older than 16, looking at her with wide, starstruck eyes. “I think you’re Y/N! You used to… you were close to LE SSERAFIM, right? I saw pictures of you with Kim Chaewon a while back.”

Y/N forced a smile, though she felt her chest constrict. “Yeah, I know them,” she said softly.

The girl’s face lit up. “That’s so cool! Chaewon is amazing, isn’t she? I just saw their new performance. It was incredible.”

Y/N nodded, her smile faltering. “She’s… she’s really talented.”

The girl didn’t seem to notice the sadness in her tone. She waved goodbye cheerfully, leaving Y/N standing alone on the path.

The tightness in her chest grew heavier. Chaewon was amazing, and she always had been. Y/N had known it from the start. But had she done enough to make sure Chaewon knew how much she believed in her?

Back at home, Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the open journal on her lap. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of her bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls.

She picked up her pen, hesitating for a moment before pressing it to the page.

Chaewon,I don’t even know where to start. Every time I think about you, it feels like there’s this weight in my chest that I can’t get rid of. I miss you. I miss your voice, your laugh, the way you always knew exactly what to say when I was feeling lost.

Do you ever think about me? About us?

I’ve been replaying everything in my head, trying to figure out where I went wrong. I keep thinking about all the times I could’ve done more, been better for you. Like that night you called me after your concert in Busan.

Flashback

The call had come late, long past midnight. Y/N had been half-asleep, but the moment Chaewon’s name lit up her screen, she’d answered.

“Hey,” Chaewon’s voice was soft, but there was a tremor in it that made Y/N sit up immediately. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Y/N lied. “What’s wrong?”

There was a long pause before Chaewon spoke again. “I don’t know. I just… everything feels so heavy sometimes. Like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.”

Y/N’s heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she said firmly. “I’m here, Chaewon. Always.”

Chaewon had sighed, a shaky sound that broke Y/N’s heart even more. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

End of Flashback

Y/N closed her journal, her hand trembling. She had been there for Chaewon in that moment, but had it been enough? Had she done enough to make Chaewon feel like she wasn’t alone?

Her gaze shifted to the window, where the rain had started again, soft and unrelenting. She placed the journal on her nightstand and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The silence in the room felt unbearable, but it was a silence she’d grown used to.

“Chaewon,” she whispered into the stillness. “I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air, unanswered, yet Y/N couldn’t stop herself from hoping they would somehow reach her. Somewhere out there, in a different room under different lights, Chaewon was living her life—perhaps moving on, perhaps not. Y/N couldn’t know for sure.

But Chaewon felt it too, the weight of the same silence.

The steady thump of the bass reverberated through the rehearsal studio, punctuated by the sound of sneakers scuffing against the polished floor. Chaewon moved in sync with her members, her every step sharp, her every turn precise. Yet her mind wasn’t on the choreography.

Her focus wavered as a familiar melody filtered through the speakers. The upbeat tempo and bright vocals felt out of place against the storm brewing in her chest. She froze mid-movement, her heart lurching as she recognized the song. It was Y/N’s favorite—something they used to sing along to during long car rides, the windows down, laughter spilling into the wind.

The music blared on, but Chaewon’s breath hitched. Her chest tightened, the walls of the studio suddenly feeling too close, the air too thin.

“Chaewon, are you okay?” Sakura asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Chaewon forced a smile, nodding quickly. “I’m fine. Just… need a minute.” Without waiting for a response, she hurried out of the studio, the sound of the song fading as the door closed behind her.

In the quiet hallway, Chaewon leaned against the wall, her hand pressed to her chest as if that could still the ache. It had been weeks since she’d last seen Y/N, but the memories clung to her like shadows, surfacing when she least expected them.

Back in her dorm room, the glow of her phone screen illuminated Chaewon’s face. She lay curled on her bed, her knees tucked to her chest, scrolling through her photo gallery.

There was one of Y/N asleep on her shoulder, her face peaceful and soft in the dim light of Chaewon’s living room. Another of Y/N laughing mid-bite during a makeshift dinner date at her apartment, the kitchen behind her a chaotic mess of half-prepped ingredients.

Chaewon’s thumb hovered over a video. She hesitated, then tapped play.

The video started with Y/N holding the camera, pouting playfully. “Say hi to your fans, Chaewon!”

Chaewon appeared in the frame, her cheeks pink as she groaned, “Y/N, I’m off-duty.”

“But you’re so cute!” Y/N teased, leaning in to kiss Chaewon’s cheek, earning a shy laugh from the idol.

The video ended, and Chaewon set her phone down, staring at the ceiling. The quiet of her room was deafening, filled only with the faint hum of the city outside.

Chaewon rubbed her eyes, willing the tears away. She had thought walking away from Y/N was the right choice. Her schedule was relentless, her responsibilities as a leader unyielding. Being with Y/N had started to feel selfish, like she was holding her back from the happiness she deserved.

But now, lying alone in her dorm, Chaewon wondered if she had been wrong.

She had everything she had ever dreamed of—fame, success, adoration from fans across the world. Yet none of it filled the emptiness Y/N had left behind.

Her fingers brushed against her nightstand, where a Polaroid of the two of them rested, tucked into the corner of her mirror. In the photo, Y/N was smiling brightly, her arms draped around Chaewon’s shoulders. Chaewon was looking at her, her expression soft, as if she couldn’t believe someone like Y/N had chosen her.

Now, all Chaewon could see in the mirror was the shadow of the person she had been in that photo.

Flashback

It had been a rare evening off, and Chaewon had done something she almost never did: she broke the rules.

She had slipped away from the dorms, her cap pulled low over her face, and made her way to Y/N’s apartment. Y/N opened the door, her surprise melting into a delighted smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” Chaewon admitted, stepping inside.

Y/N pulled her into a hug, and for the first time in weeks, Chaewon felt the tension in her shoulders ease.

They spent the night cooking together, though “cooking” was a generous term. Y/N was terrible at following recipes, and Chaewon wasn’t much better, but they didn’t care. Flour dusted the countertops, and burnt garlic wafted through the air, but their laughter drowned out every mishap.

When they finally sat down to eat their poorly made pasta, Y/N raised her glass of soda dramatically. “To us, the culinary disasters.”

“To us,” Chaewon repeated, her voice warm.

Later, as they sat on the couch, Y/N leaned in and kissed her softly. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

Chaewon’s heart swelled, and she held Y/N close, wishing the moment could last forever.

End of Flashback

Chaewon blinked back to the present, the memory lingering like a ghost in the room. Her eyes drifted to the corner of her dorm, where a small plant sat on a shelf. It was drooping, its leaves pale and dry.

She frowned, realizing she had forgotten to water it—again. She got up and carried the pot to the sink, running water over the parched soil.

The plant looked pitiful, and Chaewon couldn’t help but see herself in it. With Y/N, she had thrived, her life full of color and light. Without her, she felt like she was wilting, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise.

She placed the plant back on the shelf, her hands lingering on the pot. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, unsure if she was speaking to the plant, herself, or Y/N.

The next morning, Chaewon was back on stage, the spotlight blinding, her voice steady as she greeted the cheering fans. To them, she was confident, radiant, untouchable.

But as she danced and sang, her heart felt heavy. She wondered if anyone could see the cracks beneath her polished exterior, the vulnerability she worked so hard to hide.

Behind the scenes, when the music stopped and the lights dimmed, Chaewon sat alone in the dressing room, her fingers brushing over the Polaroid tucked into her bag.

For all her fame and success, she had never felt so alone.

That night, she returned to her dorm, her mind heavy with thoughts of Y/N. Sleep didn’t come easily, the memories of their time together playing on a loop in her head.

The next morning dawned gray and quiet, the city blanketed in clouds that promised rain. Chaewon sat by the window of the dorm’s common area, watching droplets streak the glass as they started to fall. Her schedule for the day was mercifully light, but the free time only left more room for the ache in her chest to grow.

Y/N sat in a café. It was as quiet as Y/N had ever seen it, the usual hum of chatter replaced by the gentle patter of rain against the large glass windows. She sat in their favorite corner, her hands wrapped around a warm mug. Outside, the rain blurred the world into watercolor streaks, the kind of scene that always felt more like a memory than reality.

She stared at the rain, her thoughts tangled with images of Chaewon. No matter how many times she tried to bury the memories, they always found their way back to her. The sound of a bell chiming above the café door barely registered in her mind.

Until she saw her.

Chaewon.

The world seemed to slow as Y/N’s eyes locked onto her. Chaewon stood just inside the door, shaking rain from her umbrella. She looked different—tired, maybe—but no less radiant. Her damp hair clung to her face, and her oversized sweater made her seem smaller than Y/N remembered.

Chaewon’s gaze swept over the room, and when their eyes met, her breath caught. For a moment, neither moved, the noise of the world around them fading into nothing.

Y/N’s heart raced, the sudden rush of emotions leaving her lightheaded. Should she wave? Smile? Say something?

Before she could decide, Chaewon stepped forward.

Chaewon approached slowly, her steps hesitant as if she were still deciding whether to stay or turn back. “Y/N,” she said softly when she was close enough to be heard.

Y/N set her mug down, her fingers trembling slightly. “Hi, Chaewon.”

It was such a small exchange, but the weight of it made Y/N’s chest tighten.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Chaewon asked, gesturing to the seat across from her.

“Of course,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chaewon slid into the chair, setting her umbrella against the table. They sat in silence for a moment, the air between them heavy with unspoken words.

“You still come here?” Chaewon asked, her tone soft, almost hesitant.

“Sometimes,” Y/N admitted. “It’s… familiar.”

Chaewon nodded, her gaze dropping to the table. “I haven’t been here in a while.”

Y/N wanted to ask why, but she already knew the answer. This place held too much of them, their laughter and shared dreams woven into the fabric of the walls.

Their conversation began cautiously, like walking on fragile ice. They talked about the café, the rain, even the lattes. Safe topics. Neutral ground. But beneath the surface, the weight of everything left unsaid threatened to pull them under.

It was Y/N who finally broke the delicate balance.

“Chaewon,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I… I’ve missed you.”

Chaewon’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, and for a moment, Y/N saw every emotion Chaewon tried to hide—pain, longing, and something that looked dangerously like hope.

“I’ve missed you too,” Chaewon admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “More than I can put into words.”

Y/N’s heart ached at the honesty in her tone. “Then why?” she asked, the question escaping before she could stop it. “Why did you let me go?”

Chaewon looked away, her jaw tightening. “Because I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought I was protecting you. I didn’t want you to feel trapped in a relationship where I couldn’t give you everything you deserved.”

“I never felt trapped,” Y/N said softly. “I felt loved.”

Chaewon’s hands clenched into fists on the table. “I know,” she said after a long pause. “But I didn’t know how to balance everything. The group, the fans, my responsibilities… I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I’ve done is hurt you. Hurt myself.”

The rain outside grew heavier, the rhythmic tapping against the glass filling the silence that followed. Y/N stared at her hands, her mind racing.

“I’ve been struggling too,” she said finally, her voice shaky. “I keep wondering what I could’ve done differently, if I could’ve been more patient, more understanding.”

“You were more than enough,” Chaewon said quickly, her voice firm. “Y/N, don’t think for a second that this was your fault. It was me. I’m the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Y/N looked up at her, and for the first time in weeks, she saw the Chaewon she fell in love with—not the idol, not the leader, but the girl who wore her heart on her sleeve when she thought no one was looking.

“Then why does it still hurt so much?” Y/N asked, her voice cracking.

Chaewon reached across the table, her hand hovering over Y/N’s as if unsure whether she had the right to touch her. “Because we both care too much to let it go,” she said softly.

Y/N hesitated, then turned her hand over, letting Chaewon’s fingers intertwine with hers. The warmth of her touch was both familiar and foreign, a reminder of everything they’d shared and everything they’d lost.

The rain continued to fall, blurring the world outside the window. To Y/N, it felt like a reflection of her own heart—cleansing, yet heavy with the weight of the past.

Chaewon’s thumb brushed gently against the back of Y/N’s hand. “I don’t know if we can fix this,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

Y/N’s breath caught, her chest tightening with a mix of relief, sadness, and hope. She wanted to say yes, to take the leap and trust that they could find their way back to each other. But fear held her back. Fear of repeating the same mistakes, of reopening wounds that hadn’t yet healed.

“I don’t know if I can go through losing you again,” Y/N said quietly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“You won’t,” Chaewon said, her voice steady despite the tears in her own eyes. “I won’t let that happen. Not this time.”

They sat there for what felt like hours, their hands clasped together, the rain outside a steady backdrop to their tentative reunion. The storm inside Y/N’s heart hadn’t cleared entirely, but for the first time in a long while, she felt the faintest glimmer of hope.

And for now, that was enough.

Eventually, the café grew quieter as the few remaining patrons began to leave. Chaewon glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at Y/N. “We should probably go,” she said softly, though her tone carried a reluctance to let the moment end.

Y/N nodded, her hand slipping from Chaewon’s as she reached for her coat. The warmth of their connection lingered, even as they gathered their things and headed for the door.

The rain had eased by the time they stepped outside, but the sky still hung heavy with gray clouds. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, carrying the faint scent of wet pavement. Y/N and Chaewon stood beneath the café awning, sharing a single umbrella.

For a moment, neither spoke. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the soft patter of rain and the faint hum of distant traffic.

Y/N shifted the umbrella slightly to shield Chaewon from the drizzle, her fingers brushing against Chaewon’s hand on the handle. The touch sent a familiar spark through her, a sensation she hadn’t felt in what felt like a lifetime.

“Do you want to walk for a bit?” Chaewon asked, her voice tentative.

Y/N nodded, and they began to move down the quiet street, the umbrella hovering between them like a fragile truce.

They walked in silence at first, the rhythm of their footsteps syncing as if they’d never been apart. Y/N couldn’t help but glance at Chaewon from time to time, taking in the way her damp hair clung to her face, the way her shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.

It was all so familiar yet distant, like looking at an old photo through a foggy window.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” Chaewon said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, almost drowned out by the rain.

Y/N hesitated, her grip tightening on the umbrella. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to,” she admitted, her words heavier than she intended. “It hurt too much.”

Chaewon stopped walking, and Y/N paused a step ahead, turning to face her. Chaewon’s expression was open, vulnerable in a way Y/N hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I know,” Chaewon said. “I hurt you. And I’ve been hurting too.” She took a deep breath, as if steadying herself. “I thought I was doing the right thing back then, letting you go. I thought it would make things easier for both of us.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her chest tightening. “Did it?”

Chaewon shook her head, a small, rueful smile tugging at her lips. “Not even a little.”

They resumed walking, slower this time. Chaewon spoke again, her words hesitant. “I’ve thought about you every day, Y/N. Wondered if you were okay, if you hated me, if…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“If what?” Y/N prompted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“If you still cared.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in Chaewon’s tone. She stopped walking, turning to face her fully. “Of course I care,” she said, her voice trembling. “How could I not? You were everything to me.”

Chaewon looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “You still are to me,” she said softly.

The confession hung between them, heavy with meaning. Y/N’s breath caught, the weight of her emotions crashing down on her all at once.

“Chaewon…” she began, but she didn’t know how to finish.

Chaewon took a small step closer, her gaze searching Y/N’s. “I still love you,” she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in it. “I always have. But I won’t ask you to come back to me, not if you’re not ready. Not if you’re not sure.”

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. The words she wanted to say were tangled in her throat, caught between her heart and her fear.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said finally, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can go through it again, Chaewon. I’m scared.”

Chaewon nodded, her expression filled with understanding. “I know. And I don’t want to hurt you again. But I also don’t want to live the rest of my life wondering what we could’ve been if we tried one more time.”

The clouds above them began to shift, a faint ray of sunlight breaking through the gray. It fell across the sidewalk, illuminating the rain-soaked world in a soft, golden glow.

Chaewon stepped back slightly, giving Y/N space. “I’ll leave the choice up to you,” she said quietly. “Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it.”

Y/N watched her for a long moment, her heart warring with itself. Part of her wanted to reach out, to take Chaewon’s hand and hold on as tightly as she could. But another part of her—tired, cautious, and still nursing old wounds—held her back.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft rustling of the umbrella in the breeze.

Finally, Chaewon smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Take care of yourself, Y/N,” she said, her voice filled with quiet affection.

She turned and began to walk away, the umbrella no longer shielding her from the light drizzle.

Y/N stood there, clutching the handle of the umbrella, her fingers trembling. Her gaze fell to her other hand, where she had instinctively reached into her pocket and pulled out the bracelet Chaewon had given her so long ago. The delicate silver chain glinted in the faint sunlight, a tangible reminder of everything they’d shared.

She looked up again, watching as Chaewon’s figure grew smaller in the distance.

“If you…” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking as the words trailed off.

She didn’t finish the thought, but it hung in the air, heavy with the possibility of a future yet unwritten.

#chaewon x reader #le sserafim x reader #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop x fem reader #kim chaewon x reader #girl group imagines #gg x reader

41 notes · View notes

https-mi1zu · 3 days ago

Text

The Peacock and The Crow

(the draft-ish, chapters 1-2)

CO WRITER, SPELL CHECKER, AND MY BESTIE IN GENERAL: @cha0sdumpster

WARNINGS : nothign really ig?

word count: 4,283

To gabby, the first to hear.

CHAPTER ONE . Life is weird, but I'm weirder

I didn't really want to become a hero, but here we are.

Everyday was the same, I woke up early, 5:30 or so. I got ready, fixed my hair and packed my lunch. Meanwhile, my mother was passed out on the couch with some man. I went back to my room to get them a blanket. I left them a glass of water before I left for school. As I walked out of the house and slowly made my way to the bus stop, I couldn't help but feel a sense of isolation. It was like I was living two different lives - my own and that of my mother's. I waited for the bus, wondering if things would ever change, or if I were always meant to feel like an outsider.

At least my mother was grateful enough to give me her headphones. As soon as I plugged in my headphones, it felt as if the world just stopped for a moment. It felt freeing, it felt as if I was high as a cloud and...is that a horse with wings??

I took off my glasses to wipe them a bit, maybe I was just seeing things. I looked back, only to see just a normal maya bird flying by. As I sat on the bus, lost in thought, I couldn't help wondering if there were other kids like me out there - kids who felt like outcasts and longed to find a place where they could truly fit in. I was aware that there were other kids in my class who also struggled with ADHD and dyslexia. My mother was surprised that I had made it to grade 7.

I wondered if there was somewhere out there where I could find people who understood me and where I belonged, maybe even a place where I could've become a forest witch.

I could daydream about finding a place where I fit in and could be a forest witch, the bus pulled up to a stop, it jolted me back to reality. I got off the bus and began walking to school, still lost in thought. I took off my earphones as I got off.

I walked in the hallways, it was quite early, I couldn't help but notice some strange things around me - a bird that was acting weirdly, a crack in the sidewalk, and a piece of paper floating in the air. But I shook my head, thinking it was just your imagination again. 'Just my imagination is running wild.' I said to myself, mostly.

I put my bags at my desk as I walked over to the corner of the room. Our classroom was quite small, but it had a fire exit. We never got to use it, but it was cool anyway.

I could hear the slight buzz of the fan, our aircon hadn't been fixed yet. Why did I even bring a jacket anyway?

I looked at our schedule, making myself mentally memorize the subjects. 'math first...science next...filipino right after recess, ‘did I remember to bring my apron?' I thought. We had art today, double period, our art teacher was quite nice.

After I reread the schedule a couple more times, I walked to my desk. It was in the third row of the third column of our classroom.

I brought out my books, I didn't need much other than my whiteboard (which I forgot to bring, again) and my notebooks. After I got my books and shoved them under my desk, I walked over to my locker, 'I should really buy a lock.' I said to myself. Opening my locker and then shoved my bag and lunch box in. I slammed the door to it shut so nothing would fall out.

I made my way through the medium-sized room, the air seemed to grow colder, as if the temperature had dropped a few degrees. The shadows in the corners appear to thicken and deepen, almost as if they are slowly coming to life. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, like there are eyes following my every move. But everytime I turn around there's nobody there.

The flickering of the fluorescent lights above only adds to the sense of unease, casting shifting patterns of brightness and darkness across the room. I could hear faint, almost imperceptible whispers echoing through the corridors.

'it's just the wind.' I told myself, I sat down back on my desk

But the whispers continued, growing louder and more menacing as I sat at my desk. They seem to come from every corner of the room, as if they are trying to communicate something important like they are trying to warn me of something.

The shadows in the corner seem to twist and writhe, almost like they are trying to form some kind of shape. It's hard to make out what exactly they're trying to take the form of, but it almost seems like a familiar shape. I needed to clear my mind so I opened the door and made my way to the bathroom. It was a quiet walk, the corridors empty with the leaves on the ground. I looked down at the ground as I walked. The rocks embedded in the beige concrete made different shapes, the sizes ranging from big to small. It really looked like a messed up mosaic.

I reached the bathroom, the whispers grew louder and more frenzied, as if they were desperate to communicate something. The shadows in the corner of the room seemed to move and writhe even more.

Turning on the faucet, the water that came out was ice cold, as if it had been sitting in a frozen pond for hours. I splashed water on my face, expecting it to be refreshing and calming, but instead the water felt strange, almost as if it was pulling something out of me.

I looked at myself in the mirror, the whispers in the back of my mind grew to an unbearable level. It was like they were trying to drown me in my negative thoughts. Didn't work though.

The longer I looked into the mirror, I noticed the small imperfections on my face.

The small but noticeable double chin I had

My many moles on my face

The pimples and the acne

My round baby face. I've always hated my face.

I fixed and tied up my hair. It always looked bad the moment I stepped into school. I think it's the school air that always makes people’s hair look weird. Walking out of the bathroom, I could feel the whispers in the air behind, beside, and in front of me. Why couldn't they quiet down for once? Just for a day is all I ask. They kept persisting, whispering thoughts and messages through my ears. It was as if all I could hear until I saw my teacher.

Mrs Fiore. She was my mentor and my composition teacher. I forgot we had class coaching today, class coaching was for our writing. We had to make a fake myth about an item or a food in our hometown. Mrs Fiore wasn't only our English teacher, but so was Ms Santos, our literature teacher. She was a little bit more meaner than Mrs fiore.

I always found Mrs Fiore kind, she always had this vibe that I could only describe as comforting. Maybe it was because she always smelt like flowers, or because her hugs always felt nice and warm.

The small things I noticed about her was that she always had a flower in hand or her auburn hair. Miss Fiore always wore this necklace with a pomegranate charm on it. She also always had at least something black on, and she for some reason would always disappear in September, sometimes August. Those were the ber-months. I always questioned why she would be gone for so long…she did mention it was to visit someone. Maybe it's her husband, though why doesn't he just live with her? Why couldn't he visit her instead of her visiting him?

Mrs fiore wasn't the only teacher who would disappear for September and august, Ms santos too. Ms Santos and Mrs fiore looked related in a way, like niece and aunt, or mother and daughter.

I gave Mrs. Fiore a small wave and passed her in the hallways, she waved back with a smile.

The weeks felt longer and more tiring as each day passes. Sometimes there would be something interesting, for example my history teacher said that whoever recited the full intro to this TV show would get an extra point on the quiz. Everyone thought it was a joke until one of my classmates, Carmen, raised her hand.

To everyone’s surprise, she somehow managed to recite it all. She got an extra point on the quiz that day.

I wanted to raise my hand too but, I guess I was too afraid to speak. I was always too afraid to speak, I hated the fact that I was afraid.

Sitting back in my chair, I got lost in thought.

I questioned my purpose in this world. Would it be better if I just hadn't existed? What would my classmates do if I just disappeared? would they even notice?

The answer to my last question was no. One time we had a party, teachers day. I disappeared from the class party to make bracelets with Mrs Fiore, when I came back an hour later, I asked “did you notice I was gone?”

“Uhhhh…yeaaahh?” My classmate responded uncertainty. The music was loud. Loud to make it sound like a whisper, but not loud enough for me to hear what she was saying

I knew it was a lie.

This made me truly question why I am even here, in this school. Why did my parents choose this school? They did say it was more accommodating to my ADHD. I would've been better off in some public school than this. At least there, no one talks bad about you. Well, not in front of you at least.

Maybe if I had been a better student, only then my classmates would notice me. As the day progressed, it was somewhat quiet. We had two quizzes, one in math and the other in Filipino.

Usually I had to go to a separate place to take these tests. MLP, the modified learning program. It was for kids like me, ones that had a troubled time in learning.

There was another girl in MLP, her name was Mars. Mars and I, were friends, to say the least. How we became friends was…interesting.

Mars saw that I liked the same thing as her, which was a TV show called The Amazing Adventures of the Hare and the Lamb. It was a children's show, I just watched it because I got bored. It was a good TV show though, I re-watched it three or four times.

The moment Mars saw that I had some merch I made myself, she immediately started to talk to me. Telling me all about her favorite character, why the show’s so good, and then about a song I haven't heard of.

Ever since that day, we became friends. Though we were in different classes, she would invite me to eat lunch, she would sometimes give me rocks she found. Sometimes Mars would even just tell me a story or a character she created on the weekend. Nevertheless, I would listen to her nonstop. It wouldn't matter what mood I was in or how much homework I had, I'd always want to listen to her. It was like she was my sister in a way, or a version of me I wished to be ever since I was young.

Entering the small room for MLP, it was quiet except for the teacher there, Miss Luzviminda. Me and Mars called her Miss Luz for short. She was already there, writing some report or something. I walked into the room, giving her a small wave before sitting down.

“Did you study for the quiz, June?” She asked me, getting up from her velvet chair and handing me my quiz paper. “Yep,” I responded, bringing out my mechanical pencil. I started to write my name, just June Manalo. I didn't want to add the extra Christina, too lazy to write my full name. I looked at the paper and giving a somewhat cringed look, math.

I didn't like math, although yes I did understand the lesson, I'd forget how to do the steps to the questions. That's why Miss Luz would help me.

Miss Luz was kind, she was like my tita. She’d always ask how I was doing or what I did during the weekends, Mars would start shaking her hands and start ranting about everything she did during the weekend, too bad she’s absent today. Miss Luz would always tell Mars to calm down a bit with a comforting smile. Mars would sit down and fidget in her seat in response.

I started trying my best to answer the questions in the quiz, asking Miss luz if I did this or that correctly.

CHAPTER TWO: why am I like this?

The day passed very quickly, in the blink of an eye. I didn’t even really do much except for the quizzes and writing notes. At lunch I kind of just stayed at where me and Mars usually eat, which was the gate closest to our classrooms, gate two. Opening my lunch box, I brought out the lunch I made before I had left school, a simple nutella sandwich with banana and a Chuckie. Some others might say that this isn't a healthy or a filling lunch, well I can't cook.

I opened the metal container, bringing the sandwich to my mouth to take a bite, it tasted cold, I still ate it even though. Then I peeled my banana and poked my Chuckie with the straw to drink. I should really eat more, it's not really healthy to eat the same lunch everyday.

After I finished eating my sandwich, banana, and chuckie, I just sat there and opened my notebook to draw. I like drawing, usually though i'd draw some characters I've created in my head, or Mars’ characters

I started with a simple sketch of a head and eyes, not really knowing what to draw, I just went with the flow. As I kept drawing, I heard one of my teachers pass, Miss Estioco. She was my science teacher last year, she was like me. She was socially awkward but kind of a nerd, not in a bad way though. She was like one of those cool teachers who would somewhat let you do what you want, or just talk to casually.

She waved and smiled at me, a strand of her black hair falling onto her face before she brushed it behind her ear. I waved back, wondering what she was doing at gate two. I then heard a motorcycle pull up, oh she was just getting food she ordered. She walked to the gate, gave the driver the money before walking back inside. After that I just went back to drawing.

This was calming, my therapy, I liked sitting by myself and drawing. It would be better if Mars was here but this was fine enough as is. ‘The right eye’s to big.’ I thought, erasing the eye and tilting my notebook to draw it similar to the left one. Drawing was like gambling to me sometimes, I never knew if it looked nice or not, if it looked correctly portioned or not. Its like having a love hate relationship with drawing, I both love it and hate it.

An hour or 40 minutes pass, the lunch bell rung. I packed my stuff, shoving my metal empty container in with my water jug. I fixed my hair in a window that was being covered inside with a curtain. It was dark enough for me to see my reflection through the glass. ‘Eh, look good enough’ I tightened the knot of the jacket around my waist before walking back to my classroom. There were a lot of people, some in groups or just having a normal conversation. I quickly tried to walk past them, saying “excuse me” a thousand times before reaching my classroom. It was loud, really loud, there were people in small groups in the corner and the center of the classroom chatting away. The chatter of multiple conversations and the occasional yell could be heard during break. Walking over to my locker, I opened it and put my stuff inside. Reaching into my locker after putting my lunch box in it, I grabbed my apron since art was the second to last subject of the day. After that I sat back in my seat, my apron in my lap while I continued to draw.

But something felt…different. Something felt as if I was being watched from afar. I looked up and turned my head to look around the classroom, everyone was minding their own business. I tried to ignore the feeling of being watched but, I just couldn’t. I could just feel someone’s gaze staring right at me, watching my every move, like a hawk would do to prey. I felt helpless, I don't like being stared at, it's uncomfortable and awkward.

I heard the bell ring not too long after, getting up from my seat, grabbing my pencil and putting it in my jacket’s pocket. We didn’t need much to bring, just really our apron and a pencil. I watched as everyone left the room, I was the last so I had to close the lights and close the door. Staying at the back of the line, I still could hear them talking and chatting away, gossiping or talking about plans for the weekend.

When we reached the art room, our teacher was already there, Miss Reyes. She was there organizing the artworks of the class before us, placing them carefully on a shelf for them to dry. She greeted us with a good afternoon and told us to sit down. Miss Reyes said that we would be making an art based on a country and its tradition, people, and artwork. We’d be able to choose the country, I chose Greece since I liked studying and learning about its mythology.

She gave us a flat canvas and a marker and told us to write our name, section, and the country we chose. She also said that we could choose from a variety of art materials, varying from paints, paint brushes, sand, and newspapers. We could use any material to paint our artwork, so I chose an eraser. Never really did I like painting or coloring, I liked doing that virtually. We were also allowed to use the computer to search for ideas for our artwork. I stood behind one of my most talkative classmates while I waited for my turn to use the computer to search for an idea. My classmate just kept talking and talking to the point it was annoying, like seriously can't you tell that it's too loud or what you're even saying didn't even make sense? She wasn't even talking to me but one of the smarter people in class, Isabel. I stood there patiently, fidgeting with the eraser. Then I just decided to draw the first thing on my mind, since time was of the essence. I walked back to the table I was situated at and began drawing up a design. It was of the goddess Persephone, most people just say that she’s the wife of Hades but she was so much more than that. She’s the goddess of spring, the queen of the underworld. She was so much more than just “hades’ wife”.

I made sure to draw her to be looking ethereal, with long flowy jellyfish like hair, eyes comforting and kind. I made sure to add her sign, a pomegranate. I gave her a simple chiton, adding some accessories like a crown, rings, bracelets, and flowers. She looked pretty, I made sure of that.

I was seated in the corner of the classroom, with four of my classmates lingering around my desk. They didn’t talk to me much, as I didn’t talk to them either. I kept my head down and continued drawing, overhearing their conversation. I sketched a few more lines, as they talked about another person in our batch. Something controversial, as I remember. Every day was like this actually, people talking about someone or something.

I tried to ignore them, trust me I did, but now I know that one person in this batch is gay, I'm gay but like it's different y'know?

Overhearing their conversation accidentally, they kept talking and yapping away about someone else now. I stayed silent, although I did know that person, but not really on the friend level more like a simple wave or hi in the hallways type. I felt sad for her, she didn’t deserve this treatment, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I kept my silence, didn’t want to add to the gossip, neither did I want to join the gossip.

As I continued to draw, I still felt as if I was being watched. Someone was watching me, that was for sure. I could feel its eyes peering into my skin, making it uncomfortable for me to draw. I stopped for a moment, looking around to see everyone talking to each other or focusing on their artwork, no one was staring at me. So I just went back to drawing, sketching lines delicately.

After I was finished with the sketch, I didn't want to color it, it was too pretty for coloring. I got up from my seat and walked over to Miss Reyes to ask her if I should color it or not. She gave me good advice, telling me to try and use shading if I didn't want to color it. I nodded and thanked her for that before walking back to my seat. Everyone else was still drawing and painting their artwork. Since I didn't know what to do, I just cleaned up my area and stayed silent while I waited for class to end.

Boredom took over as I watched the clock tick, waiting patiently for the bell to ring. We had like, maybe five or ten minutes left I think.

The minutes passed by, everyone was still chatting and talking. I saw Miss Reyes walking around, checking up with my classmates and giving them advice about their artworks. When she walked up to me, she asked “oh june! I'm kind of worried that the bracelet you gave me might break, can I ask that you restring it?” She took off the bracelet I made for her on teacher's day. “I wear it everyday kasi” She smiled at me warmly as I took the bracelet from her hands. “Yes miss.” I replied, putting the bracelet in my pocket, she walked off as another of my classmates called her.

More or maybe five minutes pass, it was finally the next class. I saw everyone get up, still chatting with each other as they cleaned up their tables and their workspaces. We still had one more class, religion. I was the first to be out of the art classroom, waving my teacher goodbye.

It was quiet out, no other students were walking around, no maritesses chatting around or young students running around. I liked the quiet, but I never liked being alone. After I made it back to my classroom, I drank some water as the rest of my classmates filled the room. We all waited for a bit before my religion teacher came in, Miss Elane. Almost half my batch hated her because she always goes ‘im not mad, I'm not sad, nor am I disappointed. I'm worried about you guys failing your test.’ She always says that after half the class failed her test. She expected us to memorize the bible’s verses, I can't even remember what I had for breakfast. I know, I know Miss Elane had good intentions but why did she have to say it like that?

”Good afternoon class” She said, everyone replied with a good afternoon to her too. We were all very tired, mentally and physically. She told us all to stand up to pray, though I didn't want to, so I just stood there with my arms crossed. Then with that she started her lesson on some new bible verse.

Everyone sat back down and pulled out their notebooks to start taking notes on the verse. I didn't want to take notes, for I was too tired to do so. “June, what was Abraham promised?” she called on me unexpectedly. “He was promised angels?” I answered, standing up. Miss Elane just sighed before turning to the board to write, I am scared. Maybe I got scared because of her glare, how intimidating her ‘comforting’ smile was, or how she would always pull me out of class to ask me personal questions. I always tried to answer them vaguely and asked her if I could leave.

She would always call me the black sheep of the flock, commenting on how I would always walk a bit slower then my class so I don't have to socialize with them. I didn’t like her one bit, I didn’t like how she would try to talk to me, trying to pry me away from my class. There was even a time where, I swear to you that Miss Elane blinked sideways.

22 notes · View notes

miraeism · 9 months ago

Text

food as of late feb 24 (featuring some roasted veggies, homemade carrot cake with carrots I chopped up super small by hand because I don’t own a grater, a kerala style egg curry, homemade gnocchi pasta, homemade bread that I fucked up a little and ended up tasting like sour dough, burgers made with said bread, and a thai inspired salad with fried tofu jalapeño crushed cashews roasted potatoes and chickpeas as well as a peanut sauce dressing!)

#it’s been a hard week. food has been the only thing that’s brought me any comfort.#but I still find myself struggling to make it #does anyone else struggle with this season seasonal depression ?? or is it just me that wants to crawl into a hole and cry every late feb #until usually April??#wrote these tags last week but happy to repot that I am doing better today as of now #I did workout yesterday so figured (see my ‘what is they say about exercise releasing endorphins’ post)#food #tw food #food tw #food diaries #mine

3 notes · View notes

macksartblock · 7 months ago

Note

Thank you do much for all the amazing fanart!!! You're one of my favorite artists in this Fandom. All your pieces have so much story and personality packed into them, and the colours are always so evocative. Great work!

I can't stress enough how sweet this is to hear, thank you so much <3 that being said dear anon I am sorry your ask is being associated with my burden LOL

#i do really appreciate it i always find myself struggling to be happy with my colours so thats really nice to hear #anyways my burden-#dndadstuck #it comes back to haunt me for days on end recently we pinned down kernelsprites and mr kicksfield makes me laugh more than he should #the only thing he loves more than soccer is lasagna and he still HATES mondays - thanks for that Baba #lincoln li wilson #scary marlowe #hermie the unworthy #normal oak swallows garcia #if i draw at 5 am its either gonna be a fully fledged piece or a series of sketches i never know #dndads #my artwork

223 notes · View notes

threshie · 5 months ago

Text

Happy Disability Pride Month, everybody! ❤️💛🤍🩵💚

[Image ID: An animated gif of the five-striped disability pride flag waving against a blank green background. /end ID]

(Image ID by @silver-stargazing—thank you, I wasn't sure how to add this on Tumblr!)

#disability pride month #still pushing the internalized ableism toward myself aside #warm wishes and hugs (if desired) to all disabled folks reading this! ♥♥♥#now with shiny image ID description #Tumblr has no setting to add it into the image's info that I can find so I put it right here in the description #I hope that's right!#watching a video about autistic special interests making work a struggle and OOF yeah I'm still new to calling myself disabled #but autism genuinely counts #more warm wishes and hugs (if you wish) to all disabled folks reading this ♥♥♥

105 notes · View notes

jesncin · 2 days ago

Text

These are such great additions!

I think another thing to consider is that bigger stage productions are insanely expensive investments. And because of that, a lot of humbler productions who make their way to larger venues often have their edge and bite sanitized off for mainstream. Coupled with how Broadway is in-accessible to a majority of people in the world through price and lack of pro-shoot recordings for international viewers- theater has its own hierarchy problems.

The Wait in the Wings documentary goes over this, but part of Ride the Cyclone's struggle was that it covered a taboo subject, and that it was born out of a punk, counterculture environment. While the show was gaining prominence and publicity, people recognized Ride the Cyclone's value. But by the time it was getting close to entering mainstream, all people could talk about was how incompatible it was with Broadway. Which to me, is like criticizing an indie comic because it would never fit in traditional publishing. That's a terrible metric for quality and resonance.

It wasn't until Gen Z got a hold of Ride the Cyclone through slime tutorial recordings, did Ride the Cyclone find the audience it truly resonated with; one that was constantly exposed to death through growing up with a pandemic and exposure to news via social media. The humor and out-of-the box music just clicked with younger people.

American Superhero comics has suffered from a history of self censorship, and the changing attitudes of who they're for. They're constantly struggling between broadening their audience or relying on the same old white guy readership to get by. For DC, The New 52 was all about edge, so Rebirth is meant to be a return to form. But for the most part, we've entered a performative era.

Cape comics want to be more inclusive, but not to the point it would deter its conservative readership and lose money from that audience, so they'll never commit to consistently go that far. There's outliers (SSTK, Alan Scott Green Lantern, etc.) but for the most part they play it frustratingly safe and market it as groundbreaking.

Vertigo comics began as an imprint of DC comics so the creators could explore more mature topics with adult content that would've been restricted under DC comics. That's how we got so much social commentary and politics out of works like og Hellblazer. It only makes sense that when John Constantine is assimilated into the bigger, restrictive world of DC comics that his radical roots end up sanitized to fit a superhero mold- walking pride ad and quippy MCU style remarks galore.

Yet even modern stories that feel like a return to form such as Spurrier's run and Dead In America have that layer of respectability on top of everything. Sure Spurrier's Hellblazer will talk about racism, but he'll portray Rural Country Bumkin White People as the racists because that's the most comfortable people to portray as racists. And American cops. Only them though. The British cops are noble people of color. They'll include Noah, a Black disabled character who communicates through BSL, but not include nuances specific to Deaf/HOH culture and how that intersects with Blackness. They can't even draw people facing him when he's signing.

Whenever I read stories with John Constantine in them and they feel lackluster I always outwardly ask myself "are we really going to be outdone by a bunch of white guys writing Hellblazer in the 80s??" because come on. There's so much more diverse talent and perspectives in the industry since then but they can't shine because it still has to sell to a mainstream audience in the end.

I'm pretty sure your experience with Spirit World and Xanthe Zhou is reflective of most people's experience with the character. At first people are impressed by the novelty of the representation, but then they move on and forget about it. Xanthe's tag hasn't been active since their debut year with Spirit World. I finally got into Spirit World because I'm friends with a Xanthe superfan haha.

It's easy for the comics community to dunk on whatever new thing Tom King is writing, or talk up a fantastic comic! But stuff like Spirit World burns bright for a second and withers away because it really was lots of theatrics and little substance. At the end of the day, loving or hating something means you care about it. Something that is mid though? Even if you enjoyed it, it doesn't stay with you.

And it's a shame because I think characters like Xanthe should have critical discussion! At least for representation alone, I don't want a Chinese non binary character to (ironically) be forgotten and sidelined. Yet I also don't want this character to stagnate the way they're written right now (and just have fandom say "read it! It's important! Because representation!"). The beauty of these characters is the potential for another writer to come along and do something great with them. But with the state of comics being nothing burger now? Those chances are slim.

It's why I think Ride the Cyclone has a big piece of what Xanthe's missing. It may not have the backing of mainstream musicals, but something about it resonated in the younger generation especially. It was willing to have an uncomfortable conversation about death and dying at a young age, when a generation was exposed to death on the regular. Meanwhile Spirit World is a weird comic about death that wants to talk about death as little as possible. Outside of saying "you take nothing with you when you die, so you better remember people!" it's squeamish about the subject. So all we get is just "you should read Spirit World because representation, some popular characters cameo in it and uh, yeah that's it." That's a story for no one.

Spirit World, Ride the Cyclone and Death. A weird comparative analysis

Gonna combine my musical nerd and cape comics fixation together for a rambling meta thought. I've been reflecting on how taboo the topic of death is in media after getting into Ride The Cyclone (highly recommend watching the slime tutorial and Waiting in the Wings' documentary on it) but also contrasting that musical with how Spirit World handled similar topics.

Both stories cover characters whose lives were cut short from a tragic circumstance, but while Cyclone directly talks frankly about how each character uniquely grieves over their lost life (and eventually accepts death)- Spirit World uses death as largely an aesthetic to a generic fantasy superhero adventure.

[spoilers for Ride the Cyclone and Spirit World]

Spirit World is about non-binary, half dead half living Envoy Xanthe Zhou, as they go into the Spirit World with John Constantine to rescue Cassandra Cain Batgirl. They eventually go toe to toe with the spirit of a bitter dead poet.

Ride the Cyclone is about 6 choir teenagers who die in a roller coaster accident in their small town. In the afterlife, they are given the chance to vote which one of them they believe should be resurrected.

For Spirit World, do we even know how Xanthe feels about being "half dead"? What does that even mean? They died as (what looks like) a 3 year old, and have clearly aged 15 more years since then. So they can age? Do they need to eat or drink (they're seen with a drink in a Pride comic)? Xanthe keeps mentioning they're half dead and half living, but the comic doesn't seem to want to discuss what that means. How would Xanthe feel that they were essentially given a job as an Envoy the minute they died as a very young child? Was this even a choice?

We've already covered the numerous plot holes in Xanthe Zhou's poorly thought out backstory so I won't go over that again. But honestly apart from the thematically loose "the dead shouldn't be forgotten" moral, a lot of how death is presented in Spirit World feels so superficial. When Xanthe is formally introduced as this cool character with a giant sword hanging around a gravesite, fighting all these hopping vampire creatures... this scene would play out the same if you swapped the setting with a forest and zombies as bad guys.

The Spirit World is less an afterlife for the spirits to move onto and more an MMORPG setting for our superheroes to travel across and fight generic evil beings and encounter eviler, bigger, boss battles at the end. Then there's the poet clout villain whose problems are just easily solved by Xanthe promising to remember her. I've already covered what a lost opportunity thematically this character was in my last Xanthe essay, but this time I want to contrast her with Ride the Cyclone's Jane Doe. I also want to compare Xanthe with Noel Gruber afterwards.

Ride the Cyclone's musical numbers follow each character performing a song reflecting their wishes, and musings on life (this sounds depressing but the musical handles all this with comedy and wit), hoping to prove themselves as worthy of a second chance at life. Of the characters, Jane Doe is the mysterious odd one out. The accident decapitated her, leaving her to enter the after life with no memories and the people of the living unable to identify her.

You might see where I'm going with this. So in Spirit World, Wan Yujing was this famous poet mourned by an entire empire. She only goes monster mode when a handwave-y "time erodes all" happens in the Spirit World and she is eventually forgotten- so she becomes desperate to demand to be reincarnated by the Jade Court. Because her clout ran out. Again, I already made the critique in my previous essay that this villain would better link to our protagonist if she was a queer poet whose poetry was being purposefully straight washed as an act of queer historical erasure. But I want to bring up how truly unsympathetic this villain is. She gets Shakespeare levels of clout but still demands more because she isn't getting reincarnated fast enough. Xanthe promises that as an immortal "half dead half living" person that they will remember Wan Yujing, so she too can be immortal in some way.

I think about all the Jane Doe-s in the Spirit World who don't get to be famous poets that have Empires remembering who they were. People who died anonymously without a past. In Cyclone, the main character chooses Jane Doe as the person who should be brought back to life. Our cast of teens come to terms with the fact that while it's tragic that their lives ended shortly, they conclude "to say that if one dies young, they die needlessly... that is to discount the years we had. We had a life, she didn't. That's my vote." Since Jane Doe has no memory of who she is, it's only fair that she is given that second chance.

I get that Spirit World is choosing these "larger than life" characters as villains, but it's at the expense of their own supposed themes. Of all the people to die and face off our hero as the villain, a character who's essentially an influencer but somehow has an entire empire forget about her anyway feels thematically hollow.

Modern Superhero comics are suffering from a specific problem right now; they're not really about anything. Characters don't feel like people with interior lives informed by the context of who they are. Class, race and bigotry are only touched upon as lightly as possible. Queer characters are now Pride ads with no personhood or flaws. They punch gentrified crime and fight for no one in particular. Even recent adapted media such as My Adventures with Superman and Caped Crusader follow this. Superman fights white-washed xenophobia, while Batman fights gentrified, white-washed classicism. It's why comics like Superman Smashes the Klan, Catwoman Lonely City and Alan Scott Green Lantern stand out so much. It's been a while since these characters talked about anything that matters. Don't get me wrong, slop that's about nothing exists in every industry. But when these characters and worlds historically used to have more bite- it's especially obvious.

If I could be playfully conspiracy theory-like for a second; I believe Xanthe Zhou was pitched so that DC Comics can buff out their Pride Anthology or AAPI anthology with a new younger character. The company will give this character one limited series, but that's it. Xanthe will appear in the larger DC universe whenever big magic plots happen, but that's it. Maybe they'll get a YA graphic novel. I would love to be proven wrong, but the problems with Xanthe are baked in the dough.

Because they don't feel like a person, Xanthe feels more like an industry planted Pride ad. They're designed to be the most palatable and marketable image of Asian androgyny. They literally have no flaws to grow out of, and their backstory makes no sense. They weren't built to be a sustainable solo character.

So I want to contrast Xanthe Zhou against Noel Gruber from Ride the Cyclone. Because they're both queer characters whose lives were cut short at a young age.

In a dramatic lament, Noel Gruber expresses how if he had a chance to live, he'd want to live the horrible cinematic messy life of a French sex worker woman in post-war France. He struggled as the only gay boy in a small town and never got to kiss a boy before he died. It's a look into a queer life that could've been lived, one with all the messy texture and self destruction Noel couldn't have but desires. We get to see how death and queerness intersect into rich, unflattering, gender-messy themes. "I want to be that fucked up girl." Noel sings.

But what's Xanthe's deal? They died as a 3 year old, got brought back, avoided their family at all costs for 15 years, and then had a transphobic confrontation with their family when they're invited to dinner way later. If Xanthe grew up in a transphobic household, how did they ever figure out they were non-binary when they were 3? Could they even verbalize it? Or did they instead figure out their queerness after they died? But how is that possible when they already held a level of familiar resentment towards their family's transphobia as if they've had several fights about it? It's hard to picture a 3 year old having multiple heated debates about gender with their parents for this level of resentment to make any sense.

Details aside, how does Xanthe's queerness intersect with themes of death and grief? Well, it just doesn't. This scene ends with Xanthe's sister telling them that she bothered remembering them even though their parents moved on from their death (which makes no sense since the parents wanted to have dinner with a random 18 year old they correctly assumed was their long dead "daughter" but whatever). Honestly, the only reason queerness exists in this family drama is so that Xanthe has a tense relationship with their family. The story would be exactly the same if Xanthe was a troublemaker that brought shame to their family. Who they are isn't specific to whatever grief exists in the comic.

When people give the critique that modern Superhero comics aren't about anything anymore, we usually think of these comics as "lacking political bite and commentary". We don't often think of something like Death to be political. And even though it is in many ways, it's also a social taboo to talk about. Death is an uncomfortable thing to confront, even in the safety of fiction. It's what made Ride the Cyclone such a difficult stage musical to market.

So how does a modern mainstream comic like Spirit World fit into that? It just sits there in this non-committal way. Yes, this is a story about a trans teenager who died, but only in a cool Superhero Origin Way, not in any way that would make readers uncomfortable. Bury Your Gays is a stereotype after all, so we can't talk about how queer people feel about death. We don't get to know how Xanthe feels about death as a non-binary Asian American. Especially if it's messy. It's the reason why Wan Yujing's character can never commentate on themes of historical queer erasure. God forbid superhero comics be about something.

I think about how, in the original Hellblazer run from the 80s, John Constantine had an elderly gay friend who was diagnosed with AIDS but was killed by a homophobic hate group. The comic openly talks about the sheer amount of gay people dying of the epidemic, a looming threat that informs John's queer life. It's such a culture shock, to contrast these early comics with how John Constantine is written in Spirit World. A character stripped of his own queer history and is at the mercy of incessant slutty bi jokes. Where is the desire to talk about how death informs a queer person's life? The mourning of a lost generation to the AIDS crisis? Something John lived through?

How about how any of this intersects with being an Asian American queer person? Queer people of color are often erased or purposefully excluded from queer history and communities. As a Queer Asian American, what does it mean to have identities that are often perceived to be in conflict with each other? Would your queer Asian ancestors even be remembered? Cultural differences with how you'd mourn your communities? But answering any of these questions means an uncomfortable conversation for Spirit World. For Xanthe. It threatens to be about something.

Which makes it all the more silly that, of the two stories, a musical about teenagers dying from a rollercoaster malfunction is more willing to have that uncomfortable conversation. You should ride the Cyclone.

#So fun fact I almost died on a roller coaster when I was a teenager in Six Flags Georgia #<- prev tags OMG?? so glad you're safe that's horrifying #jesncin dc meta #me talking about the state of comics and sanitization + respectability of mainstream media u kno how it is #more musings on the state of the industry and Representation #long post!

63 notes · View notes