#i just.. wish people would think for themselves for a change

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

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There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[alessabriel]

And it didn't.

Summary: with the scars left by civil conflict, of broken relationships and shattered bridges the years passed, and she was finally caught up with the consequences of what she did.

Cw: NO CAITVI, angst for Caitlyn, post arcane 2 and my soft imaginings, Vi x Reader.

✄ — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Caitlyn had lost herself and neither time, nor regret could bring back the people she lost what was important to; I saw the one she pushed away so many times because of that stupid instinct to see her down for being from Zaun who contaminated and infected her, Jayce who even though I told her everything was resolved I still saw that resentment in her eyes and did not blame, her father still loved her and was there for her but in his eyes at times there was a disappointment so palpable that it hurt to see her because she had destroyed what her mother worked so hard for costing lives in Zaun. She knew that her owner and suffering was not justification, it would never be, just as she knew that she had made many decisions that were wrong and even today, at 35 years old, they still haunt her, stalking her in every free moment to think, in every corner of her psyche and heart, it is a curse that would never leave her and she accepted it, she let the remorse bite her skin, scratch her bones fragmenting them until it reached the organs underneath and stay there forever. Not that all Zaunites' looks at her were better or let her forget what she had done in the past, they all looked at her with a well-hidden and civilized rancor, which, in contrast to what happened years ago showed that Zaunites were not animals.

"It's in your blood, it will always be in your blood!"

These are words that still to this day follow her relentlessly, spoken to a woman who stood by her side unflinchingly, daring to wear the uniform of the very beings who murdered her parents, who oppressed her for years and who were part of Zaun's continuing misfortune. Vi wore the uniform and became an enforcer for her, and a with it at that moment, after a shared kiss hurt her and it was not the blow that hurt the most, but hearing Vi cry at the bottom of the well and left her without looking back, at that moment she never regretted it and thought she deserved it for not letting Vi go, she herself pushed her away. Now, as Sheriff with Piltover restored and Zaun in better condition after joining forces to drive away Noxus and his threat, she is surprisingly alone. She had managed to catch Jinx and served her sentence, helped restore Piltover as part of that sentence but even with everything Jinx was never left alone but was supported by all of Zaun and, to her own selfish pain; For Vi, Vi was in the process of Jinx's improvement and her mental treatment, when she was imprisoned and released by herself, she watched as Vi received her and although there was an uncomfortable air Vi saw her with a filial love and bright, shy accompanied by Ekko, Sevika, Isha and another person who did not hesitate to embrace Jinx. Even Jinx even with all the crimes on her list, she had so many people surrounding her and she on the other end just and Sheriff was alone, she knew it was her own fault.

There was a sea of guilt that was always at her feet, threatening on her worst days with a huge swell, monstrous waves that threatened to swallow her whole and sometimes she wished they would but, it would be selfish not to bear the consequences of her actions.

The council had been renewed for the sake of progress since they all had such archaic and cruel ideas by the next leaders of those same houses who were young, people who saw beyond prejudices and painted a difference, a before and an after. A renewed council, like Piltover, with Jayce and Mel at the head, but there were two representatives of Zaun who never showed up leaving two chairs together empty in their name. They had all changed, Piltover finally after seeing how hundreds of Zaunites risked themselves to drive Noxus away without caring about coming back alive showed them how much damage they inflicted on their twin city.

Damage she contributed to, added to, and how it tainted her mother's contribution so that the Zaunites could breathe.

She hated herself but dared not ask for forgiveness, because she did not deserve it and she knew it.

She lives each day mechanically in the Enforcers base office, and with documentation up to her neck, in a cold and monotonous rhythm until that day came, a day where Loris was coming to visit her as she had not agreed to stay in the Enforcers corps with the others but rather, was sentinel in Zaun an organization created by two people in Zaun along with other creations that Zaun did not have before.

"Wow, you're still dating the paperwork Sheriff?" questions Loris, walking into the office with a lazy smile looking at the paperwork by the pile.

"Let's just say they're nice dates" replies Caitlyn, inviting him to sit down, it's the little visits and sincere interactions he has that let him see that he kept too good people away from his surroundings because even Seb kept her at a distance, Maddie walked away from her after he had used her to forget Vi; spoiler he never could, Vi as soon as the conflict ended and the trials came she didn't return to Piltover, so Loris was the only one who still maintained some pleasant air between the two "Something going on? You usually come over on Fridays when I go out for a drink together."

Caitlyn looks at her former partner and notices it, a nervous uneasiness almost shy about how she keeps herself hidden and how Loris tries to keep the air light, jovial and pleasant. Loris was a very short time active part of the Enforcerd but damn but he was a good element and the Sentinels would take a good element. She watches silently as her former partner takes a seat, but it never goes unnoticed the conflicted eyes of the man in front of her and she honestly can't blame him as Loris is one of Vi's best friends and continuing to talk to her feels like some sort of betrayal, or so Caitlyn assumes.

"Well, I'm not wasting your time with my humble visit Sheriff" she concedes, lightening the mood and tension, pulling out a simple envelope sealed with wax and a unique flower that only grows in Zaun "Consider coming, she asked me to deliver it to you."

Caitlyn with that, spends the rest of the day dreading opening the letter leaving it on her office bookshelf as if it has the toxic and poisonous in it, so at the end of her day with the evening light streaming in through the glass she plucks up her courage. She sits up from her chair and takes the letter, it is made of a soft and in plain sight recycled paper but it has a fresh floral scent, with some fear creeping up her joints she opens it using the letter opener seeing how the black wax falls on her desk next to the small single flower of Zaun that she takes and keeps it, inside the envelope is a paper folded in three and when she opens it something stirs in her gut with such force that she feels her organs pushed into her bones and the physical exterior of her body, she restrains herself and swallows the bile to start reading, though she knows that doomed her because she suspects it is.

† Violet and [R] †

Just reading that line generated an immense, monumental dismay in him, had he stopped loving Vi? She didn't want to know the answer because it would hurt, because when she pushed Vi away, making her feel guilty for everything, guilty for not being able to stop loving her sister in spite of everything, what was she thinking back then? Making her choose implicitly only served to further establish the imbalance and mistrust in whatever it was they had, and lo and behold the consequences years of loneliness and minimal, if any interactions with Vi that were for matters merely concerning both cities. At the very thought, the very image of it tightens her chest.

Vi was getting married and he was inviting her to his wedding, with a +1.

She dropped into her chair, tossing the pretty invitation on the desk before scrunching up her face, stressed, hurt, regretful and with an amalgam of feelings of self-pity and cruelty towards herself for the past, for the hatred her being since she was a child had harbored towards Zaunitas which only incubated until it exploded that fateful day where she took it out on Vi, took it out on a woman who knew how to read her better than she did herself and prevented her from doing something she would regret more. He knew he could not give, if he would fail as Vi said but his pain did not allow him to see, understand, or comprehend. His hands tremble running it over his face in an attempt to get rid of that mutilating feeling in his chest, and he feels the pain climb up his bones, Vi was going to marry someone and by name it's a woman; [R]. A short, concrete text, a wedding which will be held in the newly opened temple of Janna, signed below in sweet, flowing calligraphy in Violet's name, next to another straighter, linear calligraphy signing with [R]. They sure did that cute thing of writing each other's name would Vi love her? Would that unknown woman love Vi? How long had they been in a relationship? Did they love each other? Why was Vi inviting her?

She doesn't want to go.

[coffeegnomee]

ugh sometimes watching Kab pov I get real sympathetic for how difficult it must be to be in her brain and just be so confused all the time and exhausted about masking her feelings to make other people trust her and her pain in wanting to be vulnerable and receive vulnerability and feel deep reciprocal love.

But then she says shit, really fucking mean and toxic shit towards mental health and healing and it triggers my own fight or flight and i become a ball of rage.

And like, I do get it. When you start your journey of mental health healing you often become the toxic one as you throw the shit people have said to you at everyone who also has similar mental health issues as you. (been there done that) Doing it to process your own rage at being told these things, or thinking, out of desperation, that if you can just get them to fix themselves quickly, you can fix yourself quickly. The bullied becomes the bully.

But then time passes and you realize this shit is hard to overcome. (or maybe it won't ever be overcome! and that's okay!) And you stop being toxic and you start being compassionate, to yourself and others. And eventually you start to heal and become confident in your own self worth and the validity of your emotions.

But before then it's the fucking worst place to watch someone be in. And that place is unfortunately where we are right now.

below is a short transcript of the convo this reflection is based off of. it can be triggering so like, don't feel obliged to read it.

11/10/24 kab vod: "I have no idea what's happening"

1:42:00 KAB: “what about how he makes me feel? Why is it so important what he feels and to accommodate everything he’s feeling? Why do i have to conceded to that???”

1:44:00 “I’m sick of having to accommodate to everyone else’s actions” 

realizing your masking is hurting you is one of the worst realizations (imo). bc the mask keeps you safe, but if you can't process or give worth to your real emotions, it's not serving you.

so she swaps from processing her own feeling to being angry at zam.

1:47:00 She gets he needs time and space, but “We don't have time for to try and sit and process your emotions properly. Do it after we deal with this fucking issue [...] sometimes you just need to toughen up” 

Fucking hell the trigger i just felt for just toughen up. 

1:48:00 “i need to know what he’s thinking so that we can work together. In a team!” 

what team!?!

“‘Does zam really hate communication more than he likes spawn and the server’ literally. Like pick your priorities dude.”

I’m going to fucking throw up. Because yes. Actually yes. Unfortunately and actually yes. He's gotten a lot better but like.

1:53:00 “I dunno. I wish he would care about himself as much as i care about him. Hard to see him like this [pause] maybe he does need more nurturing than i can give him bro ugh. I am just not- i am not good at that shit. I think it’s stupid [..] when you have a job to do [..] just shove your emotions away for a bit. And then you can process them later” 

I was going to say this is just eclipse, but I just realized that maybe it's just this is exactly the perception Zam had of Vi: that Vi just wanted him to move on when he couldn't. All his deepest fears of what Vi wanted from him are being personified into a new person. 

(also he is shoving his emotions away and that's why he's not processing it and giving you an answer for why he "doesn't know"????? but since he's not a perfect ball of joy and masking to you and because he is doing what you can't (shove emotions away) you are in rage)

1:54:00  “But it’s like, while there’s a life or death situation that literally determines the entire server we don't have time to be like, holding your hand, you know? Like, you're an adult” ughh fuck. being broken is inconvenient for others and age is seen as an invalidation to any of your real brokenness. If you're old you no longer have the right to be broken. Can we please change this narrative? thx

“If he cared enough he would actively try and do something to help himself in this situation” 

Interesting choice of words to say "he would try to help himself if he cared" complaining about others not "working" on themselves (and you can never know if someone is working on themselves bc you're not in their brain) helps nobody bc you can only control yourself.

“You just want to sit and feel bad about yourself” no that's what you're doing kab

“He got me to fucking open up to him and pour my heart out and is now turning his back on that entirely. That’s what i’m actually more upset about” 

oh the naive belief that because you pour your heart out to someone they must reciprocate. That is the risk you take when you are honest with someone about your feelings. They are at no obligation to reciprocate ever. Never ever. But that doesn't mean your feelings aren't true and it doesn't mean you shouldn't have done it. Love is a risk.

But also she feels she was forced into it. Forced to be vulnerable and she hates the vulnerability. She doesn't remember (or believe) that Zam promised to not use it against her. She isn't willing to give him the chance to not use it against her. He simply knows and that is a threat.

So love turns into spite. Instantly. And she doesn't want to talk to him anymore. And decides that she will just be fake to him.

oh girl. keeping the mask on doesn't help anything. 

“I’ve lost a lot of respect for him today. I’m done trying to impress him”

and so the mask returns. and healing stops.

[anachronisticcrab]

I can't win with fucking allo people.

I love being aroace. I'm proud of it, I'm not ashamed of it, all of that. I don't want romance or sex or anything along those lines, and I'm happy with that.

But in a society that puts romantic love at the highest peak of importance, I'm left out

I've lost more friends than I can count because they got a partner and no longer wanted me around as much, because they asked to kiss me so I would know what it's like cause how could I not want to, because I wasn't comfortable playing dating sims with them.

I can't win with cishet allo people because they can't conceptualize it. They want things to be in their field of understanding, and I don't fit into that, so they question me. About everything. Then they get a partner and I lose them to some degree.

Its possibly even worse with queer people. My queer friends place so much of their identity in their sexuality that it's nearly impossible to fit into those spaces when your sexuality and romantic preference is nonexistent. Queer liberation has massively been about how love is love, but I don't fit into that and I never will.

Allo people would prefer it if I wanted to want a romantic relationship, I think. If I wanted to want it, then I wouldn't be broken. Then they could make dirty jokes about me instead of just with me. Then they could joke about how we were basically married without me ever recoiling in disgust.

Then they wouldn't feel as guilty when they forget about me when they get a romantic partner.

But if I wanted to want, allo people would double down on how I haven't met the right person or that I'm confused. If I'm not 100% happy being aroace all the time, I'm not aroace enough. And I'm clearly wrong.

Side note: Why do allo people think it's ok to wish they were aro and/or ace? It's not funny to joke about it when u are one of the people who fucking ostracize me for it. It's not funny when youre not dating anyone and call yourself aroace, it's not a choice and it's not silly. It's not cute when straight women call themselves lesbians because they're annoyed with men, it's not cute when straight men call themselves gay because they're annoyed with women, it's not funny when people joke about being aroace because they're annoyed with romance. Also, why do allo people not think before they say shit like 'if u don't fuck/date, what do u do? How are u human?'

I don't put a ton of stock into my new friendships with allo people anymore because I just fucking can't. If I do, I will be completely fucking crushed when they leave because I know that when I do value a friendship, I will always care more about the allo than they do about me. I am sick of caring about others more than they care about me, but this won't change until I meet another romance repulsed aro, who I haven't met yet because (shocker) being aro? Not the most common sexuality.

Tl;DR: I just... I can't fucking win. I'm too queer for straight ppl, not queer enough for queer ppl, too aroace if I don't go along with amatonormativity and not aroace enough if I don't. I'm lonely, my allo friends will always value others over me, and I constantly have people undermining my sexuality with stupid jokes and offhand comments. I'm sick of allo people.

[deathbxnny]

Hello! Could I request some Xianyun, Guizhong and Rukkhashava x Immortal genius yet somewhag lazy Gn!Reader? (The reader is one if not the most intelligent people on all of Teyvat. Their craft so top tier that most people considered them a deity for their impressive knowledge and craft. They are basically unrivaled in terms of intelligent solving the most complex and complicated problems in a matter of seconds and have the besg stategic and organization skills. But because of this they often find themselves unmotivated or bored pretty quickly not giving them enough motivation to work much)

Genshin women with a lazy Immortal!Reader. | Rukkhadevata, Xianyun, Guizhong x Gn!Reader

Hello Anon!! Thank you for your request, and I am sorry for taking so long. I hope you'll like this!<3

Content: Immortal reader, unserious, established relationship, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》RUKKHADEVATA

She loves your mind and the way it overflows with wisdom daily, despite your clear lack of motivation for anything. Working around your laziness to earn more of your cherished thoughts and opinions has become somewhat of a little challenge for her that she enjoys. You indirectly get her to theorize deeply and contemplate every crumb of knowledge you give her, something she craves.

With that said, your place as a near diety at her side is greatly respected by her own people. You are seen as a savior, as a second power to her home, and every opinion you do muster up the energy for to share is listened to gratefully by her. She therefore doesn't mind your lazy nature and perhaps even thinks that you're deserving of it. Someone so intelligent deserved to rest their mind every now and then after all.

She hopes to experience the world changing and evolving at your side, whilst you two share it's knowledge at your own pace.

》XIANYUN

Slacking off with her around is impossible, to say the least. Your highly respected status in Liyue is near disregarded by her every time she drags you out of your resting place to work with her on a new project. Attempting to hide is never an option, either. She sees your laziness as a self hindrance and doesn't want you to waste your talents so easily. She may nag you at times, but even you know she means it well.

Xianyun always has you inspecting her newest creations and demands you give her detailed feedback on each one. You indirectly push her to do better and match your own intelligence, but your easygoing nature often allows her to outdo you, something she's smug about. She, however, still often times wishes you'd find the motivation to craft something with her, which you do after enough (affectionate) nagging.

She respects you for the immortal genius that you are but doesn't treat you any differently from anyone else. If anything, she wants to see you grow even stronger at her side.

》GUIZHONG

She gets it. She really does. There are days when even she would rather slack off than work on her latest projects, something you take full advantage of. But when she is able to resist your lazy temptations, she makes you work alongside her and does her best to make the activities as fun as possible. Whether it was creating new battle strategies to aid Rex Lapis with or creating projects for the both of you, she was always able to spin things in a way that did get you to work in the end. She also would just kindly ask you for help often or for your expertise in general, as you rarely ever said no to her.

She never liked pushing you too much, though, as she feared somehow overworking you or making you feel like she only wanted you for your intelligence. Guizhong, therefore, allowed you to laze with her in her home whenever you have some downtime where she'd play instruments or sing for you. In a way, she worshipped you as a diety, too, even if quietly through her own special way.

Guizhong sees herself as lucky to have you, especially as she doesn't always understand how she was able to acquire such a strong and intelligent person like you.

[insidiousclouds]

It really bothers me that people won't even fact check when told that someone is a terf or something. The fact that people will blindly follow. Sure it's not that much of a problem when you just block them. It's not like that's hurting anyone. But what really bothers me is the blind trust. "Go block OP because they are a terf and proshipper" and people just do, without even trying to find evidence that the OP really is.

[imageingrunge]

Sees a nice article my friend posted about the voice actor of The Emperor saying:

“everything The Emperor gives is considered. And I know that leans in towards players saying it’s all manipulation, and with all stuff like that it is, to a degree. I think every single character in Baldur’s Gate manipulates. In fact, I think we all manipulate.- . Anyone The Emperor encounters is likely already going to have a lot of weighty preconceptions that The Emperor may have to get through or contend with. Because of this, The Emperor’s very much on edge, they’re treading a very fine line" X

then i scroll down n see deranged comments like “see i always knew he’s an abuser, nice to us when it benefits them, a gaslighter and a narcissist. He’s cazador levels of evil and its all just a matter of time before he mindrapes us like he did to stelmane”

Do you know what the word fun means? And have you ever experienced it??? Its fun to peel back the layers of a character- see the motivation behind their actions and realize there is more to them than what I experienced the last time- Sorry for sucking the emperors big fat cock i guess???

[crescentfool]

beaming everyone on the dashh with good brain day vibes!!! i hope that you all can remember to extend self-compassion to yourself whenever you're feeling down about something 💙

[mbat]

honestly my biggest wonder about yesterdays drama was like... who even was that? not the person being called out, but the one calling them out. like, its one thing to make a throwaway to make a callout post, but to go on anon and try to pull unrelated people into it? this was clearly someone still in the taleblr server since they had screenshots from literally the same day in their callout

this isnt me taking sides because genuinely i have more important things to worry about than all that, but its different when it comes to this person because like... i just thought yall were different than that? maybe we all dont totally consider eachother friends entirely but i liked to think we were all somewhere around there for the most part

theres only so many of us and we all try to stay chill (to more or less success) because like... theres probably less than 100 of us left, and we're all adults by now as far as i know, and i know age doesnt really equal maturity, but its just so immature to try and stir drama by messaging unrelated parties.

honestly even if the person told me in private who they were its not like id make shit worse by posting about them or something because, again, i have bigger things to worry about, im just curious at this point. its not even an obligation for them to come forward, im just admitting that im curious.

if anything all i have to say is be the bigger person and block and move on when you dont like someone or something someone did. i get that you saw stuff that you found gross and you wanted everyone to feel the same way you did, but the rest of us just want to live our lives. plus i think the people that were messaged arent even in the discord so it was honestly even weirder to do that

ive had my fair share of seeing things that made me feel gross to see or read or know about, like, seriously i found out one of my friends was a pedo last year (and i promptly blocked the cunt). but it doesnt do anything to pull other people into the mess and try to start shit.

basically, just be more mature, cause i know yall are better than that. you dont have to read fics that you dont like, and you dont have to interact with people you dont like. your online experience is yours and the best option is always to block and move on. ive had my fair share of drama, and all it does is ruin peoples days, and not much else.

my biggest point, honestly, is that this is such a small fandom and i dont want whats left to come crashing down because some drama makes everyone left hate it here. i dont care whos right or wrong because literally whatever its internet drama, i just dont want this community to die out.

[girlscience]

well. I added my recent work stuff to my resume today, but then got stressed and didn't even manage to edit it. the day isn't over so maybe I'll get more done, but aaaghaghghaghag

[bigmeansweatydyke]

google search how to stop being so autistic because i'm apparently ruining my friendships by acting like an asshole and having no idea and i'm already so fucking exhausted

[naramdil]

you know that tiktok trend where it's like "before and after kids" and the before is them happy and the after is the clip of that toxic guy from euphoria walking away?

[wowbright]

Tumblr is such a weird place. I love how accepting people here are in general. But there are also a handful of odd/untrue/harmful takes that I see here over and over and feel personally painful to me every time I read them. And I'm getting really sick of it.

[alilweirddragon]

"we don't follow the main stream media cuz we're Gods children. We aren't sheep." bitch you're still a fucking sheep you just follow someone else.

[gatun-gatunesco]

...

[mgsdelta]

being poor is literally so miserable