#i love this i love this world i love this inherent relationship

[notlongtolove]

to be an accountant of the heart

because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. to look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst-ish, fight and makeup

content: established relationship fight and makeup woof woof rookie bau reader feels insecure about how much she loves spencer, worries she's too clingy, spencer reid best bf ever

word count: 5k

note: this was haunting me in my drafts for the longest time... please be nice my heart can't take it (psa guys don't ever tell ur partners that they love you more than you love them bc 5 years down the road they'll cope by writing deranged spencer reid fics like this)

a line: You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

and then it is hundreds of hours later, and you are still hunched over your flowcharts and abacus, trying to decide if you have gotten enough. This is the loneliest job in the world: to be an accountant of the heart. - tony hoagland

The English language draws a neat line between many and much. It divides the countable from the uncountable.

The word many is meant for things you can count. How many cups of coffee have you had? How many days will you be gone for? 

The word much belongs to what cannot be counted, what cannot be numbered. How much longer do we have in bed? How much did you miss me? How much do you love me? 

How much?

It’s an innately impossible question. Love, after all, is supposed to be infinite, unbound, unquantifiable. Any attempt to measure it—to reduce something so sacred to a number, a unit—is to taint it. And why would you want to do that? Why would anyone? There shouldn't be any need to measure something so inherently immeasurable. 

Deep down, you know there's no actual way to count love. You suppose this instinct to measure has always been there, to wonder if the love you received can be tallied like time. It’s buried deep, old as the child you once were. 

Still, the question begs itself. How much? How much more? How much less? If comparison is the thief of joy it’s only because it leaves you with the revelations nobody asked for, the truths nobody ever wants to see. 

Put love on a scale, wait and see—Will it balance or won’t it? 

“Glaring at the clock isn’t going to make time pass any faster,” Elle teases from two desks away, her eyes locked on the report she’s skimming.

You don’t bother hiding your sigh as you glance up from where your chin rests heavily in your palm, elbow propped against the desk. The pencil in your other hand twirls idly, betraying your impatience. “He said they landed an hour ago,” you grumble. Only the faintest trace of a pout slips through.

“Working hard or hardly working, ladies?” 

Your head perks up at that. Trust Derek Morgan to know how to make an entrance, arriving right on cue, grin wide and swagger intact. 

JJ, seated beside you and noticeably more amused by your restlessness than concerned, spins her chair around as she asks, “How was the convention boys?”

“It was great—more than great actually,” Spencer says, appearing from behind Morgan. He’s lugging a bag that seems twice as heavy as when you’d helped him pack it five days ago. “All the speakers were incredible. I got to talk with Lonnie Athens himself. He gave me a signed copy of his latest book.” His grin widens tenfold. “It’s not even out in stores yet.”

You’re halfway out of your seat, ready to pounce on Spencer the moment he sets his bag down. But instead, he offers a halfhug and a light squeeze to your shoulder. It’s understated, but it’s Spencer. Public displays of affection aren’t his thing, and you know better than to expect more. Still, five days without him makes you ache for just a little more.

“It was alright,” Morgan interjects with a casual shrug as he takes a seat at the edge of your table, narrowly missing your nth mug of coffee. “Great sandwiches though.”

“Yeah, you sure seemed interested in the sandwiches,” Spencer says dryly, the kind of tone that suggests sandwiches were not the main attraction.

Morgan smirks, unbothered. “New York, man,” he says with a grin. “New York.”

You turn your attention back to Spencer. “How’d you sleep?” you ask, your question aimed entirely at him.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Spencer replies, “Despite the snoring.”

Morgan’s response is immediate—a light thwack to the back of Spencer’s head. “How’d he sleep? More like, how’d I sleep. Lover girl over here had him on the phone half the night.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him. But then your gaze drifts to Spencer, searching for confirmation. “Was I?”

Spencer hesitates, his lips pressing into a faintly sheepish line. “I did wake up late for one of the panels,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, you think you had it bad? I’ve never seen someone go through so much coffee in a week,” JJ says, nodding in your direction, “She wiped out the entire stock.”

“Almost bashed her over the head with a cup of coffee myself when I had to settle for the instant stuff,” Elle chimes in. A collective shudder goes through the group. “No offence, Reid,” she adds.

“None taken,” Spencer replies smoothly, just in time to earn another smack on his arm, this time from you.

You’ve endured more than your fair share of teasing—it comes with the territory when you’re part of a team like this. You, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, three years his junior. Him, more comfortable rambling about the number of kernels on an average cob of corn than talking to any girl, let alone one with a smile like yours that could make his knees buckle. What had been an odd match to some, made perfect sense to others—Though Spencer would argue that Garcia just liked seeing him with any girl who could make him laugh the way you could, especially within three days of meeting him. It’s a feat nobody else has yet to achieve in the year you’ve been on the team. 

“Missed you,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

Spencer flushes as his lips part, maybe to respond, but Elle cuts in before he gets the chance. “Save it for later, lover girl. Some of us want to hear about those sandwiches.” 

“Oh, they really were better than last year’s,” Spencer begins, now distracted, completely oblivious to Elle’s sarcasm, “Probably because the annual reports showed an increased budget for the global initiatives.”

JJ raises an eyebrow in amused disbelief. “You read the FBI’s annual budget breakdown?”

Spencer looks genuinely surprised by the question. “You don’t?”

Chuckles echo throughout the group and though you smile faintly, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You just can’t help it as the tally marks start to stack up in your mind. One for the way his attention is just a little too distant, his excitement seemingly aimed at everyone but you. Another for every time you wait for his gaze and it doesn’t come. He’s too absorbed in recounting a discussion about deterministic causality he’d had with a keynote speaker. 

Compared to Spencer, who was often so reserved, it was easy to feel like your emotions were too big, too eager. Dragging him, wide-eyed and stammering, up the stairs to Hotch’s office six months ago had been nothing short of a test of strength and sheer determination. You’d been the one to silence him with a gentle kiss to his knuckles, promising him that everything would be okay. You were a live wire compared to him, everyone knew that. Lover girl, they teased, though never cruelly. In the field and out of it—Clingy to a fault, always wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

Lover girl through and through, you wait patiently for Spencer to look your way. 

He doesn’t. 

“Yours or mine?” Spencer asks as you stand side by side on the curb, bags in tow. 

“Think I’ll go to mine,” you reply curtly. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else right now.

“That’s fine. I’ve got an extra day’s worth of clothes with me.”

“You can go home,” you say, cutting him off. It comes off sharper than you intended. Then, softer, as if trying to backtrack, you add, “If you want.”

He looks at you, baffled. “Why would I do that?” 

It’s not a rhetorical question, he genuinely doesn’t understand. Weekends apart have never really been your thing. 

“Because—” You cut yourself off mid-sentence. What could you even say? Because you seem so perfectly fine after 120 hours apart. Because the tally marks said so. Because the scale said so. Instead, you huff an exhale and settle for, “No reason. You look tired. Thought you’d want to go home or something.”

“Again sweetheart. Why would I do that?” he repeats, incredulous. 

You fight off a resigned sigh, though you’re sure he catches it, and pull out your phone. “I’m calling a cab,” you mumble, thumbing at the screen. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” he says, still calm but clearly confused.

“Fine.”

The ride home is quiet, save for the driver’s rambling complaints about freeway traffic at this hour. Normally, you’d be the one to humour any conversations with strangers, chiming in with polite nods and oh, reallys while Spencer watched, bemused by your ability to make small talk with anyone. But today, you’re just not in the mood, leaving poor Spencer to fend for himself.  

Which to his credit, he does—By turning the conversation into a tangent about how traffic patterns correlate with certain hours and commuter behaviour, and delving into a detailed explanation of the queueing theory. He does this till eventually, even the driver goes silent, though whether it’s out of confusion or exhaustion, you’re not quite sure. 

You can feel Spencer’s eyes on you in the silence, flicking toward you every now and then. The concern in his attention does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it only fans the flames of your irritation. When the car finally rolls to a stop outside your building, you hand the driver a $20 bill, wave off the change, and stride toward your door without another word. You’re out before Spencer can even pull his door open.

Inside, you drop your things on the couch resignedly and kick off your shoes without so much as a care. They land in a scattered heap that you don’t bother to fix. Spencer lingers behind you, ever patient.

“What do you want for dinner?” His voice is soft, tentative, as he bends down to pick up your discarded shoes, lining them neatly by the door. “We could order something. Chinese, maybe?”

Spencer knows you well—knows how your mood sours when you’re running on fumes. Particularly on days like this, when your only sustenance has been a cup of crappy coffee and a few stale crackers he’d coaxed you into eating earlier just before you left, bribing you with a quick kiss on the cheek—After checking that nobody else was in the break room, of course. 

Sullen as you are, you can recognise the offer for what it is. It’s sweet. A thoughtful acknowledgement of how well he knows you, how much he cares. He’s offering you a lifeline, a quiet invitation to let the storm pass without forcing you to name it, something you’re evidently trying not to do. 

But tonight, it feels almost patronising. It’s a spotlight on the hurt you can’t quite temper, like he’s trying to fix something you’re not yet ready to admit needs fixing.

“I can run down to the—”

“I’m not hungry.” 

You walk straight into your bedroom without another word, leaving him standing there in the doorway. You hear him exhale quietly, not quite a sigh but close. Probably one of resignation. Another tally mark falls on the scale. 

“Sweetheart,” he starts. You know he’s testing the waters, trying to find an opening. But you don’t look at him, don’t give him anything to work with. “Can we talk?” he asks, his fingers brushing yours as he takes a seat at the edge of your bed.

“Talk about what?” You’ve always been good at feigning ignorance, but the way you pull your hand away from his is anything but subtle. Spencer sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes briefly. He’s clearly exhausted. This is exhausting. You’re clearly exhausting. You can’t help but wonder why you always do this. 

“Was it Elle? Morgan?” he ventures cautiously. “The teasing?”

“They always tease me,” you say with a shrug, your voice dismissive. “I don’t care.”

It’s a half-truth, and you both know it.

Spencer nods slowly as he tries to piece this together. He knows you’re not usually one to let things fester. You’re never angry for long, and even when you are, you laugh it off, always quick to join in on the joke. He knows better than to profile you—it's an unspoken rule within the team and, more importantly, within your relationship. But Spencer’s anything if not desperate to understand.

He watches you slip into the bathroom with a sigh, shoulders dipping. The light flickers on, but you don’t meet your own gaze in the mirror. You’re not angry. That would be easier. There’s something quieter in your eyes. Defeat, maybe. 

“I missed you,” he offers, stepping into the doorway. His tone is softer now, pleading.

“Did you?” It’s almost sarcastic, but not quite. Irritable but undercut by something raw, as though you don’t really believe he did.

Spencer swallows. “You don’t think I missed you?”

“A little hard to tell between the fawning over Lonnie Athens,” you say, wiping mascara from under your lashes. “Or was it the in-depth analysis of sandwich platters?”

It’s a snap, all sharp edges and fire, and for a second, he forgets the minefield he’s meant to be tiptoeing through. Has to bite back a smile. You’ve always been this way—more flame than moth, more lightning than thunder. It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

“Is that what this is about?” The words slip out before he can stop them, and the second they do, he knows. Rookie mistake. Your spine straightens, your jaw sets, and he wants to take it back, rewind, try again.

“This,” you echo, turning to face him. “What exactly do you mean by this?”

Spencer reminds himself that fire is never snuffed out with ice. You douse a flame gently, carefully. So, he steps forward, quieter now, fingers grazing yours before he takes your hand in his, guiding you toward the bed. He doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush, just leads you toward the bed with the same patience he knows you need when you’re fragile and burning.

Regardless, you try to resist, to hold yourself upright. You’re fighting the urge to sink into it—His touch, the bed, all of it. 

“Sweetheart,” Spencer murmurs, taking a seat beside you. “I know you’re not angry. You’re sad. And I’d really like to know why. Tell me, please?”

Deep inside, you know you’re just clinging on to the last embers of your frustration. But it’s hard—impossible, really, when you’re a fire with no kindle left to burn, and Spencer is all soft whispers and gentle hands, featherlight and soothing. 

You hesitate, twisting the fabric of the duvet between your fingers. “I just—I—You were being mean.”

Spencer lets out a slow, quiet breath. Relief, almost. Not because he agrees—He knows himself well enough to be sure that ‘mean’ isn’t the right word. But he knows you well enough to understand what it means when you say it.

Mean is what you say when you’ve been hurt and don’t know how else to put it. 

So he follows your lead. Doesn’t fight it.

“M’sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles stroking your hand with his thumb. His touch is warm as it is gentle. 

Because it’s not about whether he was mean or not. Spencer knows that. Knows you. Knows that kindness has never been a given for you, knows that you wouldn’t recognise patience if it came knocking. And he knows you well enough to know that you think in some twisted way, that you’ve brought this hurt upon yourself, that you deserve it. 

What matters is that you were hurt. And that’s the one thing he never, ever wants to do.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Can you tell me how I did?”

“You just kept going on and on about the stupid conference. You didn’t even hug me or—And then you—” 

You don’t continue. You can’t. You feel ridiculous. Stupid, even. Mopey and small over something that shouldn’t matter this much. Over the realisation that he doesn’t need you. And why should he? It’s not Spencer’s fault. Not at all. 

His indifference is what it is and what it was. Indifference. It sits like a weight on your bones—Cold, sharp-edged, piercing. He can go 5 days without you. You can’t. The tally marks accumulate, unbidden.

“And then I…?” Spencer prompts gently, prying your fingers from the duvet and replacing the tension with his thumb, tracing slow, soothing circles into your palm instead.

“You ignored me, and I just—” Your voice wavers, frustration bubbling over. "I just felt so—so ignored!"

Wonderful vocabulary. Of course, your words would fail you now.

“And the teasing—I know, I know, I can be impossible sometimes, but I just—I just really missed you! And I get it okay? I’m clingy and you’re not and god forbid anybody else is but it’s because I love you!” You inhale sharply, your hands slipping from his to curl into fists in your lap. “And you didn’t react at all, you didn’t even care! You made me feel like—I thought that you—” 

You cut yourself off before the flurry of tears take over and drown you out. 

Spencer waits a beat, choosing his next words carefully. 

“You thought… that I don’t love you?” His voice isn’t laced with sarcasm, nor does it carry incredulity. It’s a genuine question, as though he’s retracing the moments between you, trying to understand how you could possibly come to such a conclusion.

“No, it’s not that—” you’re quick to say, desperate to correct him. You know Spencer loves you. Of course, you know that. How could you not? It’s Spencer. He loves you like it’s his life mission to show you just how much he loves you. “I know you love—I know that. I just—” 

You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into the hollows beneath your eyes—A feeble attempt at hiding.

Because it’s utterly, bone-deep terrifying. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and feel the weight of a possibility that you might love them more than they love you.

To want to shout: Love me. Please love me, and please feel it with every fibre of your being as I do with mine. The kind of love that makes you want to scream from rooftops, to etch it into the sky, to burn the world down just to prove its enormity. 

Because then the question comes: Which would be worse?

To shout into the vast, open air and hear nothing in response? No echo of the same intensity. Or to stand amidst the smouldering ashes only to look into their eyes and find they don’t recognise you anymore? To see confusion or pity where love used to live.

You blink your watery eyes open, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you settle on the knobs of your knees, tracing their shape with your gaze. 

Anything but Spencer. Not right now. 

You take a sharp breath, steadying yourself before continuing.

“Sometimes, I feel like you don’t need me as much as I need you and that scares me. And I know it’s stupid, even I feel stupid thinking about it. I don’t even want to be codependent or whatever but I—I just can’t help but think that sometimes—” 

Your breath shudders out of you, long and uneven, “I love you more than you love me.”

To say Spencer feels his heart break would be an understatement. It’s not a clean break, not a single, shattering moment—it’s a slow, relentless unraveling. It’s a gut punch, pain and duress packed tight, failure laced in every syllable. His heart shatters, splintering into pieces so sharp they lodge in his throat, in his lungs, in every part of him that has ever loved you. 

Silently, he’s always known the teasing would hit a breaking point. You’ve worn that insecurity for as long as he’s known you—too young, too green, too desperate to prove yourself. He just didn’t think it would carve its way between you the two of you like this. He’s watched you lean into it, let the jokes land, let them chip away at you. Newbie. Rookie. Lover girl. As if laughing along might soften the edges of it all. 

You flop onto your back on the bed, boneless, the confession stealing the last of your fight. There’s a splotch of blue paint on the ceiling from last month, when you both tried to repaint the room and got distracted halfway through. It doesn’t make you smile, not even  a little.

“That’s not true.” The mattress dips under Spencer’s weight as he settles beside you, thumb tracing your hairline. His arm moves, coaxing you to toward him, gentle in the way only he knows how to be with you.

“You’re not impossible, sweetheart, you never are. And I know they tease,” he murmurs, fingers of his other hand grazing over your knuckles, “but I also know for a fact that you don’t fall apart without me when I’m gone. That would be co-dependency. And I know that’s not you. You passed your requalifications with flying colors while I was away,” he says. “Garcia sent me the records. You know you even beat Morgan’s old score?” 

You sniffle, startled. That had been your surprise. You’d wanted to tell him yourself. 

“She told you?” 

He shakes his head. “I asked. I always ask for updates on you when I can’t be there.”

A small “Oh,” is all you can get out. 

With every other guy you dated, you’d attempted to play it cool, dialling down your enthusiasm, biting back your texts, and pretending to care less than you did. But every relationship seemed to end the same way: you were “a lot” and they weren’t equipped to handle it. It never quite stuck though, and thank god for that. 

Because then you met Spencer.

Sweet, steady Spencer, who didn’t just tolerate your spark but cherished it. Spencer, who had let you cling to his hand during every takeoff and landing on the jet the first week on the job. He never flinched, never teased—Even when everyone else casted him sympathetic looks, the kind that silently acknowledged how your grip was probably cutting off his circulation. Spencer who has kept every scrawled doodle and note you’ve ever given for him, even the ones scribbled haphazardly on napkins or receipts. He knows carbon prints fade within months so he stores them in a shoebox tucked away in his cupboard—Just so they can last that much longer. 

Spencer didn’t just accept the parts of you others found overwhelming. He singlehandedly brought them back to life. Every bit of your spark that had been dimmed or snuffed out by someone else had found new light in his presence.

Spencer’s fingers tighten around yours, a quiet kind of reassurance that draws you back to the present. 

“Being clingy is not the same as being codependent. I know you know that. There’s a clear psychological difference in brain chemistry.” His lips twitch, the smallest hint of a smile slipping through. “You’re clingy, yes. But I love that about you. I love coming home with you. I love coming home to you. I love how hard you love me, how proudly you love me. I know I haven’t been the best at reciprocating that around the team, and I’m sorry. I hate that I made you feel like I didn’t love you, or miss you.”

He shifts closer, eyes searching yours, open and earnest. “Because I did miss you. So much. I nearly blew a month’s paycheck in the gift shop. Spent half of it stocking up on those jelly crackers you told me about.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe himself. “Morgan said I was whipped when I paid thirty bucks for a pair of souvenir socks.”

With a raise of your eyebrow you ask tearily, “and exactly how many pairs did you buy?” 

“Got you three pairs.” A sheepish little laugh escapes him as he ducks his head. 

And just like that, you’re smiling too. Albeit a small one, but that’s progress nonetheless. “And I don’t think you quite understand how much I love you when you say you love me more.” He leans in, his voice dropping, teasing. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m very competitive.”

“Oh, so I’ve heard Doctor Reid,” you quip, eyes rolling. Spencer’s lips curve, just slightly. You don’t even notice the way you press closer to him, but Spencer does. He takes the opportunity to go on.

“In a way, you’re right. I don’t need you,” Spencer says. Whiplash doesn’t even begin to describe the way your head snaps toward him. Flame and lighting, no doubt. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, his expression already twisting in regret. “I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.”

“I don’t see what other way you could possibly phrase something like that,” you snap pettily, already pushing yourself up to stand. 

“Hey, hey.” His hand reaches out, not quite grabbing yours but close enough to make you pause. “Lie back down, honey. Please.” 

Against your better judgment, you relent, sinking back into the bed. “What I meant to say was, I don’t need you,” he repeats, slower this time, deliberate.

You scoff, a bitter laugh slipping through your lips as you swipe harshly at your damp lashes. “I get it, Spencer. Clearly you don’t.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he says, his voice unwavering. “Biologically speaking, I wouldn’t cease to exist without you. My heart would continue to beat, my lungs would continue to expand and contract, my brain would maintain its synaptic functions. I would survive.” He pauses then, eyes searching yours, “And can I tell you something?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t pull away either. He takes that as permission to go on. “You don’t need me either.” 

Your lips part, the beginnings of a protest forming, but he cuts you off gently.

“I know you said you do, but your autonomic nervous system would still regulate your breathing, your neurons would still fire, your body would persist.” He swallows, voice dipping lower. “But that’s not the point, is it? Love isn’t about biological necessity. It’s not about survival. It’s about choice.” 

The word “choice” feels almost ironic when it comes from Spencer Reid. You knew that the moment you met him. It was never really a choice, not for you. It was him, or nothing. Desperately, you'd like to think it was the same for him, too.

Your answer comes in the form of his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He’s patient, always, even when you aren’t. Kind in a way that sinks deep—Like you deserve it. You’re all sharp edges, brittle and worn, and he’s five days off a lumpy hotel mattress, yet the only thing he cares about is brushing away the tears from your skin. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t love you because I need you. I don’t think that would be love at all. That’s survival. I love you because I choose to,” he continues. “Because you are the strongest person I know. Because you are kind, even when the world hasn’t been kind to you. Because you give so much of yourself without hesitation, without ever expecting anything in return.” 

Spencer smiles, shaking his head. “Because you’re the only person I know who will spend thirty minutes on a call recounting every little thing everyone did in the office that you think I’d like to hear about—before you even think to tell me about your own day.”

“It was funny! Since when has Hotch ever tripped on the stairs?”

It’s unfair really, how easily his laugh breathes life back into you. Your heart stumbles over itself as his hand brushes tenderly along your jaw. 

“I’ve spent every day in awe of you since the moment I met you. And I fall more and more in love with you with each one. Even on the days I’m not with you. Even on the days I’m miles away. Even then.” Spencer presses his lips against the back of your hand as he adds, “Especially then.” 

“Really?”

You can’t help it, the quiet little thing in you that wants to hear it again. 

Your tears have dried, but their traces still shimmer faintly on your skin. Spencer presses a kiss to your forehead, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He’d say it again. A hundred times. He’d make that speech a thousand times over, if you needed him to. If it meant you’d never doubt it again.

“Really, my love.”

And just like that, a million tally marks fall at your feet.

A million for the way he presses another kiss to your lips, unrushed. A million more for the way his nose bumps against yours, lingering, breathing you in. Another million for the spark that creeps back into your eyes. 

It’s infinite, unbound, unquantifiable—The way he loves you, the sheer depth of it. You feel foolish for ever having questioned it. You thank your lucky stars—all of them—for Spencer Reid. For the way he’s looking at you like you strung the constellations together yourself. For the way he chooses you, again and again, even when you don’t choose him, when you shut down, when you go quiet. 

Because love to Spencer isn’t desperation, isn’t need—it’s choice. The deliberate, unwavering act of reaching out, of staying, and of saying over and over: I choose you. 

Not because he has to, but because he wants to. To be the one to put you back together again when you’re all embers and ash, to cradle you back onto earth when stare past him into the ceiling, to remind you that there’s still warmth in you left to hold.

To breathe the spark back into your eyes—It’s a choice he made the very moment he met you. It’s a spark Spencer swears he’d spend his whole life keeping alight.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: daylight by taylor swift intrapersonal by turnover

[moonshynecybin]

i know you’re busy but whenever you have time i’d love to hear your thoughts on the relationship between the academy boys and marc post reunion !

my thoughts have grown and evolved and changed on this over time... like the first time i got this question was directly post valencia 2023 and bez was like. in the press all mad and pecco was on top of the world and cele's collarbone was intact and mig was like. not podcasting and franky was pre marquez brothers putting him into the recovery position after that bad crash and perhaps saving his life in the soap opera sense and luca was on a DUCATI. overall things have SHIFTED!!! and for better and for worse as the last yearish has gone by, its become less like. abstraction based on the vr46 boys general personalities and relationship to vale + his baggage and more seeing pecco and marc being put on weird little couches together by their boss and bez hopefully being on the other side of that sexuality crisis/LEAVING the nest and marc and alex helping franky in a moment of need and luca AT honda rn now staring down santi hernandez longingly across the garage like its a whole new world... theyre all interacting with marc as a PEER rather than daddy’s horrible little evil ex boyfriend who burned his house down, which is an interesting little space to live in as they bring their specific baggage into this reconciliation imo

SOOOO taking all of this into account, i think its awkward and fraught and funnyyyy and full of all the little spikes that growing pains consist of, but its also like. unique and individual, rather than collective. now theyre all adults in their mid to late 20s-- theyre their own people more than ever, interacting with their coworker, who a few of them have had the opportunity to get to know in new and (not always positively) transformative ways. a few of them have even gotten to know THEMSELVES in new and transformative ways. and i think the (admittedly VERY fun lmao) idea that marc sort of. integrating into this community is something thats inherently hostile is the LESS interesting option to me.... bc it isnt just academy v marc its like. luca and pecco and franky and bez and even mig and cele all bringing their specific and wonderful character dynamics to the reconciliation table along WITH marc and all the reasons he might have to have weird feelings about THEM... and thats FUN...

[hexb0nes]

Please Do the disbality study on jayvik / jayce and viktor separately , this me motivating you 👍👍👍

THERE IS BEAUTY IN IMPERFECTIONS - AN ANALYSIS ON LOVE & DISABILITY WITH JAYCE, VIKTOR, & JAYVIK

ok tysm anon, here it is <3 arcane season 1-2 spoilers (reclaiming the c-slur aka cripple 'cuz i am a cripple lol)

disability is one of the most important aspects in jayvik's relationship, as well as the following: how jayce interacts with disability pre- and post-'touched by the arcane', how viktor interacts with disability and his internalized ableism, and how they interact with one another in regards to disability... let's begin!

jayce - golden boy to defender of tomorrow, the costs endured

honestly, i wanna talk about jayce and disability, first. crazy, i know i know, but let's get into it. jayce has been exposed to disability for his entire life with his mother losing some of her fingers from frostbite when they were caught in the snowstorm. i believe this, combined with the talis family being blacksmiths (workplace injuries like burns and limb loss -> disabilities), allowed jayce to be one of the few people in piltover who had some compassion/understanding around disability. if you look at piltover, ESPECIALLY the scene where salo is being rolled down the stairs towards the council table in his wheelchair, it is NOT accessible and when there's physical inaccessibility, there's likely attitudinal inaccessibility. you can see it during the scene when mel is manipulating jayce into making hextech weapons and how she disregards viktor, despite him being a CO-CREATOR of hextech (could be because of his zaunite status, but i wouldn't be surprised if that was coupled with ableism).

we don't see jayce actively engage with piltover's ableism and is rather accommodating. he makes a custom crutch for viktor to use when his disease progresses, he doesn't 'other' viktor and constantly refers to him as his partner aka his equal. however, we've been shown that jayce still harbors bias, even if it's not strictly ableism. he showcases prejudice when viktor informs him that he went to the undercity and calls the people of the undercity 'dangerous', but corrects course when called out by viktor. still, it does that jayce is NOT immune to propaganda and is able to harbor ableist beliefs. as an able-bodied person in piltover, he has privilege over viktor and other disabled people, regardless if they're from piltover or zaun. that inherently makes him unable to escape the clutches of ableism.

then we get to jayce's journey through ruined piltover. ohhhh boyyyy... baby boy went THROUGH IT. falling into that hole and getting his leg utterly shattered by his hammer falling on it, jayce likely spent over a month in ruined piltover. safe to say that his leg didn't set properly and that his back injuries from the council room explosion worsened from the fall. he becomes season 1 viktor through this, trekking through the depths of zaun to the top of piltover with the same conditions viktor was born with. jayce embodies the acquired disabled experience, where someone becomes disabled after the first year of life. he struggles through a world now inaccessible to him, struggles with the pain associated with his disabilities. HOWEVER!!! there's something else related to disability that i rarely see arcane fans discuss and more so make fun of: jayce's hallucinations and PTSD, including acute psychosis.

we see jayce hallucinate during his time in ruined piltover and his erratic drawing on the hole's wall; while that's not enough to diagnose someone with psychosis, but with the add-on of the hallucinations worsening and becoming heightened after his return to the original piltover, it's safe to infer that bro's in an arcane-afflicted psychosis (the hallucinations are worsened by the arcane) from his return to after he kills viktor. sure, you can say "but the arcane!" but im talking about real world equivalence, so stfu! anywho, acute psychosis was happening and that contributed to his PTSD. given that he likely remained in ruined piltover for a month or longer, as well as what he experienced, he likely meets the criteria for PTSD. you could say that he suffers from acute stress disorder, but jayce's symptoms last longer than a month. his PTSD, the hallucinations, and the acute psychotic episode are really brushed off by the show and by us viewers. but it still is a part of jayce's character.

td;lr jayce's arc goes from being an able-bodied golden boy with privilege and security to a disabled, traumatized man who experienced a literal hellscape. his experiences in ruined piltover mimics viktor's and parallels the average experience that a person with an acquired disability faces.

viktor - from zaun to piltover, a cripple is a still a cripple

viktor, viktor, viktor... my baby boy... he goes through hell. as seen in the show, viktor possesses a disability that impacts his left leg and spine, which is later worsened by the progression of his lung disease. while his disability is congenital (i.e. born with or obtained before the first year of life), his lung disease is not; it's a product of piltover's oppression over zaun via the grey, which is later weaponized by caitlyn and her squad to hunt down jinx through the undercity. this is a classic example of environmental racism (aka the unfair distribution of environmental hazards to communities of color and low-income communities) that impacts zaun. it showcases how society disables its most vulnerable members, whether through disregard for environmental safety (i.e. piltover dumping toxic waste/trash into zaun) or militarized action (i.e. the weaponization of the grey). viktor is a product of such a society, which later fuels his goals and intentions with hextech.

viktor fights and climbs his way out of zaun and into piltover to pursue his dream as a scientist. he has so many obstacles against him beyond his disability, such as the lack of a patron and his zaunite status. we see him treated as lesser for being a disabled zaunite by many characters, such as mel and marcus. he is seen as an accessory to hemingdinger and later jayce, he is never given the respect he deserves as a scientist and an inventor. regardless of where viktor is, he's still an outcast on the basis of being zaunite and disabled. we see other disabled characters, such as sevika, from zaun where their disabilities are usually the result of surviving violence and are augmented by prosthetics; viktor is the exception to that. his disability is nothing "noble" in the eyes of zaun and something that gets in the way of "progress" in piltover. viktor has nowhere to go, no one who understands his experiences.

then we have his interactions with the hexcore. as his disease worsens and becomes terminal, viktor is confronted with morality, something that many disabled people have been forced to examine at an early age. he wants to be remembered, but his research is going in a terrible direction towards weaponization against his community and everyone seems to have forgotten him so... in his eyes, he has nothing else to lose. why not experiment with his body, to see if he can do something instead of waiting to succumb to his disease? why not use shimmer and crave those runes into his skin? why not touch the hexcore and see what happens? the hexcore offers viktor a chance of "normalcy" through arcane augmentation, but it ultimately leads to his downfall. we see it foreshadowed during the scene where viktor runs for the first time and manages to outrun a ship when his younger self couldn't even catch up with his toy boat; however, from an animation standpoint, the scene with his younger self goes from left to right (signaling progression) while the scene with his older self goes from right to left (signaling a "backpedaling").

[as a side note, that scene where viktor runs? it hit so fucking hard for me. as a disabled person with a degenerative condition, i watched myself go from playing softball and dancing to struggling to get out of bed most days. to be able to run again, to regain some strength in my body?? i would totally use the hexcore. i understand viktor's intentions with it, but... yeahh...]

soon, viktor realizes that the hexcore is bad news and asks jayce to destory it... however, jayce breaks that promise and that is MAJOR. by using the hexcore to revive viktor after the explosion, jayce disregards viktor's autonomy and wishes. when viktor awakens and finds out what happened, jayce broke his trust and faith in him; viktor believes that jayce turned him into his rio, the creature being kept alive for shimmer production(?) purposes. viktor does NOT want to be an experiment, a project forced to live against its will. for viktor, dying in the explosion was the ideal, it was a fast death and arguably a noble one. by dying in the explosion, viktor avoided succumbing to his disease. later, we see viktor realize that he's jayce's orianna (singed's daughter who he put in a stasis machine in order to revive her and make her better) and that contributes to his exchange with jayce during their fight when he was controlling the automation, "let's instead do this again as partners" and shit.

but let's back track a bit. the hexcore fusion grants viktor the ability to "heal" people and ultimately, that's viktor's greatest aspiration, to help and better the common people. however, good intentions get corrupted by the hexcore, as viktor's internalized ableism manifests. when he "heals" people, he removes them of everything he deems as imperfect. we see so when he first heals huck, the merchant from the last drop turned shimmer addict. viktor essentially beautifies him with a better hairline and hair, making him taller, and what not. everyone "healed" by viktor have their "imperfections" removed. we see so again with sky in the astral plane; regardless if she was an illusion by the hexcore or not, her imperfections are removed, such as her glasses.

this enters into eugenics territory (i.e. a set of beliefs and practices that aim to improve the genetic quality of a human population) and viktor's 'glorious evolution' goal is based in eugenics. he wants to make people perfect and believes humanity must 'evolve' in order to achieve such perfection through means of the removal of free will and the transformation into automations; there no one feels pain, no one feels sufferings, they're perfect. it's not until jayce's speech and seeing his older self that he realizes the error of his way, that suffering is key to being human and that 'perfecting' humanity leads to a dull world, one devoid of emotion and life. when viktor realizes how much jayce loves him, IN TANGENT with his disabilities, he's overwhelmed because through his whole life, he never thought such a thing was possible: to be loved for his true self by another.

viktor's experiences as a disabled person, a disabled person from a marginalized community, influence his character but it's NOT the whole focus of his character. when it comes to disabled characters, the media tends to make them one-dimensional and focuses solely on their disability. viktor, on the other hand, is such a layered character! yes, his disability plays a big role in his story, but it's simply a component of viktor as a character, not his entirety.

td;lr viktor is one of the best pieces of disabled representation in media that i have ever seen. his experiences as a disabled person and his internalized ableism guide his intentions, motivations, and goals. fusing with the hexcore corrupts his good intentions and intensifies his internalized ableism, leading to the goal of the 'final glorious evolution' by utilizing eugenics. ultimately, viktor is the product of his society, disregarded and demeaned for being disabled and zaunite when the dominant class is responsible for his suffering.

jayvik - what saved the world was newfound shared experience

now, it's jayvik time. in season one, we see that jayce is one of the few people in piltover (or in the series tbh) that is actively accommodating and proactive with disability. i'm not sure if its canon or fanon, but viktor's crutch was made by jayce; this is a subtle act of romance and love jayce gives viktor. jayce also displays protectiveness towards viktor when hemingdinger urges them to destroy the hexcore because he knew it had the potential to save and likely improve viktor's quality of life. in addition, one could argue that jayce's tendency to grasp viktor by the shoulder comes from a desire to keep him steady and stable.

at the end of season 1/the start of season 2, jayce breaks his promise to destroy the hexcore and uses it to revive viktor. when viktor awakens and finds out, he leaves. from my perspective, it's because viktor believed jayce kept him alive in the same way singed kept rio, an experiment. however, when viktor sees orianna and how singed is keeping her alive, he reveals that he's jayce's orianna and that he revived him out of love. this is a dynamic that often occurs in real life and in other media, where the caregiver or loved one of the disabled person does everything in their power to keep the disabled person alive, despite the disabled person's wishes. a good example of this is in my sister's keeper, where the mother is trying to keep her dying daughter with cancer alive, despite her not wanting to keep fighting because of the pain and loss of a normal childhood, through the use of the younger sister as a donor kid (i.e. donating bone marrow, a kidney, etc. to keep her older sister alive). it's not a healthy dynamic because it undermines the autonomy of the disabled person.

then we have the jayce vs. automation!viktor fight (honestly, it was more of a sex scene in the level of intimacy and rawness, but ANYWHO), where jayce says to viktor that his partner "died in this room", which we can take as literally and as something deeper. using the power of media literacy, we can infer that jayce is referring to viktor's personality, how viktor's true self died during the explosion alongside his body; despite viktor's confidence and comfort in an abled body (the automation, his final evolution form), jayce doesn't consider that to be the true viktor, his viktor, because viktor's disability was intertwined with viktor's being as a whole alongside personality, hopes and dreams, etc.

onto jayce's montage in ruined piltover, when he's by the fire and hallucinating, he sees mel before it fades into viktor... HOLDING HIS CRUTCH. jayce considers viktor's mobility aid as essential to viktor, a key component of viktor. we then see jayce's reaction to mage!viktor being an older man (i estimate that he was in his 50s), his shock being not only from the fact that "hey the mage who saved you and your mama was your partner, which created a bootstrap paradox and is why y'all are IN THIS FUCKING MESS!" but that was his first and only time seeing viktor old. jayce knew that viktor would likely never get to that age, unless there was a cure to viktor's disease, so this is special, this is raw.

now onto the juiciest bit, jayce's speech in the astral plane. GOD, his speech made my whole ass body shudder. he says and i quote:

You've always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses. Your leg. Your disease. But you were never broken, Viktor. There is beauty in imperfections. They made you who you are. An inseparable piece of everything... I admired about you.

viktor's whole 'final glorious evolution' obsession was fueled by good intentions gone wrong and mixed with internalized ableism. viktor fought so hard to climb out of zaun and make it as a scientist, only to be discarded by piltover for his disabilities. then you get these lines from mage!viktor about there being no prize to perfection and how jayce is the only one who can show him the error of his ways... it alludes to viktor's disabled experiences, his life and death as a disabled man. imperfections make humanity the way it is, robbing free will for the sake of perfection doesn't work. viktor wanted to rid suffering, but suffering makes people human; some people, disabled people, unfortunately suffer more than others, but in my personal opinion, more suffering means more of the humanity experience imbedded in you... so jayce saying there is beauty in imperfections calls out to viktor that he is human and that his disabilities contribute to his humanity. his disabilities make life harder for him, yes! but they are part of him, they guide his life just like other aspects of his life (his intellect, his zaunite background, etc.).

however, i don't think jayce would have been able to come to that conclusion/realization if he didn't fall down the hole in ruined piltover. becoming disabled himself allowed jayce to unlock something deep, as he took on a literal version of viktor's journey; shared experience. as an able-bodied person in season 1 and pre-teleporting to ruined piltover, jayce would have never been able to truly comprehend or grasp viktor's motivations, his struggles, etc. as a disabled person. but going on viktor's LITERAL life journey from the pits of zaun to the skyscrapers of piltover with his leg broken, with no one's help... that gifted jayce shared experience with viktor.

without that experience, jayce would have failed. yes, ekko's z-drive was honestly the reason why, but its cuz it bought jayce the time needed to show viktor the truth. i can guarantee there's a timeline that everything was the same in the events of the war, but jayce didn't have that shared experience with viktor and failed.

ultimately, disability is foundational to jayvik and their love for one another. without disability, you lose viktor's whole personhood and arc, as well as part of what makes jayvik... jayvik.

end notes

wow, this took forever, but if you made it to this part... thank you for reading! remember to like/comment/reblog and stay awesome! and stay tuned for future disability yaps and arcane simping from yours truly!

love, bee (your local cripple and jayvik lover)

[headlong-flight]

The Old Testament is largely made up of stories passed down orally before the advent of writing. It's part history, part moral code of a specific society. One that did not exist in a vacuum but was influenced by others interacting with that culture. Which probably explains a number of inconsistencies.

The New Testament didn't even exist when the first followers of Christ were meeting secretly in homes. Most of them couldn't even read. Again, oral instruction was the name of the game.

The Bible as we know it is the result of a conference, one where the typical wheeling and dealing inherent in all political gatherings was rampant. And by that time... the majority of the flock couldn't even read the end result.

I can keep going on about how the Bible was used to control, and continues to be used to control, the common folk, but I think most are aware.

It's the spirit, or the Spirit that matters. "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

That is really the Good News... isn't it?

You cannot force belief. You can't just chuck verses about and beat your fist on the pulpit like Greta Thunberg reciting climate statistics. Each and every one of us must do the work of discernment; we must consult the bit of God within us, that spark that makes us beings that are animal and spirit.

Our shepherds are supposed to help us in that work.

The Stoics heavily influenced the early church, even as some of them persecuted its adherents. But I cannot ignore their words of wisdom any more than I can ignore words of wisdom found in the Bible - Marcus Aurelius wrote, "Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one."

I may just be a simple, undereducated sinner. But I read, I think, and I've traveled and lived in places that made me realize at an early age that the world is not black and white; that it is not the world the church I grew up in would have me believe it was.

It made me realize that in a world where I have not found a mentor, a shepherd, that I needed to become my own. It's still a work in progress... it always will be. And quite honestly, I think that I'm at the point where it's my spark I have to listen to. It tells me when I'm acting against nature, against God. It hasn't failed me, but have I always heeded it? No. I'm human, and that means I'm flawed. Does that mean I'm going to stop trying? No.

Shepherds should be working with us to connect with God, to build our relationships with Him. To teach us to love others and to help them to build their relationships with Him as well.

Relying solely on the Bible and ignoring the human experience to do this is in opposition to Jesus's sacrifice.

What does god say about lgbt stuff? Is it really a sin?

It really is.

Any sexual expression other than between a man and his wife is sinful. Adultery, heterosexual and homosexual sex outside of marriage, use of pornography, pedophilia, and every other aberrant sexual practice is an abuse of the body's capacity for sex and a desecration of God's image (which all humans bear).

I wrote a post all about this years ago, check it out. Be blessed!

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

oh to have a patron god who unconditionally loves you to bits.....

//

[wind-up-thancred]

mama's gonna help build the wall

[waitingforminjae]

wake up babe a new type of dynamic just dropped

[lycanr0t]

the thing about aplatonicism is that just like aromanticism and asexualism, it doesn't inherently mean you don't want friendships, every individual apl person has different needs and wants in regards to friendship and each person will go about it differently.

I for example am aplatonic and don't specifically feel platonic attraction as in, i don't feel a drive to befriend people. I don't get "friend crushes" or ever get the desire to befriend specific people. I am personally, very open to the possibility of friendship if someone else approaches me and we vibe. I am not platonically attracted to them, but I also do get enjoyment from socializing with others in that way and can become attached to them, etc. Platonic attraction does not equal caring about someone/being good to them. Attraction is not moral in that way. it just is.

Just like how some ace people still enjoy sex, even without sexual attraction. Some aplatonic people still enjoy friendship, and some don't. And that's okay! There are so many types of relationships out there that people can form and explore what makes them happiest and it looks different for every person and that's such a wonderful thing.

[tarohonii]

Cain and Duke are the metaphor of being human despite everything!! that attachment and love and hate finds it's way into any crack even when we think we're above or below emotion!! love and hate will survive in the most harshest, unwanted conditions!! that even when we know everything is fake and a charade and one long game and everyone is being used and you are being used you will find love and affection in any fragment of it even when you know it's fake!!! how they're sure it's fake, i don't know because they are complex and we are beyond machines that feel nothing!!! they will be humans no matter how much they wish not to!!we will all fall to the inevitability of the human heart!!! we all suffer the beautiful imperfection of being human!!! can anyone hear me!!!

[introvertgoat]

hc that throughout the years, jude takes leaves of absences form being high queen to go spend a couple months w vivi heather n oak !!! madoc too ig while he’s still exiled lol. ( vehemently ignoring the stolen heir’s canon sorry not sorry.) family bonding time, far away from the hubbub n chaos of the folk, n also the realization that jude doesn’t mind the mortal world all that much. yes it’s not faerieland, but it’s smth alright n she finds it soothing at times. she’s less unhinged n paranoid compared to when she was younger n the ptsd from her past has decreased in its intensity thanks to heather-mandated therapy ( heather only had to hear a couple times abt the duarte sisters’ fucked up childhood for her to plead jude to go to therapy—vivi alrdy has— n jude relented after 5 yrs of honest-to-god begging. big slay heather our mental health queen 🫂) and so that’s why she can even leave faerieland in someone else’s hands. these visits aren’t too frequent but they r long in their duration. 3-4 months tops. sometimes cardan comes along bcs the bed feels empty w/o jude n— Okay he’s js lonely w/o his wife. sue him. some poor hapless councilor advisor is forced to be in charge in their place (they send letters weekly. ‘please your majesties, when will you be returning home ?’ #urgent LOL) one day jude (age:37) notices grey hairs appearing on her head n she sort of freaks out. not in an entirely vain way either. more like:. oh fuck aren’t i supposed to not age as long as im in faeirieland ?? 3 long discussions later w cardan n the royal folk-human specialist, the conclusion that is reached is that bcs of jude’s visits to the mortal word, as infrequent as they r, theyve seemed to affect the way her body ages. or more aptly put, doesn’t age lol. jude gets some grey hair n lines on her face while still technically NOT aging. n she feels less panicky abt it bcs hey she’s not aging. sort of. meanwhile, cardan finds himself deeply enamored w jude’s grey hair n the subtle creases on her face that multiply slowly. he tells jude js so n she’s like i am not susceptible to flattery cardan greenbriar. hes Serious abt it tho n tells her that he isn’t saying that bcs it’ll make her feel better or wtv but bcs her aging evidently is actually beautiful to him. cue jude sour pursed lips for a bit as she gets these days when it comes to cardan being unbearably earnest towards her but she feels less weird abt the hair n lines so :)

anyways this was a long-winded niche asf hc that appeals to exactly only 2 ppl on this site n im not even confident in THAT estimate lol

[halloweenorangesoda]

is the world ready for one sided sonadow where sonics default state is being nice + enjoying competition and regards shadow as he would any threat/ally/friend, but for shadow sonic has flipped his entire world upside down

[sculptambitio]

/ I know that technically it would be impossible bc of many reasons, but I keep seeing cute fanart of D.io having met/raised tiny G.iorno and I can't help but think of dad-Diego as he's sort of an alternative universe version of Dio (or well, he replaces the antagonistic place that D.io would have normally taken in the universe in which S.teel B.all R.un takes place had it not been a reboot of the universe.) and proud D.iego on a horse carrying little g.iorno in his arm since both love animals AND IM EMOTIONAL!!!

[tearueful]

I really need people to understand that 'I'm done coddling men' and 'I hate you for being a man' are not the same thing.

I can be done with offering my emotional energy to individual men while also simply not blaming them for everything the patriarchy has done to society.

One is an individual choice for my life and the other is a result of social conditioning.

[alliluyevas]

dragon age discourse but. even if i have considered a cousland dao playthrough because i love alistair and i kind of do want a happy ending with him, i also think that "fem warden cousland marries alistair and becomes queen" or i guess also "male warden cousland marries anora and becomes king" tho fewer people seem to play that is probably one of the most boring storytelling choices you could end up with lmfao

[chaoxfix]

god i need the algorithm to stop recommending lore olympus to me.

reframing a kidnapping of a woman as romance, and painting her mother as an overbearing shrew rather than rightfully worried and protective, and portraying the kidnapper as sympathetic ... what about my overtly feminist ass makes anyone or any algorithm think i'd enjoy ANY hades/persephone romance retellings.

at this point the only hades and persephone retelling i'm interested in is a retelling that focuses on demeter's love for her daughter. one where persephone's abduction and transition from kore, the maiden, to persephone, goddess of the dead and queen of the underworld, was one where she carries out a revenge fantasy against her abductor... She cannot fully escape the underworld, no; she is death, doomed by the narrative. Underground she will stay for half the year. But she will not subject herself to be trapped with him.

hades dies at dawn; hades dies in the spring light, by persephone's power, and a knife garnished with evergreen thistles. demeter holds him down, and persephone cuts the head. judith slaying holofernes; persephone slaying hades.

[aroacettorney]

perhaps the reason why aup ended like *that* is because it was not supposed to have a happy ending in the first place, but sayren didnt have the guts to deal with readers' backlash for when they finally kill off the main character so a half baked happy ending is what we get 😔