#in fact. have the same humor as you

[the-unconquered-queen]

The cast of Blades of Light and Shadow and their Perfect Match types

Ever since I did my Blades/Elementalists attunement crossover to mark the anniversary of the Blades series, I’ve known I wanted to do something like this to mark the wide release of book three, and I love me some Perfect Match and the types system, so what better way than by incorporating that into a piece?

So the match types you see here are based on what we’ve seen of these characters up to book two, so any character evolution they may undergo in book three is not accounted for. You might also notice that, when deciding each character’s type, I went off of the core four traits instead of the match name or description, unless I needed a tiebreaker.

Finally, MC’s type is pretty subjective, as I’m sure everyone has a different idea of what their MCs are like, so for the sake of this edit set, Raine’s type is based on which traits she displays most in canon.

So, are you swiping right?

[gayemoji]

the weirdest part is kowing n o w that they ARE in fact. just like that. theyre not saying silly things just to be silly quirky high energy #BANTS on camera. that is in fact mostly their real personalities.

nothing better than watching old-ish dan and phil content with the 2024 lens. like they say something 'oUt Rag EoUS' and i am just 'shut UP gay boys 🙄'

[shannonsketches]

He said "Fuck this shit, I'm out" I'm crying. Toriyama's Vegeta was so top shelf 🤌

(From Neko Majin Z Chapter 5!)

[fisherrprince]

oh so alisaie’s exaggerated bully behavior is 80% fanon. saying this she casually picks up a large rock

[woomycritiques543]

TW: MENTIONS OF EATING DISORDERS, Self Harm.

Just noticed this but...

Anyone else notice how after the show mentioned Moxxie losing weight after he was bullied into having body dysmorphia... that the character is now full on skinny? A lot more than before? The saddest part is that HB used to be my comfort show, and Moxxie comforted me seeing how autistic he was, so for the show to resort him to a carbon copy of Blitz like in "Western Energy" and a fetishization of femmes and ED is just... wow, holy shit.

-and I know that Moxxie's legs were NOT that skinny just a few episodes ago. -and the show has now confirmed that he is "losing weight" after being "harassed into thinking that he's fat while he's not at all." and now seeing how he looks dangerously skinny in this shot holy fucking shit the show's actually going with having him having an eating disorder... isn't it? Especially with how everyone else who is sexualized far more than Moxxie is, is bone-thin, or has no internal organs, and now im starting to get concerned for the creators as you'd have to have something seriously wrong with your body image to do something like this within your art. Vivienne... are you ok?

"It's just an art style" No, having negative body image is not an "art style", you can be cartoony without psychologically harming yourself and how you see your body. -and seeing how Vivziepop has now fetishized the ED's of real life people (KESHA!) and has eating disorders as a "running gag" (god, hearing this just made me want to gag! dear god!) in her show(s).. Yeah... this, and the representation that's scaringly close to stereotypes that are being used by conservatives, right now, to kill the lgbt+ community by calling them "dangerous around children", is just... yikes, now you know why that im going to be avoiding this episode like I did for most of the Kesha one. Helluva Boss is now beyond redemption at this point.

It's now gone from badly written... to rancid.

[aroaceleovaldez]

Okay these tags on this post reminded me of a HoO/TOA thing that I complain about a lot but I don’t think i’ve ever elaborated on here:

[Image ID: Tags from @fr0zenpepsi​ reading - “#and jason fUCKING DIES before he even get fixed like #you dont know how excited i was when the diorama thing was mentioned like #make him artistic too!! make him be into architecture too! #and he plays lacrosse???? #like his character has sooo much potential yet hes just a boring white guy :< #thats prolly why his death is pretty lame #it meant a lot to the plot but like do we even know who we lost?? #more than half of the fandom doesnt even like him bc hes just so plain :/ #also hazel is a queen and i love her shes literally the best” /end ID.]

One of the big issues I take with both HoO and TOA is that literally every death in both series feels cheap because death has lost consequence. For the majority of HoO it’s at least somewhat still of a risk, but even things like Tartarus feel extremely lackluster when we actually encounter them - Tartarus especially after we saw how much it affected Nico, but then Percy and Annabeth’s plot armor kind of negates all of the threat and it feels like they don’t actually experience much more than their usual threats down there or that it has any lasting effect on them. And after Leo’s “death” we’re basically solidified into “Death has no consequence” because we just finished a series with at least SIX INSTANCES of major or minor protagonist-aligned characters notably directly cheating or miraculously avoiding death (Jason, Hazel, Gwen, Frank, Jason again, Leo), not including also miscellaneous minor antagonists. Which is aggravating because you can make a “Hey, these characters can’t die!” plot work, especially if that’s the root problem they’re trying to solve! It does work in TLH and SoN! And we’ve even seen it before in Battle of the Labyrinth when Percy fights his half-brother!

But HoO basically nullifies all consequence the characters face from MoA onwards and post-BoO “death” carries no weight, because by this point we have so many excuses to get around it or avoid it or come back from it that who cares! And this continues to be a thing post-TOA! Even just in the plot summary of Chalice Of The Gods we’re introduced to YET ANOTHER “Cheat death!” item! And I’d bet we’re gonna get one in TSATS too cause we’re almost guaranteed to see Damasen again, and the like one singular myth that exists referencing Damasen also specifically mentions an herb called “the flower of Zeus” that can revive things from the dead.

And it’s extra annoying because in TOA we keep getting character deaths shoved in our faces and told we should care about them, but either they’re characters we have little to no emotional connection to (such as, like, All Of Camp Jupiter in Tyrant’s Tomb when the camp is threatened and we’re told we should care, but we’ve barely seen the camp at all besides beginning of Son of Neptune and beginning of Mark of Athena, and the only living characters we get to actually see in Camp Jupiter from before TOA are Gwen, Dakota, Don the Faun, and our HoO protagonists.)

And Jason’s death is particularly annoying because a.) He’s essentially cheated death twice already [Piper bringing him back from either death or near-death when he accidentally witnessed Hera’s true form, and then his whole spear injury that was slowly killing him but was healed with [checks notes] the power of friendship], and b.) the scene DIRECTLY PARALLELS HIS FIGHT WITH MIDAS. Which, you know, he WON. VERY EASILY. And you can’t even argue “oh but this time Piper and Apollo were right there so he couldn’t have done the same thing!” because PIPER AND LEO WERE THERE WITH MIDAS. Heck, so was Lit! Who also survives and comes back in TOA! So not only is there no excuse for Jason to have not somehow miraculously avoided death (alongside every other TOA character, basically), but he SHOULDN’T HAVE DIED IN THE FIRST PLACE because THAT’S NOT A FIGHT HE SHOULD HAVE LOST! Him losing that fight is directly contrary to what we know about his character! And “he shouldn’t have lost that fight and died” doesn’t feel tragic here, it’s just aggravating! It’s just bad writing! And there’s no way around it because nobody cares about characters dying by that point in the series anyways because it doesn’t mean anything! We’ve had too much random death fodder in HoO (like the Hunters) directly alongside characters experiencing little to no consequence when they should from their experiences (Percy & Annabeth in Tartarus, literally every character nearly dying, etc.). The only characters we do see experience any kind of lasting consequences from near-death experiences are Hazel having blackouts in Son of Neptune (which are magically erased by Mark of Athena) and Nico being heavily implied to be permanently physically disabled after Tartarus (which is half-ignored when not plot relevant in TOA and completely ignored in the short story Un Natale Mezzosangue, which gives me reason to suspect it will also be ignored in TSATS). Not to mention Frank’s curse is also randomly erased in Tyrant’s Tomb, which is extra stupid because by following the logic of that scene his curse should have been lost back in Son of Neptune when he freed Thanatos, because he was using his curse for the same exact reasons with the same exact mindset. He literally did his character arc twice. Whatever.

HoO and TOA are just such a mess writing-wise of Rick trying to haphazardly incorporate as many myths as he can with zero attempts at cohesiveness that it doesn’t make any sense (I invite you all to read just the Team Statue chapters of BoO and take a moment to process how absolutely nonsensical it is) and he fails to consider the consequences of including certain myths, both in terms of how their aspects will impact the larger plot and also the historical context behind those myths and if how they’re being applied is offensive.

TL:DR: Jason’s death is stupid from literally every angle and HoO and TOA have a problem with literally any kind of narrative consequence.

[echo-s-land]

Imma be real with you chief, auto-derision is the basics of French humor but people constantly insulting or belittling French people gets tiring

[freckliedan]

assumed u were an only child because you don't mention your siblings often (if ever?) + i'm an only child myself and tend to assume everyone else is until proven otherwise. the concept of having siblings is still genuinely wild to me so i basically never think people live that experience

hell yeah thank you for the info on that bc i never know how i come across to others! so real and relatable to have areas of just not conceptualizing a different experience of the world.

my sister and i aren't really close at all & haven't been since i was like 14—it's not like we actively don't get along, we call on the phone sometimes? we're just really different people. i definitely do not have the experience of being good friends with a sibling the way a lot of my friends with siblings do & have had multiple friends i made as an adult guess i was an only child too.

[one-winged-dreams]

LET ME PREFACE THIS BY SAYING I'M NOT BEING A HATER.

But in TFP reader fics, it always seems like the reader is like, super nice to the vehicons and they're like 'why are you being so nice to us? no one's ever been nice to us :(' and it's all cute and sweet and everything

but there is specific comedy value in the soundwave selfship where the vehicons see my insert and are just fucking TERRIFIED of him. Soundwave is creepy as fuck enough as is, who knows what the fuck is wrong with a HUMAN that's in LOVE with him?? AND SOUNDWAVE LOVES HIM BACK???? There has GOT to be something HORRIFIC about that thing, get the fuck away from it. Do not TOUCH IT. When you see it, RUN.

Insert reaction for bonus comedy:

[mazojo]

What's yuri's personality then? Being gay?

About Minho, being mean and making mean two liners towards Kitty every in between?

ma'am this is a McDonalds drive thru

[dreamlanddeluxe]

lbp is like. iunno it holds a rlly special place in my heart & i remember being really young and not having the coordination to swing from thing to thing on the first level and being SO scared of the haunted castle,, idk do u know if there’s any way to emulate it i feel so bad asking but 😭 bro i miss it soo much im so happy someone gets it!! i’d love to see ur collection sometime :) you’re free to come in my inbox any time and tell me any lbp facts Please

SO SORRY I FORGOT TO ANSWER THIS umm I think I remember someone I follow posting about emulating the game but I don’t remember who I’m sorry, but I believe there is a way if any of my followers know feel free to say something! And yeah I remember playing one of the first levels in the garden area when I was little and not understanding where I needed to throw those sponge ball things and I ended up beating it by accident after I just stared flinging them everywhere and ended up putting them where they were supposed to by doing that lol. I’d be happy to show you my collection also ^_^ I’m in the middle of moving stuff right now so I don’t have all my items on hand but when I do I’ll definitely show it off, it’s been a while since I took a pic of my updated collection anyways, and I’ll definitely share some facts with you when I can!

[3x09x1]

i dont know hwow my brothers always . get so close to and talk with people :::::

[ozzgin]

Just read your arranged marriage kidnapped by a most post and the humor in the servants always thinking reader is in peril. The same going for monster hubby (He just thinks they're submissive and breedable)

Like none of them realize they are a moster fucker cause they hide it so well. Like just imagining reader be like "oh be gentle with me I'm a dainty maiden" and then giving him the night of his life is hilarious. Or them having dinner and the servants feel bad for them cause monster hubby is eating human meat but their just thinking about other things he can use his tongue on.

Or maybe someone comes to rescue them from the terrible monster finally. But they don't wanna leave and instead fight the knight off. The knight thinks they've been brainwashed or something. Meanwhile the servants think the knight just wasn't good enough to rescue them.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, NSFW! [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

The servants are not blind by any means: they can tell, quite plainly, that their monstrous Lord has a soft spot for you. Not only that, but the beast nearly worships you! They've come up with many theories, the latest one involving witchcraft. Surely you must have some sort of magical trickery under your sleeve in order to subdue their Master. There's no other way around it. All previous humans have been devoured, or have died in a pitiful attempt to escape, terrified to the bone upon gazing at his blasphemous Majesty.

You can't blame them. It's probably better for everyone involved if you omit the fact that your source of witchcraft lies in your...genitals. Well, not just that, of course. Your husband had started to lose hope. His appreciation of humans never came to fruition before your arrival. He was expecting you to cower in fear, not throw yourself at him.

He wondered if you wanted something from him in return, but no one could possibly pretend so flawlessly: the way you clung to him unprompted. The way you hungrily took him in, tears welling in your eyes, refusing to let go until you could feel his load avalanching down your throat. The way you'd trap his hips with your legs, despite being weak and feverish, asking that he doesn't stop yet. If that wasn't proof enough, your whines and moans were loud and clear. To think he could have his own little human, one who isn't repulsed by his monstrous form. He would've been content with mere tolerance, yet someone who begged to be fucked by him? He's been delirious ever since.

He loves everything about you, naturally, but he can't deny the shameless addiction he's now developed towards your body. He'd pound you anywhere and anytime if he could. If he needs to leave for official matters, know that the return will burn in the back of his mind.

"An important date, Sir?" one traveling servant will ask, glancing at all the scribbles in the calendar.

"Indeed", he answers solemnly. It's the times when he can finally fuck you dumb.

While the servants worry about their devilish Master being put under leash, for the other fellow humans the opposite seems to be true. You recall your last "rescuing" attempt distinctly. During one of your evening walks, burly, foreign arms swept you off in an instant. Before you knew it, you were holding onto the armored shoulders of an unknown man, as he made his way out of the traditional garden.

"I'll get you out of here", he promised between heaving breaths.

You stared in confusion. What was he saving you from? A good dicking? No matter how much you explained that you do actually like your newly appointed husband, the hero wouldn't budge.

You ended up just walking back home when the man fell asleep.

"That was quite the long walk", your monster partner remarked, polishing his weapons.

"Oh no, I was kidnapped", you state casually. "Got us some fruits on the way back."

Would it have been better to lie about it? On one hand, you do feel terrible for whoever attempted to retrieve you from the claws of the tyrant. Your husband is very possessive, and you know he'll scorch the Earth until that treacherous pest is gutted and fed to the pigs.

On the other hand...he becomes particularly savage after such incidents. You won't be able to sit properly for the next few weeks, but it's worth it.

Tough luck, you tell yourself, lounging in bed with a satisfied smirk and torn apart hole.

[retiredteabag]

The soul does not lie

synopsis: Sukuna allows tedious nonsense when he can feel your soul's cravings.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Though he hardly mentions it, Sukuna can, in fact, feel your soul in a way that a normal sorcerer never could. Knowing this helps to make sense of the fact that the man can always tell when you are distressed, even when you try to hide it.

You had discovered this little ability of his when he had come stomping in from the gardens one day while you watched unblinkingly at a horror film.

With your eyes only visible through the slots of your fingers you looked up to see him standing, arms crossed, in the entry way of his chambers.

"What is it that brings you fear?" He had thundered.

"W-what... no, nothing, I'm just watching a movie, see?" You flipped your phone around for the man too see but he did not take his eyes off your form.

"I do not repeat myself." His four eyes were squinted and his eyebrows arched in a dangerously attractive way.

"Kuna' it's a horror movie, that's all, I'm not really scared." You finally announced to the rolling of four red eyes.

"Your soul states otherwise." He quipped before drawing close to try and see what had your soul trembling so fearfully. He was disappointed, to say the least when he was unable to identify what was so "horrific" about your film.

And that marked the moment you realized that Sukuna was able to feel you in a way you could not understand.

Sukuna was NOT a gentleman, he was far, far from it. He loved to bring terror to the masses, very rarely did he allow another beings to so much as speak in his presence. He did, however, have "soft spots" for creatures that sparked his interest, and those remarkably loyal.

Even so, he did not make efforts to calm your nerves when you were anxious. He did not feel the slightest effect in his chest when your sorrow was palpable. He would certainly not allow for time to be wasted on your souls quivering's. That-was none of his concern.

It was not as if he was taking any actions when he allowed your pathetic "cuddling" nonsense when he felt the pangs of misery that surrounded your essence.

You had tried to hold him in the past but he did not see the use in wrapping oneself around another. Even so, he found himself pretending to sleep (even though he did not need it) when he sensed your desperation for his touch.

Likewise, when he could feel the shaky and childish excitement that bled from your soul when you were happy, he could not seem to help but humor you.

As mentioned, Sukuna does not require sleep like your helpless human form. Still, it was not uncommon for the king of curses to close his eyes, relaxing in his ultimate power. Be it when he bathes, when he is lounging on his palace's engawa, when he is seated on his throne, or even when he reclines himself along his chamber's bed.

Sukuna had his eyes closed one evening, feeling his power splay out from his body, grasping at the forms of everyone within his domain. When he sensed your spirit, quickly approaching his chambers.

He made the decision then to seem uninterested when you clambered through the doors.

He could hear the switch in your step as you drew in a breath, clearly forgetting what you had wished to say at the sudden image before you.

The bloodthirsty man had never looked more like a jungle cat, lying atop his bed in such a lazy fashion. He felt the exact moment your soul leapt. He knew you had covered your mouth as your heavy breathing had dulled despite your heartbeat climbing to unusual heights.

He knew of your antics. Having felt you chew on each of his biceps several times. You had that same giddiness now. It was simply that he did not care to move that he kept his eyes closed. Pretending not to notice as you took out your phone, your feet dancing around him. He'll allow you to take your ridiculous photos, he's too... relaxed... to... take issue with your senseless mischief.

He could tell you had finished when he heard you pocket your phone once more, your hands covering your beating heart, you leaned down, holding your breath. The king of curses had to keep himself from squishing his face in ....disgust.... as you planted a chaste kiss in the space between his lower eye and his upper lip.

"You're too precious." You quietly whisper. Brushing your hand softly through his hair. And Sukuna rolled his eyes behind his lids.

Such foolishness he has never seen. Even so- he will allow it.

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 8:46

“Do you have dimples?”

Bakugou doesn’t understand it himself, but you always find your way back to his house after your first visit—asking these out-of-the-blue questions that seem to have no end to them. It’s like a curse has befallen him, one that follows him wherever he goes.

For a moment, his eyes snap in your direction, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side, though his intense glare never once wavers. He didn’t know what the hell you were getting at, and he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to even want to know why you were asking about something so random.

Honestly, he should be used to it by now. But the thing is, he isn’t, because sooner or later you’ll be popping out of nowhere with another of your pointless questions.

“Hah?”

“I asked, do you have dimples?” you repeated.

His eye twitches at the repeated question, and as much as he’d like to give you a snappy remark to get you to stop, he can’t seem to come up with one. So, for the time being, he decides to humor you (and hope for the best that you drop it and move onto another topic).

“Why the hell are you asking?”

“Because Kaminari and I made a bet whether you have dimples or not. I went with yes, you do have them—even if it’s a singular dimple, but Kaminari says otherwise,” you explained, tapping your finger softly against the coffee table.

He scoffs at the childish reason. “And what makes you think I do have one?”

“A hunch,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “I also have just one.” You smiled, showing off your obvious singular dimple on your right cheek.

Bakugou glances at your dimple for a brief moment, eyes scanning over your face and the way that the dimple seemed to perfectly dip into the soft skin of your cheek. He almost found himself entranced for a moment, but his gaze returned to your eyes as he huffed out in mock disinterest.

He was about to dismiss your hunch—maybe just flat-out refuse to even show you—or come up with a lie. But Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t a liar.

“What happens if you win the bet?”

“I get 3000 yen,” you answered.

That’s a lot, he thought.

“I can pay you 3000 yen to shut the fuck up and stop with the useless questions.”

“There’s no fun in that!”

He scoffs again as he leans back against the sofa, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at your stupidity. He eyed you for a moment, his head tilting to the side as he sighed. “And what happens if you lose the bet?”

“He gets 3000 yen.”

Bakugou almost wanted to laugh at the fact that you were putting so much faith and money on a simple guess, but he managed to hold back on the amused expression and forced himself to remain calm and unbothered.

He leaned back a bit more, relaxing against the plush seats, letting out a mocking “tch” before he said, “What if I don’t show you if I have a damn dimple or not?”

“Please? Oh my god, Bakugou. Don’t do this to me now! Kaminari’s going to do a ‘victory dance’ when he finds out he won by default,” you half-whined.

He was about to give you his final choice when suddenly you started whining at him. Bakugou rose an eyebrow at you, lips quirking to a frown. As idiotic as it is to him, it looks like it was quite a serious matter to you.

“Tch. Whatever.”

You threw your hands to your face, groaning. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top? Spare me some sympathy—and be a team player for once!”

He found himself fighting a scowl at the way you acted. It was somewhat different this time around, and it was making him feel weird. Damn it. You’re a goddamn nuisance.

“Alright, fine. Just—” He motioned with his hand for you to come closer, an almost annoyed expression on his face. “If you tell anyone else about this other than Dunce Face, I’ll make sure you don’t ever see the next sunrise.”

“That doesn’t sound heroic at all—but yes, of course!” you cheered. “Just a little smile, and I shall confirm the goods.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, already regretting giving into your stupid request but at the same time knowing that he would never let Kaminari win against you in all circumstances possible.

He let out a huff and hesitantly let the sides of his own lips quirk up into a half-assed attempt at a smile, but from the way it was so rigid, it looked more like a painful grimace.

You gave him a confused, somewhat flat look in return. “Dude, you look like you’re about to shit yourself—mmph! ” You didn’t get to finish what you were saying as Bakugou’s palms immediately squished your cheeks together to shut you up.

“Oh shut it, dipshit,” Bakugou grumbled, his grip on your cheeks tightening ever so slightly as he forced you to pout your lips. “You were asking for a smile. I give one, and you wanna give me smart ass remarks about it?”

“I didn’ even gwet toh shee anythin’! That’s how bwad ith was,” you muffled out through pouty lips.

“Are you gonna keep yapping and bitching about what you asked for, or are you gonna accept my goddamn smile?”

“Fine, fine!” you yielded, pushung his hands away from your face. “Do it one more time, and I’ll actually check this time.”

He narrowed his eyes, almost as if he were wondering if you were going to actually do as you said or go against it and keep making smart-ass comments. But as you yielded, he let out a sigh and decided he’d rather just get this done and over with. 

Less hassle for him.

He repeated his ‘smile’ from before, which looked more like a forced sneer, and he waited for your verdict. This was his last straw; he was going to murder you (not).

You had to hold back your laughter but failed to do so. “I really can’t— Bakugou, please! ” you mused, hitting his shoulder playfully. “Your ‘smile’ reminds me of that time Kirishima had to hold the biggest shit before the bell rings.”

That caught Bakugou off guard. He remembered the memory of Kirishima’s panicked expression and the weird waddle he’d walked around in as he desperately tried to find a bathroom made Bakugou snort under his breath.

“Oh my god, you’re laughing!” you gawked. “And have a dimple! Just a singular one, like mine! We’re matching.”

There it was. A singular dimple on his left cheek.

Bakugou tried to regain his lost composure and let out a scoff in an attempt to mask the slight tint of pink that reached the tip of his ears. He forced his hand onto your face, shoving you (lightly, if he may add) away from him to prevent you from getting another look at his dimple.

“It’s not a worldwide discovery, dumbass. I can fucking laugh if I want to, and it’s just a fucking indent on the cheek.”

“Still cute,” you shrugged, pulling up your phone to text Kaminari. “I need to let Kami know that I won the bet, then we celebrate with bubble tea— my treat!”

“Hey wait— You—“

He tried to protest against your sudden celebration, wanting to tell you that he wasn’t going to let you treat him for anything. This whole damn thing started because of a stupid bet, and he doesn’t really find joy in gaining something from it, but as you pulled out your phone and began to text Kaminari, he sighed and leaned back again with his arms crossed tight against his chest.

“Whatever. You’re fucking annoying.”

“Kay,” you answered. “Also, your actual smile is pretty charming, if you ask me. It’s different from the usual sneer you have on your face. That’s just my opinion, though.”

Bakugou’s face grew a bit warm at your unexpected compliment, but he quickly tried to hide it and turned his head to avert his gaze away from you. His mouth opened to reply with a snappy remark or something like that, but he found himself hesitating.

He eventually scoffed and muttered a low, “Tch. Stop spouting nonsense.”

“Bakugou Katsuki has a singular dimple,” you sing-songed aloud, though you knew that no one would hear since his parents weren’t even home.

Bakugou felt his eyes twitch at your teasing, resisting the urge to tell you off and even going as far as to just punch your shoulder lightly. “Shut the fuck up, dipshit.”

He later found out that there was no bet, and you had just made up the whole scenario to confirm your curiosity. That Bakugou Katsuki does have a dimple, a singular one at that.

Could you imagine how furious he was?

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