#its not much but its honest work (one flop post at a time)

[crsssie]

pop rocks and green tea

word count: 20k

warnings: depictions of violence, 2x15 warnings (torture, drugging, spencer dies for a second, religious trauma), ANGST, hurt/comfort

summary: "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." (Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights, Chapter 9)

there's very little in the world that will not make sense to doctor reid once he finds interest in it. most things come easy as they go, rubik's cube solved forwards and backwards — upside down and right side up, questions of physics and doctorate dissertations coming in triplets the same way that the notation rings in an empty performance hall with a musician.

in his life, to understand is power, and power is protection against those that have once hurt him. no harm in the present, he understands. not from them. not ever again. the only harm in the present is from the unsub and the unknown.

the absence of light still scares him. he tries not to think too much about that.

knowledge is power. wisdom is efficiency.

to profile someone is to understand them.

to profile you should be to understand you.

yet, beady eyes and charming smiles, you cause the rational to burn irrational — the known to become unknown. there is always something you know that he doesn't.

no, not simple facts of life or statistics that could save your life.

the void of your eyes is always too dark under the sun — the absence of light.

the shine of your hair is always too dim under the light — the absence of life.

you can do the one thing he can not, and he does not envy it. no. he does not crave to understand or to contain it. there is no dark need creeping up around his throat begging him to cage you and sing for him only.

it is simple curiosity.

charming as knowledge, preening with the night sky.

he fears you just as much as he must know you.

and well, doctor reid is never one to back down from nonsense that he must make of sense.

somewhere when he was a child, he thinks he has met you. your face is far too fresh in his mind to be more than just a passing face, but far too familiar to be someone who he no longer remembers. perhaps you are a face seen in dreams — dreams that on occasion give him deja vu, but it never quite matters. it doesn't quite matter, actually. he's truly not much better off knowing just who you are. perhaps a fond memory or a lost face in his past is plenty fine on its own. he simply hopes he will never encounter you in his line of work — even if it seems that he will some day. people in his dreams are never quite the best. people in his dreams are part of his past and always circle back to his future.

but the dreams of you come in strange flashes — a grin with too much teeth, a laugh with too little air. a song with too many keys. a voice that carries a little too much — a voice that sings too many notes. there is something that doctor reid should know about you in his dreams, so he tries talking to you, but there is no voice ever.

all there ever is is a nice cup of coffee at a local coffee shop — and an image of you frowning at him.

he wonders if he should seek counselling for such a matter, but it is much preferred to the sound of screams in his nightmares that jolt him awake and the constant watch for voices that have plagued his family. he worries that he will hear them too one day. that the voices will eat at his mind and ruin him. the same way they had ruined the man on the train — the same way it had eaten so many of the unsubs that he knew.

to be in your mind is never too much a good thing, but is it really a sin to listen?

you manifest the differently in his reality as you do in his dream.

you passed him on your way to morning work — stumbling up the stairs to the metro, phone tucked to your belt the same way that morgan has it, briefcase overfilled. its a cliché in the same way that he's a nerd who looks the same as ever.

a student internship in the BAU. you didn't ask. he didn't either.

hotch mumbles to gideon about how you shouldn't be here considering clearance, and when you are asked, you do not know. you tell them in pure honesty that you had been sent here because of your post-graduate dissertation. a paper on reading people. a paper on just about everything that the BAU did. too much brainpower at such a young age. you should not be in the department, but hotch isn't given much time to complain before everyone is called out and you are left.

with me. spencer finds himself saying to you.

you tag along, dissertation handed to doctor reid as he tells gideon, and you fiddle with your fingers — three rings on your left, and four rings on your right. berkeley then stanford then harvard. your resume shows too much yet too little. degrees in humanities until your doctorates where you had changed to psychology. an intrigue in the art of lying and manipulation. the psychology of acting and the need to control everything. perhaps it is a strange subject to be let into the fbi for, but no one on the plane comments on it.

a killer. a man who calls and kills.

a man who kills in the name of god.

god.

a strange word, truly. reid doesn't believe in anything the same way gideon does, and while the way you recite verses from revelation feels like there is truth in your faith, the grimace on your face after indicates anything but. is that the truth? or do you lie the same way your dissertation writes? do you use the art of manipulation to get what you need? what you want?

what does he want?

you don't have a goal, doctor reid.

scary words to be told by someone who was his age when he joined the bau. do you have one? you don't seem to either. he tries snapping back at you, really, but it doesn't work how it is supposed to. how are you supposed to react? someone your age should snap into an argument. argue back with him. someone his age should know better than to snap back. but when you only give him a half-shrug and grin when he argues back. it almost feels as though he's the one who never grew up.

perhaps it is jealousy. he had first started out when he was your age yet he didn't slot in nearly as nicely as you do. it almost feels like you've become one with the team. an entity with a lack of shape. a non-newtonian fluid that slots in the cracks that the team is yet to be missing. an adhesive that somehow sticks the team better than the rest of it does. someone who slips through the cracks to reveal the lack of continuity. the team should work well already, so why then do you reveal the worst when you let go? perhaps you are here to prove your dissertation and not to help.

do you wield a gun? why do you hold on to one?

your fingers wrap around the grip and you stare at the unsub from behind him. reid begs you to slow down, but you aren't fast enough — not enough survival in the bau, a case requiring too much agility that you have not yet developed. training could do nothing for it, so when the unsub catches wind of you, it goes without saying that the intern lives even if he passes. perhaps you were doing it on purpose. perhaps those dark eyes of yours with too much pupil and too little iris. the sound of you yelling his name rattles through the night, and he is gone.

will he dream of you when you are right there? or will his dreams come to haunt him?

when he wakes it is a dark room. you are in the back, tied and half awake, and he is on the chair, fully clothed, stuck staring into the eyes of an angel of some sort. raphael. the angel's name is raphael but he's not even congruent with modern teachings, your mouth earning you a snap of the gun in russian roulette. you fear not even death, eyes glimmering and mouth uncontrollable as you dive into the history of the book of enoch and tobit, spitting out scripture upon scripture of archangels that do not include raphael. you earn a second shot and a third as you drive the unsub mad, your eyes in equal desperation as he finally lands on the fifth, turning around and aiming it at reid as you hold your breath and bite your tongue finally.

"Psalm 31:9. I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue: I will keep my mouth with a bridle, while the wicked is before me"

he pulls the trigger and you watch, eyes trained as spencer lets out a breath in relief.

he mouthes at you to keep it shut while you fiddle at the restraints, staring as the unsub knocks spencer back out, barrel of the gun jammed into the side of your head as you're next.

you wonder if you'll see spencer again in your dreams.

doctor reid, with formality.

when he rouses again, it is to the smell of smoke and fire, and your eyes are staring at the door. spencer does not speak. he's learned that it is most likely best for you not to, but you open your mouth again.

exodus 20:7. you shall not misuse the name of the lord your god, for the lord will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses His name. you spit out verses like they've been beat into you. like you know something that spencer can not read in between the lines. he knows the footnotes and cross-references. he knows every verse in the bible if he really willed for it, yet you feel like a disobedient child, thrashing and choking up the ten commandments, you shall not murder stinging on your mouth as the whip comes down on your foot. It is as though you know this feeling.

spencer winces and tries to open his mouth, but you leave no space. you can not stone me. for you are not sinless and clean. john 8:7 and 9. they kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said, "All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!" at this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. it is scripture upon scripture until the sole of your foot has become bruised, and the man tires, only then is your foot restored and you are given your body once more.

"1 Corinthians 14:34. The women should keep silent in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak, but should be in submission, as the Law also says. If there is anything they desire to learn, let them ask their husbands at home. For it is shameful for a woman to speak in church." he spits back at you, and you laugh.

Acts 2:17. And it shall be in the last days, says God, that I will pour out of my spirit upon all flesh and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy.

spencer can not bear to see the abuse you suffer, and when you laugh and laugh, cursed as the man tells you to be quiet, you spit that he has no authority. he is not your husband. he is not your father. he is not your brother in christ, for no brother in christ is a murderer, you curse.

"And you are not sinless, woman."

the lord spake unto moses saying, "speak unto all the congregation of the children of the lord " and say unto them, ye shall be holy, for I, the lord your god, am holy" spencer finally gets a word in, and your neck snaps over to stare at him, almost as though he were not speak in the conversation.

spencer gets beat, and you are unsurprised when the man leaves and leaves a reddened sole that near matches yours.

he is no charles. you mumble, bruise on your foot as you mumble quietly. for we are all slaves of god.

perhaps in some way he still is.

no. you mumble. for we are made in his image, and in his image we are made. male and female.

spencer can not offer you words of comfort, your eyes glazing over as you stare up at the wood of the ceiling, eyes closed as you are gone.

when the man returns, spencer asks for his name while you heave, heart racing and body flushed. you are not sick, no, but perhaps your body is struggling under the stress. an offhanded comment he had once documented from his dream reminds him that you do not do well under stressful situations. a body that shuts down and decides it is no longer worth it.

tobias is his name, and you cry and beg to not be injected, whimpering and shaking, squeaming in his hold as he straps you down to give you the injection. it is the first time that spencer has seen you in tears since meeting you. you had not cried at the abuse nor at the kidnapping, but you squirm and cry at the needle being forced into you, half of the dose forced into you as you cry and cough, body eventually going soft, and when tobias sees spencer's foot, he knows he's next.

you manage to force out a clean out of your lips with glassy eyes as you focus on him, eyes wounded and hurt as you beg tobias to let you sit closer to spencer. stronger in two, you cry. would he not offer even the mercy of letting the two of you pass as one? was it a sin to love someone?

he moves you after arguing with his father, and you manage a weak limp before you are at reid's feet, glassy eyes and slow blinking in your system as your body resists the drug.

reid is delirious. he is weak. father is leaving again. there is no way to stop it, and he has to live it out, and his mind is gone. he is out. he knows he is. he is stuck in a memory, and he does not know where he is anymore. he was somewhere. he was doing something. he was... something. where is he? he must be somewhere important. he is barely conscious when the sound of a beating rattles through the room, and he is stuck staring as you are dragged by the hair and a camera is set before you both.

nothing outside of a beating. you mumble. the drug will numb yours.

you stare into the camera through heavy eyelids, and you watch as reid struggles to focus.

"Choose one to die. I'll let you choose one to live."

you cough as you feel your skin crawl, and you know it'll come to a point where the two of you will not return. you will claw and force your way back like you have learned to, but the doctor next to you will not. it will force through his bones and pure will not be enough. he will never be the same after this, and in such a way perhaps it is your fault for not pulling the trigger in the field. it matters not if you're only an intern. if you pass then you pass. the doctor has to live.

Spencer Reid has to live.

"Can you really see inside men's minds? See these vermin? Choose one to die. I'll let you choose one to live."

"No."

"I thought you wanted to be some kind of savior."

"You're a sadist and a psychotic break. You won't stop killing. Your word's not true." You mumble. Again. You can do this. Just like the first time. Just like the second. You are better than this.

"The other heathens are watching. Choose a sinner to die, and I'll say the name and address of the person to be saved."

"I won't get choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher." You cough.

"Can you really see into my mind, girl? Can you see I'm not a liar?! Choose one to die, and save a life. Otherwise, they're all dead." He pulls you up by the collar, and you clench your fists.

"All right, I'll choose who lives." Spencer mumbles. "Stop hurting her."

"They're all the same."

"Far right screen." He mumbles.

You go limp against Spencer's leg as you're dropped, and when the door clicks behind you and the silence meets you, you're blinking and heaving, crack from your wrist alerting Spencer as you stumble and hop on over, one wrist free as you turn on the camera, mumbling under your breath to the team as you slur half your words and cry about a cabin in the woods, mumbling about drugs and how you're sorry you didn't stop Reid from going into the cornfield and how you'll accept any form of punishment going your way. You're slurring half your words and praying the team understands. Maybe the red of the camera hasn't turned on at all.

you look strange like this, spencer thinks. there's so much fragility that he can't help but assume that this is really how you are. perhaps all of the acting you had written on had only revealed that you are no better than anyone else when it came to abuse. he will be gone until late night, if he is not wrong. three bodies at once is not something to be done quick. perhaps tobias does not want to kill still, but it matters no longer. he feels it too. the drug in his system has done something.

by the way you're crying, he almost wants to console you.

kid.

doctor reid.

do you have the strength to tell me a story?

i'll tell you a dream I once had.

anything to get my mind off of the drug.

i dreamt once, a long time ago, that i would become famous. fame that would act in musicals and sing on a grand stage all for me. my mother's dream was for me to become someone's pretty and compliant wife. but i dreamt of velvet curtains and pine wood floors and a crowd that would applaud whenever i finished my show. 

and now?

and then i dreamt of books. pages and pages of books. research that would engulf my life, days and nights in ranges of literature.

and now?

i dream... i dream of survival. i dream that we make it out alive.

the two of you watch the murder of the first on the camera.

"Reid, if you're watching, you're not responsible for this. You understand me? He's perverting god to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you."

you blink lifelessly, tears slipping and dissociating out of a fear, body going limp when you slack back next to reid, and he stares at the screen as he spaces out. gone. he's back in the middle of nowhere, memories stuck on replay as he knows he should break out to find you, and it isn't until you're crying and begging not for a second dose, bawling that wakes spencer up when you're squeaming and gasping for him to put the needle and drug away, voice raspy and breaking as he forces the needle into you, reid stuck watching, unable to tear his eyes away from it as half of the drug is pushed into your system and your bawling turns into quiet sobbing, sobbing turning into half-sniffles until you're gone completely.

reid squirms with the injection into his system, and he slouches down and passes out next to you.

It's night when you wake first, eyes dead and pupils small as you feel Spencer rouse next to you. You're shaky. The second dose should have been enough to cause you to go into shock and nearly die, but the seizures have long grown to be things of the past and god-forbid this be your first rodeo because as soon as the screen flashes with a message about a virus, you're widening your eyes and bracing yourself for another beating. If the drugs can't help you, then god help you with the beating.

"No. No! They're trying to silence my message!" Tobias— Charles yells.

i can't control what they do. i'm not with them. i'm with you. Spencer whimpers.

"Really?" He laughs, and you watch as he turns on the video from earlier from Gideon. You should hurt him, truly. You should bite the bullet and just risk death because it doesn't matter unless—

"Do you think you can defy me?"

I don't know what he's talking about.

"You're a liar!" He raises a brow at your raised sleeve, and you flinch as he forces the fabric up on your arms before checking Spencer's. "You're pitiful! Just like my son. This ends now. Confess your sins. Confess!"

i haven't done anything. tobias, help me.

You watch in horror, yelling as you watch the man beat him up.

"he can't help you. he's weak."

tobias.

"Confess your sins."

help.

"It's the devil vacating your body."

You scream, forcing over to Spencer as you break your wrist out again uncomfortably to do CPR, mumbling quiet sorrys to him as you press your lips to his to force the air back into his system, numbness in your wrist no longer mattering to you as Spencer coughs back to life, and you don't care if the barrel of the gun is pressed to your head as Spencer is forced to watch.

"You revived him. How many members in your team?"

"Seven." You whisper, voice breaking. You aren't one of them. Not technically.

"The 7 angels who had the 7 trumpets prepared themselves to sound" Tobias mumbles to himself, and you lock eyes with Spencer who's still on the ground.

"Choose one to die."

You're gaping and swallowing air like a fish, and you whisper quietly.

"I don't know their names." Your voice breaks. "I don— I don't know their names. I'm not— not one of them."

you're crying again, and it really makes reid wonder if anything you do is real at all.

"Aaron Hotchner." Spencer exhales. "Him first. Genesis 23:4. "Let him not deceive himself "and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense."

"For god's will."

You're on the ground mumbling to yourself, crying and coughing, your wrist starting to turn purple, and Spencer glances at the way you hold it up to him with a sad smile, laughing almost pitifully.

you dislocated your wrist.

"Yeah." You laugh, humming quietly as you look almost fond. "Fun stuff. I'll pop it back when we're saved."

you?

"Yeah." You hum, resting your head on his thigh as you help the chair back up. "He didn't notice."

too focused on me. what about your wrist?

"I can do it myself." You hum, leaning on his thigh. "I'll get scolded, but it'll be better than this."

Spencer doesn't say anything else, and when Tobias returns and you're both offered water, you're unsurprised that he still doesn't notice that your wrist has been broken free, but when another shot is injected to Spencer you're begging the poor man to leave him alone, a dose returned to you as you fight the depressants in your system with a furrow of your brow and with the last bit of strength, you pop your wrist back into place, without too much of a thought as to do anything else, and you go in for the kill, screaming and shrieking as you steal the gun from his pocket and pull the trigger between his brows, sobbing and wailing as the blood pools underneath you and steal the key to let Spencer out.

He's too sluggish to move comprehensibly, and you hear Tobias' voice behind you, your fingers smoothing over his wound, your discolored wrist dark against the glow of the room as you weep, hands stained with blood that isn't yours and an internship ruined all thanks to your foolish choices, and when Spencer drags himself over to hold you, you're sniffling and coughing into his arms, apologizing for the blood on your hands and the drugs in his system.

You force his hand out of the man's pocket, needle in hand as you take out the last of the drug and force it into the leaves, the sound of the rest of the BAU approaching as you squeeze the needle in your hand and throw it as far away from Reid as possible. You can't let him lose himself too. You can't let him do it. His future is too bright and yours has always been a clawing upward that you've grown used to.

Your hand finds his instinctively, squeezing for comfort.

spencer feels your hand in his vaguely, and he tries to make a sound of complaint when he sees you dump the rest of the drugs, but it doesn't come out. the sound of the bau hobbling on over and the sound of your cry and begging doesn't register to him. it barely does. he's truly past it, and when gideon brings him in and you hobble behind him with a stretch of your back, it almost feels as though the narcotics were a part of your daily life. he does not understand you. he fears he never really will, and perhaps the closest you will ever get to being honest with him is when you started crying over the shots in your system.

"Kid."

you shake your head and tell him you'll be fine. just run a detox kit on the two of you and you'll teach spencer the rest.

"Detox?"

detox.

you sit in the same ambulance as spencer because you refuse to be separated, and you let the drip run through your system. you have the medics flush everything out of both your systems, and while you think you're going insane the first 24 hours, both of you are booked into a treatment facility before you're out in a jiffy. you assure the workers that your relapse won't happen considering you no longer have access to these drugs, and you visit reid every day just in case you do somehow think of it.

i don't get it. i need it. i know i don't but—

its just the drugs talking. we can do a reward system or just give it some time. you'll forget soon.

when you return to the office first, you're offered a job by hotch. it almost feels ironic for you to accept a job that nearly killed you on the first day because of a misfiled paper, but you accept it anyway.

"Reid needs you."

you know. he needs them too.

you continue to visit him every day after work, telling him about the cases you had been reading and the work that had become new, and he lets you fiddle with his hands to calm the both of you. a germaphobe. he never should have let that needle touch him, yet he couldn't argue. neither of you really could. you couldn't either. the two of you are clean from everything else but the drug, and it's appalling that you had recovered so fast. he wonders just how much of you you had been honest about in the fbi profiling when you had first been introduced to the team. he's certain hotch must know more about you, but whether or not the drugs had been part of your past is only for hotch to know.

you seem shattered.

spencer notes the lack of rings on your fingers now.

when the two of you are back in the office, you toss him a teabag instead of the coffee, and he raises a brow at you.

skitterish. he's anxious, and he's sure maybe it has to do with the withdrawals, but you hold your hand out for him to squeeze. there's something, maybe. he isn't that peeved by you when you end up sanitizing your hands before holding it out for his, and he squeezes in increments as the two of you sort through the following cases. your hand becomes an extension of his in a way, and while hotch doesn't understand why you're required to be by him at all times, he understands to some degree that perhaps you know better than everyone else in the team how to deal with it.

it'll be good for him.

"I doubt it will."

it helped me.

you start to understand doctor reid to some degree, you think. there's something so strange about him willingly holding hands with you. perhaps a blood bond had been formed when the two of you had been drugged by the same needle. he learns to hold hands with you longer, and when it's awful, he squeezes and asks you if you have sugar or something else to get his mind off of the drug. the withdrawal is bad, he thinks you know that much. the sugar in his system helps him calm a little. sometimes its tea, sometimes its sugar. sometimes its just squeezing your hand until he calms a little more.

sometimes it's holding headphones over his head while he tunes out the noise, and sometimes it's his hand looking for yours instinctively. when the noise is too much and he slams the window closed, you have headphones popped over his ears as he maps everything out, frustration evident on his face as you squeeze at his hand from the chair, blinking at the map.

not particularly bright, but particularly good at both reading and acting. you'd never go off script. not once. you're truly only good for interrogation at this point in time, and perhaps observation, but you tag along with him and emily to the shelter. when reid's being rude you just slap your hand over his mouth and apologize to the poor woman, dragging him off to look around while you hand the case over to emily.

you're not my babysitter.

trust me, until you know how to handle yourself, i am.

you apologize to emily and smack reid when he tries to argue back, and when reid tries smartassing with you, you just tell him to shut up with a hand over his mouth — something you know he despises.

emily, you've barely known me—

you slam a hand around his mouth, eye twitching. forgive him, trauma response.

you let emily do most of the talking when you head back, forcing a slice of gum into reid's mouth as you wave him off with a flick of the wrist, brow raised as you glance back at the case files.

spencer wonders what the discomfort with your dismissal is, but he takes your hand back up again because you can't deny him for too long. you know how skittish it is to be off the drugs, and it's an awful handful of days. on occasion it lasts into weeks, and you squeeze spencer's hand back when you need it too. always better with a friend. you can keep telling yourself that, truly.

you need it sometimes too, staring quietly from the confines of the room as you're told that the unsub died in the line of fire, thumb brushing against the back of spencer's hand as you let out a huff, mumbling quietly case after case until you grow numb to it like the rest of them. new face. you grow to become someone that isn't a new face, and when reid's begging you for the drugs in his system, you're holding him back, mumbling as he groans into his hands about not having anything to kick in his system.

you hand him a cup of tea and pop rocks, dumping it onto your tongue with the opening of your mouth on the plane as you kick your feet back. a new case. not a day of boredom in your new world.

it's case after case and running after running, pinching reid to get him to shut up when he says something mean, apology stumbling past your lips almost as though he were some troublesome child you were taking care of for the time being. and when he finally frees himself of you to grab a drink with his friend, he's snapping his phone off at emily's calls, panic on his face when you show up at the very bar a handful of hours later, waving hello to his friend before sliding down on reid's lap.

i'm not done talking to him.

you're on the job. you mumble back to him, letting his hand wander. drunken man, you think. too handsy.

His friend lets out a laugh as you start chatting with him, and you swat at Reid's hands each time they trail too close to your pelvis, squeezing it at one point when he raises a brow at you.

what?

"You're getting too handsy." You hold his wrists together as you set his drink down, and you crack a smile as his friend when he laughs. "Hm?"

"He seems real fond of you."

"Trauma bonded." You hum. "You see it too, huh?"

"Not sure where he got it."

"Sure wasn't from me." You let go of Spencer's hands, and he brushes the exposed skin of your upper thigh absentmindedly, humming quietly. "I threw out the last two before we were taken."

"He seems quite affectionate."

"No. Not quite." You hum, hand held over Spencer's as you click on your phone. "I doubt he knows it."

"He couldn't know even if you died."

"Perhaps I'll be gone by the time he realizes it." You tilt your head as Spencer blinks at you, and you hum, laughing as you rest your forehead on his.

"I hope he doesn't. For his sake."

i'm still sober, you know.

i know. you laugh.

stop excluding me.

we're not.

you're unsurprised the case is by a woman, and you're even more unsurprised when she's carried off after barely harming the final victim. you stare blankly and let gideon talk to the both of you, and you laugh airily, telling gideon it wasn't that deep for you, but reid would need some time. you catch the look in gideon's eyes, but you don't comment on it. it's alright. you'll stick with reid. you're close enough for you to grab him every morning anyway.

"Kid."

"Hm?"

"You ask for help when you need it, all right?"

"Alright."

spencer doesn't say anything until gideon is walking off, and his hand finds yours out of habit, mumbling quietly to you about how all you were was an actor, but you don't comment on it, laughing instead.

and when the open mic calls for someone to join him to sing, you hobble up without a second thought, a drunken curl on your lips, mouth open as you sing, and spencer thinks back to when you had cried with a quiet voice that you dreamed of things once a long time ago. a dream that would break you and ruin you to pieces. it seemed to matter enough to you at the time, but it really should not matter. especially not when you're spinning and spinning on the stage and swinging to the beat. you suit the stage the same way he suited books. a dream that you could both never truly pursue the way you wanted to.

even if you did, it would only end horribly now that you are where you are.

spencer brings you down from the stage, swallowing a grimace at your sweaty hands but taking them anyway, eyes trailed on you as you giggle at him. a gentle glow of everything yet nothing. he wants to understand, maybe. he can't, though. he doesn't.

you knock out on the jet on the couch in the back on spencer's shoulder, and he finds himself brushing the back of your hand as he stares out the window. if anyone notices, no one says a thing. cut a little slack for the poor boy, huh. cut a little slack for the youngest ones. ignore the held hands and brushing of fingers. ignore your caging in in order to grab something from an upper shelf. ignore that boy genius gets his iq slashed in half whenever you blink at him with eyes bigger than usual and ignore that whenever you brush past him his voice stutters and his ears go slightly red.

ignore it all for the sake of the boy.

he tries rationalizing it. it's unsurprising for him to be calming down when holding hands. a study by harvard revealed that the pressure of holding hands stimulates the pressure-sensitive pacinian corpuscles in the hand, which send signals to the vagus nerve that conducts signals to the hypothalamus, which then lowers the heart rate and blood pressure and contributes to the neurological management of stress responses. it's that simple. truly. it's just a biological response. he's just having a biological response. he's completely having a biological response.

lots happens for a reason, and lots happens for no reason. spencer tries not to think too much about the smell of your shampoo that he memorizes or how you have a slightly different shade of lipstick that he tries not to point out. small, minor changes. the same way you show up at the metro station seven minutes earlier to be able to catch the same cart as him or the coffee you always have in your hand at the station. he tries not to notice but he unfortunately does, and he truly just plays it off as a normality.

he notices when jj changes lipstick.

"JJ! New lip?"

well, apparently not.

but he tries to convince himself that its transference. it has to be. there's really no reason for him to have a racing heart and strange levels of dopamine rush to his head whenever you squeeze by him in between cases. its simply because he's gotten used to holding your hand when fidgety and the fact that you had saved him when he nearly died. it's really all that is. it shouldn't be more than that. he isn't allowed more than that anyway.

he's just stressed now that gideon's gone and someone new is in the team. he's just upset that gideon left the same way his father did and he's clinging onto you who presented yourself so nicely to him after the two going missing and considering that you both had the whole drug exchange, he finds that perhaps it's just easy to cling to you. it's so easy to just rely on you when you're so vulnerable to him.

he finds his hand in yours under the table in the jet, your eyes closed and knocked out against the window whenever.

it could also be a fear response from him. the chemicals are the same, so it would only make sense that he— oh, who was he kidding. it couldn't be fear. he wasn't scared of you. it wasn't as if you were the one whose mind short-circuted whenever he walked by or handed him an overly sweetened cup of coffee with the exact amount of sugar needed for some reason. you're not the one whose heart lurches whenever he's handed a pack of pop rocks he's sure that you'd like to have instead of him. it's hard not to remember things about you.

it's hard not to just love you when you're so easy to.

you make it too easy for him.

pack of gum held out to him to chew on, telling him that it helps with concetration despite having no true proof for it. you tell him it helps you so it might help him. you don't think too much, and neither does he really when you're holding his chest down and pressing your forehead to his when he wakes from a nightmare, breathing and racing heart rattling in his ears as he matches his breathing to yours on the jet, amused look from everyone as he flushes red and tries to bury the embarassment.

"Nothing to be embarassed abOW—." You hum, jolting as the plane jumps, yelping as Spencer holds a hand to steady you.

"Sitting on the jet floor is kind of nasty, doctor." Morgan raises a brow at you, and you blink up at him.

"Let's hope the clean up crew we hire actually do their jobs, then." You thank Spence as you squeeze between him and Rossi. "At least my pants are dark."

The case is simple, really. Find the one who kidnapped the boy and return him to his parents. One had already passed, so the team tries to speed the process up, and you're put with Morgan and Reid to stay overnight at the home to camp out, so when you're jolted awake by Reid having a panic attack and crying your name, you've got your hands in his hair and he's breathing into your shoulder while Morgan apologizes to the family.

scary. scary, scary, scary. he isn't used to the fear that rattles through his system, and he lives the same dream again and again. dead boy behind the washer. dead boy behind the washer in the basement. step down the basement and be unable to save the boy. haunt his life and stare quietly at the still legs of the boy while his dad watches.

relive a nightmare that he was both part and not part of.

the boy is safe, found in his arms when they sweep the house, and you squeeze spencer's arm gently, eyes relieved as he closes his, boy's forehead pressed to his as the two of you make it out of the house, your phone ringing through to hotch to tell him that you have the boy. the blanket and swaddle in her arms wasn't a child, it was just items. in a way, it was saddening, your eyes weary as you stared at the arrested woman, hand finding reid's to squeeze and let go of.

you alright?

i'll be fine... you?

i'll cross that bridge when i get there.

you're unsurprised when he requests a handful of days to stay back, and you find yourself with him on the couch of his hotel with morgan and rossi, watching a match as you tear open another bag of chips.

"You're not supposed to be here."

you flash him a grin, shrugging as you offer a chip, shaking his head as the three of your forcibly inject yourselves into an investigation that he insists on keeping to himself.

it's a lot to dig through. it's a lot, and when spencer finds himself deeper and deeper down the investigation, rattling his mother and thinking its his father, he finds himself squeezing your hand under the table while you all profile, shoulders sunk back with a weariness that you don't like seeing, trying his best to wrap up the case.

he gets through it anyway, hand finding yours as you squeeze and finish up the case, and you hum quietly as he closes his eyes finally on the plane, mumbling quietly to himself as he thanks you for quiet support. hands finding his in times of fear, acting both as a calming agent when you touch him and a stimulant when you don't. to be everything yet simultaneously nothing. a paradox and an oxymoron.

but the truth is spencer knows why he's this way. he knows why he acts this way, but he has a little moment or two in which he doesn't believe it. he really refuses to. he understands it because he's read textbook cases, and he knows as a matter of fact that he isn't feeling this way because he's scared of you. he knows, but it doesn't stop him from pretending he doesn't anyway. because having you all vulnerable to him and not knowing how you feel about him is enough of a risk as is.

not to mention that he isn't allowed to be fraternizing with his coworkers.

but it doesn't stop him from caring. it doesn't stop him from slipping you breakfast on the metro on the way to work, and neither does it stop you from handing him a doughnut after your lunch break. it stops neither of you from ripping open a pack of pop rocks while listening to the new cases or him from handing you a cup of tea. it stops nothing because there's nothing to be stopping. he understands that much, at least.

but it's fine to care for one another.

it's fine, and there's no reason not to, so when morgan's calling you about how spencer's locked himself in the lab with anthrax, you're terrified. you're there with hotch, pinching your fingertips between your knuckles, biting and letting go of your tongue as the military sets up a grey zone between the houses and you're on the phone after hotch hangs up with reid.

You call him after, upper lip bitten as you listen to the line ring and start.

"Spencer." You mumble, voice breaking as you get him on the phone line, Morgan's hand on your shoulder as you bite back tears. "Are you okay? Breathing?"

i'm fine.

"Please don't do this again. We'll get you fixed up and then we can go back to before." You mumble, chewing your bottom lip as you lock eyes with him through the glass. "Tell us more about the lab. Please. I need to hear you ramble or else my brain's gonna keep reminding me that—"

"Dr. Nichols is a former military scientist, which means he's most likely secretive and most likely a little paranoid. He would have protected the cure, and probably would have hidden it from his partner. So look for something innocuous, something you would not suspect." Reid starts, and you rest the phone between your chin and shoulder, scribbling down notes on your copy of the file.

"He has breathing problems, right? How about an inhaler?" You mumble. "I had Garcia pull medical records."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You mumble. "Is the doctor inside with you?"

"Yeah. I'll have her look." Spencer mumbles. my head's a little dizzy.

i know, spence. hold on for us, please. You nod at Morgan as he leaves, and you squeeze your palms, eyes focused on the way Spencer looks out the window back at you. He nods at you as he steps out, and you follow him in the decontamination chamber, facing the other side as he strips to be cleaned from top to bottom.

He suffers, though, and you're stuck sitting in the ambulance as he's rushed to the hospital and the samples are processed, one sigh in relief for when hotch tells you the suspect's been detained, and another sigh in relief for when spencer's given the cure. you stay by his side when morgan comes to visit, and you flip through one of your more recent books, chin on the side of his bed as morgan hands you a cup of jello.

"'s he alright?"

"Cured." You hum, peeling open the jello to eat at it, shifting from the bed audible as you look to the side.

having jello without me?

"Maybe." You bite down on the spoon, raising a brow.

i want a bite.

You laugh, shaking your head at him. when you're healed, spence.

but it's so easy. it's painfully easy, even. you make it so easy for him to wonder what you're up to.  it's so easy. too easy.

he ponders over it on some days, and when you find the dog tags to hand to morgan with a grimace, he spots the slight grimace and slanted eyes that you hide away after you go back to searching. he understands it all, he supposes. he did not at one point. it is much easier to know who you are when standing face to face with you as opposed to the spots and dreams that filled the cracks between the visions of you.

he keeps a hand on your lower back and leans his head on yours as the two of you head back on the jet, quiet circles drawn into your skin. you lean back, visibly sunken and drained, squeezing his hand on the way back to your apartments, humming quietly and pressing your cheek to his before you both make it back to your rooms. this is so easy. loving and trusting you is so easy.

but the universe always finds different ways to prove you both wrong.

four hours of sleep is nowhere near enough, and when you split a cup of coffee with reid as you both sit at the homicide, your eyes struggling to stay awake as one twitches, you think you're going to go insane. hotch is missing, there's a serial killer loose for a surgeon's son, and you've flipped through so many files with reid that you're starting to hear shit. you're sure your hallucinating when emily tells you both that hotch is in the hospital for a stab wound from foyet or someone, and you're blinking at spencer as you run through the profile with the father. he should remember. it should come easy.

it comes with difficulty, you suppose, but when you're walking out with the doctor and get tackled by reid, you're staring at his bleeding leg as he stares at the unsub. in a way you probably could have avoided this, but you wince as spencer shoots at the unsub, your own jacket coming off to stop the bleeding from his leg. he tells you and the rest of the team to go find emily and hotch, but you stay back after they leave, lifting him with ease as he sputters, face impossibly red.

when did you even—

don't worry about it. you laugh, humming. you'll be fine.

you hear a faint whistle that you assume is from morgan, and you're off to the hospital with spencer.

you take another jello cup to share with spencer after he gets the bullet removed, and you listen to jj as the doctor tells reid he'll be fine as long as he stays on crutches. you help him into it the first time, and you end up bringing him home. you end up half-moving in to take care of him for the few weeks, cooking and cleaning and huffing as you have to drive through the streets of dc, but it comes naturally to you too. you find that caring for spencer is so painfully easy that you're a little embarrassed.

you most certainly don't say much when garcia gives you a wiggle of her brow and the two of you wiggle your fingers for a cookie from her tin.

"These are for Hotch."

You feign hurt, holding your hand over your chest. "That's evil."

"I get shot in the leg and I don't get any cookies." Spencer huffs. "You know he's gonna hate the attention."

"It's cookies, not cake. He's probably gonna pretend like nothing happened, anyway."

"Well, it doesn't mean we have to." You pout at the cookies as Spencer offers you a lollipop.

"I think maybe we should." Spencer frowns.

"I don't roll that way." Garcia swats your hand as you reach for the tin again.

"I've been thinking about it? The entire time I've known hotch, I don't think I've ever seen him blink."

You pause to think, blinking slowly. "Holy shit."

"I know. It's weird." Garcia scrunches her nose.

"Classic alpha male behavior."

"Do you think he stared down foyet?" You mumble.

"Maybe. If it would save his life."

"Do you think he stared the whole time, like with each stab?"

"I have no idea. Is he ok?"

"I wouldn't be, but... I'm a blinker." Spencer sighs, and you pat his thigh, getting up.

JJ comes in shortly and you're both whisked off to another case, sitting in the station, your hands moving the pins around as Spencer speaks around the whole case, telling you what to write on the board and what to leave out. You think you're fine with this. He sorts out his thoughts by explaining everything to you, and when the case is wrapped up, you fake a gasp in offense when you catch him counting his cards, replacing a card of your own and winning the game to get back at him.

he lets you.

he call you a cheat later when you're walking back to the apartment, pulling out the card that you had replaced in your hand as you pretend not to know what he's talking about. he snaps his fingers as the card disappears and you find it in your belt, and you blink at him with wide eyes that spencer thinks he can get used to. he'd prefer it if anything. to surprise you for the rest of the days as you both head to work together.

you learn to tone down the character in the way you dress, but you don't say too much when garcia's flown in for the newest case involving choking and internet culture, your quiet glancing at the screen making you pause. it's all a game to get a rush of dopamine to your head, but you don't say too much. you never really do. you fiddle with your ring and glance at the bruises on the boy's neck, staring quietly as morgan tackles him.

Reid and morgan have no luck getting to him, so hotch is forced to pull them out.

Hotch suggests Penelope, but you decide that it's slightly easier for it to be you. You fit the profile, and while Penny would be much more comfortable in some way, you had the decoration on you to prove something. You don't remember the last time you ever had the heart to wear your rings. No. You do. You just don't like to think about it.

You open the door, humming as you tilt your head. "You ever done drugs?"

"Someone get her out of there." Hotch groans.

"Because tbh when I was crashing out back when my family passed away I really considered just—" you make a click sound with your tongue, drawing a line past your throat with your thumb as you tilt your head, sitting down slowly. "But the drugs gave the high that came with it, so I thought I could just... keep doing them. Tried choking myself too. It was fine until it wasn't enough."

The kid shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "No way."

"I don't recommend it, though. The drugs. The road of recovery is rough." You sigh dramatically. "You overdo it and suddenly you're regretting your choice, crying in paralysis about how you might actually want to live — also, by the way, the flush that comes with getting everything out of your system is a whole different level of hell. I thought i was going to die from that alone. Always hoped maybe there was something to live for. I miss my parents, but it's something you learn to live with. I think it does get better. Do you miss your mom? Ugh, mine used to make me such good lunches. Sometimes when kids bully you for having a bad lunch that means it's really good. Okay, that's off topic, omg, so sorry. Love the whole goth vibe. Where do you shop from? I don't know. I feel like Hot Topic doesn't hit as hard as it used to. I know the choker's from there, though. Figured I'd ask since, well. Y'know. By the way, love the nails."

You flash the painted nails — black. Done fresh while you were waiting for Reid and Morgan to crack him.

"You a cop?"

"Oh, heavens no." You lower your voice. "I actually find the worst part of my job to be working with the cops, but don't tell my superior. I'm an agent. FBI."

"You?"

"Yeah! Can you believe it? It's like the FBI is just letting anyone in these days." You laugh. "Nice earring too. I love the one earring look."

"Thank you. Got it on eBay. Supposed to be johnny d's from that one movie."

"Sick!" You gasp. "I got all of my rings from a thrift."

You show the boy as he observes, and you watch as his gaze lingers on one of them.

"Isn't that one nice? Apparently it was from a movie set. Found it on ebay."

"Yeah. Sick."

"Oh, by the way. My friend outside, Penny, was trying to break into your laptop and it's actually shocking how good you are at that kind of stuff. The firewall? The anonymizing service? uber cool. And the e-shredder? I gotta know where you're getting this stuff. You're like a cyber genius."

The kid shifts in his seat, and everyone watches as he actually speaks up. "The anonymizing service was from some guy online."

"I know! That one site, right? The one that looks totes sketch but's actually legit? I use it too. On my personal, though. Ugh, I got hacked once back in college and it took ten years off my lifespan to try to fix my laptop."

"No way."

"Got it immediately after. It was awful." You sigh. "I make one mistake and there goes like decades worth of games pirated— oopsies I wasn't supposed to say that with so many cops around."

The boy laughs, and the door clicks behind you.

"Oh, there's my boss. Say hi to Hotch. Isn't he a little scary? Did the boy's dad ask for him?"

"He's lawyering him up."

"I see."

"Was this an interview?"

"Not quite, as you didn't really give anything out." You give him a handshake, nodding as you glance at the earring he slipped you.

"She's not your friend. She was trying to trick you." His dad grumbles.

"That's all made up, sir. I told your son some stuff I could get re-evaluated over." You hold both your hands up, catching Christopher's wrist before he leaves, holding the earring up.

"You sure you wanna give this to me?"

"I think you deserve it. Wear it at work for me?"

You laugh, cheeks warm as you hum. "I will."

You watch as they leave, smile dropping when you know they won't turn back.

"Hotch, but I need a car to tail them in quiet." You mumble. "That boy's being manipulated."

"And you know this because?"

You stare at the door, quiet, finger brushing the earring. "I just know."

"Munchausen by proxy." Reid mumbles. "That's how the mom died too, isn't it?"

"Password's his mom's full name. He misses her." You call, taking the jacket on the chair. "Penny, text me his— actually, no. Send half to the home address. I wanna visit the mother's grave. Send me the church address? Or the..." You lock eyes with Spencer, and he nods.

"Cemetery. Hotch, do you mind if—"

"Stay." Hotch stops you, holding his hand out. "Morgan, Emily, Church. We'll check the house. Stay here. You've done enough."

You huff, staring at the earring. "Will I get to see him?"

"We'll bring them both in."

"Okay." You mumble.

They bring the boy in to you, and you are given one chance. A small promise to write to him, and offer him an item of equal exchange. You're not supposed to, you understand, but you slide one of the rings off of your fingers, holding out the metal to the boy's palm as you hold onto the earring.

"You want it back?"

"No. You can keep that one."

You nod. "Hope I read it right."

"You did. How did you know?"

"You kept glancing at it when we talked." You laugh. "I had a friend who used to stare a lot at things they wanted. I stare a lot too."

The flight back is quiet, you think. A lot of silence, and you twist at the rings on your finger, hand strangely lighter without one of them.

do you have time on friday?

hm?

Spencer mumbles, quiet as he sits next to you. friday.

why?

new place opened up two blocks down.

alright.

spencer spends the most time in between the books, watching as you look through old donated journals and diaries, peering into people's lives that was once private to them. in a sense you don't seem to care that there's a need for privacy, and neither do you really care when you tell spencer you don't mind your diaries being donated when you pass away. you even tell him that he can read through them when you pass.

but you wander around too. spencer takes you around to the jewelry that's been donated, old with age, pretty little gems and dazzling rust with purple. you insist that there's nothing that catches your eyes, mentioning that the loss of that one ring was symbolic that you had made a difference in someone's life even if it was small.

but there's a pair of old wedding rings that you find your gaze lingering back onto at the new place. it's old, yes, and there's hundred of years worth of items here, but the wedding rings catch your gaze again and again, and at one point you pick it up to bring it around with you while spencer looks at the books.

spencer notes it down, yes. he found that you started carrying a box around with you somewhere into the fifteen minute mark, and you refuse to show him what you had picked up, but from the looks of it, it's most likely something that could really only hold jewelry. A ring box, most likely.

what are you holding?

oh, um, rings. you open the box to show him, and he blinks.

huh. real gold.

and the silver?

it isn't tarnished, so i'd assume some kind of gold. possibly white. he holds his hand out for the rings, and you find yourself giving them to him. they're pretty.

you nod, taking them back from him.

did you know world war two popularized men from the west wearing their wedding rings? prior to that, most men would either not have a ring or not wear it. they started wearing them to remind themselves of their wives and kids at home. oh, and according to a plethora of sources, the most popular wedding ring material is yellow gold. spencer hums, watching as you put the box back down.

well, that makes sense.

he takes a second glance at the box, noting down something as the two of you walk off.

You find the exact box with a ring missing the next day on your desk at work.

"Hey. Everyone's already in the room. Ready?"

you look up at spencer, yellow glistening on his finger as you glance back down at the box.

aren't you supposed to get down on one knee?

do you want me to?

you shake your head, sliding the ring down your finger, joining the rest of them at the round table.

you hide your hands the entirety of the time that you cover the case with the team, fingers fiddling with the ring as you run through everything with hotch. he sends you to the police station with spencer, and you find yourself back in the back and forth back and forth of it all. it's so easy to fall into a pattern with him.

it's so easy to fall into a rhythm with you. it's so easy to show affection and exist around you.

it's so easy to share a look with you and split a room, arm wrapped around your waist and nose pressed into your shoulder, groggy twilight on both of your faces as the two of you squint and you find penelope in your arms, cooing quietly at her as you rub the blood from her hands. it's easy to get lost while in the job, you think. she's strong. you have to repeat it so that she believes you.

spencer settles next to you on the couch, closing his eyes and throwing his head back as you knock out on his shoulder while fiddling with your ring.

neither of you are conscious enough for this.

and it carries the same in every other case. in every other case, the two of you are wrapped up on the plane, his hand on your thigh, your head on his shoulder, device in your hand, newspaper in his. a cup of tea brewed to eerie precision on your side, a bag of opened candy on his. a sweet tooth that gnaws at his cheek — a need for peace that eats at your brain.

you listen to reid talk. everything — the numbers, the facts, the stats. everything reads like an audiobook or encyclopedia, and you tilt your head slightly when spencer hands you a photo of the women, and you start drawing lines over the plastic. reid notices it before you do, but you have the facial symmetry crafted before he does, picture stuck up on the glass board as you have lunch, watching spencer snatch it up and thank you for it.

you don't do much for the rest of the time, straw pressed to your lips as you drink, staying on call with penelope as you click through your device. it's those damn phones should be a quote on your feed. The only thing helping you at the moment to kill the boredom of when you're not on the field. hotch is still hesitant to use you at times.

and it's not that he doubts your capabilities.

you're put on the field, hand finding the victim's as she asks you why she wasn't just killed, and you swallow back words and let reid tell her that it was only about power and control, your own words comforting her when you tell her that it fades. it doesn't mean that it will leave, but you will learn to step over it. you promise it to her.

you find time during the drive back to run your hand through his hair as he drives, pinching at the way his curls coil around his head, hum on your lips as you call him pretty. so pretty.

you don't miss the way his cheeks tinge pink as he catches the reflection of white on your finger.

but the unsub gets away and morgan snaps, but you understand that to some degree. you're sure that you'd be in the same situation, and when jj's berating him on an emergency line, you're understanding, gun in hand when you finally find the girl, and you think for a moment that there really isn't much of a space for you.

reid sees it too, the way you let go of your gun, staring as morgan heads into the house and everyone wires him. you understand it well.

reid would say that you've always slotted nicely. you've always fit between the cracks, and when the cracks would fit each other, you would slide away until they would click, and you would be stuck staring on the side. you're just a strangely fluid person in a sense.

but it's a little much to ask of you to fill in for jj's position. it's not for you.

yet you find that garcia tries anyway, and when you're finally called out for the metal band on your finger on the plane, you're staring at everyone and blinking.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Vintique on third." You hum. "Loved them, but didn't want to splurge, but they so magically appeared on my desk at work the next day. Speaking of rings, though. Why have a married couple have sex before stabbing them? What the hell?"

"You know, the stabbing of the wives is almost certainly piqueristic. The unsub gets sexual gratification from penetration with a knife. Most piquerists are impotent... men like Albert Fish, lain Scoular, Andrei Chikatilo... so for him, it could be a substitute for sex." Spencer hums. "The rings were really pretty. Pure gold. Well, not the white one since 18 karat white gold is only 75 percent pure gold."

Everyone's eyes find his ring finger, and Morgan gasps.

"My man!"

But the case isn't too strange. You tell Emily you can step in, dressed up nice as you take off the vest and opt for a purse, Spencer's eyes worried as you tell him you'll be fine, tapping the ring on his finger. You lie your way through the unsub while fiddling with your ring, tapping through to let Morgan and Hotch tackle the man to the ground, only going quiet when the barrel of a gun finds itself on your stomach. you think you hear Spencer yell something in the background, but you pull the trigger in your purse, letting someone pull you away as you exhale and ask if the unsub will live.

are you okay?

i'm fine. you hum, hand finding his as you run your finger over his ring.

He runs the hand to your cheek, coolness of the metal making you close your eyes as you hum.

"You'll protect me, won't you? As my husband?"

"Of course."

Spencer tries to ignore the way that he likes the way you call him your husband. Yours. It rings nicely in his mind — like a child receiving praise. He can practically feel the neurotransmitters in his brain enforcing his behavior to be good to you. to be good for you. it makes him a little nauseous, but he refuses to fight it too much.

It's only logical that he likes hearing good words.

but you never miss the opportunity to tease him anyway, tugging on his sleeve to avoid his hand, name on your lips sweet as he blinks and swallows when a pretty girl passes him, quirk of your lip upward when he tries to make up an excuse, a wave of your pretty hand shutting down his entire brain. it's a little concerning to him — furrow of his brows and a pout on his lips when he realizes what you're doing.

we're together. he pouts.

"I know we are." You hum, bumping him with your hip as you circle around to Hotch.

"Town meeting in the church. I want us all there."

"Got it."

you're not too sure what to make of the blonde girl, and you're unpleasantly surprised at her attitude once admitted into the BAU. you stay civil with her, but never anything beyond that. you don't have much to say when spencer gets sassed at by her, raise of your brow and she shuts her mouth.

I'm used to it, you know?

it isn't about you.

he furrows his brows, and you press your hand to his forehead.

but you find that you understand something else. spencer reid has no protection against pretty girls, and it doesn't matter who he stares at for a second too much, you always find yourself fiddling with your ring and looking to the other side. you understand the biological need to do so, yes, but it doesn't sting any less.

but nothing changes.

spencer still finds himself next to you at most times, pink finding yours under the table on the plane, tilt of his head and lick of his upper lip whenever you beam at him, gold on his ring finger glistening and never rusted. it's honestly incredible that the two of you never give away anything about each other or come even remotely close to having to explain the rings. reid sympathizes with the men, and you hold the women in your arms.

it almost feels like it was made for this.

the charade you both play almost feels real. it's real only when on the field, and when the two of you return to your apartments side by side, it's all fake again. he can spend nights with your forehead pressed to his in the comfort of his couch while you try to help with his migraines, and he can sit back as you take care of him with your life, but he'll never quite get to hear those three words break past your lips. you'll never say it because you feel like you don't have to, and he'll never say it because he'll never be able to read your emotions the same way you read his so he can never quite confirm that you love him the same way he does.

does he really love you? does it really matter? the cat remains unknown until the box is opened — your relationship remains neutral until someone grows cold. you don't know if spencer really did love you at all. it certainly eats at you and chews you from the inside out. you don't know if his moment of realization had just been of realization or of boredom. an overanalyzation of the stars in his supernova. a breaking of his universe because you were too close. he wonders it too, the lack of light present in everywhere you walk. someone who would swallow his universe alive until all that was left was dark matter.

a blank stare and a pinch of your own skin always seemed to do the trick. but you've always got a handful to work with when he was around, his migraines have grown worse as you bring him to doctors, pout on your face and gentle stare on his as he sits through brain scans. you have him drink tea and take care of everything that you can to help him. you're wonderful. you bring the best of the best for him. a wife's affection, really.

the first migraine causes you a near heart attack when he knocks a man in the back of his head, and when the first doctor tells him to consider something psychosomatic and he storms out, you're stuck chasing after him. you'll find him a better doctor. you'll get him the best of the best, and the best of the best do you find after a painfully long period of bad migraines and drinking your tea instead of his coffee. you're just so wonderful.

emily passes away and comes back and all you're stuck with is taking care of spencer, lowering his caffeine intake, quiet running of your thumb under the bags of his eyes, a gentle frown on his face when he struggles with her loss. you struggle in your own way, but you've never been a priority in the team, so no one points out who you are or what you're there for. you're only there when people need you. you aren't required.

you forgive emily quicker than spencer because you understand.

but spencer's migraines are better. slightly better. he meets a new doctor who actually looks into the symptoms thanks to your annoyed pushes, and sometime along the way, you're given the right to his medical records the same way he's allowed yours, and then it all really just goes downhill for you from there. you know the way that spencer scrolls through his phone for payphones to call with the researcher — same look on his face when you had actually looked him in the eye the first time ever.

it's his fault, really.

it's transference, he knows. the doctor taking care of him is just transference, and he knows you catch the way his calls linger for longer than they're supposed to and the slight flashes of pain at first when he doesn't go to bed, but you get used to it. fluid to fill the cracks. you'll fill not only his, but also everyone else's cracks. he feels not enough for you. he fears he turns into something that isn't himself. fill the cracks that he knows you can with something that is not either of you. you should no longer be filling the cracks for him. he should do something for you.

he understands his reasoning is flawed in that way, but he knows not to deal with it. perhaps he does not want to seem weak before you.

but it doesn't stop him from sobbing into your arms, quiet digging of his nails into your biceps on nights that are too silent, gasping into your shoulder when you run your hand down his back. it doesn't stop either of you from playing your part, acting like you all have it under control. acting like it's completely fine — the way you just shatter and break is completely fine. the way he contemplates the drug long gone in his system as you teach him how to cope with the loss.

and you trust him so much. you trust him painfully much, and it almost makes him feel undeserving. even with a hand on your lower back and a kind gentle hum on his lips, grimace on his face as you stare at death upon dead, he finds that he doesn't want you to see the same gruesome life that he does. it's unfair to you. not that you cannot handle it — just that he wonders maybe you could avoid it. even if you had signed up for training and ended up in the department.

but there's a visible shift in your dynamic with spencer. you can take him to all the doctors you want and let him cry his heart out, complain and throw a fit that you'd like for him to be reviewed by someone else, but no one will be as good as maeve. you can fuss and cry at home, but he won't ever understand the sense that you just know. you can feel him slipping. slipping through the cracks and through your fingers, and you think there's so much that you don't want to touch, but you can't decide that.

you don't get to decide to take away something good for spencer just because it's something bad for you.

he'll analyze and profile you. you know that. he'll notice that you no longer seem to care, smile not as bright, water bottles replaced with thermos and thermos of tea until the flavor is too far gone to be able to still taste the tea. he'll notice the way you never discard of the tea, but he won't comment on it. he'll never comment on it again, because as soon as work is over or it's sunday, he's rushing off to call maeve, and you're stuck in the office, staring and scratching at your phone, eyes weary and tired, visible signs of age sliding between the fine lines of your portrait, and at one point, maybe you'll find something that you care about again.

it hurts more to be like that, you think.

to love and then be betrayed.

but you still want him so bad. so. painfully bad.

it's unfair how attached you've grown to someone you thought would be your forever only to end up as another piece of your life. how could you ever? was it unfair of you to hope that someone who tasted even a fragment of what you endured prior to it all to understand you even just a little bit? does it not matter to them at all? you're sure it doesn't. spencer's never one to dwell on his heart more than he has to.

Now, all he dwells over is Maeve.

those three words. "I love you."

you watched him freeze up from the car, body paused in the seat when you noticed the lack of gold on his fingers, and you think there's something that clicked in your mind when you did. it's an announcement of affection that you wish spencer would push away, but he doesn't. it doesn't surprise you. it should, but it doesn't. it almost feels like it was perfectly expected of him to act that way. to just accept that someone loves him the same way you do.

it couldn't be the same way you do since they've never met, but you're sure spencer loves her the same way.

you press your tea to your lips, bag of pop rocks left on the round table as everyone files in, a brow raised when spencer enters last, strangely giddy, beaming at you when he sits down with his own mug of tea.

call went good?

yeah. we're meeting up soon.

fun.

if he notices the lack of enthusiasm in your voice, then he doesn't comment on it, taking the bag of pop rocks to down as everyone files in.

"3 days ago, Bruce Phillips was found dead with his blond hair dyed black."

You think you tune almost everything out for the most part. You go through the case, sort through it all, blink and watch as Spencer seems to be as focused as ever. He's meeting up with her in a couple of days. You'll be fine, you suppose. It'll be fine. Everything is supposed to be fine, and when you're getting forcibly sentenced to rest by Hotch, you think it's fine. You'll be fine.

You'll work through the case and look back at all the puppets as you lower the two humans from the strings, and you wonder what you would look like put up on the stage. There is a fear that settles uncomfortably in your stomach, you think. That somehow on that stage it could have been you. You don't know how the victims will survive it, and when you step into the elevator in the dark of night with the rest of the team, you barely go through anything.

"Where's Reid?"

"He said he had something important to do."

You blink quietly at your reflection in the metal, closing your eyes.

"He's seeing the girl he's in love with."

"WHAT."

"Wait, wait, wait. Babygirl, isn't he in love with you?"

"Apparently not." You chew on your inner cheek. "I need a drink."

"Well, you're welcome at mine." Rossi mumbles. "Scotch."

"Vodka."

"You'll learn."

You huff. "Fine."

Maybe ranting to Rossi about your love life wasn't the smartest thing in the world, but you honestly couldn't give any less of a damn if Spencer was dragged through mud after all the stunts he had pulled on you. You grumble and pinch your brows, moping and throwing your head back over the sofa as you sit to sober up. Jesus christ, get a grip.

Rossi tells you that sometimes it's fine to let go.

"Yeah?" You fiddle with your ring, scotch long forgotten on the table.

"Sometimes the best remedy is just letting go."

"Thank you, wise italian man with three wives." You mumble. "I can't wait to be divorced in my twenties."

"You're still young, don't worry." Rossi hums, pressing his drink to his lips. "You want me to reccomend someone to you?"

You glance at the ring on your finger, humming. "It's fine."

you wonder sometimes why reid had gotten tired of you. was it tired? you don't know. he seems to have gotten tired of you. maybe it was just rude of you

maybe the lack of title was—

no. not quite. he's your husband. there was not a lack of title. there was a lack of papers. lack of hard evidence that you weren't playing around with each other in your youthen stupor. there was a lack of nothing. it was just spencer being stupid, you think. it was never your fault. you were more in tune with his smotions than he was, and he knew your mind better than anyone else.

he did not know his own heart, and you suppose it's your fault for ever thinking he would.

you think you're bitter towards how spencer treats you now comparably more than when he did prior to the arrival of maeve. but you're not mad at maeve. you couldn't really be. you and spencer never legalized your relationship, and it's not unheard of to be fascinated with something new — spencer was always fascinated with something new.

but it doesn't really make it hurt any less.

spencer meets maeve in the restaurant, and garcia tells you that apparently he had taken off his ring in the cctv footage. an empty finger to meet a girl that you felt replaced by. wow. what a way to ruin a girl's day.

not to mention how he carries around that beat up book that maeve had reccomended to him — still.

you find it ironic that he's moved on yet you still haven't. what is there to move on? did he owe you the courtesy of a break up if you were never really anything?

the one day you don't bother answering your door.

you spend your days at he shooting range, perfecting your marksmanship, and you wonder if this is the universe's strange way of telling you that you're just screwed. you find that it's hard to hide quiet sniffling and hot tears on your cheeks with frustration that you can't lash out. quiet anger that bubbles in the back of your throat when you start opting to go out on the field more than staying back to analyze — to use your degree since you wasted it all anyway, and hotch lets you.

you ignore the look of hurt on spencer's face when you request of it outright, desperation reeking off your skin, and you become so painfully distant that you wonder if spencer felt like you were supposed to just stick around and wait for him when he called maeve all day like that and expect you to stay around. he's not stupid. you're almost sick of the way that you've never been babied once since joining, and all everyone does is protect him in their own way.

it makes you bitter towards him, you think.

you're glad you're on the field rather than hidden in the police station with spencer. you don't think you could bear to face him or whatnot. it would be unfair for you.

you wonder if you should request to stay back when maeve's kidnapping case comes up, and you swallow slowly when spencer's mind shuts down, and maybe you're just cursed to be stuck as some kind of queen piece that has no purpose now that the player's gotten their pawn to upgrade into a queen. actually, maybe you're a pawn. maybe you're just the pawn that stayed desipte it all in the game of chess. you know as a matter of fact that you could never be as smart as maeve is — which is why you're not really bitter towards her. she doesn't know of your existence the same way that spencer didn't once mention you in… well, anything.

you spend most of the case working through it with everyone else, and you're the first to notice that maybe it's a female stalking maeve rather than a man. it's not a… well, it is a romantic stalker, probably. you don't really know. you're all for it, but less in the case where maybe maeve deserves a stalker and more in the okay well, good for her, love wins, or whatever. you're quite frankly too spent trying to figure out what's going on with the case to really care that it's a woman. you're trying not to throw up when spencer offers himself as collateral, and you're having the worst moment of your life when things happen.

spencer's so in love with her that you think perhaps you never really existed to him at all. nevermind that he's somehow got his ring on and that diane might freak out at the thought, but you don't know. you don't really understand it. spencer reid is in love with maeve donovan and you don't seem to matter at all in his eyes.

one thing leads to the next, and by some strange situation, everyone's on a rooftop of some kind and you're kind of staring at nothing in particular as you stare at the kidnapper. it's a woman, and you feel like you shouldn't be surprised, but you still are. you've read her unofficial paper before — as you did with maeve. when you first figured out who maeve was, you had done a quick read on her research. it was easy to read — her paper. you wonder just how obsessed diane has to be with maeve for her to be jumping her and kidnapping her to this extent. maybe maeve sought companionship with spencer.

you hold your gun up in the back with everyone else, and it's really spencer's call as whether or not to shoot, but there's an instability in the way that she's speaking and shaking, and you think maeve is going to make the wrong choice of words and accidentally tip off diane and then both of their brains are going to be blown out and you don't think that's a really good idea.

but you also don't really want blood on your hands.

is it such a sin for you to desire to not kill? is the blood of tobias hankel not enough?

is a bullet between the forehead not a testament of enough blood you've been stained with?

you stand behind spencer, gun in your hand as you blink and stare.

will the blood of maeve's life dirty your hands any more than everything already has?

There's a gun pressed to Maeve's head, and you have a clear shot to her assailant.

you want to be selfish. maybe. you want to just. you'd like to— you don't want the love of your life stolen from your hands and it tears you apart, but you don't even need to look when you know the answer. it doesn't matter if you love spencer, because you think you know something that they don't or whatever and he can try to de-escalate the situation all he wants. you think there's something that he knows that you don't. there's—

there's nothing.

what are you being so philosophical for? there is really only one answer.

You pull the trigger before Diane can.

The woman falls to the ground, probably dead. you don't know you don't really check. It's. You don't like the weight of a second life on your hands, collapsing into the cement of the rooftop immediately, too short of breath to watch spencer pull a fainted maeve into his arms, breathing growing erratic and mouth hanging open as someone catches you, the voice ringing in your ear as you stare at someone, tears burning at your cheeks and every emotion except for relief on your face, oh, oh, oh what is this — is this, is it , oh it's been such a long time you almost forgot this feeling, didn't you — you're sorry? what are you saying? You don't know anymore. what is going on? you can't— you can't breathe. what is this—

oh, there— there's—

the world turns black, and you wake up alone.

without your ring. alone. well, penelope's by your side when you're staring into the white, blinking slowly without a lifeline because once again there's an iv plugged into the back of your hand and you swear to god if you have to pull the trigger on a man one more time, you're going to kill yourself.

you don't even realize you're crying until Penelope is holding you.

"You'll be fine! You'll be fine!" Penelope holds you, and you stare at her, shaking your head.

"Penny. I wanna go home."

"I know, sweet girl. I know. You'll be there soon."

You laugh, grimacing at the way your body hurts.

"He said he'd protect me. Guess who lied."

"He can't lie for his life. You know that."

You sigh, letting your head sink into the pillow.

"What happened?"

"You passed out from a panic attack."

"Not from killing." you close your eyes. "Did the doctors give a diagnosis?"

"They can't. You don't have anyone to sign for you."

"Right. Security went up."

"He was angry, you know? That he couldn't sign for you." Penelope frowns. "He asked me if I could fake a certificate for you two."

"I feel like I should pretend to be surprised. Did he leave as soon as Maeve woke up? I know she passed out too." you sit yourself up, groaning as you roll your shoulders. "Where's the doctor? I want my diagnosis — and, Penny?"

"Yeah?"

you smile. "Alone."

"Alright... but um, don't be surprised if I hack, alright?"

"Of course." you nod.

You decide two things that night.

One, your hand is tired of holding the gun. You don't think you ever liked the feeling of it even after killing Tobias for killing Spencer. It's just not a weight that you can grow used to. You can't possibly bear to exist with it, you think. It's not a world that you belong in. It's not a world that you like existing in. You don't particularly enjoy the fact that you just had to shoot Maeve's stalker through the skull either. Two deaths too many.

Two. You no longer want to stay.

Penelope takes you home, but you're barely stepping foot in your apartment before you're calling a cab to go to the BAU office, and you wonder if everyone else has headed home. You think they did. Though, you really hope that Hotch is at least there so you can resign to his face. You don't think you're so adamant on leaving that you'd do it without seeing him one last time.

It's 11pm when you make your way to the office, resignation paper, badge, and gun in hand as you find Hotch's office.

The lights are still on, strangely enough, and when you glance at everyone's empty desks for the night, you think it was oddly good timing on your end to come in right after a case that had you passing out with no real victim. Spencer's probably visiting Maeve, and everyone else probably clocked out on time for once. How nice.

You knock before entering.

"Hotch."

He glances at you.

"They let you out already?"

"Urgent business. Also, it was just a panic attack. My vitals were all normal." You nod. "It won't happen again."

"You're supposed to be on break for a couple of days."

"That's the thing. There won't be a need for an eval or wait." You place down the gun, the badge with the box, and you stare at your ring for a second too long before speaking. "I'd like to leave."

"Is it because of the—"

"No." You shake your head, sliding your ring off. "No, no. It's not. I just. I think you know I never really wanted to be on the field like I have, and I'm nowhere mentally strong enough for that role. I'd like to quit before it kills me. I think we both know that I nearly died my first day on the job."

"Are you alright?" He motions for you to sit, and he steps over to shut his door.

"I'm fine." You nod. "I am. I really am."

"Did Reid—"

"Hotch, please" You mumble. "I just want to return to academia and studying instead of practice. There's so much instability in this job, and I can't do it anymore. I'm not strong like you are. I never was."

He stares at you, pinching his brows. "Where will you go?"

"I'll find somewhere." You smile. "I'll be happy there. I've saved up plenty from this job."

Hotch gives you a sad smile, you think. You understand.

"May I visit?"

"With Jack, if you must." You hum. "I'll be out tomorrow. Please tell Straus I'm sorry I didn't go to her."

"You don't need to."

"Yes, I know." You hum. "Do you think I could stay hidden for long?"

Hotch looks at the envelope.

"I think he will find you."

"I hope not."

He exhales. "Stay safe. I'm here if you need me."

"I will." You laugh. "Tell the rest of the team that I'm just recuperating at home? Tell them I don't want any visitors for a few days."

Hotch nods. "We'll miss you."

You linger at the door, looking back at Hotch, smile on your lips that doesn't reach your eyes.

"I'll miss you guys too."

Spencer sits in the other wing of the hospital.

"Are you sure you're okay? It couldn't have—"

"I'm fine." Maeve smiles. "Shouldn't you be checking with..?"

"She's strong. She'll survive." Spencer mumbles, fiddling with the gold on his finger. "She also took me off of her authorized lists. I had signed that she would be able to take care of my medical needs with her a while back, but I suppose that she took me off sometime ago without telling me. It was my fault."

"Your… ring." Maeve swallows. "I didn't know you wore one."

Spencer stares at it, twisting the band absentmindedly. "It's… a couple's band. Matches with hers… bought it at an antique store."

"Spencer, do you love her?"

"Wh- of course I do!" He pauses. "Of course I love her. Everyone does. It's just… she knows that."

"Are you sure? Have you told her?" Maeve mumbles. "I don't think you love me the same way you love her. I love you, Spencer."

"I do too—"

"No." Maeve stares out the window of the bed. "You love her. Think it over. You're smart. Sometimes feelings don't need to make sense."

Hotch doesn't have it in himself to tell Spencer— it's hard to break the news. it would be like breaking news that emily had passed away all over again, and it wouldn't be all that worth it. reid would have to find out on his own. he would. and when he does. when he does, he'll stop and stare, unbelieving in hotch's words with a desperation in his voice that they heard when maeve was at gunpoint, running a hand through his hair at news broken to him last and the box that had once carried your rings that truly has him staring and wondering if it was at all worth it.

"Why didn't you tell me." Spencer clenches his jaw, and Hotch stares. Just stares.

"She told me not to."

"So you didn't?"

"Reid, you would have stopped her from moving." Hotch places a box before him.

Spencer shakes.

"Hotch. You knew that I messed up, and you still—"

"Reid."

"I loved her. I love her."

spencer loves you, loved you, is loving you, oh god forbid anyone tell him anything. he's in love with you and it was his fault for ever thinking that maybe you would have understood without him telling you. you understood his heart. you should have known that he loves you. but maybe knowing isn't enough. maybe he should have said it— no. he should have said it. he should have told you that he loves you the same way maeve had told him. you overthink as well. he knew that. he knows that.

but you do understand him. he's far too hurt to be able to chase you down after leaving the way you knew it hurt the most, so he settles with sitting in his flat and staring lifelessly at the books you had bought for him. you did not touch anything in his apartment. not your clothes, not your belongings. it was as though all you really cared to clear was the desk at work so someone new could join the team.

he settles with trying to see your apartment, blinking when someone new has moved in and he apologizes, mentioning that his friend had moved and didn't tell him — he supposes. he thinks. it's not the truth. you had just planned to leave him in the dark just like that. it was a deliberate chance to twist a blade into his stomach the same way he had twisted it into your heart. he wonders why you didn't just shatter him on purpose.

the new tenant hands him a letter that was left behind with his apartment number on it, and spencer realizes, he thinks. you had just wanted to stab him through the heart and carve a piece of him for yourself after he had left yours hollow and empty. you didn't quite do it, though. the letter hurts, yes, but in a way he felt deserving of it. you tell him at the end that the silver would look nice on maeve's finger.

he doesn't have the heart to open the box to find out if your ring is in it.

and suddenly, there's no interest in maeve at all — and spencer reflects on it in a way. he knows now. it was never really transference with you. it was transference with maeve. it was simply because he had gotten so caught up in making a new friend and calling her all the time that he had forgotten how he had gotten to that point in the first place. did he ever truly love maeve? surely it hurt to hear how she was the prettiest girl in the world to him when you were wearing a ring meant to match his.

how could he ever think of someone else in that light? when you were right there?

when the hurt fades, all he has left are his days in his flat where he traces through the books you had bought him. he traces your writing in the margins of your literature, and it reminds him of when he had to send his mother away all over again. he isn't allowed the joy of keeping someone by his side. not with his father, not with gideon, and now no longer with you. it didn't matter if you had been waiting. people grow tired of it immediately. people need air. you had forgotten that. spencer had forgotten that.

it was stupid of him to ever think of someone other than you.

spencer dreams of you sometimes. leaving without a reason, walking out of his life with most of your belongings packed from your place with the knowledge that you had just told hotch you were leaving, never to be seen again after you had been pushed to the hospital and he wasn't allowed to hear your diagnosis. disappearing from all his records, being denied access to how you were doing now. it wasn't witness protection, no. he would have known if it was. you had just chosen to disappear from his life forever on a random thursday afternoon. the same thursday he was supposed to tell you that he was wrong to ever make you misunderstand that he loved maeve more than you.

he hasn't taken his ring on his finger since finding out that you had just packed and left. he doesn't know why. he mourns you. perhaps he does, and perhaps he had been right such a long time ago when he was still somewhat young and fresh, ramble of how the feeling he was expressing was most likely his own cocktail of romance, but he had been slow. he knew, yet you had not waited. it was not worth it anymore, perhaps. he understands that. you learned to start moving at your own pace and claw your way to stability, and a government job that required you out on the field at all times was not worth the pay.

you could make comfortable money elsewhere.

he knew that much. your passion had never been quite to be out on the field saving people. your passion had always been in reading people and knowing people. in the smoothing of papers and fluids of ink. you had always loved something much different than he did. you always loved something that he had used as a tool to continue upward. he could deduce a million things about you and none of it would make sense because as soon as you flipped the page you would once again become blank and leave him wordless.

you belonged in ranges of books, not the shelves that hosted you on late nights when you did not want to sit alone in your apartment.

you belonged in rows and rows of scripture and poem and psalm that could not even begin to be described with mere pen and paper. it had to be parchment and quill — ink and letters delivered by carrier pigeons that no longer existed. you belonged in a world that he had long forgotten he was once part of. a world that he doubts he could ever step foot back in without something that affects him enough. he's not going to step back into it. not until there is a point in which he knows he can retire and calm down. his papers would never be the papers that you write. your papers would never be papers that reach his hands.

and then hotch leaves.

he wonders if he could ever step away from it all. a second life or death moment. a moment in which he was... alive, perhaps. he understands the tension between him and cat well. its just a shame you're no longer here to untangle his mind after a long day with your fingers carding through his hair. its a case you would have jumped on. a woman who was better than acting than anyone else. he feels like he lost something when he had met her. it was an encounter you would have listened to him ramble and told him what kind of a person she was, but you weren't there anymore. you hadn't been for a while, and when he's in prison, unable to reach out to you, he wonders if it was at all worth it.

you would not have let it happen.

hotch would not have let it happen.

he spends a lot of time wondering what you're doing. he wonders if you still make your tea with a thermometer so the green doesn't become bitter, insisting that tea made at home is better than one at a coffee shop — and he wonders if you still keep packs of pop rocks on you because you refuse to have food and substitute it with sugar so your blood sugar doesn't drop. he wonders if you still lounge in bed until the sun is halfway in the sky, only leaving for brunch in the mornings, and he wonders if you've made friends. perhaps you connected with past ones. he wonders if you're doing better now.

you have to be. for him. you have to be.

it comforts himself to know that at least one of you are doing better.

maeve is there when he's freed. he understands, yes, that he was… dumb to even… oh he doesn't try thinking too hard about it. he thanks her, yes, and it's not really her fault. his fault for taking off a ring that tied his heart to yours so he could try and pretend he didn't care. he wonders if she thinks any more badly of him. he doesn't think she does, but perhaps she's realized too that his heart wasn't ever really for her to begin with.

He glances at the ring he's kept safe for so long, lack of luster causing a frown on his face as Maeve glances at it too.

"You never really told me the truth, huh?"

"No." He mumbles. "I got caught up in your confession, I suppose."

"I see."

He pauses, staring at Maeve as she tilts her head.

"Did you tell her thank you for saving my life?"

"She left before I could."

"You should have been honest with me."

"She had never—"

"And yet you had a ring." She hums. "Did you pretend I was her? Because I told you I loved you?"

"I just… wanted her to tell me she loved me, I suppose." He blinks, suddenly quiet. Ah. So that was it. "So when you said it to me, I just—"

"You should tell her."

"I won't ever get to see her again."

"You should tell her you love her." Maeve hums. "She was waiting for you to say it first."

"I couldn't have—"

"Then maybe she was hoping for you to." She hums, pausing, smiling. "She's doing good. I met up with her last time she was here."

"She was here?" He hates the way his voice breaks.

Spencer understands you more now, he thinks. The time he spent thinking over his emotions and not his mind for once was strange. Isolation did a number to him. He understands himself better now. Maybe he just wanted you to be vulnerable with him first before he could even believe that you liked him even more than you did with others.

It was stupid, yes. It was painfully obvious to everyone that you liked him more than you did the average person, and it wasn't exactly something you bothered hiding. Perhaps you had just been waiting for him to say it first since he had treated you differently too. He knew it, but he just refused to admit it. He didn't need numbers or probability to prove that you loved him. He loved you just the same. The band around your fingers should have been proof of that.

It really shouldn't have been something he ever doubted even once.

So when he gets forced back into the swing of the thirty day sabbatical, his final thirty is a gift from the team.

A carefully picked location — per Garcia's request.

Garcia chose this one, which he finds interesting considering that he's never left too far for guest lecturing before, and Garcia had never shown even a remote amount of interest in his sabbaticals, but apparently the university had really wanted him to provide insight in the lecture, so he was requested by… someone… in the university. Spencer isn't too sure, but he trusts Garcia enough, so he's on a commercial flight to meet with the university.

"It'll be a good breath of air. Besides, when's the last time you had a proper vacation? Don't you dare try to come back before the thirty days are up. I will have prentiss kick your ass."

"Yes, Garcia." Spencer mumbles. "And you're sure this will be good for me?"

"Oh, I know it will be good for you. Thank me later."

It's strange he's somewhere he's seldom been, and the rain reminds him of Seattle, but not quite. The university wasn't really known for their curriculum on criminology, but the psychology program was apparently well respected. He respects it. The campus is gorgeous, and his guide takes him around and lets him know some local places he can visit.

The lecture goes nicely. He quotes books and literature, and he explains the case studies they've all done, analyzing behavior and explaining classic serial killers, but the students seems much more invested in his face than what he's teaching. Which he's grown used to, in a way. He could try and pretend he doesn't understand it, but he doesn't. At least not in that way.

He almost misses when Morgan would call him pretty boy to his face.

He stays behind to check out what they have, though. There's a small neighborhood a little bit southeast of the university quite a nice little street to wander on, and Spencer finds himself stopping to look around. The name reminds him of things you had said once. Quite mumble under your breath when you had passed Pike Place in Seattle about how you liked it better in…

He stops at a coffee shop, ordering a pastry and coffee (sweetened. of course.), and he leaves his last name. He doesn't know what compels it. Well, maybe so his name feels a little more common. He's older now, so his name's dated with him, naturally, but he still finds himself using his last name.

The lady is kind enough — as she can be. She writes his name down and asks if there's a design he'd like on his cappuccino. (He asks for a heart), and he finds himself at the end of the coffee shop, ripping open a pack of pop rocks to dip his tongue into. He started carrying them around ever since you left. The popping on his tongue reminds him that he's not as numb as he believes he is. There's a starbucks across, but his guide had insisted that he try the local place. Been around since forever and still hasn't closed. Apparently it has surprisingly good prices too.

"Green tea for Reid?"

Spencer turns around at his name, watching as you step past him to grab the drink.

The words come out before he can think.

"You're buying your tea now?"

You freeze up in place.

"Latte with vanilla for Reid?" The barista raises a brow.

"That's me." He takes it, staring down at you as you stay still. "Talk to me."

"I don't see what there is to talk about."

"You hide behind a false wall of bitterness mirroring how I hid behind science and logic to not need to face how stupidly in love with you I was." Spencer swallows. "We both know there's stuff to talk about."

You blink up at him, raising a brow.

"Did Penny send you?"

"She suggested the university, yes. But a professor had reached out—"

"Then there's no need to talk about it. You'll go back to your job in a few days—"

"Twenty five."

You raise a brow.

"Twenty-five days." He swallows. "I… went to jail, and as an exchange for taking me back, I have to take a sabbatical for thirty days every now and then."

"And you decided all thirty days here was the move?"

"Garcia did."

and when he senses the pause you want to slip from, he speaks again.

"I know you're bitter about how horribly I treated you when I was calling Maeve three times a week and almost always on a case, and no, I don't expect you to forgive me or anything, but I miss you. I really do miss you."

"Oh, look at that. Doctor Spencer Reid using pathos." You mumble, checking your watch.

Spencer catches the familiar glisten of your ring.

"Listen. You can act like you moved on and no longer care about me all you want, but I think you know deep down that you're still clinging onto bits of me that I left behind, and the ring and your name is no coincidence—"

"Doctor Spencer Reid." You glare. "I don't appreciate being profiled like that."

He stops, clenching his fist as he stares down at you.

"I'm no different."

Your eye finds the ring on his finger, and you sigh.

"I hope you have fun here, and if the universe wills, may we meet again."

"And if I force it?"

You stare up at him.

"I think I know—"

"I don't know, Doctor Reid. I might just have to kick you out for it."

There's no real malice in your words, Spencer finds. There never has been, and he's almost comforted to find that even after all this time, you're the same as ever. The constant of your existence and the growth of you as a person. You dress warmer now and there's not an ounce of unhappy exhaustion on your face, and it almost feels like it's alright. You're doing wonderful on your own, all without ever needing to rely on him.

But he's grown too, he supposes. Years ago, the stubble on his face would have bothered him. A breeding ground for germs that have more "if's" than letting it be. The scar on his thigh from a blade in prison, and then bullet wounds all over. Bruises that he would have never got back when you were still with the team. In a way he's grown after being away from you too, and maybe it would be better if you both just grew on your own, but it doesn't. He doesn't want it to be.

"Tomorrow at Four in AERL 210." You grumble, but Spencer finds the ghost of a smile on your face.

"I love you." He hums, eyes full of affection.

The way you turn back to frown playfully tells him everything he needs to know.

And the tension is gone, he thinks.

In a way maybe you're resentful of him, but he's found that time's changed him beyond recognition. He doubts you had expected him to look the way that he did. There's a mess in his hair and a unclean look that you had always joked about him growing into one day, and maybe it's a testament to how well you knew him emotionally. The same way he knew how your brain moved and operated and not your heart.

but that was what made the two of you work so well. to know the part of someone that they themselves did not know as well. It was a testament of some kind.

to be vulnerable enough with someone that they know you better than you do yourself.

he wonders how you ever found it in yourself to forgive him of his crime, but perhaps time has healed you — and he has no intention of undoing all of that healing. he'll leave you alone after the thirty days if that is what you wish for. he's not one to force himself upon you after all the harm he's done, after all. he's shattered beyond repair, and you were not quite there to fix him up this time. he owes a lot of his life to you, he supposes.

it also amuses him that somehow you had written letters to his mother as well, telling her how you've been. he didn't know why he didn't search there, but when he had visited her after jail, she had told him about some professor writing her letters about her works and how wonderful her son was. it warmed his heart, after all. maybe he didn't know it was you, but it only made sense that it would be. after all, there is something only you would do that no one else would. he doesn't deserve you, in many cases. but ultimately you are the one who gets to decide.

He arrives twenty minutes before lecture with a cup of green tea for you, and you hand Spencer a clicker and a pack of pop rocks before telling him to file through the slides. He listens, and you tell him he'll be lecturing since you'd rather wring his brain dry when you can spare teaching. It's an excuse, he knows, because you'd never do anything to harm him, but you might joke about it. He finishes the slides in three, and he asks if there's anything else he should talk about (you tell him no— and when the class files in, you have a hand on his shoulder and a look on your face that can really only mean one thing.

"Class, meet my husband."

Emily Brontë once wrote “He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. If all else perished and he remained, I should still continue to be, and if all else remained, and we were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. He’s always, always in my mind; not as a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.”

and spencer knows, somewhere an english teacher is rolling in their grave crying that it was never meant to be taken in the context of romance — catherine and heathridge were raised siblings, after all. but he supposes that finding a love where your soul's at rest needs not to be forcibly romantic for everyone.

It just so happens that his was.

[kissenturine]

𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 kazuha x m!reader — 5.1k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: strangers to lovers, mentions and use of alcohol (no drunk sex though), kazuha and reader are roommates, sort of college / modern au, morning sex / sleepy sex, praise, pet names (good boy [?], angel, uh i cant remember sorry), aftercare is not written but it is given, praise teehee, reader rides kazuha, kazuha jerks reader off, lmk if i missed any thanks :3

KAI SAYS: GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!! birthday post im now 20 that sounds so old euugghh

Rent was hell.

Your minimum income, which was mostly spent on necessities and college fees, was barely able to pay last month. And now with inflation, you weren’t sure how you were going to make it through another year.

But, there was always hope. It was only the beginning of June after all.

Last week, your friend introduced you to a website to find roommates. Having a roommate would solve a few of my problems, you thought as you scrolled through the site on your computer. For one, the rent would be split between the two of you, which was much more manageable than right now. And, for two, you would get to actually talk to someone every day.

It would be a win-win situation if the two of you got along.

After a few days of thinking everything through, looking at different people’s profiles, because the site was a “Tinder for roommates,” as your friend had put it, you found a man that matched your preferences.

Kaedehara Kazuha.

From what you could tell by his profile, he looked like a sweet man. His profile picture was set to a white cat, and you can see his hand atop its head, gently petting against the cat’s ears. You hadn’t met him in person yet, but through text, you’d managed to get to know him a bit.

The two of you texted about your hobbies and Kauha told you about his life. He was getting a degree in poetry at a college near your house, which is why he selected the area. He told you earlier today about himself. He liked to eat fish and go drinking out. He liked staying with animals he liked warm weather and sunny days, and he liked to spend time with his loved ones and friends.

To be honest, he seemed a bit too good to be true.

But, you think, I suppose some people are just like that.

With a content sigh, you shut your computer. You’d texted Kazuha and the two of you had planned for him to move in today. It seemed a little quick to you, but Kazuha said he didn’t really have anything big to move over. According to him, he’d only be bringing one suitcase and backpack.

Yesterday, you cleaned out the guest room—well, know his room. It was tedious work, something you hoped you wouldn’t have to do again. Ever. But, you supposed it would be worth it in time.

So now here you were, sanding proudly with your hands on your hips smiling at your spotless house. Kazuha better like it here… You think. Your hand goes to run through your hair gently, combing it back. You’re about to flop down onto the couch and maybe take a nap—only for the familiar tune of the doorbell to ring through the house, echoing and bouncing off the walls.

Your head snaps backwards, a nervous smile making its way onto your lips.

You rush to the door, ignoring the slight shake in your step. Your heartbeat quickens and you don’t know why. Kazuha’s a nice man. You remind yourself, though you don’t think that’s why you're nervous.

Slowly, you unlock your door and turn the doorknob with your other hand. And there, standing to greet you is your new roommate. Kaedehara Kazuha.

You greet him with a polite smile, cracking open the door just enough to let him inside. The roll of his suitcase from the sidewalk outside up onto the flooring of your house sends a loud ‘Clunk! Clunk!’ sound and you wince a little.

You shut the door behind you, schooling your expression as you turn back to Kazuha. He trunks to you quickly and smiles gently. “Ah,” he says and his voice is so soft when he speaks, “I’m Kazuha, but I suppose you already know that.”

You introduce yourself, finishing off the same as him with a short, “but I suppose you already knew that too.”

He nods politely a small laugh flitting out of his lips. You lead him to his new bedroom, helping him carry his backpack as he lifts his suitcase, not wanting the wheels to dirty the floor. Kazuha takes a look around, his smile being ever present as you drop his backpack by the door.

“It’s nice here.” He comments, turning his gaze from you to his bedroom.

A bashful grin makes its way to your lips. “Thanks.” You murmur. “Cleaned just for you.”

With that, he’s looking back at you. “Just for me?” He responds, and there’s an edge of playfulness that lies beneath the overlaying gratefulness in his tone. “Thank you.”

You just nod, not fully trusting your voice.

After a moment, Kazuha sits down at the edge of his bed, tracing his hands over the expanse of the duvet. “We should go out sometime.” He says and you blink. You’re face feels warm and you hope Kazuha doesn’t see.

“Like…” Your voice trails off, leaving your sentence unfinished. Like a date? You wanted to say, but your lips don’t seem to work.

Kazuha seems to take note of this, chuckling softly. “Just to get to know each other better. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.” He gives you a comforting smile and your nervousness seems to dissipate when you look at him.

“Ok.” You agree. “We can plan something for after you’ve gotten more… settled in.”

Kazuha’s smile widens and he gives you a nod. “Thanks.”

You take a deep breath, before speaking up again. “I’ll leave you to it then.” You turn on your heel before walking out of Kazuha’s new bedroom. You shut the door gently before speed-walking to your room and collapsing onto your bed.

Your breathing comes out in soft puffs as you bury your face into a pillow, curling yourself on your bed. What the fuck was that? You cry mentally. You grip onto the bedsheets tightly. Your heart is beating fast and you think it’d beat tight through your ribs if you don’t calm down soon. You bring your hands to your face, dragging them across your eyes. “I’m fucked.” You curse quietly. Kazuha’s so nice! You know you probably won’t even last a month without developing some sort of feelings for him and that scares you. 

You… don’t want to ruin what little the two of you had managed to build up in the past week. As little as it was, you like what you have with Kazuha. In the back of your mind, though, there’s the nagging feeling for more. You want to get closer to Kazuha, you want to spend time with him.

Maybe that date of his wouldn’t be too bad.

With a heavy sigh, you twist your body to lay like a starfish, sprawled across your bed. You turn your gaze to your window, squinting as the sunlight fans through the glass and into your eyes. If you just ignored any feelings that developed, they would just go away, right?

The first six days with Kazuha were… different from your usual routine, to put it simply.

On Monday (because everyone knows the week starts with Monday and not Sunday!) you awoke to the smell of food wafting through the house. You were instantly up and out of bed, barely managing to throw on a shirt—backwards—before you stumbled into the kitchen.

You were taken aback by the sight that greeted you.

Kazuha, in his pyjamas and an apron, was humming a soft tune as he cooked something on the stove. He turns once he notices you, standing in shock by the doorway. “Ah,” he said, “I see you’re finally awake.” He humed, using the spatula to plate a scrambled egg. He handed you the plate and Archons it smelled good. “I made breakfast. Used some of your food, if you don’t mind.”

You absentmindedly nodded, entranced by the way he moved around the kitchen, putting things in the dishwasher, plating his food, and turning off the stove. All of those were such ordinary things, but, for some reason, it just made you more drawn to him.

You brought your plate to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down, still watching Kazuha. “Thanks for breakfast.” You murmured after a few bites. “It’s really good.”

“Well, it’s only natural I repay you somehow.” Kazuha said before sitting down beside you. “You basically lent me your house to live in.” He joked.

“Our house now.” You responded. “Since you’ll be payin’ half the rent.”

Kazuha nods, taking a bite out of his own breakfast. “I plan on spending the week organizing my stuff. Nothing big, just getting everything tidy.” The two of you sat in comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of the summer weather.

Besides that, Monday wasn’t anything eventful.

Tuesday was spent helping Kazuha. Cooped up in his room, the two of you went through his clothes and belongings, organizing them into his closet and drawers. Kazuha had a decent amount of clothes, which were the bulk of what he brought.

You talked and talked and talked with Kazuha. He was so sweet. You swore you’d told yourself that a million times by now, but it was always true. Kazuha’s laugh was soft and kind, he laughed at all your stupid, cheesy jokes, no matter how unfunny they were. He’d help you cook meals—much better than you ever could.

Tuesday was when you had come to realize that maybe you were enjoying his company a little too much. But, you thought, he’s just… fun to be around.

You used that excuse for the rest of the week.

Kazuha was just… nice. Everyone would enjoy his company like this. You were no different!

It was a pathetic excuse, but it was pathetic enough for you to cling onto.

Wednesday you and Kazuha went out and you showed him the neighbourhood as the two of you walked to the store for some groceries. Kazuha took an oddly long time looking through the fruits and vegetables section, eyeing each piece we selected carefully before placing it into the plastic bag we used to carry everything.

It was endearing.

After a good forty-five minutes of walking around the store, the two of you finally decided to head to the cashier for check out. Kazuha was polite as he made idle chatter with them, but you couldn’t help the frown that pulled at your face.

You were right there. If he wanted to talk to someone, why couldn’t it be you? You were sure you were more entertaining than that cashier worker.

But you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind. You pulled out your credit card, expecting to pay, only for Kazuha to gently pull your hand back. “Let me.” He says gently. Your eyes dart to him and your face flushes when you feel his hand graze gently over yours as he pulls it back.

He wanted to pay for you.

Ah, if you hadn’t fallen for him yet, you sure as hell had now.

He taps his card quickly and you barely manage to make it out of the store while avoiding Kazuha’s gaze.

Things only started to set in on Thursday.

You’d woken up with a heavy migraine and a grumpy mood, so it didn’t come as a surprise that you didn’t want to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, that also included Kazuha. And yet, Kazuha didn’t push you when you refused to talk to him while the two of you ate breakfast.

“Good morning,” He had said in greeting. “How’re you?”

You don’t respond, only taking the plate of food he’d set aside for you. You’re swift to finish your food; shovelling it into your mouth and not even bothering to wait for Kazuha.

He, on the other hand, still had that oh-so-sweet smile of his plastered across his pretty lips. “I’ll take it you’re not feeling great, then.” He murmurs. Kazuha gets up from his seat beside you before handing you a glass of water. “You should drink up. Water’s very good for you, so I’m sure it’ll help you a bit.”

You do as he said, chugging the glass of water in one go. “Thanks.” You whisper. Those were the first words you said to him that day, and you could already feel your migraine easing up. Kazuha is like magic, you think, he fixes everything without even trying.

You gave Kazuha a half-hearted smile before placing your plate and utensils in the dishwasher and heading to your room to take a nap. Naps always seemed to ease your headaches.

As you collapsed on your bed, snuggling up under your heavy duvet, your thoughts drifted back to Kazuha. He was sweet, but you’d also come to the realization that he was handsome. His hair was always up into a ponytail, with that little section of red swooping on top of his ear. His eyes are quite pretty, too. You thought. A shimmering red that often matched the clothes he wore, sparkling as he laughed. And his hands, they looked so gentle as he carried things around. His fingers worked effortlessly as he wrote his poetry in that small notebook of his.

“This man,” you whispered to yourself, “is too good to be true.”

On Friday, Kazuha let you have the honour of brushing and tying up his hair.

He’d caught you staring at him as he sat on his bed, his fingers wove through his white locks. With a raised eyebrow, he beckons you over, handing you a red hair tie. “Mind helping me?” He asked softly.

You complied eagerly, scooting behind him. You ran your hand through his hair, gently scooping it behind his shoulders. Kazuha let out a soft hum, as he nodded in content. Carefully, you pull his hair into a ponytail, twisting the thin band to wrap carefully around it a few more times.

“There.” You said. “It’s done.”

Kazuha turned to face you, his knees pressed much too close to yours. “Thank you.” He grinned, grabbing your hand to rest in between his cool ones. “I really appreciate this.”

Your face flushed, an embarrassing warmth coating your cheeks. You brought your free hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of your neck before mumbling out a response. “No problem, Kazuha.”

Saturday was spent planning the two of your guys’ “date” that would be happening on Sunday.

Kazuha suggested a picnic, and you couldn’t help but agree. Maybe it was the thought of spending a day with him, or maybe it was how he wanted to spend a day with you, but you knew you would’ve agreed to anything he said.

The picnic would be on Sunday, in a park the two of you found online.

After a very successful planning session, the two of you spent the rest of the day preparing and packaging food for the picnic.

It was somewhat chaotic—but it was also fun.

Kazuha taught you how to make his favourite sandwich, how to toast the bread perfectly, and how to cut each one into little heart shapes. All with a soft smile dancing on his pretty lips as he guided your hands gently, easing the knife into the bread.

Archons, you were fucked. How’re you supposed to live with him, like this, every day?

And now, it’s Sunday; the day of the picnic.

Your foot taps nervously against the floor of your bedroom. What am I supposed to wear? Yes, you do know you’re probably overthinking this, but you can’t help it! Not when it’s because of Kazuha! You have to make sure you’re always looking your best!

Your cheeks puff out as a heavy sigh leaves your lips, eventually settling on your outfit of the day.

Finally ready, you nervously open the door, heading out to meet Kazuha in the kitchen.

He greets you with a smile and a call of your name. His arms find their way around your waist in a tight hug and you blink. Oh, oh, oh, oh—what do I do!? When did he get so… touchy?! Not that I’m complaining but—You stand frozen, yet Kazuha doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls back with his signature smile. “You’re ready to go?” He questions, taking a step towards the front door.

“Y-Yeah.” You manage to stutter out. “I’m ready.”

“Great!” He grabs your hand, leading you out of your shared home. He doesn’t let go as the two of you walk to the park. With the picnic basket in his free hand, Kazuha still grips yours gently as he leads you. His thumb runs over the skin of your hand absentmindedly. You think it’s supposed to be a calming gesture, but, it only makes your heart beat faster and your face go warm.

You eventually find yourself in a large field, small flowers adorning the grass. Kazuha tugs a blanket out of his bag, laying it over the grass. He plops down on it, patting the space beside him as he does. “Sit with me.” He says.

You comply quickly, placing your own basket down and taking a spot beside him. “...Thanks for doing this with me.” You murmur, giving Kazuha a shy glance.

He only grins in response, digging through his bag and handing you one of the sandwiches you prepared yesterday. “It’s nothing, really.” He smiles, and you feel a tingle go through your hand where his finger brushes over yours. “I like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you too.” You match his expression, your lips pulling into a smile. It hasn’t even been a week, and yet it feels like you’ve known Kazuha for years.

Kazuha grins, reaching into his bag. “Good.” is all he responds before pulling something out. Is that a wine bottle? “Now, would you like a drink?”

You… never took Kazuha as a drinker.

And yet, here he is, drunk out of his mind as slurs slip from his lips. Kazuha calls out your name, his head slipping onto your shoulder as his hands grip the blanket the two of you are sitting on. “Do you…” He trails off. “Do youuu… wanna watch th-the sunset w’me?” He slurs his eyes fixing on yours from his position on your shoulder.

You cough awkwardly. “Kazuha.” You say softly, easing his head off your shoulder. “It’s four-thirty in the afternoon. The sunsets not coming out anytime soon…”

“B-But—” He whines. “It woulda been soooo romantic.” Kazuha grins, his eyes lolling shut as he slumps against your chest this time. “Jus’ you, me, an’ the flowers.”

“Oh, Kazuha.” You sigh. “I’d love to watch the sunset with you, but we have to get you home before dark. It’d be dangerous walking out drunk at night.”

“No!” He cries. “I could… could protect you… from th’danger.”

“Nope.” You say, trying not to let his words affect you. “We’re going home now, okay?”

“Okayyyy.” He whines, dragging out the word as he says it. “But only—only cause you said so.”

“Good.” You wrap an arm around Kazuha, right under his shoulder as you help him stand. You leave him for a bit, turning around to pick up the blanket and his bag. “Kazuha!” You call, and he’s instantly behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, pushing his face into your neck.

“Hm?” He coos. “D’ya need something?”

The warmth of Kazuha’s breath fans over the skin of your neck, goosebumps rising lowly. “N-Need you to carry your stuff.” You mumble. Your hands remove Kazuha’s from your waist, shifting to grab his wrist as you gently drag him off you. “Let’s go home now.”

Carefully, you take Kazuha home, not really minding his drunk ramblings. He goes on and on about the sunset, about how he’d stare into your eyes and giggle while he holds your hand and the sun sets.

It is endearing seeing him drunk out of his mind and yet still so lovey-dovey.

It only takes the two of you a fifteen-minute walk to reach your home and you’re quick to open the door and let Kazuha in, the two of you dropping your stuff as you help him up the stairs, your arm wrapped snugly around his waist. He slurs your name again, his pretty red eyes meeting yours. “C-Can we cuddle…?” He whines and you instantly turn your head, wanting to hide the warmth on your cheeks.

“I…” You whisper. “You’re drunk. Let’s just get you in bed first.”

“Noo!” Kazuha cries, planting his feet on the ground, stopping you. “Y’always make me wait! Made me wait for our date, now you're still makin’ me wait when I jus’ want cuddles!”

“Kazuha, really, maybe we should—” You try to protest, only to be interrupted.

“Please,” Kazuha whines pitifully, “Jus’ for a bit.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out a deep exhale. “You’re still drunk,” you start, “but fine. I guess some cuddles won’t hurt.”

Kazuha grins happily, snaking his arms around you, just under your arms as he lifts you into the air. “You’re th’best!” He slurs. “Come, cuddles time.” With that, he’s lifting you up and carrying you over into his bedroom.

He tosses you gently onto the bed and you land with a quiet: “Oof!” Before you feel the bed dip as Kazuha joins you. His arms find their familiar place around you and his nore presses into the back of your head as he twists your body into a spooning position with his. One of Kazuha’s legs is haphazardly thrown over yours, and you feel completely engulfed in, well, Kazuha.

“You’re so handsome.” Kazuha whispers into your hair. “My handsome boy.” He presses a kiss to the back of your head, and you have to remind yourself that Kazuha is drunk. He won’t remember any of this, nor will he ever act like this again.

Still, you end up leaning into the touch, falling asleep slowly, basking in Kazuha’s comforting warmth and love.

When you wake up, Kazuha’s body is tangled with yours. His head is on your chest and his arms are wound tightly around your waist. One of his legs is positioned between yours, his knee pressing against you.

You tug him closer, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. Kazuha’s head dips between your shoulder and your neck, nuzzling into the spot. You can feel the small puffs of air his lips let out against your skin as he breathes, matching the pattern of your heartbeat as he does.

You grin, pulling yourself to sit up—only to be yanked completely down by Kazuha. “Don’ move, please.” He whispers. “Need t’feel ya.”

“Kazuha.” You complain. “You’re not even drunk anymore—”

“No.” Kazuha murmurs. “Need to feel you.” As the words leave his lips, he shifts his body, pressing his hips flush against your ass. 

Something firm pokes into you from behind and—

Oh.

That’s what he meant by feel you.

Kazuha’s hips start a steady grind against you, pushing his erection into your ass as he murmurs breathless nothings into your ear. A desperate whine slips from his lips as he slowly moves his hands from around you to on you, roaming your chest and up your neck.

“Need you.” Kauzha murmurs slowly. “Need you so bad.”

“I know.” You say, turning onto your side to face Kazuha.

He smiles at you, bringing a hand to cup your cheek. “Please let me have you.” He whines.

You smile, leaning into his touch and pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “Of course, you can have me. I’ve been all yours from the start.”

Kazuha’s lips press against yours as he gently pushes you to lie on your back against the bed. His hands trace your sides, going from your neck to your hips as he pulls your pants down. He releases you from his kiss, the both of you gasping for air as he yanks down your boxers with impressive speed.

A soft whine slips from your throat, needily grinding your hips into the air. “Kazuha…” You moan, needing his touch desperatley. “C-Can you just—”

“I know.” He coos, trailing his hand to your hard cock. “I know, pretty boy, but I jus’ wanna take my time with you, ‘kay?”

You hesitantly nod, bringing your hand to thread through Kazuha’s hair as he peppers an assortment of kisses all over your cheeks. His hand starts a slow rhythm, gliding up and down the shaft of your cock slowly.

His grip is teasing, the way he squeezes up as he reaches your tip, dragging the pad of his thumb down your dick as he does. Kazuha’s fist moves quicker, watching as your eyes scrunch up in pure ecstasy from his ministrations. “That’s it.” He murmurs encouragingly. “C’mon, I know you’re close…”

A gasp leaves your lips as Kazuha drags his thumb over your slit, rolling it and smearing your precum everywhere, watching with nothing but a pleased smile as your hips frantically twitch in his hold. He smiles, pressing a kiss to your neck—right bellow your ear before giving the spot a teasing lick.

Kazuha’s hands work at your dick again and again, sliding with a steady rhythm up and down until your brain feels muddled and hazy. You grip at his wrist, not knowing if you want him to stop or keep going.

“K-Kazuha,” you whine, “please.”

A soft laugh leaves his lips and he once again kisses your neck. “Shh.” He murmurs. “Be patient, my dear.” With that, he’s pressing a harsh bite into your supple skin, letting his teeth graze over before digging them into you. A loud moan slips from your lips, your dick twitching over and over until your eyes are squeezing shut and thick ropes of milky white shoot from your tip all over your tummy and Kazuha’s hand.

“O-Oh.” You manage to squeak out. “You’re good at this.”

Kazuha smiles, helping the both of you sit up—with you in between his knees with his erection still pressed into the curve of your ass. He rolls you over, bringing your hips ontop of his as he pulls his leaking cock out of his pants, watching intently as you practically drool at the sight.

“Ride me, please.” Kazuha whispers, his desperation clear in his tone. You wrap a hand around his dick, rolling the pad of your thumb against his tip before lifting your hips. You line him up quickly, feeling the head of his cock push against your hole. Your mouth drops open, a low whine leaving your lips.

Slowly, slowly, very slowly, you sink down on his cock, taking him all the way in. You’re about halfway in—from what little you can tell—when Kazuha grabs your hips. His eyes are teary, staring into yours as he grabs the fat of your ass, and pulls you down.

A loud moan slips freely from your lips and you collapse onto Kazuha, the both of you panting heavily.

“A-Archons.” He whispers, his fingers rubbing smooth circles over your hips. “You’re so tight, angel.”

Angel.

He called you angel.

You bury your face into Kazuha’s neck, taking in his scent as you breathe. “Kazu…” You whine. “Need you so bad.”

“I know, pretty.” He whispers. His grip on your hips tightens as you lift your head off him and look into his eyes. His deep, red eyes. “C’mon. I’ll help you, ‘kay?” He smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips before leading you to sit up above him. His finger taps against your waist before he starts. “Lift your hips f’me.” Kazuha instructs and you comply quickly, lifting your hips before dropping back down.

As soon as you drop down, Kazuha’s tip knocks against your prostate harshly and you cry out, your hands barely managing to find purchase against his shoulders. “Good boy.” Kazuha whispers sweetly, running his hands over your chest. “Jus’ like that…” He murmurs. “Think you can keep going?” You nod eagerly, lifting your hips again only to drop down.

Your thighs shake but you don’t care! Not when it feels so good to be bouncing on Kazuha’s dick like this. Not when he hits all those good spots that make you see stars as your eyes roll back.

“Kazuha.” You moan out, rocking your hips tirelessly up and down his dig. You can feel the drag against every vein against your walls, the way he nudges just right against your prostate. Your eyes roll back as your dick twitches against your tummy, drooling pre uselessly as you ride Kazuha up and down, over and over again.

“T-That’s it, pretty.” He whispers. Kazuha’s hands come to grip your ass again, picking up the pace for you as he starts to buck his hips up and into your awaiting hole. “I—holy shit—I’m close.” He whimpers, and you swear there’ll be bruises from how tight he grips your waist. “Need to cum—” He whines, his eyes squeezing shut.

You nod your head eagerly your ass squeezing so tightly around him as he picks up the pace, fucking into you harder. You need to feel him, feel him shoot his load into you. You need it, need Kazuha, need every part of him.

Every time he thrusts, you feel yourself get closer and closer to that sweet release the both of you seek. “Kazu…” You moan out. “Close, close—need you t’k-keep goin’”

“I know.” He whimpers. “I know, ‘m not stopping.” Your eyes rolled back, the familiar warmth building in the pit of your tummy. The way Kazuha’s hands trailed over your thighs—everything he did was begging your body to surrender to the familiar pleasure.

“A-At the same time.” You plead, gripping onto Kazuha’s arm. He only nod, his eyes squeezing shut.

You clench around him and Kazuha throws his head back against the pillows as he buries his dick into you, his hips meeting yours in one final, harsh thrust. He pulls your body close, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he whispers sweet nothings into you.

You feel him cum, a thick load going right into you. You whine, tightening so sweetly around him as your own orgasm hit. “H-Holy…” You whimper, not hvaing the energy to finish your sentence. Your dick twitches between the two of you and you cum. Hard.

Kazuha’s grip around you tightens as he doesn’t even bother to pull out. He grabs the blanket, bringing it over the two of you as he nuzzles your face into his neck, your body still twitching.

Archons. You think, watching Kazuha’s eyes close gently. The sunlight falls onto his face, like a golden halo around his perfect features. How long has it been with him? A week?

Only a week, and you’d managed to fall in love.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @helloanime @kiekole (send ask without anon to be added)

© KISSENTURINE. do not translate, plagiarize, edit, or repost

[delectabledolls]

And just a bit further analysis and commentation because sweet 1600 is my favourite line ever and omg these dolls.

From right to left cause I needed to talk about the ugly elephant in the room.

Cupid

I cannot believe how hard they flopped on the possible queen of the century especially when all of the fanarts of her in her literal corny bloomers were full of promise. Her colour scheme is all over the place but that teal is sooo not needed. That headband was bad but the fast its unpainted and sat in such a key focal point area is horrific. That dress reminds of the disaster that was howliday cleo but somehow nowhere near as ugly. She is so apple white coded (thronecoming fr) unnecessarily I thought it was bad enough when we got that blondie with apples face that no one in the world owns. The gradient on her legs, I understand why they had to change it from the original with the white symbols on top but it dosen't work and i'm praying it looks alright when the dolls arrive. Those platform shoes are actually kinda nice just unsure about that gold maybe if they were airbrushed they would look nicer. The blue around cupids eyes make her look dead and so does her heart earrings which from a distance to me look like dead beating hearts. That black bow bothers me so much why is it right there its so not needed and ruins everything the most and the money for that could of been used for the headband!

Frankie

They did them so bad with that undetailed leg, such a letdown after monster ball in particular. I think that pink on the balloon and leg detracts and is a bit garish in contrast, I wish they chose something more subtle and fitting if they are so insistent on pink. That cage is so darling charming I am def giving it to her. Apart from the blush being not the nicest they are a really nice frank doll.

Draculaura

Where do I even begin if you haven't my other first ever post I am so desperate to own her I never saw this coming at all. Asides from what I already wrote the fabric of her under skirt is to die for and every disney princess girls dream. I am desperate to the back of her shoes but her eye makeup is what a drac fierce rockers could be and her lips are I think would of been better a solid colour than the gradient they are but its no biggie. Her heart handle brella is sooo cute for lala please do it again mattel best idea ever. Those gloves are so madeline hatter way to wonderland omg I am very nostalgic to that well done mattel. That box is so shade to howliday cleo because I was going to get her box but this is it but properly good. Her bodice and earrings are just pure amazingness but her hair the silhouette and curve and the black highlights at the top are totally like skulltimate secrets 3 but without that darn treated poly (another doll I now don't need) but I hope it looks just as good in box cause just wow. Lastly, her hat is so adorbs and reminds me of a call back to dawn of the dances famous 3 pack exclusive drac who I still don't own cause being a european doll collector can suck at times.

Cleo

Finally, the diva herself whilst I am never a big fan of cleo especially G3 with her washed out eyes and blue palette this might be her best look yet. Her hair is what monster ball should of been to be honest her whole look is what it should of been. I swear we have had snakes on the top of shoes before from mh but maybe it was just ghouls alive clawdeens cat shoes im thinking of but they are still nice either way but not mindblowing like that laura. Her skirt cage is very Marie Antoinette which is so fitting but I'm not the keenest on the shape it gives her dress and the tassles that dangle from it that should of been fabric if needed. I am probably just going to get her for her hair cause thats thebonly thing I am really bothered about.

Overall

All of these are similar to their originals yet add a new delicious twist except for cupid she's rotten to her core im afraid. The spine balloons and now im just praying the packaging and eyeshadow is impeccable. Would love to do a review of these and find all the extra IRL hidden deets. Totally buying em all and drac as soon as I possible can without combusting.

just had to yap as these are some of the best dolls ever and my excitment was off the chart.

[blamemma]

Love your enchante ideas because they’re all so well thought out. My personal pov on enchante is that it’s not going to survive that much longer. Not just because the team behind it is kind of clueless but because I feel like Daniel is going to end up resenting it. It’s like enchante was cool when he was racing because it was a kind of creative outlet and it gave him this cool and well-rounded image as an f1 star, but I can’t see Daniel making it his full-time job … discussing colourways and themes would only ever be interesting to him as long as he had racing to go back to

i'm kinda split on this to be honest. if we look at the popups, austin was a massive success, with maybe a large part of that being attributed to...the situation. vegas? a flop. but i think its hard to make an activation work there and the location didnt seem optimal. new york? massive success it seems, but i guess you have to think about population density and daniel actually being present at the store at some points, which would draw crowds in. i think it has the means to be successful, if they branch out of their comfort zone a bit. leave america. work on your shipping and your accessibility to wider areas. work on your marketing, a lot, but i think it can work, if they (& daniel) put in the work.

i do actually dispute your opinion on daniel maybe resenting enchante. i hated that schulz video mainly because of who that man is and what it associates daniel with, but what i discussed with friends was, is that daniel speaks so earnestly about enchante in that video. i watched it once, and i can't watch it again, but as somebody who misses daniel just speaking to a camera and telling his thoughts and feelings post session, that video really felt like that moment coming back. hearing him talk about the design and decision process, he really sounded like somebody who enjoyed it. said it at the time, but the power move i think, was to release the video they did, just minus schulz and with someone better, release a jack berg vlog of that whole pop up weekend, and then in this new year, upload a sort of documentary style video of daniel in the enchante offices or whatever, going over processes for the next drop. that way, you are building up suspense for the new drop, but also showing daniel's thought process and how involved he is with enchante. if this is going to be daniels long term plan post formula one, then you need to bring fans along, you need to make fans feel like they're engaged and involved with the brand and with daniel. that's one of the major things that is missing, because daniel is such an integral part of enchante and the reason it sells. to me, that would have been a genius move, because when i watched that instagram video, it gave me some of the old daniel back. it lit that spark in me again, and that feeling would have been exemplified further in longer form with daniel pouring over sheets of design.....i really think that could be a great way to really get fans motivated and behind enchante. but thats just my two cents x x

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

Warmth

(@quibble-auk I took your advice, have fluff. The twins and comet just being together, mentions of cannibalism but with Com that's..Well that's a given. Maybe this isn't too out of character for them.)

Sunstreaker couldn't move.

Neither could Sideswipe.

Both were utterly and completely trapped.

Sunstreaker winced at the ache in his neck, which had been only steadily growing since he reactivated. Sideswipe was however, in far worse straits. The creature who held them captive had latched onto his arm, making it so the mech couldn't even let his limb relax. Stretched at an odd angle, Sideswipe could only stare up at the ceiling, even moving his helm would disturb his captor. They needed to get up though. Neither of them had any of their armor prepped, refueled, or even stretched. That along with needing to get checked out with a medic before the fight, that they were supposed to have already gotten up and done the aforementioned to prepare for. As the minutes had ticked by, they got closer and closer to being late. So as a calculated risk, slowly Sunstreaker tried another time to extract himself from under the small weight planted on his chest. Warnings went off as the little thing grunted softly at the movement. ‘Quit! You're gonna wake him!’ Over the bond Sideswipe almost jabbed his twin with the thought, ‘We have to get ready Sides,’ Sunstreaker glared past Comet’s helm. ‘He’ll have to fraggin get up when-’ the line of thought halted as their small charge snuggled closer to Sunstreaker’s chest, which was at the moment free of its heavy plating and warm with the hum of his spark. Comet always liked laying there because of it. Neither moved as the youngest sighed deeply. Another minute slipped past. Sideswipe sent a shove over the bond, ‘Which one would you rather deal with? Waking him up, or dealing with a pissed off medic?’ Was it bad that Sunstreaker had to actually think about it? If he had to be honest we would rather stay cooped up with his small family in their berthroom all day, the medics could shove it. Realistically however, he knew that would probably get all of them in severe trouble. Tied to a post type of trouble. Sideswipe sighed, catching wind of Sunstreaker’s train of thought. But neither of the gladiators moved to shake off their sleeping third. 

Sideswipe crimped up and held hostage, noticed that his inner workings didn't even flare at the thought of a brawl, if anything he felt himself stiffen in dislike.  Even so, both exchanged knowing looks, their internal clocks letting them know they had to get up, now.  With much internal debate, Sideswipe was elected to pull away from the warmth first. Gently he moved his arm out from under Comet’s small claws. He winced when the said organic clung on with a sleepy growl. Sideswipe felt his spark purr at the sight of the sleepy youngling however. Them discovering how long it took the little organic to wake up had led to plenty of mornings inwardly cooing over his slow dopey chirps. This time however they had no time to enjoy his overly sweet disposition.  “Cmon coms, you gotta get up.” Sideswipe immediately missed the soft warmth of his charge as the little thing growled and flopped back onto his golden twin, who to his own credit did not show he was enjoying the creature’s tired antics. “Sunny isn’t gonna save you, cmon.” As Sideswipe relished in the ability to move his shoulder, Sunstreaker slowly sat up. Comet slid a little ways down into his lap, letting out a tired yawn. “Nuhh.” His fangs flashed in the light as Sideswipe got up. The golden twin however took a moment to nuzzle his younger brother, his large armored helm gently butting the youngest. Who was lazily trying to curl back up that very moment, “Don't start Com.” Sunstreaker forced himself to start to stand. Comet was left on the berth growling testily as both twins readied their armor. A little faster than normal they went about the routine, both helping each other with the catches and making sure the plating sat properly. Comet rubbed his eyes and yawned again, just as both mechs finished.

They exchanged glances when the little green mech scowled at them both. Still obviously sleepy. Sunstreaker muffled a chuckle as he went over his armor one final time for scratches. Behind him Sideswipe started to poke at Comet forcing him off the berth. Comet landed softly, shaking himself off and stretching his back with a groan. With both twins ready and Comet finally acting like a living thing, they slipped out the door. 

It didn't take long for Comet to perk up, the smells of the inner workings of the pits always put him on edge. He slowly began to look around and huff at the passersby as the trio made its way to the energon dispenser. Tucked in a large room and filled to the brim with Gladiators preparing themselves for a day in the arena. Some glanced and glared as the boys passed by, but most went about their business not caring about them. Once Comet would receive snarls and plenty of barbs, but now with his own status and being with the twins firmly secured, he was met with no animosity. Comet however still didn't enjoy the refueling hall.

Now fully awake, Comet was stiff and kept himself firmly between the twins. Neither of his brothers gave him more than a glance however. Weakness wasn’t tolerated in the pits of Kaon, neither brother would risk a comforting gesture with so many in the vicinity. Though with Comets stature and overall build, weakness was once not far behind.

Comet eater was small, thin and gangly. He maybe reached his brother’s stomachs, who were already on the small side for the arena’s rack of gladiators. In the ring however he had settled himself for a title. Comet, while exceedingly small, was associated with the terms “Blood thirsty” “Barbaric” and one that hit almost too close to home,“Spark hungry.” No one would forget Comet’s stunt of swallowing Trench’s spark. Many thought the young mech was an escaped experiment, a cannibalistic malfunction. Around the rumor mill he had gone. No one however even guessed he was just a child with odd eating habits. Said child wrinkled his faceplate at the smell of the energon within the twin’s cubes. “That stuff smells awful.” Sideswipe allowed himself to smirk down at the youngling, now in a more private part of the hall they were all a little more relaxed. Sunstreaker rolled his optics as he sat down beside them, “You always gotta fraggin complain don't you?” The mech said it with an amused tilt. “Like you have any room Sunny, you're the one who picks through paint colors complaining for almost an hour every time you get a fraggin scratch!” The tired grumpiness had shoved its way in it seemed. Sunstreaker only smirked as Sideswipe surveyed the hall hiding his laughter.

“It takes a lot to look this good, unlike you, people will notice if I look like a wreck.”

[lestcat-de-lioncourt]

saw your posts of that one weird toxic page attacking you and the iwtv show fandom, I love your page just block these people not worth it, and if I'm going to be honest too, most of the hate I've seen ever since I joined this fandom is from were from book fans who hate the show so yeah

Oh yeah, aha, I just logged off and went to sleep tbh, I couldn't be bothered to reply much because their responses were just angry soup.

By the time I logged back on, they had blocked me anyway, so gladly I didn't have to read more of the rant.

I appreciate that you find my page pleasant! Cela réchauffe grandement mon cœur de mort-vivant.

I am in a couple of groups on other sites that cater to the The Vampire Chronicles, and there have to be regular posts made to curb the books and IWTV movie fans particularly, which get nasty and argumentative and insulting about the AMC version.

We've had this issue for over a decade, though with them and the behaviour around the release of the Queen of the Damned movie, over inaccuracies and how the soundtrack and the genre which Lestat developed his music style under was unconventional or uncomfortable for them to listen to, despite Lestat being a rockstar and that metal/nu-metal wasn't far fetched to do the job. The movie flopped compared to IWTV, the movie, and many people ignored its existence or only said IWTV was their favourite out of the 2.

I feel like this is more because IWTV was more of a cult classic, people's parents had been into it, they were, they were more exposed to it and it had been given A list celebrities to play the roles. There's a huge set of reasons why I could assume, but it was my personal favourite despite the inaccuracies anyway.

I don't like in fighting about it all. None of them promised 100% accuracy. No movie or series can actually achieve that anyway. And every single one of this people are well as Anne Rice herself, has worked so incredibly hard and dealt with a lot to bring all of these to our screens, and that should still be respected even if they didn't like it. Everyone has different visions of "what's right."

I don't know, maybe I have insight due to being a director, script writer, casted actors, cameraman, makeup artist for actors, actor myself for stage and film, producer and designing posters for a theatre company, so I have experience as to what it's like actually dealing with life on set, the hours, and the sweat, tears and compromises you have to make, and these are much bigger productions than I've ever done on film and TV.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Some replies! About a certain fox’s career and about bottoms potentially spoiling their tops…

Anonymous asked:

So I’ve seen around Leona x Idia and politely ask you for some (and please don’t make the wholesome) headcannons if your able to

Anon! Unfortunately, I’ll have to politely refuse because we don’t really ship Leona and Idia :(

Anonymous asked:

Honest John should make an Onlyfans. How do you think he would do with that?

Anon’s out there using his legal name 😭 Jk this one also isn’t his legal name…

I think he has a lot of potential! There would be a learning curve because he properly doesn’t know how to use technology super well, but he knows how porn and pinups work, so… Even though his taste is a bit old-fashioned… I think that would make him fit into a very specific niche 🤔

And if it works, that would make him euphoric – imagine earning money like that without really risking it?? People who have money to spend really are naïve saps! He would laugh at them as if he is not genuinely enjoying himself for the first time in forever lol

Realistically, his biggest issue is that he absolutely doesn’t have a credit card to receive payments, and he doesn’t have a proper ID, but with the right kinds of friends that’s probably easy to fix!

Anonymous asked:

bless you for the rookvil love the art its so wonderful!! <3 and the rookvil girlies on your priv X aaa <3333 Rook in lingerie is such a treat!! i remember you said she doesn't like to be touched and i was wondering if there's a specific reason you say why? is it just rook girlie or all the top girlies? omg do any of the bottoms return the pleasure for their tops or spoil them back? ok ill stop buT I DO LOVE THE ART MUAH love it. ty for the food! <3

Anonymous asked:

wait do the boys also spoil their tops... oKA y im done im donne lmao im sorry ! stay hydrated have a wonderful day/night

Thank you, Anon! <3 I’m happy you love them, both the ones we posted a couple of days ago and the girlies! Rook in lingerie is indeed a treat and a special rare occasion for Vil only…

As for Rook not liking to be touched, (ignoring my bias that I’m going to address in a minute) it’s more of a Rook thing: she prefers to do “the hunting” and pinning someone down completely is like her instinct. If asked though, she would just say that it would get her too aroused and her heart wouldn’t be able to handle it. Maybe there is some truth to that statement, but… Vil is absolutely allowed to touch her much more than anyone else would, and she mostly does it when she wants to see Rook worked up and agitated. Vil says that it’s like teasing a feral dog that likes the pets but also doesn’t.

As for the rest of the ladies, I kind of talked about this here in the last reply. We are biased towards bottom!girlies receiving all the attention, and this for sure affects how we see top!girlies’ preferences lol But I think not all of them are as much of touch-me-nots as Rook: Rook isn’t even the worst one out of them. Azul is one of the biggest ones; she hates being touched unless she is the one demanding that, and sometimes it gets ridiculous with her. But Ace, Jack or Kalim are not as bad, and Floyd flip-flops as usual. But none of them would let the bottom!girls take the lead completely.

So yeah, while technically all the bottom!girlies could still pleasure their tops, this just isn’t the dynamic we usually gravitate towards, like I explained in the linked post. It all depends on context, I guess. I think they would do a different kind of spoiling, like teasing, dressing up a certain way, allowing something that wasn’t previously allowed, all that stuff.

With the boys it’s easier though! I can see pretty much all of the bottoms being willing to give their tops a blowjob or a handjob depending on a situation, some are more willing than others though~

The ones that are the most likely to do it are Vil (big fan of rewarding with a bj), Silver (he is such a good boy), Epel (he is eager to please and to prove himself!!) and Deuce (he acts first and thinks after, and sometimes it puts him on his knees because he feels too much love towards his top and wants to express it).

[cinamun]

Hey, Cin. How are you? Do you have any advice on not feeling good enough? My simblr is a couple of years old already and I’m not as popular as other people who only started writing. It’s really discouraging because I put my all in this only to get so little back.

Hey friend, i'm alright thanks for asking. But I have a quesion:

GOOD ENOUGH FOR WHO? Come here for a second....

Who would you like to be good enough for? You have to answer that question. For readers? Good enough to be "popular"? Popular to who? Who are you writing for? Are you interested in your story? What is popular?

I want you to answer those questions later but first, holy shit I GET IT! It took a good lil minute to get a readerbase. People who tuned in specifically for the next update or the commentary, etc. You are valid asf to feel discouraged when you don't get feedback because as much as people tell you that you shouldn't, its a real feeling. What do you want back? Replies? Asks? Reblogs? Nail down what you'd like to accomplish first.

Let's say you want more notes on your story. Okay cool. If you look at some of my more popular story posts, half the notes are replies and commentary and that's because, over the years, I've built up a book club that takes on these difficult topics with me that then spill over into asks and DMs. Or I've developed characters that folks relate to so when they hurt, we hurt.

People often think its just pretty pictures or a really dope reshade/gshade preset but do you just want engagement because your pics are pretty or do you want people to analyze your writing and speculate? I've seen those pretty pictures with the pretty presets get 0 replies or a few and wonder why no one is commenting but theres 1000 reblogs lol. That might feel shitty for that person, too. idk.

My advice is definitely give yourself time and grace. Love your story first, talk about it outside of the posts, etc. I try to reblog other people's story posts when I can because I know I have an audience and I'd like my friends to see what I like, too! It feels good to know a lot of people enjoy your work but i'll be honest, i'd never have keep this story going if it was just about other people liking it. I have to like it too, even when it flops.

Sorry for the novel friend but I really want you to NOT give up on what you're writing.

[esmeblaise]

The Straw Hats (Pre Timeskip) Rated on how practical their outfits are

Luffy

10/10 Iconic, perfect for his stretchy fighting style. Vest can open for when needed and the straw hat is the perfect practical statement piece. One point taken away for flip flops added back because of how sturdy they are and I cant give this anime staple anything less than a perfect grade

Zoro

9/10 Another great outfit that seems practical for his fighting style. The bandana around his arm when not in use is perfect. Points lost for the... sash? Cummerbund? Honestly that thing just confuses me and only seems helpful in blocking his own sword guards from constantly smacking into his stomach

Nami

6/10 Pretty good actually! The skirt is ridiculously short, her shoes arent practical, and I have no idea where she hides her staff but her casual t shirt helps give her a passing grade, not to mention I love her short hair

Usopp

10/10 A fantastic outfit! Working overalls, a bandana to keep his hair back, goggle to see better, a bag filled with needed supplies, even the sash works to wipe off substances while inventing! Good job usopp! I cant even fault you for the lack of shirt!

Sanji

4/10 On the other hand... Listen I know hes stylish but this is based on practicality. With his constant break dancing moves and kicks that thing is going to get dirty in seconds and let me tell you suits are not comfortable to move in much less fight. Even being a chef isnt an excuse since hes going to get just as dirty in the kitchen and get covered in food. Hes dressed as a suave waiter, not a fighting cook. Some points are given back since he uses just his legs so if he uses the right fabric those pants might work but Im doubtful.

Chopper

12/10 Beautiful. Adorable. A baby. Hid lil top hat and shorts are super cute, no idea how they dont rip in his different forms but since theres so little covered as long as he uses stretchy fabric Ill let it slide. Backpack for doctors supplies brings it to perfection.

Robin

7/10 Listen Im only giving this much leeway for her leather cowboy outfit because of her specific fight style. The boob window and exposed belly is really impractical and that material looks really hard to move in. Do like the hat though...

Franky

2/10 I can forgive the tropical shirt, I can forgive the hair, I can forgive the gold chain. I can not forgive the speedo. I dont care if its iconic it is so fucking impractical in any situation I am seething. He is the exact opposite problem as Sanji who is overdressed this man needs to put on some cloths. Hes not even wearing shoes.

Brook

8/10 Going to be honest I know the least about Brooks fighting style but although its another suit Im going to rank it above Sanji since he doesnt seem to mind it being dirty and his fighting style seems to accommodate it more. Also cane sword.

Jinbe

8/10 A great traditional outfit thats easy to move in, still going to knock down points because I dont care what anyone tells me those shoes look like their going to fly off with one wayward kick and that sash had better be tied as tight as possible

let me know if you want post time skip as well

[charlie-and-yoshi-rp-hell]

Episode 49

So it´s been 5 years since I last posted here. I´m honest, I forgot about it. I was busy, life was hectic, I lost two family members, both rather suddenly. But I´m doing fine - I got my MSc in biology, and will start a new job in ca. 2 weeks in a very interesting lab! I´ll post new episodes as often as I can. Not too much of the old MSA RP is left anyway.

Thank you for everyone still reading and following. I appreciate it. Really <3

-Yoshi

--------------------------------------------------------

Yoshi Raven: "Of course! You don´t have to ask that!" he squealed, grinning at Lewis while he gave Gear small pieces of his food.

"But since Vivi takes care of new missions we have to ask her if we really have a free day. Vivi!! Breakfast is ready and I´ll eat it without you!!" Arthur called, knowing she´d give him a scary glare at this. He pushed her plate away from his own, just to make sure she wouldn´t bite his hand.

Charlie McCarthey: "Here comes the blue blur now--followed by her second-in-paw, the white blur." Lewis joked as he watched the two careen around the corner and flop into their seats eagerly. They dug in, but not before Vivi noticed Lewis and brightened up.

"You look awesome, Lew--how do you feel?" She asked gently.

"Pretty good. We wanted to know if today wss a day off or if we need to go anywhere."

"Hm, well, come to think of it I did take a case a few days ago--with the two Lewis' I had to put it on hold. The owner was a really nice guy, he let us put the case off for a few days. The sooner we get started the better."

Yoshi Raven: Arthur giggled at the two racing in. He had already finished his last pancake and saw that Vivi and Mystery had eaten half of them. Within seconds. Unbelievable.

"What kind of case is it? A non-dangerous one I hope."

A small case would be nice - especially because Lewis still needed some more rest and a big fight would be bad for him.

Charlie McCarthey: "You know, I think it will be? To be honest, from what he told me over the phone, I think it's just a low level poltergiest? We're in luck--its haunting in a bar. You know what that means."

"Poltergiests can be mistaken for demonic haunts--IF they're sorrounded by negative energy." Lewis nodded. "But, if you're in a bar, chances out you're going out to have a good time."

"Exactly! So he's just sounds like a mischievous one if you ask me."

Yoshi Raven: "Oh that´s good. Maybe that ghost is just bored and likes playing pranks on people. But as long as we can help without fighting, everything will be fine."

Arthur stretched his arms and gently put Gear from his lap, then got up and put his plate in the sink.

"Actually I´m really looking forward for this mission. Getting some work done, you know. When can we leave?" he asked, looking at Vivi and Mystery with a small grin.

Charlie McCarthey: "It's three hours out, and when I asked when he wanted us to investigate he said we could do it during open hours. The ghost seems to be most active around people--another poltergiest motive."

"They do like attention." Lewis mused as he flicked his wrist,, shooing some Deadbeats away absently as he stood up too.

"If we leave in about an hour, we should get there by 3, 4 at the latest. Everyone okay with that?" Vivi checked.

"I'm good."

Yoshi Raven: "Yep, me too. I´ll check on the van until then."

He walked over to Vivi and Mystery and patted both their heads. "Don´t eat all of our food until then." Arthur mocked and quickly moved away from her tickle attack, heading towards the door.

"Lew, you coming with me?" he asked, smiling at him.

Charlie McCarthey: "Coming!" The ghost practically trilled, floating after him.

"You haven't worked on your baby in a while." He realized quietly when he saw the van sitting in its spot. He frowned a little, shifting through the memories he had to see if he--or his ghost half--was to blame.

Yoshi Raven: "I know but I have been busy in the last few days" he purred and tousled his hair.

"Besides, there was no mission where we had to drive that far away for a long time. I prefer checking before long road trips, there´s no need for a check every time we drive."

Arthur opened he engine bay and inspected it. He was quiet for a while, then grabbed a wrench and worked on some parts.

"By the way ghosts... I think I haven´t told you yet, but I was taking notes. You know, about... you. Me. Us. Our relationship. I guess this might be helpful one day. And I thought about a new spell for you... not sure if this will work, though."

Charlie McCarthey: "Yeah?" Lewis had been floating up on the roof, his arms behind his head and legs crossed as he hovered lazily in place. But at Arthur's words he sat up and shifted down, giving Arthur his attention.

"What did you have in mind?"

Yoshi Raven: "You know... I had the idea some time after that last cult incidence. I never expected that our bond could break for a while because of a high stress level." he mumbled and closed the engine bay, then leaned against the van.

"You can´t change into your Ifrit form without that connection. And that´s the thing that bothers me. I never hope it will happen again, but - what if we have to fight a dangerous monster, ghost or demon and because of whatever reason, the bond is broken again? You could go down within seconds, depending on how strong the enemy is. And that´s why I´m trying to find a solution, an emergency spell. To give you energy so you can turn into an Ifrit for, let´s say 10 minutes. Even if you don´t win the fight you could get us all out of the danger." Arthur explained with a serious look on his face. Yes, he hoped this would never happen but who knows what monster where out there.

Charlie McCarthey: "Yeah. I mean--that sounds like it could be a dozy of a spell. The monster form isn't something I can just... slip into." He winced, shuddering just by thinking about it. "Try for a shorter time period for now. 5 ought to do it, Art. Every second in a fight counts, you've got a good point. I don't want to see any of you hurt because I can't change fast enough." He sighed a little, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly.

"Be careful, alright?"

Yoshi Raven: "Don´t worry, I´ll be. I still have to do some research anyway and it´ll take more time. As soon as I finished it, we can do that spell." He walked to the ghost, hugging him for a few minutes but then got back to work on the van and check everything until they could get on the road and start the mission.

Charlie McCarthey: Lewis smooched the mechanic's cheek, and headed inside to see if Vivi and Mystery were getting ready. He was right, the two were ready to go after having their customary third helping.

"How's she look, Artie?" Vivi asked as they all headed outside. "Ready to go?"

Yoshi Raven: Arthur was already sitting on the driver´s seat, waiting for the others.

"She´s perfect as always and we could drive to the moon. Come on, get in here, I wanna drive! If you don´t hurry I´ll go alone!"

He waved at the others, a big smile on his face while he started the engine.

Charlie McCarthey: "Shotgun!" Vivi shouted. Not that there was a big demand for it, usually Arthur and Vivi were the ones who got into those competitions--Mystery liked sleeping in the van and Lewis was either driving or didn't mind sitting in the back.

Today it was the later, the ghost and dog piled onto the baxk bench and stretched out together. Lew still needed rest, and he was warm to lie against. The two soon fell asleep, Mystery head in Lewis' lap and his hand over the little dog's body.

Yoshi Raven: Arthur had put on some quiet, relaxing music for the two in the back and talked a bit with Vivi then and now, but most of the time they were silent so Lewis and Mystery could sleep some more. Finally, they reached the town with the club. Arthur parked the van next to it and turned off the music, then got out of the van and opened one of the back doors.

"Mystery, Lewis, wake up. We arrived."

Charlie McCarthey: Waking up took a few moments. The ghost didn't seem wholly aware of anything until he was standing out of the van and stretching. Lewis yawned lazily, and finally blinked open his eyes to see where they--

"You have got to be kidding me." He deadpanned, staring up at the caustic, neon font blazing over the little club.

"This place!? Seriously?!" He moaned, actually taking a step back. Vivi looked at him like he was crazy, and when he saw Artie taking a step toward it he grabbed his wrist and held him back.

"You can't go in there!"

Visions--memories of that Arthur, Arthur the poledancer flashed through his mind.

Yoshi Raven: Arthur, who had no idea of that alternate version of himself, was looking at Lewis.

"Eh? Why? Lewis, the owner needs our help, we have to enter the club! What´s wrong with it? Well ok, they have strippers and more and it´s mostly for gay men but that shouldn´t bother us. We´re not here for fun. Come on, let go of me."

Charlie McCarthey: Lew only pulled a pleading face, but his hand slipped from Arthur's wrist at his command. "Maaan..." He groaned under his breath, reluctantly following the rest of the gang into the club.

"Of all the places in the world, it had to be this one." He grumbled, remembering all the worry 'that' Arthur had put through him, how unstable his life seemed.

Lewis entered the joint with a mildly annoyed, agitated and decidedly negative aura.

Proably not the best idea with a poltergiest hanging around.

Yoshi Raven: Arthur just looked at Lewis, then at Vivi but she looked just as confused as him. He´d ask about this place later.

The club looked just like Lewis had seen it. Men sitting or standing everywhere, talking, drinking, some were smoking and music was playing. No one was dancing at the pole, at least. The gang was just a few seconds in that club and they already saw the bartender chasing a few floating drinks. He was able to grab and give them to the customers. Luckily, they didn´t see this and walked away to their table. The bartender sighed and sat down on a chair, his hands supporting his head. The guy looked slightly grumpy.

Charlie McCarthey: Vivi introduced the gang, and Lewis managed to settle his nerves long enough to flash the bartender a reassuring smile. With the mood Lew was in right now, it didn't matter if things got 'ugly.' He'd be more than happy to take out his emotions on low level ghost, if it ever came to that. Lewis kept his arms crossed and stood behind Arthur, shooting a few dark and worried looks toward the stage every so often.

Mystery put his nose to the ground and snuffled around, weaving inbetween tables and chairs as he let the humans do their talking. He had a better way of finding spirits, after all!

Yoshi Raven: The bartender, his name was Jeremy and he was the owner, too, was relieved to see the gang and told them everything that had happened.

"... floating glasses, plates fell down or the lights flickered - none of this is dangerous but the guests slowly notice something is wrong. If they stay away, I can close this club but I don´t want to! I worked for a very, very long time to give these people a place where they can relax so please. Whatever is causing this, make it go away."

"Don´t worry, we´ll solve this case. Just take care of the guests and let us do the rest." Arthur smiled at him. This would be an easy case, the ghost was not dangerous and just playing pranks.

"Alright, let´s search for the ghost."

Charlie McCarthey: "Artie, you stay here and check the main room. Lew, since you seem so invested in the stage area, why don't you go check there? Mystery's already off--he'll come get one of us if he finds anything." Viv made a mental check list of where she sent her boys, "And I'll check the kitchen and the basement. Let's see if we can convince this ghost to go haunt somewhere else--so be open, friendly and safe!" She reminded cheerfully.

Lewis grumbled and headed off--his height alone made the people move out of his way, to say nothing of the slightly perturbed look he had, and the fact he was wearing sun glasses inside.

Yoshi Raven: "Got it. See you!" Arthur immediately started looking around for signs of ghost activity. He slowly made his way through the crowd, stopping here and there but there were no floating glasses or flickering lights. As if the ghost was hiding, now that Lewis and Mystery where here. They´d find him anyway.

Most of the guys here were much taller than him - but he was short, anyway and only a few were as tall as Lewis. Just minutes after he had started looking for the ghost, he noticed that some of the guys were looking at him. Most of them just because he was moving through the whole room but some - some had that flirty, no, predatory look in their eyes. He wasn´t afraid, though. If someone would try anything, it wasn´t Arthur that would be in trouble then.

Charlie McCarthey: Lewis vanished behind the curtain to the backstage with barely a sound, keeping an absentminded pull on the bond. It wasn't like he expected anything happen, from the ghost or Arthur or otherwise, but being in this...place...already had Lewis on edge.

He knew his fears were illogical and it was just a timeline, but, damn. He won't ever forget that Arthur he met.

It's because of these thoughts that Lewis forgets to keep a tab on his Arthur. He doesn't notice the fleet strings of negative emotions Art was giving off.

Yoshi Raven: After walking around for 20 minutes, he sat down at the bar and got a drink from Jeremy. He took a sip then turned to look over the room. Maybe he could see something from far away. There was nothing happening for a long time besides these looks from some guys that slowly made him nervous, but then there was a light flickering at the other side of the room. Arthur observed it, not noticing the two guys that were coming closer.

--------------------

(Previous) - (Next)

[teeto-peteto]

honestly i really wished for Sentinels Of Light event to be rewritten on a better way without character flanderization and misconception and self awareness of the lore. Being completely honest: it was terrible.

My point specifically is: According to Riot, Ruined King happened by the end of year 996, and Sentinels Of Light happened on the late 997. Theres only one year difference between events. But still, they messed up very poorly.

In Ruined King, Pyke trusts Sarah Fortune, even if she's a captain. And it doesnt take thaat much time for him to do so, i will talk about Pyke trust issues in another post if i have time. Curiously enough, neither of them are present on the Ruined King finale, having both of them a separate post credit scene, but its understandable at this point that Sarah doesnt fear Pyke or at least, shes not worried about what might happend to her, and that Pyke is now targeting Viego or the entities of the Shadow Isles.

In Sentinels Of Light, everything said just flops. Pyke and Sarah were written completely DISREGARDING the fact that they know each other. If they didnt make the event with very poor writing, this could be easily exploitable. Listen, Pyke's trauma makes him target captains, but decides to dismiss Sarah after everything that happened along Ruined King. Imagine how they could have written the Bilgewater chapter on Sentinels Of Light, on wich Sarah finally does fall under Viego's ruination because of her obsession with Gangplank, and tries to kill the team and also Pyke. Imagine how it could be to write how Pyke revives his trauma AGAIN because he was betrayed again by someone he again put his blind trust on. This could be also be a good way to portray how Sarah's trauma also perpetuates after Ruined King when Gangplank escapes, having to start all over again. The moment where Pyke gets rid of Sarah would have been a peak, and he would totally have a reason to become a sentinel of light, instead of the 'hehee funny character he would look cool if he were good'.

The description of Sentinel Pyke skin is the cherry on the top of this mess, where it depicts that Pyke is currently under Nagakabouros influence, hence why he is completely stupid and doesnt hear voices nor kill people... no, im pretty sure it doesnt work that way. Pyke voices were removed by Nagakabouros with Illaoi's help in Ruined King, yes, but during the whole game hes pretty lucid, hes able to kill without trouble, it just looks like Riot teams dont talk to each other.

As a side point, i have a smaaall theory or headcanon that Ruined King Pyke is relatively young or at least 'fresh' being the Bloodharbor ripper, as Sarah does know him as she is a captain, but Illaoi doesnt, and that whole scene is written like 'Oh apparently all these dead bodies have a cause'. I dont know, its very difficult to order the whole lore and theory of it when they dont even know /shrug

[sandycookie]

Heartslabyul QnA!

Posting the QnA here, will provide link and other options with ch13 release

Anonymous asks: 

I really like how this is a flow of consciousness style of writing! So I was wondering how you manage to get so many descriptions and thoughts, as I unfortunately rely too much on dialouge rather than sayijg what's happening because I can't really put it in words.

That’s a mystery to me too. 

Something I strive to do is to try and make things feel more ‘dynamic’, in a sense. I want to make my writing as far away from feeling like a slideshow as possible, as that’s what a lot of really non-descriptive writing comes across to me as. I still struggle with dialogue; not with the dialogue itself (most of the time) but with what the characters are doing. If they’re saying, laughing, hissing, etc. I try to add in little actions, note little ticks in facial expressions as well, etc. If you see an opportunity to add character or texture, you should try to take it. I try to consider what the characters might be feeling and also how they react, especially with dialogue since dialogue alone sometimes won’t be enough to convey certain meanings. Saying something like ‘What the fuck’ can take on multiple different meanings depending on how it’s said, like if it’s confused or enraged. 

What helps is that since the main POV POTI uses is Third Person Limited, I can intersperse scenes with thoughts and whatnot. POTI’s structure helps support description, both due to its POV and the character that POV comes from. I think that Third Person Limited is a really great POV for characterization, as you can characterize through description on top of general actions and dialog (and also through what they don’t notice, and what they think happened)—for example, one character might describe an orange as ‘A simple fruit’ while another describes it as ‘A scourge upon this earth’, etc. In POTI’s case, Alex is a writer (with only one work attributed, about her teachers warring in McDonald’s as mentioned in ch1, lmao), which is why there’s so much descriptive thought and whatnot (but to be honest I mostly added that detail as a way to include description, since it’s something I really enjoy writing. Plus, it lets me be funny by having Alex flip flop between elegant speech and ‘bro’s huffing copuim’ ha ha ha aren’t I so hilarious ha ha). She’s an overthinker (though I’ve toned that down a bit, because otherwise each chapter would’ve been like 50k words or something else crazy), therefore in order to write from her POV, you have to consider the environment and whatnot that surrounds and the kind of reactions that elicits.

In other words, coming up with prose doesn’t necessarily mean coming up with description; it means coming up with characterization if that makes sense. 

Now, as for how I do this…I’m not really sure myself. 

The easy answer is: “Read books.” It's generic and I’m sure you’ve been told it a lot but it’s common for a reason. A writer cannot be without having been a reader. At the end of the day, writing is an intellectual labor, and by studying the prose and techniques of others, you too begin to internalize it, begin to let it flow through you. I can say it works because that’s kind of what I did. I read a lot of books when I was younger, though I did stop and started reading fanfiction (I have read like, 2 books this past year, but I’m nowhere near as bookish as I used to be lmao), but I was super picky with it. I couldn’t stand even slightly choppy prose and would just immediately click off if I thought it wasn’t well written enough (that sounds like I’m some really bad judge on some talent show lol; did preteen me want some caviar to go with her hamburger?). I really loved reading descriptive prose, and that’s what I sought after. Now, fanfic shouldn’t be relied on as a sole source of reading for the sake of improvement—I think we’ve all seen our fair share of poorly written fics in our time—but I don’t think it should be discredited. There’s an entire world of immensely skilled fanfic authors out there, who craft prose that goes beyond tugging at the heart; that becomes the instrument the heart uses to tug.  

If I were to refer to formal authors, Edgar Allan Poe is a master of crafting atmosphere. He’s a standard I doubt I’ll even be able to so much as graze. Tolkien also takes his sweet time immersing his reader in the environment of his worlds. And if you have the stomach for it, Lolita by Vladimir Nobokov is narrated by a pedophile who just so happens to have a degree in French literature (and the prose is genuinely beautiful; but part of reading Lolita is seeing that even disguised behind beauty, this is a wicked man whose done wretched things); it can really worm its way into your head with how Humbert (the narrator) weaves the threads of his prose, but because of its content as well as how Humbert is constantly trying to win your sympathy and deceive you, it’s not a read to be taken lightly. Even I haven’t mustered the stomach to read it in its entirety. 

But of course, I didn’t read this classical literature in middle school or anything, but if you are willing to delve into that, then it’s not a terrible idea. I would recommend Poe the most since the vast majority of his works are short stories, so they don’t take as much investment as a novel does.

Of course, it would be a bit disingenuous to not recommend some fics with well written and descriptive prose of my own, given that I literally talked about how fanfic shouldn’t be discredited. If I didn’t include some, I’d righteously placed on a stake. 

For TWST fics, Yuu and the Power of Magic by writingerror. It’s simply fantastic, and one of my fav fics, period. I even wrote fanfic of it; that’s how you know I like something. I really adore writingerror’s style of prose, and it’s taught me a few things about prose. I don’t actually have a lot of recommendations here for TWST, since I don’t read as much fanfic as I used to. 

Other fics from other fandoms I’d recommend are: 

The Fifth Act (FF7) By Sinnatious. Excellent from characterization, prose, and plot. Anyone who likes FF7 should read this; it’s too amazing not to. Of all of the fics I list, this is objectively the best fic out of the bunch. I’m not even afraid to say that; it’s just that good. 

Providence (FF7, FF15) by fallintosanity is a sequel to TFA, featuring Noctis from FF15. If you enjoyed TFA, then I highly recommend you go read this afterward (I myself aren’t that familiar with FF15, and I wouldn’t say you really need to be to enjoy Providence)

Lucky Child (YYH) by Star Charter. My favorite fic on the list undoubtedly. It’s really long, but its beautifully written and the plot and character relationships are super well thought out. It uses 1st POV, so the prose is able to truly reflect the protag’s thoughts and character. Also, there are only 4 times that I’ve shed a tear from reading/watching/playing something. This fic was one of them. There have been few times my eyes have watered, and even fewer times where I actually get pushed to let them go. Trust me when I say that when this fic is impactful, it’s impactful. Also, Yu Yu Hakusho is just, really good, so go watch that if you have time, and if you do, do so with the dub. YYH’s the only anime where I actually prefer dub to sub; the casting is perfect and the performances are really fucking amazing 

At the end of the day, writing is an intellectual labor. That doesn’t mean that an inability to write to a certain standard means you’re dumb, but what it does mean is that you have to train your mind to think in a certain way, and in this case that means training it to be descriptive. Something I like to do is take an object and think of it in prose, and I always try to write at least a little bit per day. Practice makes perfect, as they say.

I would also like to say, while we’re at it, that you should bear in mind that writing isn’t a universal craft. Writing is highly situational, and not all conventions for it will be universal. This can be things like grammar to fucking up the formatting like how House of Leaves does. That also means that using dialogue as the main means of progression isn’t a bad thing, either. Although dialogue alone isn’t enough to carry an entire story, it is perfectly fine to use it as the main device of progression. The Hate U Give is largely interaction/dialogue driven, for a somewhat recent example.

At the end of the day, you should try to write in a way most suitable to what you’re writing about and for. 

Writing is tough, and it’s a journey that’s not characterized by big leaps. It takes a lot of small steps, and there really isn’t an end point. But it’s the journey where the biggest revelations are made and we reach the conclusions and answers most important to us. Don’t be discouraged; you still have a long way to go and a limitless horizon to expand! Keep it at, and like how a great meme man in water says:

And if that fails to persuade, then you should also know that I’ll never give up on you, never let you down, never, ever going to desert you, never make you cry, never say goodbye, and never tell a lie to hurt you. 

Now that I’ve strung you far along enough, here’s what I really did: I read yandere fanfiction. I’m legit pretty sure that’s the only reason my prose is this good. It is also probably responsible for 45% of my questionable thoughts. The other 55% is from the Internet. Now that I’ve told you this, here’s a favor from you to me: take this last bit of information to the grave. Mostly because typing that was just pretty funny and I am nothing if not a hedonist except when I’m not. 

[autumngracy]

Not music, but this reminds me of when I watched The Avengers in theater, and then much later for free on TV, and realized they completely changed one of the scenes.

In the theater release, when Tony is flying out on his suicide mission to grab the bomb and yeet it through the portal into space before it hits New York, his last transmission is him saying goodbye to JARVIS, and JARVIS saying something along the lines of it having been an honor to work him.

(I think he may have tried to call other people first, like Pepper, but no one was picking up because, well ... big alien fight. Folks are busy. Understandable.)

When I watched the movie again on TV, however, I realized they had completely scrubbed the dialogue with JARVIS and had replaced it with Tony calling Rhodey. Which just ... why? Why would they do that?

To me it actually made it fall flat as a scene because honestly it feels way more realistic, heartwrenching and relatable to find that, when you reach out in your final, desperate moments, because you just want one last time to hear the voice of someone you love ... no one picks up. It's not because god hates you or you're fated to die alone or some tragic melodrama like that; it's just happenstance, and it sucks. And shit like that happens all the time. The fact that it happened to the "Billionaire Philanthropist Playboy" made it hit even harder.

And then they just completely edited it out and I still have no idea why, and I don't think I've ever even seen any one besides myself mention this change.

And that's disconcerting, because, like ... the idea that studios can just retroactively change their productions AFTER having sent them to theaters, without acknowledging said change, is very bad.

It means if the studio did something controversial that they thought would go over well but actually flopped, they can just straight up pretend they never did it and claim people are remembering wrong.

"I don't know what you're talking about us making a horrible bigoted joke in X movie, watch the blu ray release and you'll find we never did that actually!"

You see where I'm going with this? The idea these people can use theater audiences as guinea pigs (when test audiences are already a thing??), and then retroactively change the movie's content based on popular opinion, editing it out of all subsequent releases and pretending it never happened, means they're making sure they can't be held accountable for their own choices. Which is doubly crazy when you realize it necessitates gaslighting your entire audience.

I'm fine with things like remastered anniversary editions having some changes (like them fixing the Jabba the Hut getting his tail walked on thing), so long as it's acknowledged that a change was made and they don't try to like, erase all previous versions of a film.

But like, making a change between the theater release and the hard copy release? And pretending it's the same thing that was shown in theaters? That's fucked up. I don't like that they're legally allowed to do that without some kind of disclosure or something.

They could absolutely do the same thing as op was taking about too, where they change the music for legal reasons to something completely different.

I think their ability to do this is destroying the artistic integrity of the industry, to be honest.

You know how Marvel filmed like multiple versions of events in the Endgame movies so that the people involved in the production wouldn't know which thing was 'real' and therefore couldn't spoil it? (Which is fucked up for different reasons, also). Imagine if they finished the post production on those scenes and changed which ones were "canon" based on audience reaction (and I don't mean test audiences, because again, there's a reason those are a thing!)

Imagine you go to watch a movie and then when its hard copies are officially released it just. Has a completely different ending than what you saw in theater, and no one at the studio is acknowledgjng it. (And I don't mean like with Clue where they showed mutiple different endings on purpose, for fun). Would that be fucked up or what?

you know how you can go and watch a movie you watched a bunch as a kid and the version of a song in it is different? like they actually changed it since you were a kid? that isn't normal. we didn't do that until like, the last ten years. it's fucked up.

[milesobrein]

Ways To Potentially Make a Difference

Hey guys, tonight at 7:00pm EDT I’m gonna phone bank with Sunrise, (this a link to a text bank above, but if you guys are interested in a phone bank the website will offer you options such as the one I’m doing tonight) Sunrise is a Grassroots non profit organization dedicated to fighting climate change and giving people of any age a voice in phone banking for Kamala Harris. I’ve done phone banking in the past, and it really is surprising just how much of a difference it can make. I won’t sugar coat it, there is arguing (sometimes) and sometimes people absolutely refuse to give the candidate you want their vote, but even that is good Data too, because it tells Sunrise where to focus on next. And sometimes it really does work, for example I was speaking with a man who said he wanted to vote for Trump because he sounded something to the effect of confident in his debate, and I told him Trump wanted to take democracy with him, and he was horrified and said he was voting for Biden, and for those people who’s hearts you change or people who don’t know the location of their polling place and you tell them, it really makes all the difference and is so moralizing, feeling like I am finally doing something when for days, no months I’ve felt useless because my depression has frozen me, so much so I’m not even in college right now in-spite. But I’m going to be honest about something else, I haven’t phone banked in days of months. I am making this post to hold myself accountable so at 6:00 pm tonight (my time in Austin) I will have no choice but to go. I don’t think I am an argumentative person, I do argue with people but I hate to do so deep down. I hate to sound stupid. I hate for there to be conflict, I hate for there to be an idea a possibility of my failure, and in an ideal world there should be a way for all of us to make a difference to each of our strengths and making a difference shouldn’t have to cause us stress, but even joy. But with this election, I don’t feel I have this choice personally. With this election, I am acting even though I don’t want too, even though I am scared too, because I am so terrified of what my future will look like, both for myself, and others that tonight, I am making this promise to you all, and acting. It isn’t a noble truth, it’s a frank one and one I’m deeply sad about, that I have waited so long, and let myself get so frozen before I act, but tonight I am trying to change that, because this is a way we *can* make a difference. I know the idea of conflict is scary, but for me at least, a future of Trump who wants to ignore every article of the constitution is scarier. Right now, a quote that’s helping me is “bravery isn’t not being afraid, it’s being afraid and acting in-spite of it.” And let me tell you all, Sunrise will give you instructions every step of the way, there’s a script phone bankers read of off, you can stay pretty close to and on the zoom call the administrators can answer any questions you have and really breaks it down for its listeners, you can even message them during the phone bank and pause at any time if you have questions. And if you guys don’t want to phone bank tonight, the link I gave above has other days you can try if you don’t want too do it tonight as well. And lastly, if you don’t want to phone bank, I completely understand, it has taken me this long to commit to it tonight.

There are, other ways to make a difference. You can make art for a change, YouTube videos analyzing why Trumps speech’s flopped, crashed and burned, interpretive Dance about why we can’t have Trump in office, or a science video about why Trumps logic is bullshit. And a thousand other ways I can’t think to name. Really, just because I’m not creative enough to think of ways to make a difference more than posting this on Tumblr, Phone banking and making art, doesn’t mean y'all can’t do a thousand times better and think of a thousand things more than I can. And it doesn’t have to be flashy things either, it can just be simply voting or reblog ing this post to as many people as possible which I hope you all do. In solidarity, and I know my art isn’t that great, but for every person who says they voted, or lists some way they made a difference in this election in the comments, I’ll do an art peace for them. It’s not too late to take action. And I hope you all are doing well. sincerely,

-A Scared Person

[ddejavvu]

Jesus Christ this was supposed to be like one sentence but I can't help myself when it comes to Puppy!Eddie. I keep seeing all these headcanons where reader is woken up every day with kisses or bowled over every day first thing when they walk in the door after work. As someone that really suffers from social exhaustion after long periods of time with other people, I started to wonder what it would be like if one day reader just did NOT have the energy for their hybrid. Like no matter how much we love our pets or even our kids IRL, sometimes you just need a break you know? So anyway, started wondering what would happen if reader came home from work grumpy and broke my own heart.

Puppy!Eddie hasn't had a bad day since you took him in. He's got a house, food, a bed, toys, a whole ass room!! But best of all he has you. He's quite literally got everything he's ever wanted. Sooo he doesn't really understand when you come home cranky. He's waiting for you at the door like usual but you don't pet him when you come in. You give him a terse "Hi" and make your way inside. He's really confused. But he soldiers on because he has sooo much to tell you. He dials back his energy a little because he figures maybe he's being too much and then he launches into trying to tell you about his day. But when you flop down on the couch and he tries to scoot into your lap and lick all up your neck you're pushing him away and telling him to get down. He doesn't know what to do so he just follows your instructions and sits at your feet for a little bit. But now he's starting to get really worried. He tries to ask you what's wrong but you just do not want to talk anymore today. You don't want to be touched or even looked at if you're honest. So when he brushes up against you and tries again to get into your lap like he normally would, you lose your cool. You're not proud of it, but you shout at him for the first time ever. Just a simple "Get down!" But it was enough. His eyes went wide and he scurried away without finishing his story. You feel like an absolute c***. You feel terrible. But you just don't have the energy today. You slept in, were late for work and got written up, your car got a flat on your lunch break and you didn't even get to eat because you spent the whole time fixing it. Then you get back to work and find you're the subject of office gossip. You got volunteered for a new project you don't have time to do. Then on top of all that, on the way home you tried to fix your mood with fries and your favorite take out place is closed. You're just done with a capital D. It's been a shit day and you just need to sit down and decompress for a little bit. So you turn on the TV. You figure Eddie will be back out in a little bit and you will explain and apologize. He can never stay away from you for long. But then suddenly before you realize it you've binged like 4 episodes of a show and its way passed dinner time. You're a bit worried now so you get up to look for Eddie. You start to panic when you can't find him in any of his spots. But then you see a foot sticking out from under the bed in the room that was supposed to be his. (he's literally never slept in it. Only in your bed) You get down on the floor to see what he's up to and he's all curled up hugging his stuffy. You can tell the poor thing has been crying that whole time. He looks at you with the biggest, saddest, wettest eyes you've ever seen and before you can tell him you're sorry for being a bum he asks you: "Why don't you love me anymore? What did I do wrong?"

long post so it's cut // cw: hybrid au with dog hybrid!eddie. don't like don't read.

NOOO :(( he's instantly taken aback when you don't pet him, he's waiting there with a wagging tail, ready to smother you and be smothered in turn. but you move past him with a curt hi, side-stepping the hug that he offers and dropping everything in your arms with a sigh. he figures maybe everything was just really heavy, so he won't blame you for setting it down before you hug him. but then he's trailing after you already rambling about his day, and you're nodding like mhm the entire time, so disconnected from him and when you flop down on the couch he takes a breather to join you. he's already straddling your hips but you're turned into the cushions on the back of the couch, so you just glance up at him and gently push him away, 'not now, Eddie, get down please' and you were perfectly nice about it!! he's thinking that maybe your hip hurts or something, maybe you didn't want him on it until it started feeling better. so he lays by your feet instead, head bent over onto the couch cushions and butting into your ankles. he asks in a quiet, concerned voice if you're okay, because he can smell that you're more distressed than you normally are, and he hates it. but you don't answer, so he thinks you're sleeping or something. but when he peeks over at you your eyes are still open, so you probably just couldn't hear him, right? so he decides to get closer, to crawl back onto the couch (he carefully avoids your hurt hip!!) but the second his hands touch you you're turning to face him, face pinched up in frustration, 'i said get down!'

he's heartbroken. you say it so meanly, with so much venom in your voice, that he swears you hate him. and he doesn't know what he did, he doesn't know what went wrong, but he can't keep seeing that look in your eyes directed at him so he just flees. he yanks a stuffed animal off of his bed and burrows under there, the smell and atmosphere unfamiliar because he's barely ever stepped foot in there. and he just cries :( he's so worried about how he somehow fucked things up and he's sure you're going to throw him out, that he's crossed a line that he can't ever recover from, and the worst part of it all is that he doesn't know what he did!! he wants to, he wants to know why you suddenly don't like him, because he'd do anything to undo whatever it was so that you still loved him :') he cries and cries and cries until they're silent, just tears streaming down his cheeks and into the fluff of the stuffed animal. he thinks it takes years for you to come and find him, and honestly when you look back on the hour a a half that you dissociated and pretended you forgot about everything that the day brought you, it feels like years too. so you miss eddie, you're worried that he's not out there with you, and you wanna make sure he's okay.

when you find him your heart breaks :') you knew he'd be upset but the poor man is distraught, eyes puffy and cheeks splotchy and red and nose completely stuffed to where he's sniffling nonstop. he looks up at you so sad, and when he asks why you don't love him anymore you just about burst into tears. you want to pull him out from under the bed and into your lap but you know he probably doesn't want that, so you lay down yourself on the carpet and worm your way under the bed. you give him his space, but you want him to be close to you, and you leave your hands out just in case he wants to grab one

you apologize first, very sincerely, and promise him that you love him more than anything. he asks what he did wrong then, why you were so angry at him, and you tell him that he didn't really do anything wrong, he just didn't know not to touch you because you hadn't told him. you apologize for assuming he'd catch on, and promise that you'll communicate your boundaries better so that he doesn't cross them and then suffer for it :')) it takes a lot of coddling, but eventually he's in your lap sobbing into your shoulder and apologizing for how terrible your day was and you're rubbing his back sobbing for being so mean to him and everybody's crying and let me tell you the bedtime cuddle that night is insane

[k3rm1e]

cuddling headcanons! ★~(◡﹏◕✿)

this is more of a test thing to see if i like writing this way and if this blog does well

other imagines and headcanons won't include everyone i write unless it is specifically requested and is a prompt i really like

includes: wilbur nihachu karljacobs quackity dream georgenotfound sapnap p!tommyinnnit p!badboyhalo p!skeppy p!eret p!philza p!tubbo p!ranboo

cw: cursing

wilbur:

wilbur is a very cuddle-y guy

to me he seems very soft

i always see people saying he would like spooning, but i disagree

i feel like he would do more of a half-spooning thing with his head on your chest or the other way around

mans would DEFINITELY make you run your fingers through his hair

i feel like he would lay on your chest and just *nuzzle* into the space between your shoulder and neck

anytime you tried to leave him, whether it was because he had to do something or you had to, he would whine. so. fucking. much.

It would probably always go something like:

you - i need to piss

wilbur - no <3

but the moment he decides its time to stop cuddling its fine

and if you complain that you’re gonna miss him he’ll just call you clingy and tease you

like??? sir???

all in good fun though, no bad intentions :)

nihachu:

i feel like you and niki would face each other

with your head like under her chin and in her chest (this is a bad description but look at the “honeymoon hug” on the list for better explanation ;-;)

she would always want to protect you

so she does that by like almost guarding you and keeping you close

niki would definitely do the arm thing where she just lightly moves her hand up and down you arm

i’m so sorry if you don't understand that, it just feels like something she would do

if you haven't experienced that it kinda sorta feels like spiders??? but in a good way???

but generally she is very protective

she just holds you so close the whole time

even if she doesn’t want to let you go, she’s more understanding about it

she would be upset but wouldn’t show it because she doesn’t want to make you feel guilty

niki is generally just an amazing cuddle-r (is that a word?) and has a super comforting presence

karljacobs:

karl would definitely keep your head on his chest

the whole time he would just absolutely squeeze the life out of you

he would constantly bend his neck down to kiss your head

and instead of just like leaving his head down so he could kiss you it would just be:

*inner monologue karl* hmmm i wanna kiss them on their head

and he would lean down to do so which, cute

but then five seconds later he would do it again

and again another five seconds later

and again

very cute karl but please sir, your neck is gonna be so messed up after this

when you had to leave he would be upset, but like niki, would try not to show it

except karl is very bad at that and his pouting would be so obvious

so you would feel guilty and layback down with him

immediately he just becomes (●´ω｀●)

like a happy little puppy

karl is just too adorable for you to deny

quackity:

now we all know this, quackity is a huge dork

which is why i believe he would DEFINITELY use your butt as a pillow

not even in a weird way

i just feel like quackity isn’t too comfortable with touch so this is sorta his way of being close to you without it being a whole serious thing

like he still is able to be goofy and comfortable without it being a whole big thing

him doing this would almost always come with a flatty patty joke from you

which always causes him to threaten divorce, even though you aren’t married

while it isn’t a very good position for things like physical touch, it is good for talking and having conversations

for some reason i feel like he’s the type of person to text someone when they’re right next to each other

so while he’s laying down he’ll just send you random photos of himself

very annoying when your phone is spammed, but also good blackmail material >:)

i don’t think he’d be too clingy

obviously, he enjoys spending time with you

but if you told him you need to go do work or something he wouldn’t throw a fit or pout

big q just seems like he’d be more rational about stuff like that

overall a 420/69 cuddle partner

dream:

one word: spooning

mans just envelops you and has no shame

very big: “no you are mine! >:(“ energy

while he’s sleeping he’ll unconsciously nuzzle his head into your hair/the back of your neck

when you guys got to bed patches usually climbs in and you hold her

i love patches so much i could write headcanons just about her

dream always wants to be cuddling you

if you try to leave he won’t pout, there simply isn't a discussion on whether you’re moving or not

incase you haven’t caught on yet, the answer is no

you need to do work? just bring the laptop to bed

he needs to edit? just sit in his lap at his desk, duh

obviously, he knows at some point you guys need to stop cuddling

he just isn’t too stoked about it

when it comes time where he absolutely can’t cuddle with you, i feel like he’d be more chill

mainly just annoyed

georgenotfound:

i feel like george, like quackity, also wouldn’t be too touchy

i’m pretty sure he has a hard time expressing emotions (please correct me if i’m wrong!!) and i think that would crossover to his sleeping habits

i think he would prefer a sort of back-to-back cuddling position

it seems cold, i know

but also he would most definitely kick at you

so every night while trying to go to sleep suddenly you would just feel *kick*

and then instead of sleep you’re suddenly playing footsie

lots of laughter and warm feelings involved

george would probably pretend that you kicked his leg hard or something and act like you hurt him

the first few times you were actually worried

but then after a few months your only response was a sarcastic “cry about it”

which just led to more laughter

sapnap:

sapnap and you would do a sort of leg hug thing

you both you try to go to sleep in a cute spooning-type position

but the moment one of you fell asleep it all unraveled

you would wake up apart but you’re legs would still be touching

sapnap would joking blame it on you

“wow can’t believe you don't wanna be close with me even when we’re asleep”

“it’s not my fault! i can’t control where i end up when i sleep!”

“no, no. you don’t have to lie. i see how it is.”

“>:(“

but it's okay!

your legs are the first thing to react in a flight-or-fight situation, so they usually react in an honest way

which is like your legs are both reaching to hold each other!

p!tommyinnit:

i don’t get a very touchy vibe from tommy

i feel like the most he would do is put his arm over your shoulder

not in a flirty way, just in a “hey, there isn’t a lot of space, this will make sitting down more comfortable” way

he will let you sorta fidget with his hand/arm

i don't know if that makes sense but what i mean is that he’ll pretty much let his arm go *flop* so you can control it (by like moving it around or playing with his fingers)

in the beginning he would get annoyed

but eventually he would get used to it and wouldn’t really care

it sounds a bit strange but i personally find it very comforting to just have something to fidget with while watching youtube or netflix in bed with my friends

and it’s entertaining (sometimes i do this to me sister to annoy her :>)

he would act like he didn’t mind if you left him

but holy shit he is so clingy

If you try to leave it’ll just be “no, why??? stay here dumbass”

you would be slightly annoyed when he had to leave  but knew he had to film and stream and all that so you would be okay

p!badboyhalo:

you would kinda sit within bad’s lap

like not on his lap, but more of in between his legs

he would have his arms around you

and his phone would be in front of you so you two could scroll through twt or instagram together

or you guys could watch skeppy’s youtube ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

rat would sit in your lap

she’s just;;;;;;;; so adorable

rat is just so soft and fuzzy in your lap and everytime you move to pet her she just melts

rat is the the superior cuddle buddy to any of these block people

p!skeppy:

skeppy, similar to quackity, is a total dork

he would make sure you guys were in a position where he could effectively troll you

so if your head was near his lap he would just flick you or some

“dude can you please stop hitting me in the head”

“it turns out i am not actually hitting you in your head because based on the perpendicularity of the bisector multiplied by the photosynthesis of the dividend, it is impossible for me to do so”

“wtf”

lya is so goddamn sick of you guys

she's trying to get him to actually do something but instead he’s just sitting there throwing paper airplanes at you while you sleep

he’s an annoying asshole but it's okay because he gives you money for absurd reasons

p!eret:

eret has such a comfortable presence

i feel like she wouldn’t be up for cuddling too much

more of like putting your head on a friends shoulder so you can see the tweet their showing you

but they do like to hold hands

holding hands isn’t very intimate but it's also just such a sweet comforting thing

she even holds your hand when you guys are out walking around

like if you guys were getting food somewhere (post-covid of course)

you most likely would get addressed as a couple

and he would just be like”...wut?”

it’s happened so many times at this point you just go along with it

“you guys look like such a cute couple!”

“oh we aren't-” “thank you!”

can you tell that i love eret?

p!philza:

phil always has such dad vibes

i feel like the closest he would get to cuddling is hugs and hand holding

even though cuddling isn’t inherently romantic, he is married to kristen

so i fell he would get most of his touch in with her

but with you he’s just so fatherly

hello dadza

whether you have a good or bad relationship with your father, everyone can admit that philza minecraft is dadza

this is such a dad thing, but tries to hold you hand when you cross the street

no matter the age, he just feels the need to protect you

hugs are similar

uses hugs as a way to comfort you and protect you

just so amazing all around

p!tubbo:

tubbo would love cuddling in any way, shape, or form

if you guys are hanging out at like the park or something and lying down

get ready to become this mans pillow

this is really fun to do with your friends but imagine you guys are hanging out in a field type area (with my friends we hand out in the field next to the cemetery but it can be any open grass area)

tubbo would just use your lap as a pillow the whole time

and when you guys were walking back to his house he would sorta drape his arms over your shoulders (assuming he’s taller than you)

he would do the same thing when you guys were sitting in chairs or at a desk

just drapes his arms over your shoulder with his chin on your head

if it's really late and he's tired he’ll just hug you

p!ranboo:

if you thought tubbo is bad, ranboo is even worse

not even really cuddling, he just likes having a sort of skin-to-skin contact

so handholding and laying on top of eachother

if he’s streaming he will legitimately message ou to just sit next to him

so sometimes if he’s just chilling by himself on the smp you’ll end up on his streams

he’ll have you next to him just because he likes be near someone

and so randomly it’ll just be like “chat, a real human is here, behave”

chat does not behave

(they heavily bully him)

he’s pretty clingy but when you HAVE to leave he’ll understand and just be a bit bummed out

holy shit this took me so long-

if you read this whole thing thank you!