#oh it is so hard not to mentally draft... even as we both know the other will write something that affects our plans

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

Unceremoniously, Aesop drops to the ground, all but limp, mouth wide open as he gulps down breaths, chest heaving up and down in time with the hurried intake. His head still spins, his eyes are still unable to focus on anything when it all moves too fast.

Slowly, he is able to make things out once more. Slowly, he can recognize the face in front of (above?) him once again. The face of someone he had pushed to this point. The face of one he had shared the title of 'dear friend' with, even if too hastily.

If such a person hated him so much as to wish him dead... but then, why not go all the way? Why let him live when he flailed in a pathetic, selfish hope to live just a little longer? Why was that will to live, however faint... something desirable? If he had annoyed his friend to the point of a threat on his life, should it not be more desirable that he lies down and takes it, makes it easy? But... it all hurt too much. Quite honestly, his head still pounded, he could once again feel the still-present tears stinging at his eyes. It was all so embarrassing for someone like him. Going on and on about how death can be beautiful, and yet he fears when his time comes for he knows he will not be given kindness and a gentle ending.

Once Aesop's breath starts slowing down to a pace where he can properly speak, a hoarse voice leaves him, a confused voice, a slow and hesitant voice. "...I don't understand... Yes, it is true I do not feel... ready yet, but... if you truly wanted me dead, if I truly annoyed you so much... you were so close. Even if I do wonder what it is like to be preserved in motion, I... it is a change, and not one I know what I should expect from. If you never wanted me to die... I still don't... I should just accept my time when it comes, but if it hurts like that... I do not know if I will be able to." A pause, as the memories of how to get out of the worst trouble he'd faced prior, how to bend properly. "I'm sorry for making you do that, sir. It must have been something I said."

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

Aesop arrives, holding himself upright as ever, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before properly approaching. "...I think enough time has passed." He decides not to mention that it has only been a few days since the last meeting. He also chooses to ignore that he did not fully understand the instructions he was given, to wait until he'd cleared his head somewhat. What he did do, was hand over a letter, carefully folded and sealed, handwriting clearly measured, as if the words were considered before writing them down. "I believe something with as much weight as what you had given me previously warrants a proper response... take as long as you need." Once the paper is taken, Aesop folds his hands in front of him and waits.

[Eternity is a long time to wait, I more than know that. Even if I have not existed within it, it is what I have learned to deal with. I will not pretend to know your situation, I will not pretend I do not wish for you to finally rest, but... not looking for allies, yet not wanting to be alone. It is hard for me to separate friends and allies, but... I suppose someone outside of everything you have would be pleasant.

I have learned of many belief systems, but... I personally struggle to see luck as much of a factor. We have much in common, yes, but... who is to say that is entirely good? I had to pause when you described me as 'disillusioned', but... it makes sense. Regrettably. Perhaps I thought that with how little I had known you and how I had been expected to act around those of your status, everything could be taken away easily. I was also too eager to receive the title of 'friend', with how little I had heard it, even if I knew nothing of what lay within.

I do not know if my head is as clear as you would like, but... I do not wish to make you wait forever. You said eternity is too long to spend alone, after all.]

[sameschmidtdiffname]

heyyyy can I pls req something where Mike tries to make it up to the reader after he says something wrong in their 1st fight as a couple? like “I don’t want to lose you” as an apology and they get back together or something along those lines? tysm I really enjoy ur work :))

But of course!!!

Wanting, Waiting

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: Overworked and underfed, you'll go to sleep once some decent work is complete. However, a late night turns into a day long fight.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no gender specific pronouns for Reader, pre-established relationship, argument, cursing, Reader and Mike both got some shit going on, hints of an eating disorder, overworking, hurt/comfort, crying, mentions of: suicide/death, depression, drugging, and kidnapping. Vulnerability is gross.

Notes: 'Slip' walked so this could run full speed into a brick wall. I feel as though I may have redeemed myself.

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This page is mocking me.

The hour is late. I stopped checking the clock around 2:00 A.M., and there's a cup of cold coffee right next to me on this table, several rings on the inside from where the coffee had been left sitting far too long. It's cheap, the flavor sticking to my teeth in a way that settles my lips into a slight grimace as I try to convince my hand to move my pen across the just as cheap notebook paper that has been sitting in front of me since I came home.

Come on. It's words. What the fuck is hard about this?

'It's not hard if you can actually get your head out of your ass and do something,' I think to myself. Not helping.

I have an irritating collection of drafts. Oh yes, I can start them and I can certainly plan out the works before me. But actually writing is somehow impossible, and even though I can feel how thick the block is in my mind, preventing me from communicating my feelings properly, I just can't get break myself out of it.

Come on. Finish one draft. Then everything will click together for the rest.

For the past few weeks it's been just like this. Come home, sit down with projects, and try. But no matter what I do, I just can't focus. It's as though my head simply won't allow it. And this house, quite frankly, isn't helping. It's admittedly unsettling atmosphere, the loud noises born from nothing. It's as though I can feel the weight of the dead that used to sit at the same glass table as I watching me over my shoulder, pressing their non-existent weight against me, making my chest tight with pressure I cannot voice because that's not fair to the ones still here truly haunted by their presence. I'm just a guest who overextends their stay, quite frankly.

Just a page. Just write a page and you can get up for a moment. Ignore how loud the fridge is at something clunks inside of it.

A page. Get a page. Come on, you imbecile, how hard is a fucking pa-

"I thought we talked about this."

It's a testament to my mental state how high I manage to jump in my chair, my tired and over-caffinated heart set off to make me dizzy with over exertion from fear, turning to see who has come to voice their thoughts and damn us both with them.

"Mike," I sigh. I place a hand on my chest, rubbing slightly at the spot where I feel my heart pounding against my sore ribs. "Don't do that."

"Have you slept at all?" Mike asks disapprovingly. His arms are crossed against his chest, heavy bags under his eyes from another night of restless dreams. He can't sleep, I won't sleep. If he'd allow it, we could actually get shit done this time of day.

"A little," I lie. He's just worried. About everything. He always is, which at first was something I loved about him. And usually I still do. It's an admirable trait, to care about someone and love them so much it's only natural to fret over them, to check and make sure they're taken care of properly.

Except it makes me feel guilty.

"Oh yeah? What time?" He asks, narrowing his sleep swollen eyes at me.

Details. Fuck.

"Ah, uh- I don't know, I wasn't looking at the clock," I say sheepishly, trying to flash a disarming smile and make my own bags look like ones of bare minimum rest instead of self neglect. Mike's jaw tightens slightly.

"Oh?" He says in a dull voice that is not raised, yet managed to ring throughout the room nonetheless.

I hum affirmatively, pressing my lips together and fiddling with the cheap pen in my hands, glancing down at it in an attempt at trying not to give myself away.

"Yeah, I don't know. Just like, laid my head on the book and... y'know... drifted off for a couple hours," I try to say casually.

"Ah," he says as though that were enough, leaning now against the doorframe of the hallway, looking at the other wall as though the paint were interesting. "How long after I went to bed, do you think?"

Keep your breathing even. He can smell fear. "Like, a couple," I answer with a shrug.

"Or, like, not at all," he says, turning his head back to stare down at me with a glare.

"I slept," I insist.

"Bullshit. You give me unnecessary detail about your shits post mexican take-out, but you can't tell me what time you fell asleep?" He says accusingly.

"I was asleep! I'm sorry, do you want me to lie and give some time because you need it for some reason?" I ask evenly, shrugging as though to ask what he'd like me to say, blinking at him and adding a tired tinge of a croak to my voice to match his.

"I'm sorry?" He asks, eyes still in narrow slits yet somehow widening slightly, his leg uncrossing from over the other and planting firmly on the floor as he stands straight.

He's not that tall. Kinda short. But he looks much bigger when mad. Kinda like an iguana. I told him that one time and got bit. Jokingly, of course. It's not like he'd just reach over and sna- You know what? Irrelevant.

"I'm just saying," I say, starting to turn back to my notebook as though the conversation were finished.

"No-no, I'd like to hear that again," he says. I can hear his footsteps pad against the flat, tan carpet, my shoulders stiffening slightly as I train my decreasingly neutral eyes on the wrinkled, lined paper in front of me. "I liked the part where you made me sound like some insecure teenager for calling you out on your shit. Very original."

My lips press into a thin line, my grip on my pen tightening slightly.

"It's not that serious, Mikey-"

"Don't bullshit me, and don't use some cheap nickname as a cop out via sympathy," Mike snaps, standing now on the opposite side of the table, pressing his hands now against the glass surface that dirties so easily. Trust me, we've had to clean some prints off of it.

There's a line, and at some point I'm going to cross it. The problem is it's hidden under mental sand that makes me unclear of exactly where it is.

"Michael-"

"That's formal," he says, leaning forward on the table, his tone the same as an interrogating mother just waiting for the moment where no one will blame her for finally tearing you to shreds for what you've said to her outwardly innocent statements. A trap.

"I'm sorry, I thought you didn't like cheap nicknames?" I say, fighting the irritation in my voice, barely managing to remain even as I click my pen to begin writing.

"What's wrong with just Mike?" He asks. He reaches across the table, placing all five of his fingertips on my paper firmly and dragging it back across the table towards him, withholding it from me.

"Would you like me to use just Mike?" I ask.

"I'd like you to make eye contact while you lie through your fucken teeth," he says calmly, not moving as he continues to stare me down.

"Okay, Mike. And what exactly does my sleep schedule mean to you?" I ask slowly, trailing my eyes from his hand, slowly up his arm with pronounced veins and muscles, to the white cotton shirt that was two sizes too large and usually what he wore to sleep in, until I meet his dark and slightly hateful eyes.

"We had a conversation," he starts.

"A conversation," I repeat.

"About a month ago, do you remember?" He asks, cocking his head slightly in that way it does when we both know I'm not going to dare to answer with anything other than he wants.

"You ha-"

"I had a concern," he interrupts me, now looking down at the notebook and studying it as though it were a piece of fine art. "Which involved how absolutely awful your ability is to take care of yourself properly."

"Mike-"

"Shut. Up." Mike says with disturbing calmness. "I'm talking."

Fine.

"It's fucking rude."

Not saying it's not.

"Like your attitude when I try to just help you because clearly, you can't help yourself," he says, now slapping down the notebook to gesture at me as though it were obvious why he was concerned.

I could speak. I'd like to. And he gives me a long enough silence I could. But instead I decide I will simply give him the floor.

"No opinion on this?" He asks shortly.

"No," I say with a dismissive shrug. "You seem to have them for me."

Mike laughs at this statement, and if the sparkle in his eyes didn't seem to have the same dull shine as the glass table between us I'd feel a bit better about it. But I think there's a six foot hole in the backyard I just signed a lease on that makes his disturbingly convincing smile much more worrisome.

"You're funny," he says affectationately. "Get up."

"What?" I ask, blinking.

"Are you deaf now? Up," he says in irritation, beginning to cross back around the table. "This isn't a negotiation."

Before I can speak his hands dig in under my armpits, roughly pulling me to stand and bringing me close to his chest. I should have energy to fight back, I've only been sitting after all. But a physical confrontation would be too loud, first of all. Abby is asleep in her room, and I don't want to make a scene to wake the poor child. Number two, my bones are sore, my head is aching and I generally just do not feel well enough to protest. Physically.

"Put me down, you son of a bitch!"

Verbally, I'm fine.

"You're going to bed, that's final!"

"I have twelve drafts due that I have to get done or else this project-"

"You have four hours of sleep you can get before you have to take your candy ass to work in the fucken morning, or else I'm gonna beat it into you," he hisses directly in my ear, his breath cold and loud so close to me. Jesus, fuck. What did his parents feed him as a child? It shouldn't be this easy for him.

"Oh, I don't do what you want and now you threaten physical violence. Very mature," I mock, reaching out to grip the doorframe of Mike's bedroom, purely to piss him off.

"Save me the dramatics," he snaps in a whisper, wrapping one arm tighter around my waist and using the other to bat my hands away from the frame. I can tell he's genuinely trying not to hurt me, his grip on one wrist firm but careful.

"Just let me write one page," I try.

"That's what you said last night," he says, still trying to pull my hand away. My nails have dug into the frame, making it slightly harder. I can sense his irritation growing. "You got two hours of sleep."

"That's not going to kill me," I argue.

"You haven't slept for more than two hours in a week," he says.

One nail breaks against the frame, making me lose my grip and sending pain down my arm from the awkward angle at which the pressure had snapped it off. I wince slightly, which gives Mike slight pause as he checks my hand, but decides I'm alright before he begins dragging me towards the bed in earnest.

"Why is it so hard for you to just take care of yourself?" Mike asks in frustration.

"I take care of myself!" I say defensively. Mike drops me onto the bed, standing in front of me to prevent any new attempts at escape.

"No, you don't," he says, quiet but firm. "You sit and stare at your notebook and you don't do anything else if you can help it. You sleep for two hours, you go to work, you hardly eat, you don't have energy anymore." Mike's hands are planted firmly on his hips, his nostrils flailing as he tries to take collected, calm breaths. "I care about you. Why can't you?"

"Michael-"

"Stop!" Mike snaps, groaning and turning away from me with a sharp spin on his heel. He buries his hands in his hair in frustration, now pacing between the bed and the door, quietly shutting it so we can argue in peace.

"Why are you so upset?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Because I don't want to see you live like this. I am concerned and every time I bring it up you dismiss me, you joke, you don't care and I hate that," Mike says, temporarily stopped in his tracks to point at me as he seethes. "I'm watching you waste away and you know what? I'm starting to think part of you likes it."

"Excuse me?" I say, astounded. I cross my arms in front of my chest, cocking my head at him in a way to say 'I dare you to repeat that.'

"You heard me," Mike says, taking a step towards me. "It's like you cannot for one iota of a second conceive of some world where taking care of yourself is a good use of your time. You work, and work until you've burned yourself out so horribly you rot in bed for a month. And unless you're staying here, I hear nothing from you. Not a call, not a fuck you or whatever. It's like you're punishing yourself."

"Now who's being dramatic?" I say.

"See? I can't even point this out without you getting defensive, which just shows you know you're in the wrong!" Mike turns away from me once more, resuming his path of restless walking.

"Why do you even care?" I ask genuinely. This makes him pause again, his glare once more returning to me as he mentally questions my intelligence.

"You know what, I don't know!" Mike snaps, his voice gaining volume. "You are insistent in this fucking- slow method suicide and I'm trying to help you, but you won't let me!"

"I never asked you to care," I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"I never asked to care!" Mike nearly shouts, leaning in close to my face and sneering at me.

This breaks the tension.

His face falls as soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes widening slightly like my own eyes. This comment shouldn't really sting. I shouldn't let it. But it does. And for a moment, I do. And he sees that clearly.

"... oh," I say softly, my arms relaxing and shoulders sagging ever so slightly as I drop his gaze, trying to shut off my emotions before they're obvious.

"I'm sorry," Mike says quickly, stumbling to his knees in front of me. "I didn't mean that-"

"It's fine," I say, trying to remain as blank as my pages on the kitchen table.

"I just said it to be hurtful," Mike says quickly, his hand reaching up to cup my face. I take it away, turning my head to the side slightly. There's a new chill in the air, one I can feel seizing my chest.

"You weren't," I say. "I'm going to sleep."

"Please, I don't want-"

"I'm going to sleep," I say forcefully, shoving him away and turning to begin undressing from my work clothes that I still wore. Mike is silent behind me, probably thinking, and I'm close to not being able to hold myself together anymore.

"Get out!" I snap, flinging my shirt at him in a rage and beginning to stand from the bed to chase him out. He doesn't need anymore prompt, quickly scurrying out from the room to wherever it is he'll sleep now. Probably on the couch even though there's another room down the hall. A self induced punishment. Knowing him he probably won't even allow himself a blanket or pillow, feeling the cold air fitting for his selfishness.

Good.

-

When I wake that morning, I can smell breakfast in the air. My stomach hurts from skipping meals, but I don't want to eat. First of all, I haven't worked for a meal. There's still plenty to be done with my drafts. And food is a good encouragement to keep working. Second, I didn't ask him to care. And he didn't ask for it either. There probably isn't enough for me, and if there is, he and Abby can debate between the two who will have it. I need to shower.

I take forever washing myself. If that's what you want to call it. It was moreso standing under hot water, letting it run cold until I couldn't stand it anymore and hoping my deodorant is able to do some heavy lifting today. I barely have enough time to get to work, passing silently by Mike and not turning when he calls my name, walking out the door as fast as I can without running.

He follows me outside, something shaking in a bag behind me. When I finally open my car door I'm forced to have my gaze in his direction, his body between the door frame and my car door, presenting me with a bag of lunch.

"Please eat," he begs, placing the bag in my lap unceremoniously and then quickly stepping away and shutting the door himself.

There's a small moment where he and I just share at each other through the glass, time slipping away without notice. He hasn't slept, he'll be late for work if he doesn't get dressed soon, and the bag on top of my thighs is warm. Fresh. A petty part of me wants to roll down my window and throw away the meal, back out of the drive way and let that fester in his mind out of hate. He thinks words can hurt? Actions are so much worse.

But there's something in his eyes. Defeated, resigned. Childlike is almost the word I could use. In front of my car is the 12 year old boy who tried to chase down his brother, the 18 year old who decided to sacrifice his life raising his little sister while saying goodbye to his parents, and the 27 year old man who's just trying to keep everything together.

I don't know what to say to this child. Or to the man.

So, with the turn of my key in the ignition, I don't.

-

It's late when I come home. When the manager had asked me to stay late I almost called Mike to break the silence and tell him this. But there was still a part of me that didn't care whether or not he knew. Really, I didn't have to return home tonight. I could go back to my apartment and just let him rot in bed the way he claims I do. How could he say such a thing, anyways? I rot in bed? What about the days I've walked into the house and he hasn't slept all week, where he's claiming he's trying to kick his medication and he'll get the hang of it soon. Where his sister is eating every meal almost burnt because he can't think straight enough to remember time. Where I've had to coax, beg, demand of him that he just takes a pill because he's laying on the side of the bed, small and curled in on himself, dead eyed and obviously tired but still not sleeping. One time I slipped it into his food. And I felt awful. Do not think for a moment I wanted to do that. There was a betrayel in his eyes when sleep began to overtake him. I hoped he wouldn't notice, but he must've. Some tell in the drugs effect that made him aware his rest was not voluntary. But I didn't care. I stroked his hair through the night, and I'll do it again. He could hate me however long he needed to, he just needed sleep first.

The irony still hasn't struck me when I walk through the door of his house, well past dinner, Abby in the bath. The door was left unlocked, which is unusual for this time of night. Mike jumps from the couch the minute I open the door, standing with his hands by his side anxiously pulling at the edge of his oversized sweater.

Everything's oversized with him. The thought occurs to me that his father was slightly bigger.

"Don't leave me," he says quietly, his voice small and pathetic like him. But I don't say that with hate.

"I just got home," I say. "Be a bit odd to leave again."

I try a smile, but it's artificial and we both know it's only for his comfort. It doesn't touch him, his eyes glassy and lips slightly parted the same way a child's is when they're trying to breathe as their sinuses spring to life in wake of forming tears.

"I didn't mean it," he says, still standing in the same place. If I was a better person I'd probably run to him. But I'm not.

If I were a better person, I'd say I believe him. But I don't. And suddenly my throat is swollen with hurt, my own bottom lip is sticking out and now we're both trying not to cry because this is so overly taxing. We're adults but emotions are hard. Vulnerability is hard. It is a damnation that we both detest, both avoid. In better states we would joke about this, would laugh and tease the other for not having the emotional capability to voice our thoughts. But we're not. So we don't. And now we're crying openly in the off-putting, attempted to look cozy living room that we can never fully relax in.

"I don't wanna lose you," he says between small hiccups, hands now balled into fists that he buries under opposite armpits, shifting his weight so that he doesn't look so small. His glances bounce between me and the hallway table, never fixing on either of us as he tries to state his mind like an adult. "I've barely had you."

In my heart there has been a constant ache, hurt flowing and pumping through my veins like the blood that ran cold last night at his hurtful words. His apologetic words make the ache somehow worse.

"I don't mean to be a burden to you," I say softly, feeling a small, stray tear break the fluid barrier of my waterline to race down my cheek, allowing a pathway to the fatter drops that threaten to quickly follow.

Mike's face shifts, stepping towards me and holding out his arms.

"No, never," he says just as soft, trying to comfort me. I freeze as he approaches, my body stiffening as I try to swallow the lump and convince myself that I can survive his touch. His touch that I normally crave the moment I'm around him, that I seek in the dark of night even when the bed is overheating, that I'd go insane without.

"I've never asked you to care," I say, voice breaking and tears rolling freely now.

"I know," he says into my neck, which is wetting as he shakes around me, his grasp firm and careless of whether or not it's too much.

"I don't mean to cause problems. I just...." I don't know what I mean, how I wish to finish the statement. If I was clever, I could. If I was clever, I wouldn't even be in this problem to begin with.

"I'm just scared," he chokes out, his breathing horrible as he struggles to keep his crying from being obvious. "You look sick all the time and I don't want that."

He's told me the story. His mother wasting away, thinning and slipping, starving and dying. How he'd returned home to a baby wailing in her crib as their mothers body lay in a pool of blood he never really got out of the carpet. He lied to me initially when I saw it the first time, said it was wine. It wasn't until we had a few glasses ourselves that his eyes glazed over and he told me. It was disturbing how neutral he kept himself to the subject. A habit he'd developed much too long ago to break.

"Mike-"

"I try, and I try and if something doesn't give soon I'm gonna fucking lose it," he sobs into my skin, arms tightening around me.

"If what doesn't give?" I ask softly, trying to pull him away to look into his eyes. But he doesn't budge, sobbing a little bit harder and gripping a little bit tighter. He doesn't respond, simply shaking as he breathes heavily against me through his mouth.

"Hey," I say softly, trying to wrap my arms around him, failing and giving up as I realize his grip is too tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

His mouth closes a little, quieting his breathing slightly as he sniffles.

"I'm an idiot, but I'm not suicidal," I say softly, trying again for a joke. He doesn't laugh, but he does pull away slightly to look at my face, lips swollen and quivering as he blinks at me.

"You scare me," he says quietly, not quite meeting my eyes. He's watching my lips, but I think that's because that's the closest he can get to making eye contact.

"I scare you?" I ask, furrowing my brows. I lick my dry, cracked lips for comfort. "Why?"

"Because I love you," he says shakily, sighing as though it were exhausting to admit while still holding that nervous flicker in his eyes. "Because when I think about not being with you the house seems colder. And I can't go back to hating this house."

I open my mouth to respond, but there's more.

"Because I love your stupid smile when you're excited, or how you do that cricket leg thing when you're falling asleep. Or how if you want my attention you'll bury your head in my chest and pretend you're doing it in your sleep even though I won't judge you for doing it while you're awake."

"I don't-"

"I love how defensive you get over things like that," he says, bringing one hand to cup my cheek, resting his thumb that smells like the creamy lavender handsoap next to the bathroom sink on my lips. "I love how you look waking up next to me, how you play with Abby. And for a really long time I didn't see myself ever having kids, but when I see you curling her hair at the kitchen table I think maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I just took up another job and saved money so that we could-"

"Mike-"

"Stop cutting me off," he says gently, his eyes finally meeting mine with just the smallest smile. "It's rude."

At that I do stop, my body finally relaxing into his grasp as I lean into him and his touch.

"I want things I haven't wanted since before Garret went missing," he says, stroking my lip. "And I want them with you."

Dinner was just as delicious as lunch, even if it was late. And the bed is soft like our voices as we make plans for years down the line. And after a week long break, the pages are finally filled once again.

Just like us.

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Literally had a come to Jesus moment while writing this that not only do I fear being vulnerable irl, but in writing too. Nearly threw up while writing this. Book aable feet.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

[uptondixon]

Daryl & Daugther!Reader - Quarry Era II

Had this in my drafts for ages. I started writing and never finished, but I decided to post anyway. Thank you for all the love on Part 1! I'm sorry I'm not much of a writer to keep this storyline going :( Words: 1591 Warnings: Nightmares Gif not mine Chapter song is Fix You by Coldplay

Part I

"And the tears come streaming down your face, when you lose something you can't replace."

It's been a while since the three of them started the walk back to camp, which was proving to be especially hard for the girl. After the adrenaline went off, the pain on her feet and legs were becoming almost unbearable. With each step she got slower and felt weaker. A headache making its way over her head, probably a mix of pain, hunger and lack of sleep.

Before heading back to camp Daryl offered her water, which she accepted desperately. Even though she was happy the thirst was over, her growling stomach didn't let her forget the days without anything to eat. She didn't mention that, already thankful for the water. However, the girl's skinny body gave Daryl an idea of how hungry she must be.

Daryl and Merle didn't hunt anything, both too focused on the deer, so he made a mental note to feed her as soon as they got to camp. Daryl also tried to take a better look at her wounds, but she didn't let him. He didn't push and decided this was a job for Lori or Carol. They were the mothers of the group and the girl would feel safe with them, he thought.

"She's slowing us down man, if we don't speed up we're going to lose sunlight. This girl is like a damn walker bait. Hell, I can smell her blood from here." Merle complained again.

"I get it Merle! Stop whining alrigh?" Daryl said before approaching the kid. 

She had been trailing behind them the whole time, never sparing them a glance and looking almost ready to bolt in the opposite direction at any moment. All of a sudden, Daryl realized that they didn't know her name.

"What's yer name kid?" She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Y/n." She said, voice almost a whisper.

"Alrigh', Y/n. Look, someone has to check yer wounds and for that we need to get to the camp but ya can barely walk…" Y/n knew he was right. She was scared to let him do anything with her wounds, afraid it would make it hurt even more. But the girl knew that it would only get worse if they didn't get there faster.

"What if I carry ya?" Daryl proposed. "We'll get to the folks faster and everything's gonna be okay." Daryl looked at her expectantly, while Merle was still mumbling some nonsense he chose to again ignore.

Y/n pounded for a moment. She didn't know this guy, even though he seemed to be making an effort to at least make her feel less scared. The same couldn't be said about the other guy, his brother. Even with Daryl's effort, she wasn't sure if trusting him was the right decision. However, it's not like she had any other choice at the moment.

Y/n looked up at Daryl and nodded her head. He handed his crossbow to Merle and picked the girl up. She felt so light and Daryl couldn't help but wonder how long she was alone out there, without food and water.

Y/n wrapped one of her arms around Daryl's neck, looking for something to hold on to. It was weird, how she didn't even know this man but felt safe in his arms. After being alone for months, she really wanted to believe someone good was going to help her.

Daryl arranged the girl in his arms and resumed their walking, Merle leading the way with Daryl's crossbow, aware of any danger.

They arrived at the camp a couple hours later and Daryl came in calling for the first person he saw, which in that case was Lori. "Daryl, oh my god??? Who is that?"

Daryl immediately felt Y/n's arms wrap harder around him. "It's fine kid, don't worry."

"We found her in the woods, alone and hurt."

Minutes later, the whole camp was reunited outside the RV while Lori and Carol were inside with Y/n. The girl felt more at ease with them, like Daryl imagined. But she was still unsure about everything and everyone.

After they treated her wounds and helped her clean up, Daryl brought some of the squirrel from his last hunt along with more food from the camp. Being clean and fed, it was like Y/n could finally think straight again.

Yours later, everyone started to retreat to their tents for the night. Inside the RV, Y/n tried to stay awake, her brain still on alert for some reason. But after a while her body started to give up and she fell asleep to the sounds of the dying conversation outside.

“It will be okay my baby, just run and don’t look back, okay?”

“But mom, what about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you, go!” The little girl ran, but she couldn't help looking back. However, when she did, it made sense why her mother told her not to.

Screams, that’s what Daryl woke up to. He jumped out of his tent and saw Shane, Glenn and Dale outside the RV. “What the hell happened?”

“It 's Y/n.” Shane said “Lori is-” As if on cue, Lori leaves the RV. And to everyone's surprise, she smiled at Daryl.

“She’s asking for you, Daryl.” Daryl looked at Lori as if she had grown another head but entered the RV anyway.

“Hey kid, what's up?” Y/n was sitting in bed, death grip on the blanket and scared look on her face.

“I miss my mom” Daryl didn't know what to say, he didn't understand why she would want him there of all people. “Could you stay here until I fall back asleep?”

To be honest, Y/n didn't want to sleep, not if that meant another nightmare, but her body didn't give her any choice. Daryl saved her, his presence made her feel safe, so maybe he could help the bad dreams go away. Daryl was still confused, but he simply sat down in the chair close to the door and nodded his head, watching as the girl laid down, closing her eyes and falling asleep once again.

The first week went by smoothly, Y/n couldn't think about anything other than sleep. Her body begging for rest in order to heal. She didn't talk much, still overwhelmed with the new environment and everything that happened, but slowly feeling more at ease with everyone. Amy was the one to bring her food the days she stayed in bed. Lori or Carol would brush her long hair after she washed up. Glenn and Dale would make her laugh with silly jokes. Andrea and Jacqui would help change her bandages. Daryl would always check on her at the end of the day. He didn't say much, only put his head inside the RV, saw her asleep and then went to his tent.

The second week was better, she was stronger and more active. However, the nightmares still hunted her at night. Since Y/n got in the camp, Carl and Sophia were anxious to talk with her. But she was weak and scared so the adults held them back. When she started feeling better, spending her days sitting in the staircase of the RV and watching the camp, Carl approached her. With everything that happened Y/n didn't really had the time to think about the other kids at camp. She knew Sophia was Carol's daugther and Carl was Lori's, but they never talked and she suddently felt nervous. It's been ages since she last talked with someone her age.

"Hi, I'm Carl. You're Y/n, right?"

"Yeah.." Y/n smiled awkwardly.

"Shane's going to teach me how to grab frogs, you wanna come too?"

Y/n apreciated the invitation but she couldn't help but ask "Why would you want to grab frogs?"

Carl seemed like he wasn't expecting the question but answered anyway "Well, it's just funny, they jump so high trying to run away" he said with a little laugh "But we release them right after, Shane says they probably taste really bad to eat."

Y/n was the one ot laugh this time, for sure she wouldn't want to eat a frog.

"Okay, it seems fun" Y/n said looking at the boy in front of her.

"Yes! It's going to be really fun, I'll tell Shane you're coming" Y/n laughed again seeing the boy excitement, she couldn't help but feel it too. After the last stressful weeks, it was good to have some distraction.

Y/n met Sophia a couple nights after her frong hunt with Carl and Shane. The camp was having dinner and since she started feeling better, she started to have dinner outside with the others. The first night she went straight to Daryl, he and Merle sitting around a fire further from the main camp. In the short time Y/n was there she could notice how they differed from the rest of the camp. Her, as well, felt unsure, not of Daryl but his brother. The first night she left the RV and went to Daryl, Merle looked at her they same way he looked at her back in the woods. Like she was an walker bait. Daryl didn't showed much affection towards her, at least not in clear eyes. But he silently made sure she was fed and safe every single day, most of the others from the camp would not notice most of the time, but he did and Y/n knew it.

Taglist: @justmare

[sleepingcup]

Secret Trade for a Novel

Game: Reverse 1999 Character: Horropedia x Reader Genre: Fluff Requested by/Gifted to: @one0p1nk

Artwork by me @sleepy-meep

Summary: You have been looking for your books for quite a while, I wonder if someone got it for confiscation or...

"This novel is amazing! The horror aesthetics and the description of pure horror was so real, no one can tell which one is real or not!"

"After reading it...imagining it.... The more I think about the details feel so real..."

"I do find the books pleasingly interesting, and all... Tho... why the author or these novels remain...anonymous?"

"I would say the author did that to make things more interesting!"

"Tho...aren't those types novels prohibited in the foundation?"

"No, not necessarily. It is only prohibited during work hours but they did not say you can read them after work. Hey, have you find any ideas who that author could be?"

"...Hmm I do have a tiny guess...but...”

Words cannot describe how panicking you feel mentally.

People does see you as a hard working unit in the St. Pavlov Foundation, but almost no one knows that you are secretly a horror novelist in secret every time a mission gets you bored. Sure you don't write constantly but you do think of ideas for you upcoming novel drafts.

But recently when you tried to arrive back to your office, you swore that you kept your novels safe.

"?!"

You looked around and still no sign of your drafts, which worries you even further and yet…

“Did someone… break into my office?”

"Eh not really. Tho I do have to admit that your horror novel collections are VERY rare to find! This is a rare sight to see! Hey! Hey! Do you happen to know the author of this book?"

Tho I think you should feel relieved when your crush Horropedia happens to appear on your office room, it is about time you might want to get used to him doing that as a habit of his. But the book he was holding is one thing that made you panic a bit.

"W-well not really."

"Oh? But this book was so good! This horror themed novel was a masterpiece! Oh! Let us not forget the perfect details of this insane word building! I do love the details of this book! It would have been better if it's movie scripted in better quality-Oh! I forgo I was asking you about the author of this book!"

Horropedia then looks at you, "So I had one theory, since you know what we are both best friends and all~ I need to know something."

All of a sudden Horropedia leans closer to you, his face was near you.

"Are you the author of this book I had a good time reading?"

"!!!"

You were surprised when he ask you this question, you know that he is smart but he does have his dumb moments. And yet you are a bit shy that you HID this talent of your away from him.

"U-um..."

"Am I right? Am I right?"

"..."

Your eyes feel like spiraling out of control, he was close to you and yet you feel like sweating bullets.

Feeling defeated.... "Yes...I wrote that book."

"YES! So I was ri-wait...."

Then all of a sudden Horropedia goes closer to you suddenly feeling the rush of excitement.

"Does that mean...The other books that I read that has that unknown author...was you right?"

"Y-yeah...?"

"And your word building was yours right?"

"..."

"And your signature is..."

"Yeap... I wrote it."

Then you show Horropedia the real proof that you are typing horror novels, the word building you poured in on typing, and and quickly reads the computer file you have been typing. He soon stares at you in silence before you know it.

And for a quick second he lifts you in his arms and spin around with you, he was holding you closer to him and he was extremely excited, you can feel his head nuzzling to yours.

"MY BEST FRIEND IS THE BEST! I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT I HAD MEET A BEAUTIFUL CRUSH AS YOU! Please... let me kiss you!"

"?!"

"!!!"

All of a sudden Horropedia gently place you down and looked away, stunned at his sudden actions. When you got a bit closer to him, he was a blushing mess. His eyes gaze at the floor embarrassed, "Did I... I did just say that.... I-I mean..."

"Joshua..."

"!!!"

He turns to look at you , a blushing mess before you paused for a second before you walk closer to him. He was a stammering mess and soon averts his eyes away.

"I..I..."

"...Please... look at me."

He looks at you and soon, stares at you with pleading eyes.

"You did saw and entered my office without me knowing."

"Y-Yeah I did... sorry..."

"But..."

"?"

"Since you read my novels, what will you give me?"

Horropedia felt a bit guilty when you ask him that question, "You said "Let me kiss you..."... right?" You said as he froze knowing that he is ready for the worse... and yet...

"Please.... kiss me?"

Horropedia looked in shocked before, gently holding your hand before leaning closer to your face. "Are you sure... I can kiss you?" He said as you nodded at his question, pulling him closer to you.

Feeling his lips feels like heaven.

It felt like time has stopped, and when you pull away to look at his reaction...

Horropedia was a blushing mess.

"(y-y/n)..."

"A fair trade I say huh Horropedia~?"

"..."

He was speechless before he gives you another kiss, "I....love you so much..." That is all the words he says.

The rest felt so romantic.

[lensman-arms-race]

As a request for a fic - I'd love to see something from TTV's POV after the episode 47 incident. The feeling of agony (faces have the most pain receptors out of anywhere on the body, and since TV screens are so fragile, I imagine they'd be very susceptible to pain too) both physically and mentally.

If we look at Sabre's POV for something to go by as to how TV's teleport, they seem to go through some sort of different dimension, and re-emerge where they intend to go to. Some angst involving TTV making his way to the TV base and feeling hurt and worthless at not being able to disinfect TSpeaker and dumb at falling for the trap and enraged at being so close to killing GT would hit SO hard!

If you're up to writing it, maybe there's some fluff evolving the other TV's when he lands in the repair bay. Maybe Polycephalies appears and drops the jokey demeanour for once and comforts TTV (similar to how he comforts Phaeton in Catastrophic Mission Failure).

[Don't feel forced to do this! Writing fics take a LOT of time and I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to sink too much time into a fan request and not something you thought of.0

Oh hell yes, this is definitely going on the list! I have actually been wanting to write some post-47 stuff for aaages and I have a few draft notes that I've never been sure how to continue. I even had the same idea as you regarding Polycephaly.

Ah, this is making me feel inspired knowing someone else wants to read this.

[juliusxxxxxx]

Days later and I'm still thinking so much about THT like an actual life altering experience and I know rereading it all will ruin my week but I miss them man

Curious though, was there anything you had to cut out or that you wanted to add in or didn't cause it just couldn't fit ? :0

Oh yes… I’ve cut off at least 50k words from it because of rewriting or thinking they don't fit within the story.

Some of them I still keep in my Google doc like this one (its only a draft please bear with me)

It’s intended for chp 29 I think, directly after B’s pov.

“Ha. That’s better.” He said cheerfully. “That’s the mom I know growing up.”

Mother didn't say another word.

“What, does it make you sentimental?” He followed. “Great Sisters! Kids grow up so fast, aren't we? Especially him. I can't even imagine storming off like that a couple months ago. Well, maybe it’s because he was still in a wheelchair.”

“You are not much older than him, either.” Mother let out another sigh. Their weariness started showing little by little as each word was being spoken. “Stop acting like you are a grown-up, Bdub. You still can't do shit for me.”

“I’m trying!” Bdub argued. “But I always feel like he's going to stay this way no matter how old he gets. Maybe he’ll be a crippling old man but he will still be naïve and impulsive like how he is now.”

“I don't think…” Said his Mother, halting their hand when flipping through a page in their report, “he will ever grow old. People like him don't live a long life, unlike someone like you.”

“Ouch, Mom!” Bdub held his chest. “He did all of that because it was you who he’s helping. I don't think he’ll do the same thing for anyone else. Not me, not dad, no one.”

“And you wonder why I still give him tasks, even in his current state.” Mother flipped to another page.

“Based on my analysis,” said Bdub, raising his eyes a little, “hunting down a spy or two in Atlantis can't change anything for us. Plus, it clearly put a strain on him. Both mentally and physically.”

“What else can I do?” They wrote down some notes on the report without bowing him an eye. “If I don't let him kill someone for me he's going to lose his mind.”

“He’s already half-crazy.” Bdub quickly glanced over the note they were taking. “It’s not 007. It’s 001.”

“Oh. Thanks.” They quickly crossed out the original writing. Then, they dropped the fountain pen. “Am I a bad mother, Bdub?”

“Uh…” Bdub scratched his neck.

It’s making him uncomfortable.

“I know I'm a terrible partner already.” They continued. “Or maybe I never truly understood what Etho was thinking. I just want to know if I'm a good mother at least.”

“You are…a good high-priestess?” He thought really hard, trying to comfort Mother.

“These fucking temples are in ruin!” Mother laughed loudly like how they used to. “I’m not a good priestess.”

“A good general?”

“Look at Atlantis!” Mother swang their arm toward the glass dial behind them. “You think I'm a good general? Really?”

“It’s not…all your fault. It’s the higher-ups that won't listen to you—”

“It doesn't matter. My people are going to blame me for it.” Mother cut him off. “You know I'm right. You are the smart one, Bdub. Just tell me the truth. Am I a good mother or not?”

“I think…” Bdub held his chin. “I think you are definitely trying.”

“Well then. Tell me how I can improve, my future chief operative…since the last one just ditched me.”

“You are just way too overprotective.” He said quickly. He was a bit nervous, which he felt ashamed of. “And a bit too stressful to be around.”

“Overprotective? Me?” Mother laughed again. “Who’s going to send their kids to the war like I do?”

“Because,” he uttered, holding his hands together underneath the table, “that’s what you thought is the best for us. But mom—”

“Just call me Cleo.” Mother gave him a genuine smile. It was rare. He hadn’t seen anything like that for years. “You are too old for that.”

“Alright, Cleo.” He grinned. “But Cleo…The kids are going to try to find their own way sooner or later. If you never give him the chance, someday he's going to get tired of the poison you give him and shoot you in the head.”

I didn't include this part in because I didn't know how to elaborate on that. There's also a part when the pair talks about the concept of masculinity but I rather make it to be a lurking theme.

[totallynotthedarkreunion]

How would genderbent wammy 's boys be in your opinion.

Im so mad bc I keep like starting to write and then forgetting to save it to my drafts and then I have to write it all over again but anyways

I did talk about Mello here but I'll talk about the others here just for you honey bunny

Now note that I don't think any of their personalities would change very much at all, mostly just behavioral things because their environments would be slightly different. Break because I'm gonna write a lot

For Near, I don't think Wammy's house is going to separate boys and girls at all and whoever's running that whole detective system thingy within wammy's is pretty objective to anything and just focuses on intelligence but if Near has to get approval or work with any outside agencies or organization I imagine he's going to have to work harder. Near is like a natural talent, and of course he does work but he's also like a natural genius, so here I'd like to apply to him the Burnt Out Gifted Kid Effect™. Near wouldn't have to work as hard under Wammy's management but he would for other organizations in order to get approval and gain his title, and I believe this would lead to lethargy in his case. Me personally, when I'm made to work harder than I usually do I'm more prone to procrastinating and lazing around and I think he would too. He might also be more prone to stress and anxiety -- growing up as a teenage girl while also trying to be the greatest detective in the world is like if Life came at you with two giant hammers and just smashed you into the ground.

Both L and Near would be referred to as "he" under anonymity (remember how the task force just automatically assumed the second Kira was a he? Yeah).

For L I think more socially -- he might have similar struggles to Mello and Near in terms of detective work but unlike Mello and Near, we have seen him in a very social setting (To-oh) so I'd like to address that more with him even if he's not really all that social. Not sure if you've noticed, you probably have, but most of the girls at To-oh were wearing skirts, so L would already be more of an outlier than he is anyway. It would be difficult for him to sit the way he does with a skirt on. Additionally L is very hygienic but he obviously has body hair (not that it's not hygienic but some people do see it that way) and i dont think he would shave because Watari already does all the other shit and he thinks it's functionally unnecessary. So imagine someone sees that and how different it would be as a female vs male. That and many of his other behaviors.

L generally isn't taken seriously but I think if he were female that would intensify. Especially with Light, who would probably think something like "There's no way L is a wOmAn" and he'd probably take it as a much more major offense when L wins a round of their mental murder chess. Also if we're thinking meta, he might even be sexualized in the canon sources, and Near as well. Mello would just definitely be sexualized there's no questioning it.

Matt would be essentially the same. I can't say too much because nobody knows too much about him. If it were up to me, and it is, Matt would have body issues and be a raging lesbian and that's about it. He probably would also get the shit bullied out of him while online gaming and Mello threatens to find people's houses and blow them up.

[sofiadragon]

for Va'pak; Uzhau,

how did you get the idea for it? like it's so well thought out, in the writing style, and it feels so intelligently written, and you come out with an update pretty quick, for a fic like this. i just wanna know, like, what do you think when you're writing? oh yeah and it's a bloody fantastic fic btw

Two ideas started this fanfic:

Vulcans require mental bonds. Being without them is like sensory deprivation. Any surviving orphans would be at massively high risk for self harm or other mental health issues.

Spock and Jim in Iowa. (All elaboration redacted for spoilers.)

I wrote chapter 5 first. It built from there. My fix-it for the odd characterization choices in ST09 with Jim being a felon got added. The Vran from my other story gets a cameo. I like worldbuilding so mostly my stories build up either from "How do I explain [canon thing] and how does that explanation effect other stuff?" Example: Season 1 of TOS says Vulcan has very little free sodium salt, with what a human would consider "freshwater" oceans even if the evaporation rate would make it very mineral rich/hard water. The fannon about Vulcan food being bland to humans would therefore be because there is no salt in the seasoning, meanwhile Vulcans think human food is way too salty! Both species agree on sweets, with strawberries and cream on toast with nuts being a canon Vulcan breakfast served family style!

The other way I worldbuild is more "out of whole cloth, but color-matched to canon." My Jotenheim story is mostly this. I look at the overall framing and details and extrapolate, then build on that extrapolation until I have a complete living culture. Spock has a statue of a death god in a little meditation area of his room. Even as XO, the cabin space on a ship is at a premium. He loses almost all his storage space in the living area to have this instead. It is no great leap to say it is wildly important to him that he have this connection to his culture and religion. That alter means that much to him. Oh, he's wild, out of pocket, sassy, and indulgent at times, but he says his prayers and observes the holy days like a good boy when he's done. At least for his family, we can be sure this is a huge part of their lives... but what is that religion like? What does it say? What can I reverse engineer from canon and what can I make up to fill the voids? Then: how does that impact the story.

As for update speed and quality? Behold:

Never post the last thing you have written unless it is the end. Always have at least one more drafted and some kind of outline or plan before publishing fanfic. I use Scrivener so I have a place for a synopsis for each of these "pages" and you know what? Some of them move. I've taken 5k words and shuffled them like a deck of cards in some of my drafts because after writing it all I realized the story would work better otherwise than how it was.

My first drafts are quite rough, messy grammar and dialog that perfectly fits the "he wouldn't say that" meme.

I just keep on working it until it works out. I've been writing fanfiction since the late 1990's, and I do my best not to rush it.

[thechaoscryptid]

🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity

(ask me writer questions!)

I love this question! I have many thoughts on this and I'll try to make them coherent lmao. I'm pulling out my writing books for this too because in Gentle Writing Advice (pg. 199), Chuck Wendig pretty well summarizes my thoughts:

And therein lies the secret: Writer's block isn't all that bad. Because, if you really think about it, writer's block is sometimes like a warning light letting you know something is off. It is a tremor in the spider's web, or an ill wind blowing. It's doing us a service, as bad as it might feel. Think of writer's block as the voice of your intestinal flora, the choir of hypersentient bacteria in your gut that provides the insight of instinct. You can ignore them and push on - that's okay, too, as long as you fix in edit - and there's also nothing to say our instincts are uinversally correct. [...] My process in this regard needn't be your process: certainly there's value to mashing the accelerator and driving that machine as fast as you can till the thing either gets you over the finish line or explodes in a fiery ball before tumbling down a plot hole big enough to swallow Central Park. You can always fix it in subsequent drafts. The point stands, though, that writer's block isn't necessarily all bad. There's gold in them thar hills. The question is whether or not you can dig for it.

I think writer's block is unfairly maligned. That's my hot take on it. We should spend less time boohooing the fact we're blocked and more time figuring out why it's happening.

Throughout the above book, Wendig talks a lot about the writing process and how your life outside of writing relates to it, and there's also a great section that basically boils down to "block or breakdown," in which he posits that some of what writers consider "creative block" is actually something more serious (mental or physical illness, weird/wrong environment, etc).

Writer's block is my sign to check in with myself on both a writing and personal level to ask what's gone sideways. Sometimes I can push through it with an extra coffee and a little effort. More often, it's my sign to rest, chill out, cool my jets. Take a break for once.

In the same vein, low creativity!

AWFUL thing to experience. Terrible! The worst! There are fewer things I hate more than the times my creative well has turned to sludge and writing is a fucking slog.

And, like writer's block, realizing my well is running dry is a signal for me to stop, step back, and reassess.

I've actually been struggling really hard with both block and being creatively dry for like, four months now. I've been writing fuck all except 100 words of BG3 fic at a time on work breaks, and it's been rough.

What I have been doing?

Reading. A lot of reading, and analyzing style/structure/characterization to figure out what new elements I might be able to incorporate to a new creative project. I've been reading fantasy, sci-fi, classics, writing books, other nonfiction, books on myths - I'm really chewing through titles 😅

Resting. Not forcing myself to sit down and work on projects. I've actually avoided working on writing projects even on days I feel like I can or want to write.

Other creatively involved work. I've been cooking and baking more, as well as doing a lot of zine admin work. Shit that involves creative projects but doesn't necessarily involve creativity. I looooove creative-adjacent work for low creativity times!

Redoing old work. I'm talking like, rewriting and editing 5+ year old work from the ground up. You already have the raw material, and this is an easy, low-pressure way to get back in the saddle OR just keep those writing muscles limber (but also, you canNOT beat yourself up about "oh I was so bad how did anyone ever like this" that's not allowed).

Not putting pressure on myself to perform. This is a huge cause of creativity issues for me, ngl. But over the past two years or so, I've really been working hard at just allowing myself to create at my own pace. I feel, especially in fandom, people feel obligated to churn out content as quick as they can lest they get ignored and forgotten; learning to break out of that "gotta go fast" mentality has done WONDERS for not draining me as quickly, even if it still feels shitty to see more popular writers dropping a new 15k fic every week.

Slowly but surely, my creative well is refilling. My blocks are becoming fewer and farther between and when they do hit, I'm better prepared to know if it's something I can push through and fix later OR if it's something I really do need to sit back and consider.

So yeah!

I guess TL;DR my advice is basically (though easier said than done, I will admit):

Know thyself and thy limits

Step back, get your head clear, and assess

Do non-writing creative work that sparks joy

Remove yourself from the comparison game

[spacegoathours]

gonna ramble about calnr below the cut

bc I’m BORED and this is MY blog I do what I WANT

TW for self-harm, I think. I am not nice to my girl

edit: i sat on this for days and it’s long and stupid but i’m sick of seeing it in my drafts. every day i strive to be worse than the last ✌🏼✨

since I am the worst at writing, and really not creative overall, I struggle with stepping outside of the few things I’ve drawn which range from generic cutesy things to angsty AF

at some point I’m gonna have to suck it up and make sense of their relationship, why it’s even necessary for both of them, and what the endgame is. is this just for funsies and doesn’t matter? yes. is my brain not going to leave me alone until I make sense of everything? also yes.

like. ok. we can assume that Lard Nar has dealt with a lot of loss. he lost his home first and foremost, but it can also be assumed that he’s lost a lot of loved ones, family and friends and so on, either by imprisonment or death by Irken hand. this makes him not only opposed to commitment for fear of losing someone but especially opposed to commitment to an Irken.

at the same time we like to think that Lard Nar sees past how Irkens tend to be on the surface and understands that they’re just victims of Irken society, this awful propaganda that turns what could be free-thinking individuals into single-minded drones privy to violence and hatred of other alien races.

he knows deep down that Callie is good because she saved him during the Vort disaster. that’s highly unusual Irken behavior and the act sticks with him years down the line, even after watching as his planet got conquered and his family imprisoned. so the two views go back and forth in his mind, i guess.

obviously trusting Callie in the end is what happens since they do, eventually, have some sort of complicated relationship. once he opens up to her, that fear of losing her just like he lost everyone else becomes super exasperated, now that he’s let Callie be someone important to him.

this really sucks for him because Callie is fiercely independent and leaves the Resisty ship often. each time is either quietly leaving without anyone knowing or getting very angry and leaving, never with the intent to come back. she just wants to be left alone at first.

(tw implied self-harm below)

Callie gets into a lot of trouble while away from the Resisty. the story I keep trying to tell with her is dark; she hates herself, a lot, has no sense of self-preservation and comes back fucked up every time. most of the time she’s found by the Resisty and they have to bring her back to health again.

her background of like… forced to train hard as hell to become a top elite next to miyuki and never wanting that future, having to escape her home planet because she would have been killed otherwise, actually being killed painfully after finally finding what felt like home, waking up in a body that isn’t hers and another Irken’s mind battling with her own, and by this point assuming that the Resisty just wants to use her because she could potentially be a huge threat to the Empire…

this girl’s mental state is bad by the end of it all.

and actually, most of the Resisty hates her at first, which doesn’t help. they just got done trusting an Irken who betrayed them and nearly got them all killed (Nyx). but their captain feels that he owes Callie, she saved his life after all so many years ago, so he saves hers in the only opportunity that arises to make it possible. so the rest kinda have to deal.

after some time goes by, Lard Nar realizes that he’s gone from “ok I have returned the favor my work here is done” to “fuck I really care about you please stop hurting yourself like this”. and he does see Callie as a potential asset to their cause at first, but doesn’t press the subject. after he realizes oh fuck I have feelings for this Irken he drops the idea from his mind entirely; he just wants her to be okay. Callie, seeing no future for herself, has no interest in joining the Resisty or being in any sort of relationship.

Eventually she comes around after slowly realizing that the Resisty has 1.) learned to trust her after Nyx’s personality is fully gone and they spend more time getting to know her true self and her history and 2.) saved her time and time again without expecting anything in return, proving that they actually do care. her mental state starts to improve slowly but surely.

Callie officially joins the Resisty and goes on missions with them. somewhere in this part of the story is where she realizes how much she cares about Lard Nar in return. but emotions are very confusing for Irkens, especially those surrounding romantic feelings, so Callie doesn’t know what to do half the time. she’ll go to Laksa like “hey Nar brought me flowers from a nearby planet and asked if I needed anything while I’m stuck in the med bay and it made me feel weird what does this mean” and Laksa will be like ROLLS EYES.

this girl stubborn AF and when she understands what she’s feeling for Lard Nar is love, she’s in denial about it. her??? with a Vortian???? that’s wrong!!! it’s not, but the things you’re taught on Irk take some time to unlearn. anything between them is kept in private and even though she thinks she has their relationship under wraps, the rest of the Resisty is like “oh wow sweet gossip” and they are very aware lol.

there is a mission at some point where some Irken enforcers capture Lard Nar and keep him imprisoned for a while, and Callie rips through the prison’s guards like they are nothing to save him, and at this point she doesn’t care what people think anymore. when she saved him and some other scientists the first time on Vort she didn’t think much of it, it was just the right thing to do and she took hold of the opportunity. this time she’d stop at nothing to make sure he’s safe, even if that means murdering a ton of Irken guards, going very much against her own ideals.

the two become highly protective of each other and intermittently co-dependent because of their different traumas surrounding loss. I don’t think this makes for the healthiest relationship - sometimes one or the other will realize they’re being clingy and pull back for fear of getting hurt. it probably takes them a very long time to get to a point where the fear of losing the other becomes less important than the desire to be together.

also like…this takes a while. you can’t erase the past, and the reality is that Irkens and Vortians have a very strained relationship with each other. Lard Nar occasionally gets a sinking feeling in his gut when he’s around Callie, remembering the history surrounding the broken alliance. This is an Irken who can choose to betray his trust at any moment, and it’s not like it hasn’t happened to him personally. Callie, being on the “winning” side between the two, feels overwhelming guilt and often feels like she doesn’t deserve to be with Lard Nar because of what the Irkens - her people - have done to him.

I think I want them to have a happy ending where they can overcome their pasts, but ugh. I sure do view the IZ universe and timeline as very dark and awful and sure do love putting characters thru the horrors.

like I said before I’m bad at writing and there are a lot of elements here I want to include, which is why this ended up so lengthy, but some probably contradict others!! it’s just a string of thoughts though, so take it all with a grain of salt I guess. eventually I’ll simplify things which would make it easier to come up with ideas for writing/drawing. or just do whatever. whenever. this is literally just textbook “I want to shove my OC into every aspect of canon because I need to live” fuck it we ball

umm anyway how’d this get so fucking long. if you made it this far why did you do that. goodnight

[idyllicbarb]

Intentions

SUMMARY: He’s the next quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals, his family believes a wife will make his image look picture perfect. Your family wants you to get marry before you hit twenty-five, it’s the best match!

WARNINGS: kissing, cussing, angst, dirty talk, small smut, etc

NOTE: this is set in a covid free world + you and joe’s parents are evil in this book sorry!

“I have to get married? That’s bullshit!”

“Joseph Lee Burrow, you watch your goddamn mouth.”

Joe rolls his eyes before storming out of his family house to his Porsche. His parents just told him he has to get married before being drafted into the NFL. They want Joe’s image to be picture-perfect. Joe doesn’t get it, since he’s so young, just graduated college and finally getting a taste of adult-life.

You on the other hand, were dealing with parents who want you to also get married so early. Your parents got married soon as they hit college, but you’re not them. You didn’t want to be like your parents.

“I’ve found the perfect husband for you.” Your mother announces, you peer your eyes in her direction in irritation. What even is a perfect husband?

“He can’t be a perfect husband, mother. Nobody on this earth is perfect.” You roll your eyes putting your attention back on the movie you put on for your younger siblings.

“Non-sense, sweetheart. You’ll meet him at the event we have to attend as a family for a close friend of your father and I.” Your mother states before walking away leaving you to skull in silence. There’s no way that being a wife so early to a man who is nine times out of ten— a control freak is your new reality.

Groaning, you walk upstairs to your childhood bedroom and slam the door as hard as you can. “Don’t you be slamming anything in my house, missy!” You hear your father yell from the stairs.

You flop on your bed, “Fuck my life.”

It’s the day of the event. Which means you’re meeting your soon to be husband, the word husband rolling off your tongue makes you want to puke.

You’re standing in front of your mirror looking over your outfit for the tenth time. You didn’t want to walk out that door and meet somebody who’ll probably hurt you more than you’ve ever been in your life.

Your mother leans against your door with a smile on her face, “Look at you. Dressed as a young lady should be, are you ready?”

“Yes,” You grab your belongings and head towards the door before your mother grabs your wrist lightly. “Don’t mess up our family’s reputation, do you understand me?”

You tilt your head and laugh in annoyance before aggressively pulling your wrist away from your mother, “You care more about this family “reputation”, more than you care about how forcing me to marry early is affecting my mental health. Pathetic.”

Walking off to the family car, you huff and relax your shoulders. You were just now realizing today’s going to be a long day.

Joe was re-fixing the clothes his dad laid out for him. It’s stupid, getting married early. What if the woman is already in a relationship? What if Joe doesn’t get along with whoever this young lady is. So many questions with no answers is starting to tick Joe off.

“My precious son! Oh you look handsome, she’s going to love you!” Robin, Joe’s mother, squeals before giving him a big hug. Joe smile doesn’t match his eyes, he could never disappoint his mother.

“Thanks mom.”

“You seem nervous.”

“Pfft. Me? Nervous? Never.”

“Joseph. I know you, you’re my son. You’re nervous about today.”

Joe turns to look at his mother, “Only nervous because I don’t know this woman nor her family and this could go wrong quickly.”

“How can things possibly go wrong?”

“I’m probably not her type. She’ll probably think I’m some kind of slut when finding out that I’m thee LSU Quarterback. The woman probably doesn’t even want to get married, mom. We’re both young.” Joe explains before sitting down on his bed and playing with his bracelets.

“Your father thinks it’s for the best. I wish I could do more, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” Joe’s mother says before kissing his forehead and leaving him alone in his thoughts.

“Joe! Get down here now boy, our event is starting.” Joe’s father yells and Joe groans loudly. Reality’s starting to kick in.

Your family arrives a few minutes late, there’s plenty of cars outside the gigantic house. Your nerves start to kick in, any minute you’ll be meeting the man who is suppose to be your husband. Not paying any attention, the car door opens and you look up in startled.

“Now’s not the time to be acting delayed, Y/N.” Your father says harshly. You roll your eyes before stepping out the vehicle and fixing your clothing.

“I’m not acting delayed, I don’t want to be here putting on a front. Trust, I’m just as annoyed as you are, father.” You shoot back before walking side to side with your mother up the large stairs to the front door.

A few people greet your parents as you give a smile and wave, not knowing who any of these people are. You realize, you don’t know what your parents do outside of work. Whatever it is, it landed them to forcing you to marry a rich man with parents who are evil.

The door opens and you’re met with an older man whose wearing a suit. He looks familiar but you can’t figure out why, “Angie! Good to see you again. This must be Y/N. Your Prince Charming has been waiting for your arrival.”

You laugh, not really liking the joke. But of course, you can’t disappoint your parents. You and your mother step inside the house, “Why yes, it’s lovely to see you again as well, Jim. My husband is getting our other kids out the car, is Joe ready to meet Y/N?”

Joe? Your eyes squint around the house, looking at all the purple and yellow decorations. No, this cannot be who you’re thinking it is.

“Yes. He’s helping out in the back, we should all walk out there.” Jim suggests before looking your way, you nod and send Jim a smile before heading out to the backyard.

You stop in your tracks when you see the one and only, Joe Burrow. Yes, the same man who is LSU’s savior and predicted to be drafted in the NFL. No, he can’t be the man your parents want you to marry.

Jim calls Joe over, he pats Joe’s large shoulders before pointing over at you, “Son, this is your soon to be wife, Y/N.” Joe looks over at you and you almost feel your knees give out.

“Nice to meet you,” You say first holding your hand out for Joe to shake, in which he does but only for a short minute. After, you turn your eyes towards your mother she smiles at you.

“Well, we’ll leave you two to it, right Angie?” Jim says and your mother says something before walking off but you’ve muted her in your head. Joe stares in the direction of his dad for a bit before looking over at you.

You feel his eyes on you, “What?”

“You’re not going to say anything?”

“What is there for me to say?” You roll your eyes, already irritated by the heat and by this whole situation.

“No need to be rude, I just wanted to know you, well, I have to know you. Since you’re going to be my future wife.” Joe says putting on his famous Cartier glasses.

“Why would I be impressed of being the wife of a NFL quarterback? You’re going to have other women on you anyways.” You state before walking back inside the house to get some shade. Not even bothered enough to see if Joe has followed you inside, you go to find the bathroom to fix yourself.

Closing the door behind you, you stare at yourself in the mirror. “This can’t be my fucking life,” you mumbled under your breath. Fixing your appearance up, you head out the bathroom to come in contact with your father.

“How’s things going with you and Joesph?”

“I think you and mother have very low expectations of me. I will not be a NFL wife, are you insane?” You question your father and he laughs at the expression that’s plastered on your face.

“Sweetheart, it’s for a good cause.” Your dad says, attempting to reassure you.

“What exactly would that good cause be? I am so much more than a future wife of a NFL quarterback who is cheating on her.” You cross your arms in frustration, not realizing that Joe can hear your entire conversation from only a few feet away.

“Y/N.. how do I put it like this? It doesn’t matter what you think! It never once did, don’t ruin what your mother and I built for this family. Understood young lady? ‘Cause I could care a goddamn less about how you feel about things you’re creating in that mine of yours.” Your dad says lowly while staring directly into your eyes.

Your lips tremble as if you’re six years old again, you walk off down the hall so nobody will have to see the tears fall down your face. Joe turns his eyes when your father walks inside the kitchen, maybe now he sees as to why you’re upset. Joe doesn’t want you to be unhappy while he’s having a time of his life on the field. Your parents basically want you to be a stay at home wife.

Joe walks out of the kitchen in attempt to get his dad to cancel this whole ordeal.

“That I cannot do.” Jim says with a cigar lightly hanging out his mouth.

“Why is that?”

“Both parties involved already agreed to everything being set in place. You two get married and you have the best NFL career ever.” Jim says before taking a puff out of his cigar.

“This isn’t something that I want, dad.” Joe says gaining a laugh from his father.

“Quite frankly Joseph? I don’t give a damn about what you want. This is for our family and Y/N’s family. You and her can try to reason with us all you want, but ain’t not a got damn thing changing. Clear?” Jim tells his son before standing up out his office chair.

“Now, you get out of here and get that young lady to act like a wife to you boy! Quit trying to act different, I raised you better than this, Joseph.” Joe’s dad says before closing his office door on his son.

“Fuck it,” Joe says under his breath before walking off to find you. He has an idea in mind, only if you can cooperate with him.

You’re back outside standing off to the side scrolling through whatever TikTok you find amusing when a shadow stands in front of you. Turning off your phone, you see Joe smile, and it’s the kind of smile that you didn’t know you needed to see. Though his charming ways still don’t rub off on you in a good light.

“Yes, Mr. Burrow?” You question with a fake smile across your face. Joe feels himself almost go hard at you saying his name last but plays it off.

“I have an idea, only if you’re willing to listen.”

“Hm, maybe I am.”

Trying to take Joe serious as you sit in his Star Wars’ childhood bedroom is getting difficult. Cute to see that he’s never changed his room. He notices your small smile, “What’s so funny?”

“I think it’s adorable that your room is Star Wars themed.”

“Adorable? I bet your room is Dora or some shit.” He mutters sitting down in his gamer chair.

“It’s actually Princess and The Frog.”

“You look like a frog.”

“You look like Chewbacca.”

“Take that back!”

You stand up getting in the face of Joe, “Make me.”

“I wouldn’t say those words if I was you, not while being in my room with the doors closed and locked.” Joe smirks seeing you slowly back away, he gets up grabbing your arm softly pulling you into him.

“What’s the matter? You scared?” Joe teases.

“Never scared, I said make me, Burrow.” You shoot him a sinister grin not realizing what’s in store for you. Before you know it, Joe has you bent over his lap with your skirt down to your ankles.

“I should spank you, do you want that?”

“No..” You whimper feeling Joe trail his finger up and down your nicely shaved legs.

“Seems like it. You’ve been mean to me up until now, that’s not fair.” You put your head down only for Joe to lift it back up.

“I’ll be good to you.”

“You promise me?” Joe asks leaning closer to your lips, planting a small kiss on them before pulling back.

“Yes I promise.. kiss me again please.” You request, closing your eyes when feeling his soft plump lips on yours. It seems as if you’re in Heaven.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now, but you’d have to cover your moans and I don’t want that, mama.” Joe says pulling you up on his lap, your skirt still around your ankles.

“Maybe we can.. sixty nine?” You suggest, seeing Joe’s eyes go directly to lust. He takes his pants and shoes off in an instant, grabbing your hips placing your head directly towards his crotch area.

“I’m pretty big, just saying.” Joe brags before pulling down your panties slowly.

“I can handle you, trust.” You shoot back, squeezing his dick softly.

You don’t give Joe enough time to reply, because your mouth is already on his balls, taking them one at a night. Joe mumbles, “Fuck,” under his breath before kissing around your mound.

You both moan at the pleasure that you two are giving each other right now. Never did you think this day would involve you getting ate out from the back, and boy was Joe doing a damn good job.

You were still not giving his dick any attention, attempting to tease him but it didn’t work. Not while he’s leaving kisses on your pussy, making your hips buckle in response.

You finally move your mouth towards his dick, trailing your tongue up and down causing Joe to shiver in response. Him moaning on your pussy makes you do the same, you take Joe slowly, trying to get used to his massive size. He at some points hits the back of your throat while tears roll down your face, but you don’t care.

Gagging on Joe’s dick made you feel proud, you didn’t know why. Maybe it’s because of the way Joe’s moaning your name right now or how you can feel him about to cum in your mouth.

Joe stops eating you out, catching his breath, “Do you want to cum at the same time?” He asks and you give him a thumbs up, too busy in trying to him nut. Which Joe grunts under his breath before putting his mouth back on your pussy.

It doesn’t take that long before Joe’s cum is shooting inside of your throat and you’re leaving a wet mess all over Joe’s face. Swallowing all of his load, you turn to see Joe licking up everything you gave him. He sends you a shit eating grin, you slowly get off Joe, not until he’s pulling you into his side.

“You were right.” Joe blurts out after a minute of quietness. You hum in response, too lazy to actually open your mouth.

“You can handle me.”

You giggle before turning your head to see Joe already staring into you. Leaning down, he plants a small kiss on your lips.

“We can nap for a while, they probably won’t care.” Joe says rubbing your arm and you nod your head before tucking yourself into Joe, falling into a blissful nap.

It’s an hour later, you and Joe have rejoined the party. Fixing yourself up the best you could, your mother noticed something off about you, but she’s ignoring it.

You were currently grabbing yourself a drink when Joe slowly creeps up behind you, “Hey mama.”

You turn your head, giving Joe a meaningful smile this time. Kissing his lips softly, “Hi.”

“Our parents want to speak to the both of us.” Joe says before grabbing your hand and walking you over to where your parents are standing.

“Joe and Y/N! It’s great to see that you two have rejoined us.” Robin, Joe’s mother says with a smile on your face.

“Sorry, we got carried away with watching a movie in my room.” Joe tells his mother, not being able to look her in the eyes. You hide the laugh that wants to spill from your mouth.

“Well, it seems as if you two get along just well, right?” Your mother asks you, staring into you so that you won’t say a stupid response.

“Yes, we do. She means a lot to me, and I’m happy that you four set this up for us to meet.” Joe pulls you into his chest, you nod your head smiling at you and Joe’s parents. Yeah, this being your new reality doesn’t seem bad. Well, it doesn’t seem bad for you and Joe. You and his parents have no idea for what’s in store for them come draft season.

[nctstar]

(un) blocked

yongie ♡ hi sweetie. coming tomorrow?

pairing: boyfriend!taeyong x fem!reader

other members: mention of nct and doyoung 

word count: 2.2k

genre: romance, angst, fluff

warnings: reader’s mental health is not great, mention of the vaccine once 

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my imagination. I do not know the nct members and do not claim that they act like this in real life. I also do not condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic.

a/n: this has been in my drafts for ages just because I wrote this when I was really upset, so it’s just really self-indulgent :) I hope you like it anyway <3 Also, if you’ve been feeling like the reader lately I truly feel you and have so much love for you. My dms are always open if you want to talk. 

You thanked your driver before stepping out of the Uber, the cold wind brushing your face and your bare calves under your black midi dress, a reminder of where you were headed.

Date night.

You hadn’t been here for a while. For the past month, you were busy madly studying for finals, while he was busy with countless schedules. Top that with a generous bout of exhaustion from the both of you, and it was inevitable that neither of you would object to postponing week after week.  

But then your eyes travelled to Taeyong’s door, the steps leading up to it, the dying pot of flowers underneath the front room window, and a small flame of guilt lit up inside you, threatening to expand and overtake you as you remembered the conversation you had last night with Taeyong.

yongie ♡ hi sweetie. coming tomorrow?

You wouldn’t have noticed the message if it wasn’t for the fact that your phone lit up when he sent it, your notifications on for him and your parents only. The light broke through the darkness you were in, momentarily breaking you out of your restless nap. Lifting your head off the ground, you became aware of the myriad of tissues around you, the wet hem of the collar of your pajama top and the earbuds that had escaped your ears and were now digging into your stomach painfully. The reality of your situation came to light, and the emotions flooded through you, mercilessly, painfully. You tried to ignore them as best you could, telling yourself he deserved better.

you su

You stopped typing your response to rub your palm against your eyes, the welled-up tears blurring your vision horribly. You slapped your hand against your leg and pushed down, wanting to scream out. But the world was silent, and you had no right to disrupt that.

you of course! see you tomorrow baby

You felt pathetic. You knew that wasn’t enough. Scrolling up, amongst the few snaps you had sent him that he had replied to, ‘stunning’ ‘beautiful’ ‘gorgeous girl’, and the few he had sent of him and his bandmates that you had replied to, ‘cuties!’ ‘hahaha tell haechan thanks for making me laugh today <3’, there was an entire conversation. Your heart hurt at the sight of it, but you didn’t know whether you were happy or sad.

yongie ♡ owie I just got the booster shot and practiced too hard and now it huuurts ☹

you oh I’m sorry yongie ☹

yongie ♡ then kiss it better

you haha omg aren’t you busy rn though! :D

yongie ♡ don’t care. we haven’t seen each other in too long, I miss you

you I always miss you. but we both have stuff tomorrow, we can’t spend time with each other

you not right now anyway

you I mean unless

you you ditch your stuff and come watch me study XD

yongie ♡ not saying no to that. Let’s see how much you can study 😉

you you have no shame

yongie ♡ but you like me like that

yongie ♡ don’t you?

you wow what a charmer

you let’s see how much of that was all talk then

yongie ♡ deal. I’ll be 20 minutes max.

You couldn’t even finish reading, let alone send your reply.

yongie ♡ are you okay?

And there it was. Those three words that felt like a knife to the heart. You began to cry, this time forcing the tears out. A few drops fell onto the screen. Your hands shook. But you lied anyway.

you yeah. sorry, I was sleeping. Of course, I’ll be there, baby <3

You typed and retyped the heart a lot of times before deciding to send it. You tried to fool him like you fooled everyone else in your life – tired of opening up, explaining, only for people to not care.

He wasn’t convinced.

yongie ♡ you’ve just seemed a bit off lately.

Geez. It’s like he was watching you.

Before you could type in protest, he continued.

yongie ♡ you seem to have stopped opening up, love. you know you need to tell me if you’re upset. I want to help you, __.

Seeing your name made you want to throw up all of a sudden. You felt naked, exposed. And then you did a horrible thing.

You blocked him.

Taeyong opened the door before you could compose yourself, and your body felt like it was on a train that stopped suddenly. Thrown off guard randomly, with no way to stop you from stumbling, falling. And fall you did all over again every time you saw him standing there in the doorway.

He was truly so beautiful. His dark eyes stared back into you with something like excitement and love at the same time, and you wanted to melt into the ground like a wax candle. The stripy apron you’d seen about a million times before, wrapped around his body like an unbroken promise. The skin of his hands gleaming as he brought them together, and you remembered the times you had cradled them in yours.

You wondered why you were so quick to throw away something like that.

“I knew you’d come, baby. Hurry inside, it’s cold.”

So that’s what he was doing. Pretending like you didn’t just do that last night. You felt a false sense of relief, your brain running hot like your brother’s laptop as he played video games for hours. You realised you hadn’t thought this through at all.

Somehow you made it to dinner without a word. Your body bathed in the dim lights of his kitchen, you watched the ghost of you, dancing, smiling, laughing. Him bringing a spoon to your lips as you blew and tasted it. Kissing him, letting him drag your waist towards his. You two put made-up romance in movies to shame.

“I hope you like it. I made your favourite.”

It was your favourite. And because you were done being completely shameless, you opened your mouth to thank him when you heard it. That song.

“What’s your favourite song by us?”

“First of all, which unit, title track or b-side, and from what album?”

He laughed. “You are too silly. Fine, um,” he watched a few people go past the both of you, “the song you’ve been listening to the most recently.”

You itched to take out your playlist, but your brain worked fast. “Probably White Night. I love that song. And I watched the performance a few days ago and I must say, that Taeyong guy is quite the looker.”

He only smiled, which surprised you at the time. He stared at you for a while, and you remember you had awkwardly shied your eyes away, not knowing what was going on. “I really like that part too,” you tried to continue in hopes he would stop staring you down like that. “your face, your skin, your voice. Your part. I like the way you sing that part. It’s very pretty.”

Even though Taeyong was no longer staring, your cheeks flushed, suddenly aware of the distance, or lack thereof, between you two. You glance to your side carefully, noticing his faraway gaze on his lips. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and you felt the skin where his fingers brushed burn up. He leant in, and you closed your eyes in anticipation.

This time you closed your eyes to stop them from welling up. Blinking them open, you finally got the courage to look him in the eye, and your walls slipped just the slightest. “I-It’s that song. You remembered.”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I remember that day?” He smiled, poking at his plate of food.

“People don’t really seem to remember nowadays.”

And there it was.

“What do you mean? Are you upset with me?”

“No, not you. Never you.” Your voice was barely a decibel above a whisper but even he could hear the way your voice struggled on the never. “It’s just that,” you breathe out, and you couldn’t feel yourself breathe in again.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

You couldn’t help it. The tears came slowly, running down your face. Right eye first, then left. Stinging because of the makeup. You quickly flicked them away, praying he didn’t see something that was happening right in front of him.

He remained silent, but for once, you did not.

“I am so, so, so tired, Taeyong.” You felt something in you rush out all at once, like wild animals escaping after years of captivity. “I feel so overwhelmed, and lost, and confused. University is so hard, I can’t find work, and I only have one friend. That one friend talks to me all the time but I just can’t open up to her.”

You decided by then it was too late to save face, so you heaved in a huge sob.

“My childhood friends are closer to the friends they made in university than me. And that hurts me so much. That I’m their second choice. But I know it’s not their fault. I feel myself distancing from them every day, but I just can’t stop it.”

A tiny voice inside you screams, enough, enough, but you keep going. You know from nights spent crying for hours, mornings lying in bed feeling completely empty, walks you take with no direction or sense of time, that once you start, you cannot stop.

“Everyone asks me how I am, but they don’t care enough to listen to the answer. They don’t pick up on the signs. I don’t feel special or noticed anymore. I just feel so unlovable and alone. Everyone’s moved on with their own lives, leaving me behind. And I know this all sounds silly because,” your eyes found comfort in Taeyong’s soulful ones, “I have you.”

He’s stunned, understandably so. But he doesn’t remain silent.

“I’m so, so sorry, love.” You couldn’t remember when he had reached out, but you felt your hand in his. “It’s okay to feel that way, you know? People can feel lonely with heaps of people around them. Trust me, I know that feeling.”

You nodded, sniffling. “I just don’t know why it upsets me so much.”

“Maybe because you value deep connections. You need that to feel loved. And maybe you’ve been bottling it up for so long it just hurts more and more every day. I’m sorry that you didn’t feel safe enough to share that with anyone.”

“I mean,” you reached for a tissue and he pushed the box forward for you, “not anymore.” You laughed emptily.

Feeling the warmth of his hand, you became aware of the way your long nails were digging into this palm. You retracted immediately. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“There’s no need to apologise, love. Especially not for opening up.” You found the courage to look directly at Taeyong, and for a moment you felt your chest opening up, your heartbeat wiring down, your muscles un-tense under the glow of his reassuring gaze. For a second, everything felt good. Okay.

“Thank you.”

“That’s no problem. Do you want to use the bathroom, or do something else?”

“Well, I want to eat Taeyong’s cooking.” You let yourself breathe, chuckle gently. Taeyong smiled, looking embarrassed. “I have a confession to make. This is all Doyoung. I messed up the first time.”

This time you laughed for real, and the room no longer felt as heavy as it did before. “I’m flattered that not one, but two men were involved in date night.”

The smile that radiated across Taeyong’s perfect features was something that filled you with intense joy, and you remember thinking that you wanted to store it somewhere, in your pocket or in the small crevices of your locket so that you could capture that feeling forever.

It’s not like he was a cure, or that he solved your problems in any way. You knew that no one was capable of that but you, or, by some miracle that would shoot down from the sky. But you were glad he was always there, just him, his eyes seeing you – the real you without the weight of expectations that everyone else had placed on your already weary back. Making you tense and pull away even at the gentlest caress. You had many nights like the one that made you block Taeyong, but you also had many date nights like the one that had just passed.

“I’ve always wanted to ask,” you leant your head against Taeyong’s shoulder, “why do you keep that pot plant? It’s basically dead.”

“It’s not, love. It’s still alive. I water it when I can.”

You shuffled your head up to face him again. You could see the moonlight dancing across the ridge of his nose. “But why?”

He shrugged, looking out into the distance. “I just do.”

You were glad you had someone like Taeyong to even want to block in the first place. Someone who waters half-dead plants, someone who calls his best friend when he’s burnt his girlfriend’s food for date night. Someone who remembers the little things like the way your eyes light up when you talk about your favourite song, the way your hair falls across your face, the way you look before you finally burst into tears.

Someone you could never block in real life.

[giggly-squiggily]

Can you write something with Lee Giyu pls? ...pls

Oh goodness, this one’s been sitting in my drafts for awhile! My apologies for the delay! This was such a cute prompt! I’ve gotcha covered, anons!

Decided for the other Hashira to go with Sanemi for this one!

“Your boyfriend’s depressing me.”

You didn’t even need to look over. You reached out and shoved, Sanemi stumbling beside you at the force of your push. “Shut up, no he’s not.”

“Yes he is! Look at him, all gloomy and silent.” The Wind Hashira pressed, gesturing at the mentioned man. Giyu was in the background once more, looking out into the distance with that neutral, serious expression he always wore. “It’s our day off and he’s acting as if demons are gonna appear out of thin air!”

“Maybe they will- maybe he’s on a new level of awareness then the rest of us.” You mused, taking great satisfaction at the look he gave you. “It’s the middle of the day. In broad daylight. What demons are gonna show up here?”

“Spooky demons who eat annoying Hashira for running their mouths~” You teased, raising your arms and wiggling your fingers menacingly. It was Sanemi’s turn to shove you, the force of it much lighter than your own. “Really though- Tomioka’s been standing there all morning like this. What’s his deal?”

Even with all the bantering, you couldn’t deny his point. Giyu had been standoffish all morning- literally and metaphorically. At first you thought he was angry at you, but whenever you spoke, he never sounded so. Then you thought maybe he was uncomfortable with Sanemi being here- but again; whenever the Wind hashira and him spoke, he sounded fine. There was a definite gloominess to him today, but neither you nor Sanemi were the cause.

“I…don’t know. Should we ask him?” The two of you looked at Giyu, who was too preoccupied with whatever was going on mentally to notice. “Do you think he’d give us an answer?”

“You're his partner. You know him best- what do you think?” He asked, earning a glare from you. “Sorry-I meant that genuinely.” He corrected himself.

“I guess…no. He’s not good with direct confrontation. Especially with social confrontation.” You conceded, worrying at your lip. “What else is there to do? Tickle him?”

It was a silly thought. Both of you stopped.

…Well…

“Distract him.” You told Sanemi, a plan formed in mind. “Why do I have to do it?” He argued, even as he stretched his arms out. “Because he won’t expect it from you. If I do it, he’ll know something’s up.” You told him, scurrying away and distancing yourself from the pair.

In the distance, you watched as Sanemi approached your boyfriend, starting up a conversation. You bent down, putting your breathing style into work as you slowly crept your way over, fighting down the giggles.

“...so yeah, turns out using expired rice powder? Terrible idea. My mochi came out sour as hell! Mitsuri was less than pleased.” Sanemi was going on about his latest baking mishap, Giyu nodding along with each sentence. “Ah, I see. Okay.” He occasionally muttered. He would have been a great actor in a different life.

“Rengoku ate it though. God, his face- trying to watch him eat sour mochi really-” Sanemi winked at you. “-tickled me.”

“Why did you- pfft!” Giyu straightened upon feeling your hands on his sides, fingers wiggling into the stiff uniform and pressing rapidly up and down. Giyu pressed his arms down hard, teeth gritting with restraint as he fought down the giggles threatening to spill over. “(Y-(Y/N)! Why-” He huffed, voice wavering. “Why are you do-hoing this?”

“Oh, was that a giggle? You're starting to crack!” You teased, delighted at the growing smile forcing itself upon his lips. “Come on, babe. You know you wanna laugh!”

“I-ehehehe-No! Pfft! Ahehehehe! Wait! Wahahhahahit!” The dam broke. Giggles spilled out over his lips as you found all his tickle spots. “Ahehehahhahaha! (Y/N), stahahhahahahap iihihihihiit!”

“Hehe, you’re so ticklish, Giyu!” Sanemi snorted, grinning at the sight. Feeling bold, he reached out and grabbed Giyu’s hands when he reached for you, pulling them high. “I got him! Get his ribs!”

“Ahehehahhaha yohoohohohoohohu ahahahhhahahahhahass!” Giyu squealed out, his laughter increasing when you did just that, pressing into the spaces between each bone like you were playing a song. “Gahahhahahahaaha nohoohohoohohot the rihihiihihihihibs! Quhihihiihihihihihit ihiihihihihiihihihit!” He laughed helplessly beneath your tickles, cheeks red and eyes squeezed shut.

“Aww! How cute! He’s blushing!” Sanemi cooed, snickering when Giyu tried to kick him. “Oi, watch your legs! Actually…” He shifted his grip, capturing both wrists in one hand and reaching down to squeeze the other’s knee. “Take that!”

“Yeah! Giggle Breathing, Sixth Form! Team Tickles!” You cheered, scribbling your fingers up and down his sides from hips to armpits, absolutely wrecking him.

“GAHAHAHAHHHAHAHHA! GUHUHUUHUHUYS!” Giyu howled in mirth, tears dotting his eyes and threatening to spill down his cheeks. “OHOHOOHOHOKAY! OHOOHOHOOKAY! STAHHAHHAP IIHIHIHIIHIHIHIT!”

The two of you backed off immediately, smiling from ear to ear as Giyu doubled over in breathless laughter, arms coming around his torso protectively. “Whahahat….whahat was that fohohor?” He wheezed, eyeing the two of you.

Sanemi and you shared a look, high fiving with glee as you laughed yourself silly. “Ahehehe! Sorry love, we just wanted to see you smile!”

“Yeah- speaking of: what's got you so down today?” Sanemi finally asked, eyeing the other as Giyu composed himself. “You’ve been over here all morning pouting. What’s wrong?”

“I wasn’t…pouting.” Giyu tried to defend, looking away. “I was just…a bit sad this morning, that’s all.” He nodded at his answer, as if that explained everything.

“That…doesn’t really explain anything.” Sanemi admitted. You couldn’t really argue, though you didn’t want to press. You were about to say so when Giyu spoke up again.

“I was having a rough morning…nothing bad; just…rough.” He offered. “I didn’t want to bring your moods down, so I stayed over here…but it seems like I did anyway.”

“Not at all!” You were quick to reassure him, pinching Sanemi’s arm as you did. “Ouch- I mean: Yeah definitely. We’re fine. Look; I won’t ask for details you’re not willing to share, but at least talk to your partner, Tomioka. They said you were depressing them.”

You gaped like a fish at the Wind Hashira. “Son of a- you said that!”

“What? No, that was definitely you!” Sanemi feigned innocence, fighting back a grin when you shoved him. “Oh, getting violent are we? I’m so scared!”

“Why I otta-” you were cut off by the quiet sound of Giyu’s giggling, the two of you turning to look at him. “I-I’m sorry! Ahehehe…it’s just- you two are too much!” He snorted, hiding his face in his Haori sleeves.

You and Sanemi shared a look before laughing just as much. You grabbed your boys and pulled them over, hugging them close as the three of you wandered back to your spots. “Come on- let’s enjoy the day!” You told them with a smile.

I hope this was good!

[artyandink]

Oh, hi, thanks for the tag! I’ve decided to do amoralism, cause yeah, obviously 😂😂 it’s my obsession these days and it’s kinda scary-

Some of y’all will go crazy at this first one ☝️😅

So, the idea of amoralism came from a fan favourite necessary precautions, where I was answering a bit of feedback and then got the idea and decided to draft the first chapter, whole damn plan and now we’re here.

A lot of of how Dean’s a relaxed, carefree, unprofessional agent and reader’s work-tight dynamic was what I got from Brooklyn 99’s Jake and Amy, except their rather sexy sides from the show were more humour rather than the reader and Dean being absolute horndogs in the workplace.

Also that first scene was inspired both by Natasha Romanoff and Dean’s sex scene from The Slice Girls

Fifty-Shots Bar (referenced in ch1 narcissism) is a reference to taking shots and firing them since I wanted something that can be taken both ways.

I wanted to initially do this realistically, but you can’t find jack squat about the FBI, so I made it up and scaled it until goddamn movie scale stuff.

Chuck initially wasn’t going to end up in the series, but I needed a scene with the President so I went ‘hey, Chuck’s God, so in this, he’s POTUS’

I included Nick (Nick who was possessed by Lucifer Nick) into the story, but it’s not obvious when he doesn’t have a stated surname. So Agent Nick Garrison is Nick from SPN, guys.

John Winchester was initially going to be referenced to be in a mental asylum from Abaddon’s mind games, but I decided against it.

I was listening to Looking At Me by Sabrina Carpenter when writing the final scene of Chapter Three, when Dean said “keep those eyes on me” or something like that

I first thought to make things angsty for Sam by writing that Azazel had killed Jess but our baby’s been through far too much for me to do that so I let him have the happiness

Most of the inspiration for the reader - that @zepskies clocked - did actually come from Miss Congeniality, and I planned for the reader does use SING in a later chapter (wink wink to S.I.N.G by Zep as well)

The party scene dress for Reader was inspired from the movie Red Notice (where Gal Gadot is an actual queen)

A lot of the Reader being thirsty for Dean is inspired by the reblog threads I get from @jackles010378’s blog on my for you page, so thanks for that by the way 😂🤣

The whole idea of Hell being the crime syndicate just came out of nowhere once I’d decided that yep, Abaddon’s a Knight of Hell so let’s just sweep that in, tidy it all up and hey, here we go

Uncle Ernie - short for Ernesto - (just to be clear, I’d decided the name before I even got the character inspo) was heavily inspired by Grandpa Eddie from Jumanji: The Next Level

“Nah. My perfect date is stay in, cook with said significant other and watch a rom com while eating the food. Never done it, but always wanted to try it.” This is the description of the Reader’s perfect date, and it’s my perfect date as well, and I did it with my boyfriend right before I wrote this chapter 🥰🥰

My headcanon is that while Dean is an everything man where his girl is concerned, he’s especially an ass man when he’s making out. That fuelled most of the smut in ch6 (authoritarianism)

I now have a running gag that older women like to hit on Dean, made up by s8’s episode (is it?) Trial and Error and the older ladies who hit on Dean and Sam HEAVILY-

Dean’s softness in ch7 (masochism) was born from one- having fucked their anger out - and two from Reader having a hard time. I recently had a reunion from secondary and anyone who’s read my about me knows that I didn’t have a good experience at secondary, instead one that was horrible. It was troubling, so I had written Dean comforting Reader how my boyfriend comforted me after (minus the almost frustrated attempt at initiating smut)

(Might I add that my boyfriend was there with me and side-eyed all the girls who made my life miserable)

And all the chapters are -isms 😁

That concludes my rant on amoralism. Hope you enjoy!

No pressure tags: @carpenterswife, @k-slla, @angelbabyyy99, @jackles010378, @winchesterwild78

Image courtesy of @scoundrels-in-love

Creators: give a “behind the scenes” look at one of your works. This could be things that got removed or changed, the origins of ideas/details, whatever you like!

Fans: share bits of trivia from canon and challenge others to create something based on that trivia - fic, art, or something else!

Alternatively: Share a random piece of trivia floating around in your brain. It doesn’t have to be fandom-related.

Here's a bit of trivia from Run to You.

The name Kasey means – vigilant, watchful, brave – and I think it’s very fitting for her. During the planning stage, Kasey was pregnant, as one of the prompts was, ‘someone is pregnant’.

Initially, the story concept closely followed the plot of the movie Labor Day. However, as things often go when writing, it has evolved into much more. It went from a three-part miniseries to a multi-chapter behemoth, incorporating ideas from The Fugitive and then morphing into what it is now.

So far, it’s been relatively calm for our two lovers. However, their cozy but gossamer bubble is about to be shattered in a way they never saw coming.

Who would like to share?

No pressure tags: @rizlowwritessortof @zepskies @thatonewriter15 @deanbrainrotwritings @kickingitwithkirk

[lipstickstainz]

touches - s.r.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: Spencer doesn’t like to be touched. But what happens, when he gets comfortable around you? Warnings: fluff, Spencer being cute, getting shot but nothing too explicit and oh, and a bucket full of angst Word Count: 4,4k  A/N: hello friends. I have a part two of this in my drafts if you like! I hope you enjoy. gif not mine.

You had heard a lot about the BAU team before joining them.

About the cases, the trust, the bond. It had always been something that had fascinated you. You had experienced some things with your previous team as well, but the BAU was in a whole different league.

Before you had been moved there, you had already familiarized yourself with the teammates. You didn't want to come unprepared to a team that knew each other inside and out. Also, you were a person who put your foot in your mouth quickly.

You were most impressed by Doctor Spencer Reid. You had heard the most about him. He was a genius, with an IQ of 187 and he could read 20,000 words a minute. Not to mention his eidetic memory. You had even read his doctoral dissertations. While you didn't understand everything, they were incredibly interesting and gave you a little insight into the mind of the spectacular Doctor Spencer Reid.

When you first met, you concentrated on not reaching out to him. You merely raised your hand to greet him, which he returned with a smile, and although he tried to hide it, you knew that this small gesture meant a lot to him.

While the other team members put their hand on his shoulder or ruffled his hair, you were almost tensely careful not to touch him. If he should want to, he would make the first move.

It happened some time later, as you stood side by side in the office kitchen. While Spencer poured himself a coffee, you poured hot water into your teacup. You asked him for the sugar that was next to him, and instead of sliding it over to you as you had been doing, he held the dispenser out to you. You reached for it and when your fingers brushed his, it went through you like an electric shock. You suddenly felt warm and your heart beat faster, but Spencer didn't seem to notice. He smiled at you before walking back to his seat. You looked after him.

After that incident, you were both a little more relaxed. While you didn't push it, Spencer didn't seem to mind you handing him files or touching each other briefly when you sat next to each other. After an incident on the plane, even the team noticed.

Spencer was on his way to the trash can when you got up to sit with Emily and Hotch to discuss the current case. You squeezed past each other as the plane made an unexpected swerve. You tried to grab onto the seat next to you, but the sway was too sudden. Before you could fall, Spencer grabbed your arm with one hand and your hip with the other and held you tight. He pulled you straight toward him so you wouldn't land face down on the ground. Even when the plane was back on course, he didn't let go. As you tried to regain control of your irregular breathing from the shock, Spencer looked at you closely. You felt his gaze on you, almost burning into your forehead, but neither said a word. As you broke away from each other and each sat down in your seat, you noticed his gaze still on you. When you looked up, he looked away.

Next came your birthday. Even though you didn't want to celebrate and your real plan was to have food delivered and watch your favorite movie for the hundredth time, the team dragged you to a bar. "Pathetic," Derek had called the plan, and you had punched him affectionately in the shoulder, but by the time he put the first drink in your hand, you had all but forgotten his comment. While some of you sat at a table and the rest enjoyed themselves on the dance floor, you sat at the bar. You did love your team, but on your birthday you didn't want to hear about any cases outside of work. Which couldn't be avoided when you were around each other 24/7.

You sipped your drink, secretly cursing Derek for having so much alcohol in it. You scrunched your nose.

"Did you know that alcohol tastes different when you drink it with a straw?" Spencer asked, sitting down in the empty chair next to you. You turned to him and raised an eyebrow questioningly. "When we ingest something, the aroma molecules go up our nose and we can tell from the start whether it's going to taste good or not. Also, the nose detects different flavors than the tongue. So if you drink the drink with the straw so the glass is farther away from your nose, you'll perceive the taste of the drink differently than it is." Even in the dim light of the bar, you could see how red he was getting. When you didn't answer, he laughed nervously and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I was rambling again."

You took another sip of your drink. "Don't apologize, Spencer. I like that you're so smart. And I like that you're comfortable enough to want to share your knowledge with me," you smiled gently at him. He returned your smile.

"I appreciate you not reaching out to me then, by the way," he confessed, nibbling on the label of his beer bottle. "I don't like shaking hands with strangers, and it makes me uncomfortable when I'm expected to but I don't. So, thanks for that."

"It's okay," you said, but he let go of his bottle and turned to you completely.

"You never pushed me to do this. You waited for me to make the first move on this because it means more to me than it does to you. There aren't many who are that respectful and understanding." He got up from his chair, but left the beer bottle on the counter. He held out his arms. "I haven't wished you a happy birthday yet because I didn't want to do it in front of the team. They'd make a big deal out of it." He gestured for you to give him a hug. He actually wanted to hug you.

"Spencer, you don't have to do this," you said, but before you knew it, he had grabbed your hand and pulled you off the chair, right into his arms.

You had often imagined what a hug from Spencer would be like, especially when you saw him hug JJ or Emily after a hard case. But you had imagined it differently.

He had his arms wrapped around your waist and held you so close that you almost couldn't breathe. You felt his long fingers on your skin, despite your T-shirt and you felt his warm breath on your neck and his curls on your temple. Goosebumps spread over your body and you prayed he didn't notice. "Happy birthday," he whispered in your ear and before you knew it, he placed his lips on your cheek before pulling away from you. Smiling, he reached for his beer and sauntered back over to the table, leaving you standing at the bar. With a pounding heart and fire in your veins. And in that moment, you just thought that work colleagues, or even maybe friends, shouldn't feel that way about each other.

After your birthday, it was no longer an issue for Spencer. Under the table, he'd nudge you with his knee if you weren't paying attention for a second, or he'd put his hand on your shoulder when he looked over you at the computer screen. He also didn't mind if you were so exhausted from a case that you fell asleep by his side on the plane, with your head on his shoulder. You didn't realize it, but JJ had pointed out that Spencer always pulled you a little closer then, resting his cheek against the top of your head. For him, the constant touching was no longer an issue.

For you, it was. Every time his skin brushed yours, you felt warm and your heart skipped a beat. Whether it was at dinner, at a briefing, or just walking by. But it was bearable.

It got bad when he touched you longer. On particularly hard cases, he had taken to looking under the table for your hand and squeezing it twice. It was a gesture of friendship and care. If you held each other, nothing could happen to you. On the plane, you always sat next to each other, playing cards or absorbed in your own thoughts. Spencer, however, got into the habit of putting your legs over one of his if you had to fly for a particularly long time. At first, the team gave you strange looks, which made you uncomfortable, but didn't bother Spencer in the least. So you tried not to let on, which was pretty difficult when you were surrounded by profilers. Flames blazed in your veins at those touches, heat tingled under your skin where he touched you, and when he pulled you into his arms on certain occasions, you almost felt dizzy.

This is not how you should feel about your best friend.

"Thales, Miletus, here's your key," Hotch said, tossing Spencer the room key as the team checked into the hotel. He'd resisted at first the nickname Garcia had picked out for you - classically, after the discoverer of magnetism - but since everyone was using it, even the earnest Hotch had given up on it. "Prentiss, JJ, your room is right next to ours." The two women nodded and the four of them walked down the corridor while Derek was kind enough to take the girls' bags.

You couldn't look after them for long, because Spencer had already grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers. "Come on. Our room is waiting."

You had never shared a room. You'd either always had your own, or shared one with Emily or JJ, but never with Spencer. You wouldn't mind so much if you weren't into him. Hopefully there were two beds. On opposite walls. Far away from each other.

When Spencer unlocked the door and you entered, you wanted to sink into the floor. Double bed. One blanket. You tried to mentally prepare yourself for the stay by setting your bag down on a chair and stopping in the middle of the room while your best friend inspected it. He didn't seem to notice that you had only one bed and, more importantly, only one blanket. At least, it didn't bother him.

When you returned to the room that evening, you went straight to the bathroom and took a shower. The water was as cold as you could stand it. It was supposed to cool you down and prepare you for the night. It wasn't every day that you shared a bed with your crush. After combing your hair and changing, you slipped under the covers and tried to fall asleep as quickly as possible so you wouldn't notice Spencer's presence next to you when he came out of the bathroom.

Your thoughts cheated on you. What if you snuggled up to each other in your sleep at night? Or you would unconsciously snuggle up to him, but he didn't want you to? Then you'd have to get another room tomorrow. And it would get so awkward that you wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Spencer finally as he climbed into bed next to you. Immediately, you felt his warmth. He hadn't taken a cold shower, apparently.

"It's always hard when kids are involved," you answered truthfully. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't what was floating around in your mind either.

"Come here," he said, opening his arms. Hesitantly, you slid closer to him so there was still space between you, but it didn't seem close enough for Spencer. After he turned out the light, he pulled you close enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder and with his free hand, he reached for yours and intertwined your fingers again. Your heart stopped. "We can do this, Y/N. We've done it all so far." You heard his heartbeat beneath you, felt his breath on your hair, and the warmth of his body burned into your skin. "Try to get some sleep. We'll know more tomorrow," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you fell asleep.

When you woke up in the morning, you felt Spencer behind you. His chest was pressed against your back, his arm was wrapped tightly around your middle, and he had his face buried in your neck. Immediately goosebumps spread all over your body. You tried to pull away from him a little, but he pulled you even closer. Spencer was still asleep, so he didn't notice how he carefully slid his hand under your shirt and how his long fingers danced over your soft skin. You held your breath, afraid to move or give away your racing heartbeat. At one point he pulled his arm back and turned onto his back before lifting his hand and rubbing his eyes. His hair stood out in all directions and he smiled sleepily. You were getting hot.

"Good morning, Y/N." Good morning indeed.

The case took longer than planned, though of course you can't plan a case. After the third night, you had gotten used to sleeping next to Spencer, but the cuddling worried you. The longer you shared that room, the more complicated your feelings became. It was almost unbearable.

Derek, Emily, Spencer and you found the unsub in a remote car yard. While the latter surveyed the building, Derek and you looked around the yard.

"What's going on between you and Reid, anyway?" he asked curiously. You gave him a meaningful look, but he didn't care. "It's come to all of our attention. You guys are inseparable, he has to touch you all the time, and those looks."

"What looks?" you probed, trying to sound as unsuspecting as possible. This time Derek was looking at you. So he had noticed. And if Derek knew, so did the others. Fucking profilers.

"Y/N," he started, and stopped. When you turned to him, he twisted his mouth into a weak smile. It was a very different Derek who stood before you. Not the go-getter who sometimes made fun of Spencer. He seemed genuinely worried, and that made you nervous. "Friends don't look at friends that way."

A loud bang rang through the air and the conversation was all but forgotten. You took cover and communicated via hand signals. Quietly, you moved forward. It wasn't long before you saw a figure running away behind the cars. "We got him," Derek said into the mic, and together you dashed toward the unsub. He ran toward the woods and disappeared. Derek looked at you and nodded. You split up.

Gun drawn, you ran forward. Leaves crunched beneath you, but you tuned that out. You focused on the birds above you, the shadows of the trees, and the gun in your hand. He had to be here somewhere.

You didn't even startle when you felt cold metal against the back of your head. "Don‘t. Move." You took your fingers off the trigger and raised your arms. "Put the gun down. Vest off." Slowly, you bent down and placed both on the ground. The only thing you could think about was that you would hopefully find them later. "Walk.“ With your hands clasped behind your head, you took one step at a time. Derek was nowhere to be seen. You wished you hadn't split up.

He led you to a rundown cabin in the woods that wasn't marked on any map, which is why you couldn't have known about it. He pushed you inside and closed the door behind him, his gun still pointed at you. "If you had wanted to kill me, you would have done it long ago," you gave out, but he didn't go for it. It was a game of fire. You knew the file and what he was capable of.

It was only a few moments before someone kicked open the door and Derek stormed into the cabin, closely followed by Spencer. "Put the gun down and keep your hands off," Derek yelled. Up until then, you hadn't realized that the he had pulled you close and was holding the barrel of his gun right to your temple You only had eyes for Spencer, who was deliberately not looking at you.

You tried to get his attention, but he wouldn't budge. You raised a hand and moved it toward your shoulder, hoping Spencer understood your message. But he wasn't looking at you.

Look at me, Spencer. Come on. Look. At. Me.

His eyes moved from the unsub to your fingers, tapping a spot in your shoulder. You repeated this until he finally looked you in the eye. Then he shook his head, barely perceptibly. Again you tapped the spot. If Spencer shot through your shoulder, he would hit the perpetrator in the torso, and even if the bullet slowed down through you, it would still do enough damage. And you were willing to take the risk.

But Spencer didn't shoot. And time was running out for you. "I trust you," you said, no sound escaping your lips. He gritted his teeth. "I trust you, Spencer. Do it."

And then he shot.

-

"Welcome back, sunshine," Derek grinned, wrapping you in his muscular arms as you entered the office. "We've all missed you."

It had been three months since you had been shot in the field. Spencer had shot you through the shoulder as planned, and you were right. The perpetrator was shot and the rest of the victims were found. So it was almost a happy ending.

Almost. Of course, you had to listen to a few more things from Hotch on the way to the hospital. You were tired of living and he was disappointed and angry, but incredibly relieved that nothing else had happened to you. You could have been the next victim, too.

"All of you?" you prodded, and Emily, who had joined you, screwed up her face.

"He's not back yet. He extended his vacation," she said, putting a hand on your shoulder. "He's not really over it yet."

You hadn't heard from Spencer since the incident. He hadn't visited you at the hospital, called you or been to your home after you were discharged. You were best friends and the fact that you hadn't seen him in three months hurt more than the gunshot wound. The only person Spencer talked to was JJ, but even she couldn't give you any information.

He probably blamed himself, but why? You had wanted him to shoot. It had been your plan. Besides, he had shot so well that you didn't suffer any permanent damage. He shouldn't worry about it.

It was strange to work a case without him. Not having him near you. Not being able to feel his warmth. You tried to reach him, by phone, by letter, but you got no answer. Even though you hadn't spoken in months, he was your best friend and you were starting to get really worried. He had cut off contact with JJ himself.

When you walked into the office one morning, you were almost breathless. Spencer was standing at his desk, leaning against it, and the others were standing around him. But you had no eyes for them. Spencer was back. Your Spencer was back. As you walked toward them, you got a sinking feeling. He looked good. Changed, but good. His hair was a little shorter and he didn't look as pale as usual. He also seemed more confident and self-assured, which unfortunately made him even more attractive.

He didn't see you until you were almost in front of him. He smiled weakly at you before standing up straight. "Y/N," he said, and it felt so good to hear your name come out of his mouth. Immediately, goosebumps spread across your body. You expected him to give you a hug or insist on talking to you in person, because a lot had happened in the time without him, but he didn't. He turned around briefly and pulled something off his office chair. Not something. Someone. "This is my girlfriend, Vicky."

You didn't know what had happened in the last few months. Did you even want to know? Spencer hadn't contacted you in a long time, only to reappear with a girlfriend? You didn't understand the world anymore. The rest of the team must have felt the same way, because as you stood at your regular table in the bar, the couple was the only topic of conversation. In fact, you would have preferred all the murder cases.

"I'll be honest," Penelope said, taking a big gulp of her drink, which took quite a while since she always drank with a straw, "I was hoping you two would get together." She pointed her finger at you and then toward Spencer, who was standing at the bar with Vicky. You saw her run her finger through his hair and had to look away. Didn't she know he didn't like that?

"Hotch and I even bet money on it," Emily confessed, turning back towards the table. Apparently she didn't want to watch them either. "We would have gotten you a nice wedding present from that."

"He looks happy," you said, but you guessed that's not what the others wanted to hear from you. You sat at a table made up mostly of profilers. They knew exactly how you felt about the whole thing.

"Give it a rest," Derek said, putting his arm around your shoulder. Even the overly positive music in the background couldn't lighten your mood. "We all know how you feel about Spencer. And honestly, we thought he would feel the same way about you."

"But he doesn't, so please let it go," you shot back, instantly regretting it. Your friends weren't to blame for the whole situation. It was you. As you dared another look, Vicky pulled Spencer onto the dance floor, which you knew he didn't like either. Didn't she know him at all?

"I don't know what got into him," JJ confessed, sipping her Coke. "Those two don't even fit together." They didn't, but maybe that's why it worked. There was this theory that opposites attract, but you could never have imagined it with Spencer.

When Vicky grabbed Spencer by the tie and pulled him down so she could kiss him, your heart broke. It was different when you just knew two people were doing something. But when you saw it, all hope was lost. Even from a distance, you could see their tongues and you almost threw up.

"That's my sign," you said, pressing a kiss to Penelope's cheek. "See you." They all said goodbye to you and even over that awful music, you could still hear "It must hurt terribly to see him like that" and "I couldn't do that" as you walked.

Outside, the cold night air surprised you. It hit you in the face like a slap, but nothing hurt as much as knowing Spencer was happy without you. He didn’t need you and he didn't want you. That was fine, but that didn't mean you had to go along with it. Since he'd been back, he'd barely spoken to you. On the plane, he had sat at the other end of the room, and he had actually switched rooms at the hotel just so he wouldn't have to be near you. He'd even started shoving files back at you instead of handing them to you, like he'd burn if he touched you.

The lights in Hotch's office were still on when you came into the office. It was just after midnight and you knew he would still be there. When you knocked on his door, he invited you in. "What can I do for you?" He hadn't even had to ask. He knew why you were there. It was written on your forehead. "Are you sure about this? I'll write a recommendation, but only if you really want me to." You nodded silently. "It's because of him, isn't it?" he asked, his usually hard expression softening.

"Yes," you answered curtly. There was nothing to add.

"I'll make some calls. You get a week to pack. I'll call you tomorrow," he said, getting up from his desk. Surprisingly, he pulled you into his arms. "We're all going to miss you terribly, Y/N. And you're welcome here anytime."

It didn't take long for your things to be packed, and it didn't take long for the others to notice the following day. Your desk was empty, the files had been processed, the pictures of you and the team were gone, and your mug with a picture of Spencer and you on it that he had once given you was gone, too.

"Where is she?" asked Emily Derek, who didn't have an answer ready either. They looked around uncertainly and as the rest entered the bullpen, Hotch came out of his office. He looked like he hadn't slept. He walked down the steps and stood in the circle of confused team members. Even Spencer was puzzled.

"Agent Y/L/N left us last night," he began, sounding very composed. The others didn't know how to respond, so they just gave each other confused looks. "She has asked for a transfer and will start there next week. Please refrain from trying to talk her out of it. The transfer has gone through."

It took everyone by great surprise when Spencer dropped his bag and stormed out of the office. He didn't need to explain where he was going. It was obvious. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to call you, but it went straight to voicemail. It wasn't long before he arrived at your complex and shot up the steps to your apartment. He took two steps at a time. He stopped in front of your door and pounded his fist against the wood, hoping you would open the door for him and explain what you were doing. When nothing happened, he dialed the number again. Again and again, until the voice in the phone said to him, this number was no longer in service.

He ran his hand through his hair before sliding down with his back to the door. He put his head between his knees and cursed himself.

You weren't there anymore.

part two

[azenkii]

A Long List of Trash Fire Lord Zuko Headcanons

...that i couldn't get out of my head:

(warning: SUPER LONG POST i havent figured out how to trim posts yet)

he's the one who unchains azula despite iroh's protests. she doesn't even try to fight him, just cries into his shoulder and keeps mumbling about how father's going to be so disappointed in her. he takes her to her rooms and has her drink a sleeping draught, then stations the best guards he has left outside her chambers.

his first council meeting takes place literally a day after sozin's comet. he hobbles into the council chamber shirtless with his entire torso covered in bandages and every council member just looks at him like '...what'

he does NOT sleep for like,,a week after sozin's comet and then another two weeks after his coronation. katara, aang and suki try to persuade him to sleep and he doesn't listen. eventually sokka, toph and mai team up to literally drag his ass to bed and tell him he's not allowed to get up until he sleeps (does mai pin him to the bed with her knives? yes. is it kinky or sexual in any way? definitely not.)

he drinks So. Much. Tea. at this point it's practically tasteless to him but he drinks it anyway because he just needs something to do and tea is something familiar. he keeps iroh on his toes because he's constantly asking for new tea blends, uncle, i think i actually tasted the last one,

he flat-out refuses to grow his hair for at least a year after ozai's defeat. the second it starts getting close to his chin he shears it off himself, with his knife, and his stylist has a heart attack every single time

when he's tired he'll occasionally jump up when one of his guards moves. it stops after a bit, but for the first month and a half or so he's really twitchy. when sokka asks, the only explanation he can come up with is that he's not used to having people stand behind him silently and not want to kill him, much less want to protect him (sokka immediately takes him out for a shopping trip and makes a point of walking behind him the entire time, but only on zuko's right side, where he can clearly see it if sokka moves towards him)

when the healer declares azula mentally unstable and in need of an institution, he shuts himself in his office for the rest of the night. no one's allowed in, not even iroh. he finally emerges in the morning, eyes red from crying and sleep deprivation, and tells the librarian that he'd like a list of the best mental institutions in the country, please, the best in the world if you can get them

he loves theatre (is this even a headcanon?). unfortunately it practically died out in the fire nation along with the rest of the creative arts, leaving nothing but small troupes like the ember island players. one of zuko's personal goals (meaning things he wants to accomplish that aren't as important as restoring his country) is to bring back theatre; he finally manages to do it after about eight months or so of being fire lord, along with other arts like dancing, music and sculpture

he establishes a national day of mourning, on the first day of autumn every year, to commemorate the genocide of the air nomads. from 100AG onwards, every calendar printed in the fire nation has it marked. at first it was called the day of repentance, but aang persuaded him to have it changed (by arguing that he didn't want guilt to be a literal staple of fire nation culture)

he introduces literally So Many educational reforms, plus a mandatory class that teaches students about the cultures of the other nations (air nomads included) and how some of their traditions overlap

he turns down the offer of having a statue put up of him in the capital. toph ignores him and does it anyway.

he visits azula regularly, makes sure she's (relatively) comfortable and well-fed, and sometimes just sits down outside her door and tells her about everything that's going on right now ('some of the far colonies have developed their own standardised writing, azula, you wouldn't believe it, and i've asked the fire sages to come visit more often—but you never liked them, did you? oh, well; i'll make sure none of them go into your chambers by mistake')

(he doesn't know it, but when he does this azula sits by the door and listens. she wonders what kind of writing the colonists have developed, and whether or not the fire sages have taken on some new recruits.)

he hates being above anyone else. never sits in the throne if he can help it, nor does he sit on the dais in the council room. when he talks to people shorter than him, he finds himself stooping a little bit to talk to them on their level (the exception to this rule is sokka, who he mocks for being shorter all the way up until sokka grows taller than him, the bastard)

the first time he visits the earth kingdom, the earth king's ministers call a toast. he ends up being the only one who has to sit out, because he's too young to drink by earth kingdom law

once his servants figure out he won't kill them for talking to him, they start becoming a lot more bold, telling him off when he doesn't take care of himself. at one point, they force him to let them take care of him so much that he literally just bolts into the gardens and hides there until the staff rope in mai and ty lee

when he needs to escape, he does one of two things: (a) he dresses up as the blue spirit and does some parkour until he calms down, or (b) he goes to work at the jasmine dragon. (b) happens less often bc the jasmine dragon's in ba sing se, but there's been a few memorable incidents when an earth kingdom diplomat walks in and yells, 'LEE?!' when they see the fire lord

the first court artist who draws him also happens to be the one who drew azulon and ozai. he draws zuko without his scar. zuko takes one look at it and tells him, very calmly, that he'd like him to leave, please.

zuko burns the portrait. he doesn't fire the court artist, but he never calls on him again unless he has to. a second court artist is called, and can't help but be a bit confused when the fire lord tells him to be sure to include the scar

he forgets the crown. a lot. sometimes he walks into council meetings in his sleepwear with his hair tied up in a messy ponytail and a bunch of scrolls tucked under his arm. none of his councilmen have the guts (or the heart) to tell him that this is not, in fact, formal council wear

he goes to feed the turtleducks when he's stressed. he thinks he's being subtle. he's not. the entire palace knows, and they consciously give him space when they see him in the turtleduck garden

most of his staff are older than him, so they look at him and see this teeny tiny fire lord who is So Small and who Must Be Protected. the day after zuko's coronation, the head chef holds a meeting where they commence Operation Do-Not-Let-That-Boy-Turn-Out-Like-His-Father (subsection He's-The-Only-Good-Thing-We-Have)

one night he wakes up to find suki sitting in his room, decked out in full kyoshi warrior garb and makeup, and just about screams blue murder. suki tells him there are suspicions of an assassin in the palace, and would you please stop yelling it's very distracting, we won't be able to hear anyone coming over that racket

zuko gets very, very paranoid of random spirits after that. yeah, suki looks like a possibly malevolent spirit when she's wearing her makeup, what about it? (when he tells sokka he's highkey terrified of spirit shenanigans, sokka just looks at him and says, 'man, the stories i could tell...', and THAT'S when zuko remembers sokka spent like six months more than he did travelling with the avatar)

on his first visit to the southern water tribe, he removes his boots and leg guards, rolls up his pants and kneels barefoot in the snow. even though chief hakoda immediately starts trying to pull him up, he's stubborn as hell and stays kneeling for the entirety of his very long, very sincere apology-on-behalf-of-the-fire-nation speech. he nearly loses his toes to frostbite after that, and both sokka and katara never stop giving him shit for it

the first time he grows a 'beard' is completely accidental. he's stressed over some trade miscommunications with chief hakoda, hasn't slept in a few days...and then when sokka arrives as water tribe ambassador to help smooth things over, he takes one look at zuko and says 'man, facial hair does not suit you'

zuko: facial what now

he checks a mirror to find that he's got stubble covering his chin, dark enough that it almost looks intentional, and holy gods how the fuck did he not notice this before

'UNCLE WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME' 'i assumed you were doing it on purpose' 'WHEN HAVE I EVER DONE ANYTHING ON PURPOSE'

he shaves it all off immediately, of course, which prompts a lot of teasing and rib-poking from sokka until zuko finally snaps that he's scared it'll make him look like his father. sokka stops after that.

(the day after sokka leaves, zuko finds that a mysterious someone has scribbled all over ozai's royal portrait, giving him a frankly ridiculous beard and moustache that literally CANNOT be grown in real life. oddly enough, he can't bring himself to care about the defamation of royal property. he's too busy laughing.)

his paths cross with toph and sokka more than any of the others, because sokka is ambassador and toph is technically still a beifong. most of the time, at formal functions, he ends up sequestered in the corner with toph and a hoard of snacks, and they talk and swear much more than they usually do (zuko's ministers once heard him when he was drunk with toph, and the servants swear the older ministers' ears started bleeding)

he restores fire nation cultural festivals, and in doing so subjects himself to learning a lot of complicated dances

during one memorable week, he wrote so many letters and drafted so much legislation that he ran out of paper. he had to go visit the nearest school and ask for some

he keeps up with his firebending and sword training even though it's hard to fit into his schedule. his ministers refrain from reminding him that he has guards to protect him now; it's still hard for zuko to trust his safety with anyone but himself (team avatar is the exception).

he started sleepwalking about two months into his reign. no one knew why. one time, he nearly sleepwalked right off the edge of a balcony, and one of his guards had to grab him by the back of his robes.

the sleepwalking stopped after around a month and never happened again. at this point it's practically palace legend.

after freeing the war prisoners, he went around collecting every single earthbender-proof wooden cell he could find in the capital and surrounding areas. when he'd gotten most of them, he gathered them into a huge pile in the city square and set fire to them with his own hands.

unfortunately he couldn't do that with the waterbender metal cells but he did get toph to come in and bend them all into pretty shapes (well, toph thought they were pretty shapes. everyone else thinks they're meaningless squiggles)

he learned how to write with both hands at the same time out of sheer necessity (he refused scribes until it became clear that he'd be putting some people out of a job; that was when he started letting scribes write very, very minor things, but all important documents/drafts/letters are still written by him)

he once put the wet end of an ink brush in his mouth instead of the wooden end by mistake. didn't even realise until he bit down to keep it in place and ink went oozing everywhere

when his guards rushed in to find him coughing and spluttering black liquid all over his desk they thought he'd been poisoned but no he's just stupid

on his 17th birthday, his first one after being crowned, he got tackled by team avatar in the middle of the ballroom and ended up at the bottom of a cuddlepile for like ten minutes

this cuddlepile happened at an event that was very much public and very much formal. it was a scandal for weeks

just. fire lord zuko, guys. so much potential