#they all look so similar i had to do this

[darkmatilda]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your first solo, undercover mission unexpectedly spirals out of control when a real heist begins at the scene.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, robbery, the reader becomes a hostage, is beaten by the attacker (quite severely), killing of hostages, shooting, inspired by s1e9 where spencer saves elle on a train (the plot is very similar but set in a different scenery), spencer's pov, the attackers are definitely not the gentle type, reader is wearing a skirt (her whole outfit is described), glasses reid propaganda

𝐚/𝐧: merry christmas guys <3 fasten your seatbealts and get ready for this rollercoaster.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

"Why do I get the feeling that neither of you is even half as stressed as I am? Actually, scratch that—neither of you is even one-tenth as stressed as me?”

The question left your lips accompanied by a kind of sigh, an attempt to expel the air poisoned with anxiety and replace it with something fresh, clean.

"Because we know you’re going to do brilliantly, sweetheart," Penelope replied without hesitation, sparing you only a fleeting glance as she momentarily tore her eyes away from her computer screen. One of many screens.

Her office was filled with an uncountable number of them, all glowing brightly and lighting up the small, dimly lit space, which was also packed with her colorful accessories—pom-pom-topped pencils and flowerless plants in tiny pots, most adorned with smiling faces or hearts.

"Or rather," Reid interjected, spinning in a circle on his swivel chair, "because we both doubt you’ll even be remotely useful out there." A white box of Chinese takeout rested on his lap.

You shot him a grimace.

"Next time you try to undermine my self-confidence, make sure I’m not holding anything sharp," you warned, pointing one of your chopsticks at him. Yes, less than an hour before your first solo assignment, you were all happily indulging in junk food from the closest restaurant to the office, ignoring the looming possibility of digestive regrets. "Or you’ll lose an eye."

"Aren’t you tired of trying to kill me yet? First, you gave me a concussion…"

"You didn’t get a concussion, Reid. Stop exaggerating…"

"And now, you’re openly admitting that you plan to cause me permanent damage by depriving me of my sense of sight—which, as it is," he said, tapping the frame of his glasses, "is already in less-than-stellar condition."

"You two are just adorable when you argue with each other like an old, bitter married couple," Penelope commented with a small smile on her pink-lipsticked lips.

You first looked at each other, then at her, eyebrows raised, and in a synchronized moment, you both let out a huff. Unfazed, she continued.

"But now we really need to get to work. The exhibit starts in an hour, and you should get there with him. Have you ever used that microphone? It’s the latest model we’re testing, gosh, I’m so excited…"

"You’re adorable when you act like a typical nerd," you shot back, mimicking her little smile and tone of voice.

"A nerd I proudly am! Just like this guy here," she nodded toward Reid, who pouted slightly, looking offended. "You’re surrounded by nerds, sweetheart. Soon enough, you’ll become one too."

"Dear God, forgive me my sins and watch over me…" you whispered, staring at the ceiling.

The mysterious he that Garcia mentioned was named Christopher Allen, and he was surprisingly young for a neurotechnology engineer. He worked on issues surrounding the human brain and developed devices designed to have a broad range of effects on it. But why were you supposed to go with him to some exhibit? Equipped with a spy microphone? And why was it stressing you out so much that for the past ten minutes, you had only been picking at your Chinese takeout instead of eating it?

Well, it's hard to decide where to start explaining from.

You were summoned before Hotch yesterday, who informed you that an opportunity had arisen for you to prove yourself in the field. Alone, undercover, for the first time in your—let’s be honest—tragically short career at the FBI. On top of that, this was meant to test all the new equipment your team had received, the kind that Penelope had been so enthusiastic about. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the main reason you’d been assigned this task. Someone had to check the effectiveness of the gear, and at the same time, you, the rookie, needed to gain more experience. Allen’s case was like killing two birds with one stone.

This scientist had worked with the FBI multiple times, and that’s why when danger started looming over him, he was quickly assigned protection. The threat came from threatening letters and even a direct attack at his own home, which fortunately didn’t end in tragedy. Allen was descending into paranoia and was afraid to even attend public events, even ones with full protection, like the tech exhibition—taking place in one of the modest local museums—designed to showcase the latest advancements in neurotechnology and more.

He was probably afraid that during the event, someone would simply rush at him with fists and try to murder him in front of dozens of random technology and brain enthusiasts. Or something like that. Your task was to pretend to be his assistant, never leaving his side and carefully observing the surroundings. And that was it. Nothing too demanding was expected of you, unless things started to go south. However, that seemed highly unlikely, as everyone made it clear to you.

Still, you couldn’t shake the fear—whether justified or not—that something would go wrong. And it would be your fault.

“Reid, clip the microphone on her,” Penelope interrupted your train of thought with the order. “You’ve never used one of these before, have you, sweetheart?”

You nodded in confirmation, watching as Reid set aside his box of Chinese takeout to take the tiny device from her.  He stopped a step in front of you, perched on the edge of one of the desks, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the small black microphone in his hand and you.

“Where… where can I…?” he asked, trailing off as he made a vague gesture with his hand, surprisingly loaded with awkwardness.

“Oh,” you let out a confused sigh, beginning to consider where it might be best to place it. The sleeve? Shouldn’t it be closer to your face to capture even your quietest whispers?

“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” you said, starting to unbutton your white shirt, revealing a significant portion of your neckline. “Here?” you asked.

“Yeah… I think so,” he replied hesitantly but didn’t move.

It wasn’t until a moment later that he swallowed and, with a slow, deliberate motion, reached for a section of your shirt near your cleavage. His actions were careful—almost excessively so—like his top priority was ensuring he didn’t accidentally brush against your skin.

The microphone’s clip was quite small, though, and attaching it to your clothing required him to take another step closer and lower his head near your chest.

Even as your breathing slowed, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Penelope shaking her head in amused disbelief. 

You preferred to look straight ahead rather than at his fingers, working with such careful focus, though you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to them repeatedly. Just for fractions of a second—it was difficult to pull your eyes away once they landed there.

Only when he finished, his hands dropping quickly to his sides as he stepped back, did you realize you’d been holding your breath for quite some time. You became acutely aware of how stifling Penelope’s little office was—how did she even manage in the summer?

"That's not all," the woman on the screen broke the silence, one you hadn't even realized had fallen. "There's also a transmitter you'll need to keep on you somewhere. Securely, so it doesn't fall out. Are you planning to go dressed like that?"

You glanced down at your outfit. A simple black skirt and white shirt—the first thing that came to mind then you learned you'd be posing as an assistant.

"Inappropriate?" you asked, searching for an answer first on Garcia's face, then on Reid's. The latter gave the barest shrug, barely even looking at you.

"You look amazing. Absolutely stunning, darling. I wish I could have an assistant like you," Penelope reassured you. "But in this economy, I can only dream about it. Anyway, my point is, you don't have any pockets. Where are you planning to keep the transmitter and your gun?"

"I was thinking of just tucking it into my skirt. At the back."

"I don’t think that’s the best idea," Reid interjected doubtfully. He hadn’t reclaimed his spot on the swivel chair and stood instead, arms crossed over his chest. The embarrassment you’d managed to put him in (quite adorable, really) was slowly dissipating, leaving only a faint blush on his cheeks. The corner of your mouth twitched when you noticed it. "I mean, it could fall out, or start sticking out, which could lead to questions like why an assistant is walking around with a gun..."

"Okay, I get it," you sighed. You could’ve thought this through a bit better. "Maybe I’ll have time to swing by home and grab, I don’t know, a blazer or something..."

"You won’t," Penelope declared after glancing at the time. "But you can always borrow my jacket."

You looked at the garment draped over the back of her chair—a bright pink leather jacket. You didn’t even bother responding; you simply stared at it, letting the expression on your face do the talking.

"Alright, I admit it, I didn’t think this proposal through. So, it looks like we’ll have to..." She trailed off, her gaze landing on Reid’s figure. Surprised by the attention, he pointed at himself.

You also directed your attention at him. He was wearing a simple brown blazer, which would go well with your unremarkable outfit.

"Take it off," you instructed.

He was silent for a moment, though there was no visible protest on his face—just doubt.

"It’s gonna be too big," he remarked, his hands gently grasping the edges of the jacket as if unsure whether to take it off.

"Apparently, oversized is coming back into fashion."

"Okay, fine," he sighed, removing the jacket. Underneath, he wore a shirt and a black vest, from which a matching tie peeked out. Initially, he seemed hesitant about the idea, but handed it to you with some urgency. "Here you go."

You sent him a brief, grateful smile.

"You’re saving my mission, Reid. I’ll mention you in the report. And I’ll frame your name with a little heart, drawn with one of Penelope’s glitter pens," you declared.

He returned the gesture, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he gave a small nod. You noticed his gaze was almost fixed on your face, as if some invisible force were forbidding him to look away, down or sideways.

You didn't think too much about what it meant, you didn't really have time. You put on the blazer, which was indeed a little too long, and hid the transmitter in the inside pocket. You placed the weapon at your hip, concealing it with your clothes. As you were about to leave, you said talk to you later because the two of them were going to communicate with you through the earpiece the entire time. They wished you good luck, and you were just about to leave the desk when Reid, suddenly as if unable to stop himself, said your name one last time.

You looked at him questioningly. Instead of responding, he made an uncertain gesture near his chest. Confused, you looked down.

For the entire time, half of the buttons on your shirt were still undone.

*

You had never met him in person, but you recognized his face from snippets of interviews that occasionally appeared online, or perhaps he had even been on the news a few times. He was in his thirties, give or take five years, hard to tell. His entire persona seemed to be built around the carefree nature of a young eccentric with a sharp mind and an unrestrained tongue, constantly refining his thoughts and conclusions, often controversial, causing an uproar among the public. Without a doubt, he was one of those people often called a genius. Which, not always, was a compliment.

Allen seemed deeply displeased by your presence. He looked… tired. His red hair contrasted with his very pale complexion, as if made of glass, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. He wasn’t shockingly tall, about your height, but with broad shoulders.

"The FBI was supposed to provide me with protection because some psycho is literally trying to kill me, and they send you?" he asked, bitterly, exchanging a brief handshake with you before getting into the car.

You both sat in the back, the driver at the wheel. You were supposed to arrive at the exhibition together. His reaction caught you off guard, his open anger sparking the same feeling in you.

"What's your problem?" you asked. His insulting tone irritated you the most, especially since he hadn’t even had the chance to get to know you.

For a moment, the man sat staring out the window. His body was tense, almost stiff, as if stressed. His elegant attire, with a shirt half-tucked into his pants and too many buttons undone, suggested that he usually dressed more casually.

He let out a heavy sigh, as if furious, then hastily wiped his face with his hand.

"Just..." he began coolly and cautiously, as if holding back some cruel words. "I get the feeling that everyone is downplaying the seriousness of this situation."

"We're all approaching this with the necessary commitment," you replied, though it wasn't entirely true. Allen had every right to fear for his life, but each of you honestly doubted anything would happen to him during this exhibition. If the threat had been real... Hotch probably wouldn't have sent you. "Believe me, we understand the gravity of the situation..."

"Really? Even the letters I've been getting? The content of them?"

You knew about the threats sent by an unknown sender, but you hadn't delved into what exactly they contained. Seeing you hesitate to answer, Allen scoffed.

"You're fucking great at your job, no doubt. So let me fill you in. They come every day. Every fucking day. And I read every single one of them. You know, I've even started seeing a pattern. First, they beg me. Then they threaten to fucking kill me. Smash my face into the ground, beat me to death with a metal rod, rip out my ribs, douse me in gasoline, and set me on fire..." He paused, dramatically scratching his chin. "Oh, almost forgot. They're going to peel the skin off my back. Then there's a day off. No letter comes. The next day, they apologize. I don’t know if this psycho has some extreme split personality or... or... I have no fucking idea. The cops said, get this, it's normal. 'Cause I’m a public figure."

"They brushed it off?" you asked, slightly shaken.

No matter how famous he was, threats were still threats.

He shrugged. He was trying to speak with a voice full of dismissive irony, but it wasn’t working. He stumbled, taking breaks to swallow. Though he had treated you like a complete jerk earlier, you were starting to understand.

“First off, until someone broke into my house and tried to drag me out of bed and take me…God knows where. Probably if I hadn’t had a dog…” he trailed off, glancing back out the window. You’d arrived at the museum, where the exhibition was to be held, but Allen hesitated to get out of the car. “This guy is nuts, whoever he is. I don’t know what to expect from him. He wants to kill me, kidnap me, torture me? Or maybe he’ll just settle for shooting me from a distance like I’m some goddamn Kennedy?”

“That doesn’t really sound like him,” you said in a calming tone. “He tried to kidnap you from your house, why would he suddenly attack you in a public place…”

“My fiancée is pregnant,” he suddenly blurted out.

You blinked, unsure how to respond to the sudden confession.

“Congratulations?”

“For her safety, I sent her very, very far away, somewhere she shouldn’t be in any danger,” he continued, completely ignoring your words. “And though her and the baby’s well-being is my top priority… I also need to take care of myself. I need to make it to their birth…and longer, of course. But that’s why I’m afraid to even go out to the damn store for milk, and that’s why I was so pissed off when I found out they assigned me a woman who, no offense, looks like she wouldn’t know how to hold a gun.”

You instinctively scoffed at his last comment, though it was hard to stay particularly mad at him, knowing everything he was going through. An awkward silence fell between you, heavy and laden, during which the two of you simply stared at each other. It hit you that you were responsible not only for his safety but also for ensuring that someone’s fiancé and future father would make it home.

“We should get going,” you said, nodding toward the museum. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a certain tension at the thought of leaving the car. You shook your head slightly, trying to dispel it. “And just so we’re clear, I do know how to handle a gun—more than you’d think. But for your sake, you better hope we don’t have to put that to the test.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Well then, onward, assistant. Tell me, how much do you know about neurotechnology?"

Well, by the end of this day, you were definitely going to know a lot more. Together with Allen, you crossed the threshold of the museum. Its decor clashed with the theme of the exhibition, but apparently, they hadn’t managed to secure a better location. 

The interior layout was harmonious—rounded arches were supported by symmetrically arranged marble columns, and the dominant shades were gold and royal red.

Your destination was the exhibition hall, circular in shape, where mahogany tables served as display stations for various prototypes in the fields of medicine, neurobiology, and informatics. In other parts of the building, there were tall, arched windows, but this particular room had none. No natural light entered; all illumination was generated by lamps that, to their credit, mimicked the natural diffusion of sunlight quite effectively.

Among the displays were an interactive brain map and various projects still in development but aimed at assisting people with disabilities.

You observed all of this with interest while simultaneously listening to your companion’s impromptu lecture on the human brain (apparently, talking helped him calm down). At the same time, you were closely monitoring the crowd around you.

True multitasking.

The exhibition was open to everyone; no one was checking who entered the venue. Although you counted three security guards in the room—dressed in simple black suits and mostly tasked with ensuring that no one tried to steal anything—there was a subtle air of unease hanging in the atmosphere. If Allen’s suspicions were correct, the person intent on ending his life could be one of these faces. To your surprise, however, he suddenly seemed far less concerned about it than you were.

“You don’t have to follow me around like a shadow,” he said, leaning toward you to make himself heard over the murmur of surrounding conversations. A familiar face with a loud, bright red tie waved at him and began making their way over. “Just don’t take your eyes off me, no matter what. And keep an eye out for anyone suspicious—whatever that means to you. Hey, man!”

He greeted his acquaintance with a friendly handshake. Following his instructions, you took a small step back, deciding to take a short stroll among the exhibits. But after barely two steps, your finger went to the discreet earpiece hidden under your hair.

“Are you there, my lovely nerds?” you asked with a playful smile, knowing they couldn’t see it but imagining their reactions.

“At your service!” Garcia responded enthusiastically, and you could almost picture her saluting on the other end.

“And what about Mr. Smartass? Did he get bored and wander off to study the reproductive habits of ants?”

“I heard that!” he replied, summoned by his new nickname. “Such gratitude for letting you borrow my jacket.”

“Speaking of the jacket,” you continued, “I found a candy in the pocket. How thoughtful of you to leave me a little sweet treat.” You weren’t joking; there really was a candy inside. You inspected the wrapper and frowned. “Marzipan? Ugh. Do you have the taste buds of my grandma?”

"To what I know, I haven't had a taste bud transplant. Especially not from anyone's grandmother," he replied nonchalantly. "And as for those ants..."

"Sorry to interrupt, my darlings, but I have a few questions about the sound quality of these new microphones..."

True to her word, Garcia began asking you how well you could hear them and instructed you to lower your voice to a whisper and then raise it sharply. Some sort of test or whatever. You did it all patiently while staring at the red-haired mop at the station across from you. Allen seemed pretty relaxed now, probably realizing nothing was going to happen to him.

"Okay, now do the sound like a chicken. I mean the noise."

"What?"

"You know, cluck."

"Pen, is this really necessary?"

"Yes, sweetie. I need to check something else. Last thing, I swear. Scout’s honor."

You sighed, looking around at the people nearby. Few were paying attention to you, you were just one face in the crowd. God, for something like this, you could ask for a raise.

"Exactly, honey. Just louder," Garcia asked.

You rolled your eyes and tried again to make the chicken sound. An older couple glanced at you, their eyes wide with horror.

"Alright, enough," you muttered, embarrassed, into the earpiece, quickly moving to a different spot.

And then you heard the pair on the other side literally choking with laughter.

"I fucking hate you guys," you said. "I hate you. Especially you, Penelope. Give me Reid on the mic, from now on I'm only talking to him."

Another burst of laughter from the woman. You clenched your jaw. And as if that weren’t enough…

 "Did you want to hear me, little chick?" Reid asked politely.

“I should’ve gouged your eye out with a chopstick when I had the chance,” you hissed into the phone, a little too loudly, drawing a few curious glances. You were supposed to be watching for suspicious people, but it turned out you were acting the most suspicious of all…

“Did you catch what she said?” Reid addressed Penelope. “I only heard clucking.”

“Ha-ha,” you rolled your eyes.

For fifteen minutes, you had to endure such jokes. You seriously began to worry that they’d never get tired of it, but finally, after a quarter of an hour of psychological torture, they fell silent. You kept a sharp eye on your surroundings.

“By the way,” you began, still a bit offended by the chicken joke. “You guys should regret not being here to see these inventions. Perfect for you, nerds.”

“Well, actually, we can see them,” Reid’s voice came through the earpiece, sounding very clear, clearly taking the whole mic for himself. “Garcia grabbed footage from the cameras inside the room.”

“So you can see me? This whole time?”

 “Yep. And we saw that terrified couple who ran as far away from you as they could as soon as you started clucking like a chicken. Poor souls.”

You ignored the comment and began scanning the room for the cameras. When you found them, you scratched your forehead with your middle finger.

“Can you see this too?”

“I can see how much fun you’re having,” he scoffed. “Are you going to include that in your report?”

“Exactly. Right under your name, framed with a glittery little heart. Any other requests?” Not waiting for his response, you added, “By the way, how do I look in your jacket? Does it fit me well?”

"I think so. I mean, the blazer is incredibly well-tailored. And of good quality. It’s impossible for it to look bad on anyone." He paused for a moment, and his voice grew more serious. "How’s it going? Have you noticed anything suspicious? Still feeling stressed?"

"Not anymore," you admitted, speaking the truth. Even though the exhibition had just started and was supposed to last about another hour, you felt like you had passed some milestone where nothing could go wrong anymore. "But of course, I’m still keeping an eye out. I had a little chat with Allen…"

"I heard," Reid acknowledged. "Very interesting lecture on the human brain, I must admit."

You let out a small laugh.

"I talked to Allen earlier. Still in the car. After what he told me, I don’t think he's a paranoiac. The guy is just really worried about his safety. And not just his.”

A moment of silence fell on both sides.

"Speaking of Allen, he's heading your way," he informed you, likely watching the feed from the cameras. "I guess I'll hear from you later then. I mean, I’ll be hearing you the whole time, just not the other way around. Unless you want me to constantly broadcast about ant reproduction?"

"Sorry, Reid, but I’ll pass. Maybe some other time," you chuckled, noticing the engineer approaching. As he walked, he bumped into a man in the crowd and exchanged a quick apology. You used that moment to add something else, a bit impulsively. "And what about this? Do you see this?"

You pressed the inside of your hand to your lips before unfolding it, sending a kiss toward one of the cameras. Reid was silent as Allen drew closer.

"I see it," he finally admitted, quieter. You regretted not being able to see his expression, it was unusually hard for you to picture it at that particular moment. Was he smiling? "And I like it a lot more than what you showed me earlier."

You turned your back to the camera so he wouldn’t see you smile. It only hit you afterward that he probably saw it anyway, just from a different angle.

"I see you're enjoying the exhibition," Allen said, standing in front of you with his hands in his pockets. He had stopped pretending to be the classy guy and fully embraced his more laid-back side. "So, uh, sorry, but I think I'd rather head out now."

Worried, you discreetly glanced around.

"Did something happen? Did someone stare at you weirdly, do something...?"

He shook his head, a negative gesture.

"Nothing like that. I just saw what I needed to see. Check it off the list, I’m ready to leave..."

After his words, an absolute darkness fell.

Absolute darkness, in the truest sense of the word. The exhibition hall had no windows. When the lights went out, it felt as if someone had tied a cloth tightly over your eyes. Yet, like a fool, you kept looking around, as if moving your head could somehow tear through the blackness enveloping you, freeing you from the growing panic that was slowly flooding your senses.

“Garcia, what’s up with the cameras?” Reid’s voice sounded in your ear. He was confused, not yet frightened. He didn’t know what was happening yet. None of you did.

The people around you, of course, were also surprised by the sudden blackout. A few muffled gasps echoed, one or two squeals, a smattering of curses. But there were no screams, no one tearing at their throats or blindly bolting forward, trampling others in the process. That came later.

Exactly four seconds after the first gunshot rang out.

Before, the world seemed to freeze in place; everyone’s breaths were trapped in their lungs, unwilling to escape, even out of curiosity. Your body lunged forward as if trying to flee, but it quickly dawned on you that there was nowhere to run. Where had the shot come from? Who had fired it? Was someone hurt?

Something—or rather, someone’s hand—clamped painfully around your wrist. Instinctively, you tried to pull free, letting out a sound somewhere between a growl and a garbled cry.

“It’s me,” Allen choked out, his voice trembling. You couldn’t see his silhouette, but you knew the blood had drained from his face. “What the fuck... what the fuck is happen—”

The second shot rang out, closer and sharper than the first. Chaos erupted in the room. Screams, so hysterical they drowned out the voices coming through your earpiece, filled the air. Something struck you hard, sending you stumbling as pain radiated through your shoulder. It was an empty kind of pain—something you felt and yet didn’t. You realized it must have been one of the panicked people charging blindly through the dark.

“Here,” you commanded, your mind snapping briefly into clarity. In your mind’s eye, you pictured the layout of the room before the lights went out. The corner of the hall, the wooden table behind you, where one of the prototypes had been displayed.

You slipped under the table, dragging Allen with you. He groaned as his head hit the underside of the furniture.

You were so utterly disoriented that it felt as though your own name was echoing on a loop inside your head. It took you a moment to realize it wasn’t just your mind playing tricks—it was someone’s voice, growing more familiar with each passing second.

The third gunshot.

Allen choked on his breath, his hand still gripping your wrist so tightly you feared it might snap—yet you didn’t register it as pain, merely as a sensation. The two of you crouched beneath the table, facing each other, teetering on the edge of succumbing to the abyss of panic.

Reid spoke your name again, faintly, as though he were far too close to the microphone. As though leaning in would somehow make you hear him better—make you respond.

“I’m here,” you managed to stammer, the first thing that came to your mind.

"Thank God, I thought..." he sighed, suddenly stopping, as if realizing it wasn't yet time for relief. "Are you... are you hurt?"

"My arm."

You didn't know why those words escaped your lips. Maybe because, although your mind was too occupied with trying to figure out the situation to focus on something like pain, your body couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt it. Against your will, you let out a hiss and finally pulled your hand out of Allen's grip.

"You've been shot? We... we can't see anything, do you have anything to stop the bleeding, maybe use my jacket..."

"I don't know what's happening, we've completely lost access to the camera feed, someone must have turned them all off, just like the power... Reid, immediately notify Hotch, he needs to know something's wrong..."

On the other side, chaos erupted, comparable to the one surrounding you. Penelope was aggressively pressing the keyboard keys, Reid was rushing between a phone conversation with Hotch and throwing random phrases at you like stay where you are or how's your arm?

But was staying put the right decision? Wasn't it just waiting for the person responsible for starting this... massacre to come for you? On the other hand, how were you supposed to escape? In complete darkness? You had a weapon... but what good was it if you couldn't see anything? A sound of resigned sobbing escaped you.

And then, suddenly, right before your eyes, Allen’s red hair materialized, his fingers pressed into his skull as if he wanted to tear it apart himself. You both looked into each other's eyes. Visibility returned.

“We have light,” you said, though it didn’t loosen the grip on your chest.

“What?” Penelope sputtered, confused. “We still can’t see anything, the cameras are still…”

Allen let out a choked cry. You followed his gaze. Just before your hiding spot, a pair of leather shoes stopped.

“Get out,” commanded a male voice. You lifted your head. Above you stood a man with dark facial hair and a submachine gun, looking like an extension of his broad shoulder. You immediately noticed, besides the weapon, he was also carrying a black sports bag slung over his shoulder. Both of you were too disoriented and terrified to follow the order. “I said, fuckin’ get out and against the wall, I won’t repeat myself.”

Like animals herded into a pen, you followed his instructions to the designated spot. The entire crowd inside gathered against one of the blood-red walls of the room, some pressing their backs against it as if that embrace would ensure their safety...

“What’s going on there now?” Reid asked. “We still don’t have a feed... I can hear you breathing,” he blurted out unexpectedly.

You realized that your breath had indeed become heavy and loud. It dawned on you that you hadn’t gone through any extensive training on how to handle a situation like this; you were useless...

“Just...damn it, I know it’s easier for me to say, but try not to panic, okay? Whatever’s going on... panic will only make it worse. You need to focus, please. Can you do that? Breathe? Slowly, like I’m doing now?”

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his jacket, feeling it under your fingers. Closing your eyes, you could almost imagine him standing right in front of you, in this very building, speaking those words. It helped calm you down, at least enough for your mind to stay somewhat communicative...

“Good. Very...very good. Now, can you describe what’s happening over there?”

You knew that every piece of information you passed on would be worth its weight in gold. You tightened your grip on the fabric of Reid's jacket and began scanning your surroundings.

“One shooter. He’s herding us... all of us, against one of the walls and... stuffing prototypes into the bag, every one he can get his hands on,” you reported, describing everything you’d seen. “It looks like a robbery.”

“Just one?” Reid asked. “What were those shots? Someone... got hurt?”

You were about to deny it when your attention was drawn to a bloodstain spreading across the marble floor at the opposite corner of the room. Allen nudged you, pointing to something else—a body lying motionless.

“Guards. He... he killed all the guards,” you recognized them by their uniforms, the words barely escaping your throat. So, he hadn’t hesitated to kill, not one of those inexperienced types with any moral inhibitions. Trying to make sense of everything happening around you, you pressed your hand to your forehead. “But... but how could he see them in this darkness...”

“Night vision,” Allen interrupted suddenly, his previously hunched figure straightening as he realized it.

You found the man busy with the theft and controlling the area. He was quite solidly built, you could compare him to Derek. And, as the engineer had observed, around his neck hung a device for seeing in the dark.

“The police have arrived outside the museum, but they won’t go inside as long as you’re trapped with him. They don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Penelope informed you, then let out a soft, wheezing breath, as if she was trying to calm herself down. “Sweetheart, the whole team is on their way too. From now on, you’re our informant…”

“Is Christopher Allen among you?” A commanding voice suddenly cut through the sheet of panic blanketing the room, drawing everyone’s attention. It belonged to a truly imposing man with a shaved head and a forehead lined with wrinkles that seemed to stem more from exhaustion than age. But by far, the most significant detail about him was the submachine gun he held in his hands.

Two. There were two shooters.

Your focus shifted to the man standing right in front of you, as if delivering some kind of speech. At first, you didn’t even register what he’d asked. He repeated the question quickly and impatiently, and you froze. Not that you’d been particularly active before, but in that moment, all your bodily functions seemed to shut down completely. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Allen—not even for a fleeting glance.

“Christopher Allen. Biotech engineer. He should be here,” the man continued, scanning the faces in front of him almost desperately, searching for the one he needed. He sounded almost... distraught? That broken expression, teetering on the edge of tears and madness, starkly contrasted with his militaristic physique.

Suddenly, his accomplice appeared, tugging at his arm.

“Jesus, give it a rest. We need to get out of here. The car’s waiting for us, remember?”

He shoved the smaller man with a force befitting his build, sending him staggering backward.

“I’m not leaving until I talk to him!” he declared with furious determination. “Christopher Allen…”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me…”

“Allen…”

His eyes scanned the surroundings until they landed on the two of you. You felt someone lightly wrap their fingers around your forearm, gripping it almost instinctively. It wasn’t a strong or painful hold, but rather one born of genuine fear, seeking protection. Protection that, from the start, had been your responsibility to provide. Yet now, standing face to face with two armed assailants, with lifeless bodies lying in pools of blood in the same room…you felt the crushing weight of an obligation you were physically incapable of fulfilling, creating a storm of chaos within your mind.

Allen must have been fooling himself into thinking he could blend into the crowd and remain unnoticed. Even as everyone’s gaze began to focus on him, urgently and with some unspoken hope, he stubbornly stood still. Or was he simply paralyzed by fear?

For the first time since he was called out, you looked at him. His eyes conveyed one thing: a simple message. It was him. The man who had been sending him threats, the one who had broken into his house. You furrowed your brows, this whole situation was becoming incomprehensible. He cared so much about kidnapping the engineer that he had organized the heist at the exhibition where he was supposed to be?

 “Come here. I need to talk to you, you… you need to do something for me.”

Once again, in your ears, you heard the description of the tortures that were mentioned in the letter.

"You have to do this," you said very softly, almost a whisper. "We can't let him get angry. Do you hear me?"

 It seemed like your words weren’t reaching him at all. You nervously glanced at the gunmen, hoping that the command you had given hadn’t raised any suspicion or made them think you were trying to outsmart them, deceive them in some way. Slowly, but with deep remorse, you loosened Allen’s grip on your forearm. His chest wasn’t rising, as if he weren’t breathing. But then his gaze shifted, not to you, but to the people around you, to the ones standing in fear, waiting for his reaction. Something in his face shifted, then he took a step forward.

“Slowly,” you instructed.

It seemed like the best solution. Unsub knew that the person he was looking for was among you, he had identified him without any difficulty. Allen couldn’t hide or escape, all that was left for him was to comply with the orders, for his own sake and for everyone else's. It was also important that he stalled for time. You hoped that as soon as your team arrived, they’d be able to come up with something. Maybe they were already there, working to make contact with the shooters and free you all, alive and unharmed.

At the same time, someone called your name.

"Report in."

It was Hotch. At the sound of his stoic voice, a fleeting wave of relief washed over you. You even parted your lips to answer when you realized the second gunman was staring at you. The room fell into absolute silence as Allen slowly approached them. You shouldn’t reveal that you were with the FBI or any other agency—that was a basic rule…

 "Listen to me carefully now," the unsub spat, placing one of his massive hands on Allen's shoulder, causing him to almost buckle under the forceful touch. Someone behind you let out a muffled cry. "You need to remove it from me, do you understand?"

"Shit," his partner muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He was holding a bag with the stolen equipment, constantly glancing toward the exit. You wondered if he had anything to do with the threats sent to Allen. "Shit, we need to get the hell out of here before the cops completely block our escape. We don't have time for your fucking delusions!"

“Remove…?” the baffled engineer repeated, completely thrown off.

“The chip. The one inside me. Right here, on the back of my neck.” The man jabbed a finger at the spot. “Someone has to cut it out of me. You work with brains—you must know how to do it. He’s controlling me, watching my thoughts… I saw an interview with you once. I know you’re the only one who can do this…”

The man’s words devolved into a stream of incoherent rambling. Allen had no idea how to respond, and silence stretched on the other end of the phone. Meanwhile, the second gunman tried once again to persuade his partner to escape, but this only triggered an explosive burst of rage that made everyone around them shrink in fear.

“Shut up, or I’ll blow your head off too!” the man shouted. “I’ve waited too long for this. I don’t give a damn about all that crap you stole. I don’t care if they catch me. He’s going to cut out that chip!”

“What chip?” Allen finally managed to stammer. “I don’t understand…”

“The chip the government implanted in me to control me! That’s why no hospital will remove it—they’re all under government control! Only you can do it!”

“The unsub is delusional, that much is clear,” Reid’s voice suddenly crackled in your earpiece, catching you by surprise. He must have made it from Penelope’s office to the museum—where he joined Hotch and the rest of the team—at an impressive speed. “The reality he’s constructed is starting to blur with actual reality, which makes him extremely dangerous. Just from the tone of his speech, you can tell he’s emotionally unbalanced and on the brink of a breakdown. Unfortunately, this means his actions could be erratic and violent, with a strong tendency toward escalation.”

"What can I do?" you whispered as quietly as possible, taking advantage of the commotion in the center of the room.

"Are you there? Can you speak safely?" he asked, exhaling a breath of trapped air. "I mean... What you can do, first and foremost, is stay cautious. Don’t say or do anything that could provoke him further," he instructed, his tone turning focused and determined to provide you with as much guidance as possible. You nodded almost imperceptibly as you listened, as if he could see you. At some point, your fingers began nervously clutching the fabric of his blazer again, a small, unconscious tic.

"Don’t confront his delusions—or rather, don’t outright deny them. Try not to introduce any new elements either, to avoid deepening his paranoia, alright? That could put you in even greater danger..."

"Above all, try to redirect his anger away from Allen and the other hostages," Hotch cut in. "We’re working on a way to get inside. You just need to buy us some time."

Buy some time, it was easy for him to say, you thought with sudden frustration. What exactly could you do? It was incredibly hard to make any decisions when you were fully aware that their consequences could result in the death of an innocent person—or people.

Allen was still in front of the unsub, gripped tightly by the gun-wielding man, slightly shaking his head from side to side, clearly overwhelmed by the situation.

"But... but how am I supposed to get the chip out, do you really believe the government..."

"He doesn’t have the right tools," you interrupted, taking a step forward to draw the shooters’ attention to you. You raised your hands in a gesture of surrender as soon as you found yourself in the second man’s line of sight. You were scared of the direction Allen was heading in—after all, Reid had told you not to deny his delusions. Though you weren’t sure it was the right approach, you tried to make eye contact with the unsub. You had a feeling that he might only fully understand what you were trying to convey if you did.

Everyone was looking at you now. Nervously, you swallowed before speaking again.

"If you want him to remove the chip from your body... you’ll need at least a scalpel. Well, and if it was implanted by the government... that might not be enough?"

To your surprise, the second attacker spoke up.

"She's right, Erick, we don't have anything like that. Leave him, we need to get out of here... though fuck, it probably doesn't matter anymore, I wonder if the police have already caught our driver..."

You hoped that the team had heard this and started looking for suspicious vehicles in the area. Erick, or rather the unsub, began to stare intensely at you, analyzing what you'd said.

"Keep it up," Reid said. "It looks like you’ve planted some doubt in his mind about his own plan. You can keep going in that direction, just please, please, be careful..."

"Reid," Hotch admonished him.

You took a deep breath, your mind was working so fast that it was starting to go blank. You had to say something more before it consumed you entirely.

"But... but I'm sure that if you had met under different circumstances, outside the museum, he would have been able to extract the chip..."

"No! I've waited too long, I can't stand having this crap under my skin for another minute! He'll take it out now, or he won't leave here!"

Allen's raised hands trembled at those words.

"How can we communicate with the police? Is there a phone here?" he asked his companion.

"Are you fucking out of your mind..."

"They'll bring us the equipment. A scalpel. They won't have a choice, or I'll shoot them all, one by one."

"We should focus on how to get out of here..."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" the unsub roared at him. Fueled by this outburst, he shoved Allen away so forcefully that the man fell to the floor. The startled man took a step back, unable to hide his fear. It was clear who had the final say in this duo. Erick was not only physically larger, most likely more ruthless, but above all, incredibly unpredictable. Without looking at you, he issued an order.

"Everyone sit against the wall, you too." Allen awkwardly got to his feet and almost ran to the indicated spot.

You didn't want to sit, to put yourself in an even more vulnerable position. But when a man with a submachine gun and a completely deranged gleam in his eyes is standing in front of you, you don't have much of a choice. Slowly, you sat down on the floor, surrounded by all these terrified people.

You studied the faces of everyone around you—scientists and random people who had ended up here simply because they were intrigued by the exhibit's theme. And that innocent curiosity had led them into such a hopeless situation, where each breath, drawn into trembling lungs, could prove to be the final one. What terrified you was the fact that the only thing distinguishing you from them was the tiny microphone pinned to your clothes and the earpiece in your ear.

The woman sitting next to you, so close that your elbows were touching, looked as though she was about to faint. Without hesitation, you offered her your hand, which she took with no resistance. In situations like that, the escape from fear was desperately sought wherever it could be found—even among strangers.

“What’s happening in there now?” Hotch asked.

You explained the situation to him as clearly and logically as possible, correcting anything they might have missed due to their lack of actual insight into what was happening inside the museum. The woman beside you looked at you strangely, smudged mascara around her eyes.

“Please don’t worry,” you whispered, making sure none of the attackers could hear you. Though maybe you shouldn’t have, you felt you needed to reveal yourself to her, to help her survive the nightmare she had found herself in. “I’m... a federal agent. I have contact with the team outside, they’re working on how to get us out of here.”

You didn’t know if those words had particularly soothed her fear—just as you spoke them, Allen practically pressed himself against you, trying to whisper something into your ear.

“Give me your gun,” he practically ordered.

You looked at him with your eyebrows raised in shock. No words were needed. Your face clearly expressed one big what?

He looked like one of those people going on and on about a newly invented device they had been working on for years, staying up every night. In his eyes was a comparable crazy but incredibly self-assured gleam.

“I know you have it, but you won’t use it. Because you're scared. And I don’t blame you!” he quickly added, moving slightly away from you. Still, your faces were tilted toward each other in a conspiratorial whisper.

“But listen to me. He cares about me, right? Or rather, he cares that I get the nonexistent chip from him. He won’t hurt me when I get closer, he’s too desperate, in his eyes, I’m his only chance…”

“You must have lost your mind,” you said through clenched teeth. Was he really willing to take such a risk and play the hero when he and his fiancée were expecting a child? “And what about the other guy, huh? Do you think he’ll just stand there calmly when...?”

“Then I’ll shoot him first. I used to go to the shooting range, I was pretty good at it. The other one will be too scared to hurt me, and then I...”

“Absolutely not,” Reid interjected.

You snorted.

“As if I would even consider it…” you muttered. Looking at Allen, you tapped your forehead. “No way. You’re not risking your life on such a stupid plan where everything could go wrong…”

“Do you think I’m asking for your opinion?” he hissed, clutching his head in desperation. “The answer is no. I’m just saying, give me your gun. Where is it?”

As he said this, he grabbed the fabric of your blazer, searching under it for what he so desperately wanted. You tried to catch his hand, but he trapped it in his grip, digging through the layers of your clothes, under your skirt. You jerked your whole body in an attempt to break free.

“Leave me alone, they’ll notice us soon…”

“What’s he doing?” Reid asked sharply. Although he couldn’t see what was happening, his voice was not only confused, but also clearly worried, maybe even angry.

“Just give it to me, what the hell does it hurt…”

His hand, despite your resistance, finally reached the grip of your gun, slightly sliding it out from beneath your skirt. You shot a quick glance toward the attackers, still engrossed in their conversation—or rather, argument. Terrified by the thought that they might notice what Allen was pulling from under your clothing, you instinctively swung at his face, causing his head to snap back with a muffled cry of pain.

“What language do I need to speak for you to understand? What you’re planning is idiotic,” you said, your words flowing together with a surprisingly calm yet furious ease. You struggled to keep your voice low, feeling as though shouting might make him grasp it faster. But that wasn’t an option. “You’d risk not only your life but everyone else’s,” you said, gesturing toward what you now had no choice but to call the hostages. “And no one wants to die because of some brainless idiot with a hero complex.”

After you hit him, Allen backed away to a distance that no longer invaded your personal space. With your breath quickened, you adjusted the position of the gun, suddenly panicked that it might fall out during his attempt to grab it against your will. Despite yourself, a strange feeling overcame you. Out of everyone—of all the people trapped in the museum—you were the only one with even minimal knowledge of what to do in this situation, the only one with outside communication to the police, and, most importantly... a weapon. And yet, with that arsenal at your disposal, you were doing embarrassingly little to improve the situation.

Your jaw tightened at the thought, your fists clutching the fabric of your blazer so hard that your knuckles turned white. It was astonishing how much that small action helped you regain your composure. Not just the feel of the fabric but also... the scent. You could almost imagine you weren’t entirely alone in this. And though you wouldn’t trade places with Reid or anyone else from the team for anything, you couldn’t shake the feeling they would handle this far better than you were.

And speaking of Reid...

"Are you okay?" he asked again, his tone much softer than before.

"I'm fine," you tried to give your voice a casual, almost dismissive tone, though you doubted you fully succeeded in masking the tension. You let out a helpless scoff in an attempt to lighten it. "I mean, fine as much as one can be fine in this situation..."

You trailed off, and he hesitated before replying.

"Hang in there, okay?" he said, so quietly you thought you might have misheard. It made you wonder if it was because he didn’t want anyone else to overhear what he was saying into the mic. If that were the case, was it because he didn’t want anyone accusing him of chatting with you when he should be doing something more important? Or maybe, he just didn’t want this simple yet anxious message to reach unwelcome ears and lose its sense of privacy. You heard him swallow. "We’ll get you all out of there soon. Garcia got the phone number of one of the attackers, the delusional one—his name’s Erick Larson, by the way. If he has it on him..."

As if on cue, the sound of an incoming call rang out. They stopped talking, and the surprised man reached into his pocket.

"What are you going to do? Negotiate?" you asked.

"Hotch is going to talk to him. The main goal is to get the hostages released."

The word hostage sounded so strange to you; you couldn’t connect it to your situation. A hostage didn’t have a gun tucked under their clothing or communicate with an FBI team through an earpiece. Those people, holding each other's hands in fear and huddled on the floor, were the hostages. Not you.

"Can you stay on the line?" the words slipped out before you could stop them. "Just, I don’t know... tell me how it really is with those ants or something." You squeezed your eyes shut as a wave of embarrassment crashed over you. You were acting like a scared child who needed a bedtime story to forget the monster under the bed. "Forget it, that’s stupid. You’ve probably got your hands full. Focus on helping us, on the negotiations."

"I'm still on the line," he reassured you, even before the echo of your last words faded. "And I’ll stay on it the whole time. And since talking to you might help you not lose your mind in there... well, I guess that counts as helping all of you. The information you’ve given us, everything you’ve told us... you’re playing a crucial role in all of this."

"I don’t think so. I could be doing so much more."

"Like what, something that idiot was planning?" he asked, stressing the word idiot. "Please, don’t even think about it. You’re doing exactly what’s needed. You’re not sticking your neck out, you’re staying in contact with us. You’re calming the others down, like that woman. That... that’s heroism, not blindly rushing at two armed men."

Moved by his words, you weakly smiled. You’d forgotten again that he couldn’t see you, or maybe it was just automatic.

"Stop, I’m going to blush. But... but thank you, Reid."

"You don’t need to thank me. Oh, he picked up..."

And indeed, Erik pressed the phone to his ear, probably realizing that it was the police trying to make contact. You fixed your gaze on him.

A completely new stage of the robbery was beginning, one on which everything depended—negotiations.

*

Spencer had never had a particular obsession with control. 

In the vast majority of crisis situations, all he needed was a deep understanding of the causes and course of events. A thorough analysis of what had happened so far, drawing conclusions based on that, and then coming up with possible solutions, each with its pros and cons, which he also had to consider.

It involved emotionally distancing himself from the situation and relying on advice from his trusty friend—logic. And when he was guided by that cold logic, he didn’t feel the need to actively participate in what was happening around him or take any direct control. But in that particular moment—ever since he had heard the first shot coming from inside the museum, shortly after losing access to the cameras—he was almost losing his mind over how little he could do. Powerlessness was the first blow, the fact that her life, and others', depended on a man with probable schizophrenia, driven by dangerous delusions, the second, much stronger one.

As with every hostage situation, a makeshift operations camp was set up outside the building, where all necessary units gathered. Garcia stayed at her post, but he saw no other option but to go there personally. The rest of the team quickly gathered, and Hotch arrived so fast it seemed like he lived just around the corner. After all, there was a member of his team inside, the one he had sent there, never expecting such a turn of events. The two perpetrators, who were working together, seemed to have two completely different goals. One, apparently, was persuaded to go along with a simple robbery and escape. The second, Erick, however, had a different, more complicated desire from the start. He wanted Allen, who was supposed to extract a non-existent chip from his body, allegedly implanted by the government.

Allen. He spoke that name with an incomprehensible bitterness and disdain. He was disgusted by his thoughtlessness, pure stupidity. Though he was familiar with his achievements in the field of neurotechnology, he couldn't call him a scientist, really not anything other than an idiot. And it was all because he had nearly put her and everyone else in danger, because he pressured her so much that she had to defend herself by striking him in the face. He remembered how once they had slept in the same bed, so small that they almost fell off it and were forced to lie literally on top of each other. By accident, he had jabbed her with his elbow in the ribs, and before he could even whisper an apology, she hit him with such force that he lost his breath. He hoped Allen had taken an even harder blow.

He forced himself back to reality, as everyone gathered around Hotch, who was leaning over the phone. The unsub had answered, and the discussion began.

"We'll deliver what you need. All the equipment. But first, you must release the innocent people inside and promise you won't hurt anyone else. Not Allen, or anyone."

They argued, a lot. Of course, they wanted him to let everyone go, which was, realistically, impossible. Eventually, the number sixteen was agreed upon, a little more than half of the people present.

Through the microphone clipped to her clothes, they could hear him pointing at the people who were to be released. The second perpetrator seemed to have completely given in to his paranoid companion, and stopped trying to convince him to escape. He must have realized it was already too late for that.

“You’re the one who’s leaving,” he said, his words very clear, suggesting he was standing very close to her, pointing at her.

Spencer straightened up, a sudden rush of premature relief washing over him. Premature—that was the key word.

“No,” she protested sharply. “No, let her go instead of me. She’s older and not feeling well. I should stay…”

He pressed the microphone to his mouth, trying to talk her out of it.

“Do what they say, resisting might make him angry…”

“No, Reid, she’s right,” Hotch interrupted him. Spencer looked at his boss in surprise, shaking his head in confusion. Instead of explaining his decision to him, Hotch turned to her.

“You have to do everything you can to stay inside. You’re our only source of information, our access to what’s happening in there.”

“Hotch…”

Someone, JJ, placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from protesting further. It dawned on him that they were right, but... it was hard for him to accept. It was true that, as an FBI agent, part of her duty sometimes meant risking her life for the greater good. Still, this decision made his hands ball into fists, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Suddenly, it struck him that if an unfamiliar agent, not a member of the BAU, not his friend, and someone who hadn’t shared a bed with him when his fear of the dark grew stronger, were in the same situation... he would have agreed with Hotch without hesitation.

“I told you to leave, so you leave. There’s gotta be sixteen people, or they won’t bring it to me, goddammit.”

“So let someone else go…” She cut off abruptly, a rustling sound echoing through the air, as if— as if he tugged at her clothes. Spencer almost spoke again but stopped herself. The same thought had crossed Hotch’s face, he saw it. 

“Seriously, this will be better. I... I can help with removing the chip...”

“Allen has to do it.”

“Yes, but…” her voice grew more desperate, trying to come up with something more, an excuse to fulfill her duty.

“Oh, what don’t you understand, you stupid bitch…”

Spencer anticipated the sudden outburst of aggression, he had felt it building for a while. Though the unsub was unpredictable, his anger rose and fell within mere seconds, Spencer knew it was all heading in that direction. So, he squeezed his eyes shut just before the horrible, dull thud rang out, followed by a muffled cry of pain. Then the sound was drowned out by a rush, something like a thud, and he could only guess that she had fallen to the floor.

He didn't open his eyes, but something pricked at his chest. He knew that if he looked at Hotch, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving him a big, i told you so. It wasn’t even about being right—he didn’t care about that, not at that moment. What mattered to him was that nothing happened to her, and that was exactly what had just happened.

No one from the team said a word, though Derek turned his gaze away from the speaker, his expression one of discomfort, like someone averting their eyes from an unpleasant scene. Hotch stared at some fixed point ahead, his face unreadable, before leaning into the microphone just as—

“What the hell is this?!” the unsub suddenly screamed. “A gun? Why the hell does she have a gun on her?!”

Reid’s eyes shot open as he nearly dropped to his knees by the microphone, as if somehow that could help. The weapon must have slipped out when she fell, sliding free from where it had been concealed beneath her clothes…

He noticed Elle nervously biting her thumb, her face pale as a sheet. He read the same grim, terrified realization on her face that had already taken root in everyone’s minds. She was burned. Her cover as the assistant was completely blown.

“He can’t find out she’s FBI,” Gideon declared, leaning heavily against the edge of the table. “He’s a paranoid maniac who thinks the government is after him. If he realizes a federal agent has been in there the entire time…”

“Wait!” the second attacker spoke up. He had long since given up and was now quietly following his partner’s orders. “I heard the hostages talking... something about there being someone from the FBI among them, someone who’s in contact with the cops. I thought they were just talking crap, but...”

“How does he know that?” JJ asked, her lips slightly parted in shock.

“She told one of the women,” Spencer blurted out, though it felt like the words came from someone else. Some part of him—still detached from the full realization of what her exposure meant—clung to the fragments of logic not yet consumed by his nerves. “To calm her down... but that woman must have passed it on to someone else.”

“FBI?” the unsub repeated, almost in a daze. “Fucking FBI?”

The sound of something slamming echoed sharply—an explosion of frustration and shock. Every pained whimper, every labored breath she took, reached Spencer with cruel clarity, amplified by that damned new microphone clipped to her chest, capturing every sound in merciless detail.

He wanted to cover his ears, to block it out, but he couldn’t. His lower lip trembled, caught between screaming or vomiting the moment he opened his mouth. 

Covering his ears would have been a selfish gesture, one that would only bring relief to him. She didn’t have that option; all that was left for her was to endure, as he assumed, the next kicks...

He lowered his head, not looking at the others, not wanting to see their equally helpless expressions. And although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he took two steps to move away. To escape from this place, from these sounds. Because he simply couldn’t bear them.

However, he didn’t get far; he staggered as if drunk and had to grab the table tightly to keep from falling. JJ, in some protective impulse that she probably wasn’t even aware of, reached out her hand, wanting to touch his shoulder, but he pushed her away.

“I’m calling him,” Hotch announced, immediately moving into action. “Maybe that’ll stop him…”

“Check if she has a microphone on her. If she’s with the FBI, she could have been spying on us the whole time,” suggested the second attacker, in a strangely satisfied tone. He was probably some sadistic bastard who enjoyed this turn of events.

This caused Erik to stop his attack. He completely ignored the incoming call. She took a breath, inhaling deeply, though it clearly caused her pain.

“She has…”

The unsub’s voice became very clear, he must have located the microphone and then disconnected it from her clothing, carefully watching him.

“We need to go in, we have to do something,” Elle said desperately, but it didn’t stir anyone else. 

Yes, they needed to do something, but... what? Going in meant putting the hostages at risk, and their survival was the priority.

"I knew the government was spying on me," Erick muttered to himself, the microphone had probably slipped from his hand and fallen to the ground. "Not just with the chip, but they also sent that fucking..." He kicked her. "...agent."

"Give it to me," Spencer requested, exhaling with a resigned hiss. He was, of course, referring to the microphone. She still had the earpiece in; she could hear him. He didn’t yet know what he intended to say. Maybe he���d ask her to stay strong? Assure her that it would all be over soon? Would that even count as a lie if he had no real certainty they could take any action to save her? Or was this one of those morally gray situations where a lie was better than the truth?

Without protest, someone handed the microphone to him, practically shoving it into his hands.

But then they lost the connection.

The unsub must have destroyed it, stomping the microphone underfoot.

And before it happened—before the static filled the line—a gunshot rang out.

Spence found himself sitting on a chair. Not that he’d blacked out in the literal sense, but one moment he was standing upright, and the next he was slumped onto the seat—probably the only chair in their makeshift camp across from the museum. It was one of those folding chairs made of black metal and unbelievably uncomfortable. For some reason, their look always reminded him of golf courses in the blazing sun. Sometimes they’d be there… wait, why the hell was he thinking about chairs?

Disoriented, he lifted his gaze. Derek was pacing back and forth, his hands on his head, while Elle and JJ were nowhere in sight. Hotch stood in front of him, turned slightly to the side, eyes fixed on the ground, a phone pressed to his ear. His rolled-up sleeves exposed tense veins on his forearms, his hands clenched into fists.

“You killed a hostage,” Hotch said the moment the attacker picked up. Hearing the words spoken aloud, the gunshot echoed again in Spencer’s mind. He flinched, though he hadn’t the first time it happened for real.

It really happened. This wasn’t some hysterical thought creeping into your mind when someone you care about is late to a meeting and doesn’t pick up their phone, the kind of thought where your brain starts whispering that something terrible must have happened. It wasn’t a dream either, nor a nightmare blending with reality. And it wasn’t some devastating novel, a climactic moment designed to shatter the reader’s heart into pieces.

This

really

happened.

"I’ll remind you of the terms of our agreement," Hotch continued. His tone was usually sharp, leaving no room for argument. But now, having just lost a member of his team and addressing the person responsible for it, his words didn’t just cut—they sliced. Spencer fixed his gaze on him, unable to comprehend how Hotch could remain so composed in the moment. He himself…

“You don’t harm anyone else, and in return, we provide you with the necessary tools. Shooting that innocent person…”

How did it come to this—that the person who, just that morning, ordered Chinese food with him to calm her nerves; who had teasingly told him to clip the microphone onto her, leaving him flustered; whose sweet scent of hair lingered so strongly in his senses that he had to hold his breath just to focus; who, one moment, could make him laugh until tears blurred his vision, and the next, worry so deeply about her that he felt feverish with concern; who listened, truly listened, even when he had grown tired of his own voice; who helped him discover pieces of himself he hadn’t known were there; who revealed, day after day, some new and enchanting fragment of her soul; and whose laughter made him want to capture its melody, bottle it, and keep it for eternity—was now reduced to the cold, detached phrase an innocent person shot dead?

He realized his mind had become entirely consumed with replaying those moments. Thanks to his eidetic memory, each recollection was painfully vivid, yet at the same time—perhaps due to the awareness of what came next—filled with a paralyzing void. Detached from reality, he wasn’t even listening to the ongoing negotiations, only snapping back when the shadow of someone’s figure fell over him.

“Spencer,” Gideon called his name, alternating between looking at him with concern and averting his gaze, as if unable to bear the shattered expression on his face. “Did you hear what Hotch said?”

He couldn’t bring himself to shake his head, though he doubted it was necessary. Rarely did something fail to interest him, especially something Hotch had said, but whatever it was, it had landed firmly in that narrow category. After all, what could Hotch possibly have said? That he’d reached an agreement with the murderer, who would now release eighteen hostages instead of sixteen? Or perhaps, in an act of twisted mercy, he’d declared that once they brought the requested items, the killer would allow one person to go inside and retrieve her body?

He had seen many bodies with gunshot wounds to the head in his life. A vision of her with similar injuries haunted him, so vivid and detailed that he closed his eyes in an attempt to escape it. But the moment he did, the image only grew stronger, searing itself into his mind with unbearable clarity.

"He wants you to go inside pretending to be a surgeon. That’s what the unsub is asking for in exchange for the hostages. Your task would be to fake removing a chip from his body, pulling off one of your magic tricks," Gideon explained matter-of-factly, though his expression betrayed a certain doubt about the plan. He suddenly fell silent, hesitation creeping into his voice. "If you can’t do it… this isn’t an order, kid. No one will blame you if you say no."

“We didn’t know it would be such a terrible mistake,” Gideon said quietly.

“Well, that’s the thing about mistakes,” he scoffed bitterly. “You don’t usually realize you’re making them. But you should be able to predict them, especially when someone’s…” His voice broke, and he looked away, his anger momentarily crumbling into something rawer.

Even though he had lashed out at Gideon, the older man didn’t react with anger. Instead, he stared at Spencer with a calm, almost sorrowful expression. When Spencer stood, he felt the weight of Gideon’s hand resting on his numb shoulder.

“I’ll do it,” he declared after a moment.

There was no fear in his voice, no visible sign of stress. Under different circumstances, he’d likely have been unraveling, nerves fraying at the thought of entering the building with the task of saving her. But now…now all he wanted was to stand face-to-face with the man inside. More specifically, next to his neck. With a scalpel in hand.

There was no time to waste. He practiced his sleight of hand trick—making the chip suddenly appear in his palm—a few times. It had been a while since he’d done it, but even so, it came off flawlessly every time. He clenched the small device tightly in his hand and, before he knew it, found himself standing at the foot of the museum steps.

The doors opened, and the first hostages began to emerge. Their reactions followed the same pattern. First came the shock—the struggle to process that they were truly stepping outside again, alive. Then, as they began to accept it, their terrified, hesitant steps turned into a relieved jog, and their eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude.

Spencer stopped, his gaze fixed on the faces of random strangers as they rushed past. Somewhere, deep down, he held onto a foolish, fleeting hope that she might appear in those doors as well. She didn’t, of course.

But if she had… he thought, his chest tightening at the mere idea. If she had, he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being thankful. Not necessarily to God, but to everything—every twist of fate—that had brought her back.

He had seen the interior of the building on the camera footage and had managed to memorize it. He knew exactly where to head to meet the unsub. The unsub was standing right in the center of the room. Spencer knew there had to be a second shooter somewhere, but he was afraid to look around. If his gaze happened to land on her, not only would his chip trick fail, but he was also certain he’d never be able to shake the image from his mind. It would embed itself in every cell of his brain, one after the other.

He focused all his attention on him, on Erik. He turned to him trustingly, showing the spot on his neck where he believed the chip was located. Everything about his posture radiated the peak of madness. His voice and expression oscillated between hope, desperation, paranoia, and much more that could be listed.

Spencer tried to concentrate on the chip in his hand, not on the scalpel in his other hand. He knew it would be incredibly foolish, but as he was so close to this man's throat, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He realized that the only thing holding him back was the awareness that the second shooter was likely keeping him in their sights. It was almost certain; he didn’t need to look around to know that. But as soon as the blade touched the man’s skin at the back of his neck, his gaze, against his will, began searching. He looked at the wall where the remaining hostages were gathered, the ones who hadn’t made it into the lucky sixteen. He didn’t find the shooter.

But he found her. If he weren’t wearing his glasses, he might have assumed he’d mistaken her for some other woman. He could only blame his brain and possible hallucinations... but before he could entertain those thoughts, one simple sentence took over his mind.

She was there. Blood dripping from her nose, clothes torn, curled up on the ground among the rest of the hostages, but she was there. She was there, alive.

*

When you stood up for that woman, a brief struggle broke out between you and the unsub. He ordered you to go outside, but the voice in your ear told you to stay inside at all costs. Unsure of what to do, you started mumbling excuses and explanations, leading to an argument... during which he swung his weapon at you, aiming for your face.

As you fell, your weapon—clumsily shoved into your clothing after an argument with Allen—slipped out. And then things escalated rapidly.

Upon learning you were with the FBI, the unsub went into his usual paranoid frenzy. He dropped the microphone he had taken from you, and the heavy kicks of his leather boots landed on your body, on your ribs, on your back. You could barely keep up with protecting yourself, as the blows kept coming faster and faster.

And in that moment, something happened that probably saved your life. But at the same time, it cost another man and his family everything.

Allen sprang at the second attacker, who was almost hypnotized by the injuries being inflicted on you. He seized the moment of distraction, yanking the weapon from his hand and turning it against its owner. You remembered the fleeting look of triumph on his face as he aimed it at Erik. And then, the look of confusion when he was overtaken and the bullets tore through his body.

Somewhere in that moment, your microphone must have been destroyed, leaving you without contact with the team. And without it... you were just like any other hostage. Beaten, forced to stem the blood running from your nose with your blazer. You remembered glancing at it, running your finger over the fabric soaked in crimson, and thinking you'd have to wash it before returning it to Reid. Then, the hopeless realization hit you that maybe you wouldn’t get the chance to do that, and helpless tears filled your eyes for the first time.

It was strange that the unsub decided to spare you. Was it the incoming phone call that distracted him? Or perhaps the death of Allen? Was he the reason for this whole attack? You weren’t sure, maybe both at once. But you managed to return to your spot against the wall, where the other hostages had moved as far away as they could from the two lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood.

Behind your back, the unsub was arguing with the police, probably Hotch. You weren’t paying attention to their negotiations, instead kneeling beside Allen. Completely staining your clothes, you reached for his hand. His eyes were wide open, his chest... maybe rising slightly, or maybe it was just your perception. In any case, you didn’t grab him to check his pulse, to see if there was anything that could be done to save him. You knew there wasn’t. You took his hand in a gesture of gratitude for everything, filled with sincere and deep compassion, despite everything that had happened between you. Maybe he turned out to be a jerk in that one, crisis situation where it’s normal for people to lose their minds. But what mattered was what kind of man he was in everyday, calm conditions. What kind of friend, fiancé, father he was.

You froze in place, staring at his face, his messy red hair. You snapped back to reality only when you realized the unsub was releasing the hostages. You weren’t part of that group. He didn’t look at you, or Allen, or his dead accomplice, as if you didn’t exist. The people were let out of the building, and then…

You nearly jumped to your feet at the sight of Reid, but the sharp pain in your ribs stopped you. Instead, you stared at him, confused as to why he’d gotten himself into such a messed-up situation alone. No one was with him, and you couldn’t even tell if he was carrying a weapon. Why was he taking such a risk? Couldn’t they have sent someone else?

Although your gaze bored into him, asking without words, he stubbornly avoided looking at you. It took a while, but then it hit you—he’d probably been told to hide the fact that you knew each other. He was pretending to be a surgeon, you realized.

You watched in shock as the unsub dropped his weapon and turned his back to Reid, begging him quietly to remove the chip from his body.

Before Reid touched the scalpel to his neck, he looked straight at you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, but you knew there was a lot going on. It was a long moment of eye contact, which he broke to get to work. Focused, brow furrowed.

You shook your head in disbelief when he really pulled the tiny device from his body. Wait, so what? It had really been there all along? The unsub wasn’t a paranoid delusional?

At the sight of the chip, Erik staggered with a mix of hysterical joy and relief, and after a moment, he literally collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. His body was shaken by sobs as he muttered his thanks. He was... absolutely harmless. The hostages took advantage of his vulnerability, using the opportunity to silently leave the museum. You found yourself among them, even helping those who, due to shock, struggled to move. How? With your injuries? You had no idea.

You pointed one woman toward the ambulance waiting outside the building, ready to take any injured hostages. Around you, sounds echoed, people were running in all directions. A sense of disconnection and disbelief washed over you, as if you couldn’t quite grasp that it was all over.

You turned around, sensing someone's presence behind you.

The first thing you noticed was that Spencer was still wearing his blue rubber gloves. Strange, but the first thing that came to your mind was to focus on that detail. You even opened your mouth to speak, but stopped when he gently cupped your face in both of his hands. As if you were a fragile relic, he tilted his head slightly from side to side, almost as though he was trying to deny the fact that you were standing before him.

"As if you saw a ghost," you whispered, a faint smile appearing on your face.

Taking advantage of the fact that he was leaning toward you, you pressed your forehead against his. With your eyes still open, you saw his eyelids tremble. When he closed them, you caught sight of that single tear beginning to form beneath them.

*

"Reid," you said, as he and the rest of the team were heading towards the exit. All heads turned in your direction, but you only cared about that one. "Can we talk?"

He opened his mouth, seemingly surprised by the request, but then swallowed and nodded.

"Sure. If... just, sure."

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Since your rib injuries were numerous, you had to be taken to the hospital for an X-ray. Your face wasn’t looking too good either. Only a few hours had passed since everything happened, and all your wounds were fresh and painful. After taking a decent amount of painkillers, you felt a bit like you were floating. You were sitting on the hospital bed, your legs resting on the floor as if on a bench. You made space beside you, and although he hesitated for a moment, he sat right next to you, so close your shoulders almost touched.

What you wanted to say, everything you felt, was hard to put into words. So you spent a few minutes in silence, during which you concluded that the simpler, the better.

"Thank you, Reid."

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he shook his head dismissively.

"Thank you? For what? I should be thanking you."

You knew this would happen. That he would downplay what he did, and it would be incredibly hard for you to express all the gratitude you felt towards him.

"For what? For everything," you stated briefly. He was preparing a response, but you beat him to it. You even raised a finger decisively, signaling for a moment of silence. You had a lot to say. "Not just for pretending to be a surgeon and getting into that museum. And don't shrug it off like it was a small thing! You saved those people."

"Maybe a little, but…"

"But that's not all. You were… you were with me the whole time. You kept talking to me the entire time…"

"Just like everyone else…"

"Everyone else gave me orders. Told me what to do to survive and what not to do. And of course, I'm incredibly grateful to them—if it weren't for them, I would have probably pissed off that unsub after less than fifteen minutes and we'd all be dead by now."

Reid flinched when you said that. Maybe you should hold off on such words, while the whole situation was still so fresh.

"You... you kept asking how I was feeling, talking to me, just... your voice, the fact that I had you on the other end, it helped me not panic. When, at the very beginning, you asked me to breathe with you..."

You shook your head, holding back the involuntary recollection of that moment, that memory when you were still trapped in that building with two armed men. Helpless and lost, clutching his jacket with all your strength. 

You realized with growing difficulty that you were holding back tears.

Reid had been listening to you quietly the whole time, but suddenly, he lowered his gaze. His hand found yours, hesitated for a moment, then gently grasped it. You immediately squeezed it tightly. Something came to your mind.

"And what did you want to thank me for?" you asked, referring to when he interrupted you the first time.

"It's not... I don't have as much to say as you do," he confessed, circling the topic more than addressing it directly. He still hadn't let go of your hand, and as he thought, his thumb seemed to absentmindedly stroke its surface.

"Wow," you murmured. "I never expected Spencer Reid to say something like that in my presence, but here we are. So?"

He smiled for a moment at your comment. However, that expression quickly gave way to a more serious one, carrying with it the unburied remnants of the horror you had both endured just a few hours ago.

"Just for you being alive," he said. Your brows furrowed slightly when you heard that. It wasn't what you expected. "For a while... when you were still inside, and your mic was destroyed..." With a sigh, he tilted his head back, holding back from returning to that moment. It couldn't have been easy for him, referring to exactly the moment that caused him pain. "We heard a gunshot. Everyone thought it was you.  That's why... that's why I just wanted to thank you for that."

Given that you had absolutely no control over it, those were the strangest thanks anyone had ever given you. But still, they squeezed your heart like no others ever had.

You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek.

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch

[aroace-madness]

Comfortable

Captain Marvel was a wonderful guy, friendly, caring, loyal to a fault and always cheery

Everyone loved him or at least respected him

The Justice League especially

So it's not a surprise when the Captain hasn't answered their calls and messages for a few days, they decided to visit him in his home city, Fawcett

Fawcett is a nice city, weird as hell and concerning at times but it had its own beauty

So in all honestly no one was shocked when a big piece of metal came hurling at the league the very second they stepped a foot in the borders of the city

Clark didn't have a chance to take off the ground before a woman in a silver helmet caught it, beside the helmet from which they could see her long Brown hair, she wore a red shirt, a blue belt, and gloves boots and a yellow bottom of a bodysuit that showed off her legs

She putted the piece of metal down on the ground and landed in front of them

“Hello, I’m Bulletgirl” the woman- Bulletgirl extended her hand for a handshake and Diana, who was the closest to her, accepted it

“Nice to meet another sister in arms, I’m Wonder Woman and this” she gestured at her friends “is the Justice League”

“Oh the Justice League, we heard so much about you” Bulletgirl smiled brightly “it's so nice to finally meet you properly, I apologise for the welcome you got but we’ve been having a bit of a problem for the last few day”

“Which includes flying pieces of metal?” Barry cocked his eyebrow, not that she could see

Bulletgirl didn't say anything, just pointed behind her

There was a gigantic robot walking through the city, it seemed to try and swat away whatever was flying around it, probably Captain

“Yeesh” that was Hal

“Yeah, Dr Sivanna started wreaking havoc in that robot a few days ago and we're trying to get him out without damaging the city and hurting people” Bulletgirl rubbed the back of her neck “we’re herding him to a less populated area and evacuating people from there to lessen the risks of anything happening”

Before anyone from the league could say anything, red blurr hitted the ground in front of them

“Ugh” the blur turned out the be a man

“Hi sweetheart” Bulletgirl waved at the man who was apparently her love “i see your ‘i can handle it’ is doing well”

“Oh yeah kick the lying one” the man managed to sit up with a grunt, he was wearing the same helmet as Bulletgirl

“I have the honor to introducing my dunce of a husband Bulletman” the woman said as she helped her husband stand up, his costume was very similar to his wifes, the only difference really were pants and a lack of gloves

“Nice to meet you” he turned to Bulletgirl “Do you have to call me that?” Bulletman grimaced a which made his wife laugh and kiss his cheek

“Now don't be dramatic dear i've called you far worse”

“True” Bulletman shrugged and dusted his clothes off “so, you're the infamous Justice League we’ve been hearing so much about”

“That's us” Clark smiled

“You do look like a bunch of well meaning people, even that shadow guy over there” he pointed at Bruce “dressed in black, cowl, long cape, gloomy demeanor, you must be Batman”

Batman just grunted in acknowledgament

“How are things going back there?” Bulletgirl asked her husband

“Oh, Voltage and Mary are evacuating people from a neighbourhood that Captain, Mr Scarlet and Ibis are herding Sivanna to”

“That's good” She patted his shoulder and turned back to the Justice League “so what brings you to Fawcett anyways?”

“Oh” Barry perked up “we wanted to see how Cap is doing since he hasn't been answering his comms for the past few days but we see why”

“Yeah” there was a silence for a moment “sooooo, do you guys want to help us out with that?”

Everyone agreed

Clark flew over to where the machine was and created a makeshift corridor from ice

Hal started herding the robot with his projections alongside Captain Marvel who waved at him and a man in a red turban

Shayera, Bulletgirl and Bulletman were flying around the robots head to try and confuse Sivana and IT seemed to work

Sivanas machine was slowly stepped towards a big, circular housing estate while Barry was quickly evacuating the last of civilians from the dangered area

When he was finally in a right position, Diana wrapped her lasso around the robots legs, Bruce did the same with his grappling hook

Shayera, Hal and Bullegirl started pushing at the shoulders of the robot while Captain Marvel and Bulletman were pulling them

The robot lost its footing and started to lose its balance. Clark made a giant ice wall to cushion the fall

The machines upper body fell on the ice and shattered it to about a half of it's height before stopping (Barry made sure to catch and put away the pieces of ice, before any of them landed on any building)

Bulletgirl opened the hatch of the machines head and took Sivana out, holding him by the scruff of his kilt while he was kicking and screaming, flailing his arms around

“I’ll take him to the police, Mister Scarlet is already with them making sure that there aren't any any injured or god forbid casualties” Bulletgirl said as she flew away from Sivana in her hand

The rest of the two groups gathered on the ground by the robot

“That was awesome guys” Barry smiled as he joined the group

“It sure was” Bulletman nodded his hand and putted his hands on his hips, seconds before he got tackled and putted in a one arm headlock by Marvel

“You guys were great!” Captain smiled in his typical fashion as he held the Bulletman

The man didn't seem too bothered by his current situation

“Do you have to do that every time?” The man in a red turban asked, tilting his head a bit

“You know I do, Ibis” Marvel grinned at the man, Ibis apparently “you guys were great too” Captain directed his attention to them, completely shifting his attitude

Before any of the League members could say anything else they got interrupted by two blurs, red and blue, flying straight into the Captain

The man didn't budge and just caught the two into his other arm

The red blur was a girl, looked almost identical to Captain, Mary Marvel

The blue blur was a guy, Voltage

Captain didn't say anything, just dropped them as they kept laughing and cheering

“Alright Cap, I think it's time for you to let go of Bulletman” Mr Scarlet said, leaning a bit on Ibis

Marvel sticked his tongue out at Mr Scarlet and eased his arm, letting the other man slip out of his grasp

Bulletman took advantage of his freedom and slapped Captain in the arm. Captain was about to slap back when Bulletgirl landed next to them

“Alright, Sivana is taken care of” she dusted her hands off and looked at the mess

“Yeah this is going to be a bitch to clean up” Ibis sighed

“Yeah, how about you guys start and I’ll escort our guests” Bulletgirl smiled

“Yeah yeah, you do you” Voltage rolled his eyes as he was already starting the clean-up

Bulletgirl motioned to the league to follow her, and they did

“Did Captain Marvel seem, different to you guys?” Clark his friends in a shushed voice as they walked trough the streets of the city

“He did seem much more relaxed around the other guys” Barry rubbed his chin

“He also called them by their names, without all these “Misses” and “Misters” he always uses when addressing one of us” Shayera pointed out

“Hmm” Bruce hummed, thinking

They arrived at the city borders and stopped in front of Bulletgirl

“It was really nice meeting all of you and thank you for your help” she smiled at them brightly

“It was nice meeting you and your friends too” Clark smiled back

“Uhh” Hal interjected “I got a question, you see, Captain Marvel seemed much more relaxed around you guys, how did you get him to let loose?”

Bulletgirl stared at Hal for a few moments

“Is he overly polite with you, is always respectful and seems like he would rather die than be mean to any of you?”

The League was left dumbfounded for a few seconds

“Uhh yeah” Barry nodded “how did you know?”

“Because he was the exact same way with us when he started out as a hero of Fawcett” Bulletgirl explained

“There is no way that's true” Hal shook his head

“Oh but it is, it took him about five years to finally let loose, you gotta give him some time. How long has he worked with you?”

“About a year and a half now” Diana answered

“Oh yeah, it’s much too soon for him” Bulletgirl laughed

“Maybe he does need time to get comfortable” Diana rubbed the back of her neck “how long have you been working together”

“Oh we’ve been fighting together since 1960”

“1960!?” Barrys eyes bulged out, same as the rest of the League really

“What do you mean 1960?” Clark asked in shock, he wasn't even on earth in 1960, he doubted that he was even in plans during that time

“Not to sound rude or anything but how old are you?” Hal asked

“Oh i’m 35” she answered, as if she’s not frying the justice leagues brains

“Wait, wait, wait” Shayera shook her head “ if you've been working with Cap since 1960, then how are you still 35?”

“That's because of the Suspendium” Bulletgirl said as if it explained anything. She must have noticed their confusion since she started talking again “Dr Sivana used a chemical he created, Suspendium, to trap Captain Marvel, Mary Marvel and Voltage in a force Field that would keep them suspended animation, something went wrong and instead of just capturing the three, the entire city got surrounded by the time bubble, as we call it, with Sivana in it. Captain managed to pop the bubble two years ago”

“Two years ago was when there were first sighting of Captain Marvel” Bruce pointed out

“Yes, the second the bubble popped, Captain started flying around the world”

“Wait” Clark shook his head “how come we never heard of something like that ever happening?”

“Oh” Bulletgirl rubbed the back of her neck “apparently everything and everyone that was trapped in the time bubble was completely erased from the maps and history books and only came back when the bubble was popped”

“That doesn't make any sense” Bruce sighed as he rubbed his temples

“Nothing makes sense, bat boy” Bulletgirl shrugged “now, as much as it's nice standing here and talking I really should help with cleaning” She said as she took of from the ground and bid them adieu

“God this is so weird” Barry sighed

“You're telling me?” Clark slumped a bit

“I think it's best if we don't think about it too much” Diana patted her friends shoulders

As they came back to the Watchtower they all agreed not to think too much about the whole Suspendium situation, it would only lead to a headache

They do like Captains friends tho, they seem nice and are good heroes

@puppetwoman17 @shazam-secret-santa

I hope you like it :D

[kaivenom]

Hi, I was wondering, since it is the holiday winter season, if you could do something kinda similar to the Halloween one I requested, but it's the One Piece Guys (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Sabo, Ace, Law, and Kidd) X Reader, in like short stories but it's them and reader doing romantic Christmas/Winter activities together?

Christmas drabbles

A/N: since this was my first year with the blog, i didn't think of doing specials for halloween and christmas like kinktober and fluffmas, things like that. So thanks to the people that requested it and i hope that for the next year i organize myself to have that events ready. And Merry Christmas!!!!

Masterlist

Luffy

Snowball fight

You asked for Nami's help and she "unintentionally" diverted the ship's course to get to a winter island.

When you all got there, Luffy was inmediatly heading to a playground full of snow, guiding you with his hand.

You both spent all afternoon doing snowball fights with the crew and building weird looking snowmen.

At the end, all the crew reunited to take dinner at some tabern of the village and Luffy whispered on your hear.

"I know that you talked to Nami to get here, i always wanted to have a snowy day, thanks... i love you." you couldn't believe that he knew and was able to wait all day to say it to you.

Zoro

Drinking outside.

You thought that he would want to stay inside the ship or on the deck.

But when you all got to a village with a christmas market and a lot of stands full of food, drinks, crafts and a lot of ambient an people, you were surprised to see that he took you by the arm and dragged you to the place.

Seeing all the liquor stands made you thought that he only wanted to get drunk but for every sip he took, he passed you another.

And then you went to try the free samples of food, and then he paid for two hot cocoas and took you again by the arm to take a walk.

You both sat at a bench and saw the people walk while you finished the liquor chocolate.

"I know that we went to almost every stant that had alcohol but if you want to go to an especific one, you can say it."

And then you saw a big wheel and even that he didn't quite like heights, he kept his word and you even took pictures.

Sanji

Since he is the cook of the ship, all his day resumed on cooking christmas dinner.

So, since he can't get out of the kitchen to be with you, you went to the kitchen to be with him.

He was a little stressed cause it's a special night but you managed to help a little, even if it was just peeling potatoes.

You played music and sang together while moving around, even a couple of times swinging together like you were dancing.

The dinner was a succss, obviously and everyone staying eating until midnight, then everyone headed to their quarters.

You helped him clean the dishes and you thought that you both would head to bed and sleep but.

"Mon amour, you've been my ray of hope all day and i couldn't give you the attention you deserved... now i am fully yours and we can go take a walk."

If the ship is near to an island, you would go take a walk to there if not, then he would do some hot cocoa and you both would sit on the deck.

Trafalgar Law

Kissing under a mistletoe.

All day, the crew tried to make you both kiss.

Law was evading this the best he could but you were oblivious to that plan.

One particular moment, you were about to exit a room and he was about to enter, so you both crashed and suddently a small mistletoe appeared above your heads.

Thanks to Shachi and a fishing rod.

You laughed and kissed his cheek, but he was so nervous that he turned his head and you both ended up kissing on the lips.

He dissapeared and you were really sad, until before the dinner he appeared with a small box of your favourite chocolate, flowers and a letter.

"Im sorry, i really like you but i didn't plan on our first kiss to be like that."

When you looked at him again, you saw that he was holding a mistletoe above both of your heads and a small smile.

Eustass Kidd

Giving gifts.

Eustass wasn't the type to give gou anything, like at all.

And you thought that for christmas he at least would have a little detail with you, but he wasn't showing any signs of that, even talking to Killer that the tradition of giving gifts was stupid.

You were starting to feel hurt cause you already bought something to him.

When dinner was finishing you decided to give him yours, at least to make him feel bad about his behaviour.

He just simply said "thanks".

Your heart cracked and you felt like crying.

You thought about not sleeping on the room that night but you didn't have the guts, you felt stupid.

Kid didn't went to bed with you at the moment and by the time he did, you were already sleep. You thought that probably he went partying with the boys but you didn't have the humour.

When you woke up, you saw a lot of gifts all over the room. You decided to nudge him.

"What?! I thought you would be happy that i get you all the crap that you were saying all the year."

"This are all the things i said i wanted ... in the year?!" he nodded, "you idiot, i thought you weren't going to do nothing... i was really sad and felt like shit."

"Woman, how could i not give you anything? it's christmas! i wanted to make it special... and thanks for YOUR gift, i really like it."

Ace

Binge watching and celebrating with the crew.

You all had stopped by on an island that had a sky station so he was living the dream.

In a very reckless way, so, soon enough he broke his leg and had to stay inside of the room.

He was sad and grumpy cause he didn't like to feel like an invalid and tried to escape a couple of times.

You managed to convince everyone to give him a surprise and make the dinner on your room.

It was fun and noisy and all of you didnt care.

He was happy and didn't try to escape for the whole night.

Then everyone left to give you some "privacy".

"Hey babe, i realized that maybe staying inside is not as bad as i thought, we can finally catch up with all the movies we didn't see."

He smiled showing you all the DVDs while catching the den den mushi to order even more food.

Sabo

Just resting.

It was christmas but legionaries never sleep, or relax, or celebrate...

So you were working on a new plan, even when Dragon sent you to your quarters.

So, when Sabo came back from an special mission just to surprise you on holidays and found out that you were working... he made a plan.

He set everything on the room to make a romantic christmas night, some themed movies and made all the shoping groceries.

And then he appeared behind you, you were so tired that you thought he was a ghost.

So he took the chair and dragged you closer to him.

"My beautiful and worker girlfriend, Dragon sent you to the room."

"But, i thought you wouldn't be here so i didn't have a reason to celebrate."

"I love you so much." he blushed and kissed you, and then take you on bridal style to the room.

[adieutristana]

Well, reader and Jinx matching rings (maybe even wedding rings), and when Caitlin shoots Jinx's finger, she destroys this ring. Jinx’s honest reaction?

of course! thank you for the request <3

i decided to make them promise rings since she lost her middle finger. i hope that’s alright!

summary; jinx’s promise ring being destroyed, and fem!reader comforting her after the fact.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of war/combat, mentions of poor mental health, medical talk ig? (patching up), s2 spoilers

men dni.

you’re sat in jinx’s hideout watching her tinker away with… something. a new type of explosive she’s experimenting with, she says. something that only requires one hexcrystal instead of two or three, since she can’t keep using so many. she’s unceremoniously hunched over the workbench, goggles over her eyes as she messes with the piece of scrap metal in her hand.

“having fun?”

you ask, sitting back in the chair she got you.

“mm… this is more difficult than i thought it would be. who knew this could be so challenging? but i like a challenge.”

she smirks to herself, not taking her eyes off of her project.

“well, you’ve never let ‘difficult’ stop you. you’re a right genius.”

“oh, stop. you’re biased!”

she teases, but she’s got the lightest rouge dusting her cheeks. got her. your gaze continues to follow your girlfriend, the way she moves so freely and carelessly. getting her face impossibly close to power tools, using her nails to clean up dirt, teeth capturing her bottom lip when she’s particularly stumped.

“alright! that’s enough for right now.”

she proclaims, standing up and placing her hands on her hips.

“already?” it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes since you asked her how she was doing.

“yeah! besides, i’ve got something for ‘ya.”

jinx springs up from her seat and skitters over to yours, quickly turning it around. you hear cheerful humming from behind you as she shuffles through piles of belongings, clearly looking for something.

"a-ha!"

she spins you back around, both hands on your seat and quickly rises. she's got something clasped in her left hand, but won't reveal it, not yet.

"what's that?"

"you have to be patient, toots! i've got a speech prepared, don't distract me!"

a speech? jinx never gave speeches. was she breaking up with you? so many thoughts began swirling through your mind as your palms began to sweat, gripping the chair- and then jinx revealed what she was hiding. a wooden box. a... ring box?

"isn't it a little soon to be getting engaged, jinx?"

you chuckle dryly, looking up at your girlfriend. she playfully rolls her eyes, and shakes her head, blue bang swaying.

"yes it is, that's why we're not getting engaged."

she clears her throat.

"not yet."

she turns her attention back to the box, and she opens it. inside lays a thick silver ring, with a circular blue gem in the middle. it looked eerily similar to a hexcrystal- but carved into a gemstone. 'JINX' is shakily engraved on the inside, something she undoubtedly did herself.

"this is a promise ring. i've been working on it for a while, and well... it's kind of stupid." she looks off to the side, sheepishly. "but this is me promising myself to you. to show you that i'm serious about this, ya know?"

you look over the ring for a moment, taking it in for all that it is. it's obviously unprofessional, the metal is a bit dull, and the shape isn't precise. but god dammit if it isn't the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. you glance back to your girlfriend, noticing her observing you- likely for any signs of disapproval. poor girl. as much as jinx had improved since meeting you, she still had the habit of expecting the worst. you didn't think that part would ever go away.

"jinx, it's beautiful. i- you made this?"

you ask, your eyes flickering back to the ring she's holding out. noticing how her grip is becoming a bit less stable.

"with my own two hands."

you chuckle, giving her a little grin.

"well? come on, put it on."

jinx doesn't need to be told twice. she gently takes hold of your left hand, removing the ring from the box and slowly slipping it onto your finger.

"there! it's on your middle finger, so your ring finger is open for the real thing."

not an ‘i do,’ but an ‘i will.’

you hold your hand up to the light, admiring how the ring catches it, before leaning forward to press a flurry of kisses to jinx's face.

"ah- hey! stop, you goof!"

she laughs, arms coming to wrap around you as a fit of giggles erupts from her.

"nope! i get to do this!"

it's not a week later when you arrive to jinx's hideout with a promise ring of your own to give her. a thick gold band to contrast the silver jinx had given you, with a rose quartz to accompany your own hexcrystal. pink and blue… she had a theme going, didn't she?

it wasn't handmade, but held the same sentimental value. you weren't as handy as jinx, and you'd learned to accept that a while ago. you had strengths in other areas, one of them being finding perfect gifts. it didn't take you long to find a jeweler in piltover who had exactly what you needed.

"oh, my god- you didn't have to do this."

she gasps, rosy eyes blown wide. both hands are on her cheeks as jinx gently approaches the open box in your hand.

"you promised yourself to me, didn't you? this is my promise to you."

jinx lets you put the ring onto her own left middle finger, her eyes never leaving your face. watching you so intently, she can feel her heart fluttering in her chest. what did she do to deserve you exactly? she could never quite figure it out, but that doesn't matter right now. you glance back up at her, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"i… you're too good to me, toots. really."

"i am not. i love you, remember?"

"mm… i love you too. i still think you're too good to me, though."

you let out a low chuckle.

"c'mere."

you bring the girl into your arms, tilting her chin with your index finger to gently bring her closer to you. pressing your lips to hers in a slow, gentle kiss.

oh- and of course, your name is engraved on the inside of the ring.

✧.*

you're posted at your girlfriend's hideout, going over notes in preparation for an exam. it's nerve wracking, sure, but the odd tranquility of jinx's desk is useful in its own way.

jinx swings open the door to the hideout, and as soon as she steps onto the panel of the wind turbine supporting her hideout, you can tell she's in hysterics.

the girl is wailing. she's pacing back and forth, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. but most importantly, her hand is gushing blood. you immediately drop your notes, papers scattering across the desk to rush over to your girlfriend.

"jinx? jinx?! what the hell happened, oh my god..."

you kneel down in front of jinx, taking her hand to examine it. her middle left finger is completely gone, blood rushing out from the wound. it seems to be a clean cut, at least, you won't have to deal with any extra bits to clean up.

"the ring, the ring, it's gone-"

she sobs, a hiccup following and her free hand clenching into a fist at her side. you gasp, looking up at jinx, then back down at her finger.

"jinx, seriously? you just lost your finger and you're worried about a damn ring?!"

you breathe out, exasperation and worry weighing heavy on your voice.

"the ring is important! it's- it's our promise!"

she cries, hanging her head low. jinx is so ashamed, it hurts your heart to see. you let go of her hand and frantically sweep along her workbench for anything. you knew you had a first aid kit somewhere, you'd gotten it after seeing jinx patch herself up in a way that would make any doctor shiver. but god damn it, where was it?

there.

you quickly swipe the kit and a bottle of peroxide from her workbench, rushing back over to jinx. you take one of her wrists and quickly guide her over to her beaten-up couch.

"sit."

"but-"

"sit."

jinx huffs and sits down on the couch, you sitting down beside her. you open the kit and bottle, pouring peroxide onto a cotton square and taking her hand into your lap.

"this is going to sting. a lot."

jinx winces at just the thought, but nods slowly. keeping her eyes on what you're doing-

"agh- fuck!"

she yelps, tossing her head back as you press the square to the wound, holding it there to both disinfect and stop the bleeding.

"i'm sorry, baby, it'll be over soon. i just need to stop the bleeding."

you coo, trying to do anything in your power to calm her down. yet it's obvious the injury itself isn't what she's upset about.

"that- that fucker vi is with shot it off, she shot the ring off..."

jinx seethes through gritted teeth, trying to keep her composure as you hold the peroxide to her wound. ah.. that makes sense. caitlyn was never fond of jinx, especially after the stunt she pulled with the council room. part of you was simply grateful that she didn't just take jinx out, as much as you knew she was probably trying to.

jinx was always putting herself in so much danger, both for the sake of necessity and the fact her ego was just so damn inflated. she said it herself- she just can't seem to die. but she got impossibly close way more than you would've liked her to.

you take out a roll of gauze and begin to wrap it around her hand, the wound being in the center of it all. it's far from professional, but this will have to do until you can get her proper medical attention. which you were trying to avoid talking about, since jinx was the last person to ever admit she needed help.

"jinx, i'm just happy that you're alive. i don't care about the ring right now. what if she had shot you somewhere more... vital?"

"then i would've gotten to keep the ring."

god damn it. she could not be serious right now. you finish wrapping her hand, bleeding having come to a halt and wound disinfected. you'd grab some painkillers in a moment. you quickly take both of her cheeks in your hands, forcing her to look you directly in the eye. the cold metal of your own ring against soft skin.

"jinx. again, i'm happy that you're here, and you're alive, and losing your finger was the worst thing that happened. i will get you a new ring, first thing tomorrow. okay?"

she sighs, her lips coming into a slight pout. at the very least, she's not crying anymore.

"but..."

you press your index finger to her lips, shushing her.

"no. just because you don't have the ring anymore doesn't mean the promise went out the window, okay?" you whisper, brushing your lips against her forehead. "i still love you, and still have promised myself to you. that won't change.

jinx closes her eyes, and leans into your kiss. she seems to have finally resigned, and is snaking her arms around your waist.

"i just- i love you so much..."

"i know, baby. i love you too, which is why i'll get you a new ring. a better one, even."

your hand still cupping her face, you lean in to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

"just stay here, with me. you've had a hell of a day."

[black-crested-jaybird]

I am an American Christian from a non-evangelical, "mainline" tradition. When I was young, my best friend was an evangelical Baptist, and for several years I really tried to fit into that culture - listening to Christian radio, attempting to read the bible and pray daily, and feeling pressure to convert others to Christianity. Fortunately for my conscience nowadays, I was terrible at it - my attempts at proselytizing pretty much consisted of wearing a "Jesus is awesome!" T-shirt to school once a month and feeling hideously self-conscious about it the entire time.

When I was in high school, a girl I was getting to know told me she had two moms. I distinctly remember consciously, if rapidly, weighing the Christianity I already felt uncomfortable with against my growing friendship with her, and choosing her. We soon became fast friends. Within about a year, I left Christianity entirely and joined another religion, one that doesn't proselytize.

But @jessicalprice is right - religion is culture. When my high school friend was killed by a drunk driver six years later, my grief led me to a church I had visited as a child. Just walking in and sitting down in the empty sanctuary filled me with such a strong feeling of familiarity that I burst into tears. Over the next few months, I started attending church again, even as I struggled to reconcile the feeling of rightness and belonging I felt there with the bigotry and oppression that pervades so much of American Protestantism.

Decades later, I am still grappling with the question of what ethical Christianity looks like, for me as an individual and in the context of a religious institution; just as I am working on recognizing and deconstructing racism, white supremacy, and colonialism in myself and in my society. I've learned about cultural Christianity and see it more and more clearly, just as I continue to learn what American culture is (once I got past the first lesson, which is that America has a culture at all, and isn't just the default setting for humans).

I often say that I have a similar relationship with my identity as a U.S. citizen as I do with my identity as a Christian: despite their many problems and the grave harm they have done and too often continue to do, they are my home. @jessicalprice has helped me to realize that this is not a similarity at all. Despite knowing about cultural Christianity, despite seeing it more and more clearly around me and in myself, I didn't realize until now that those "two" identities are really the same identity.

I don't have any earthshaking conclusions to draw from this. No grand unifying theory of culture. I only want to say thank you to @jessicalprice for helping me understand myself, and my Christian culture, a little better today.

ETA: I just read through ALL the notes. They were very interesting, and I just reblogged one particularly interesting set of additions. To avoid doing that AGAIN with this very long post, I'm adding in OP's book recommendation, which I'm hoping will help me and my church community in our work on becoming a better kind of Christianity: J. Cameron Carter's Race: A Theological Perspective.

culture isn’t modular

I did a thread (actually several) on Twitter a few years ago about Christianity’s attempts to paint itself as modular, and I’ve been seeing them referenced here in the cultural christianity Discourse, and a few people have DMed me asking me to post it here, so here’s a rehash of several of those threads:

A big part of why Christian atheists have trouble seeing how culturally Christian they still are is that Christianity advertises itself as being modular, which is not how belief systems have worked for most of human history. 

A selling point of Christianity has always been the idea that it’s plug-and-play: you don’t have to stop being Irish or Korean or Nigerian to be Christian, you don’t have to learn a new language, you keep your culture. 

And you’re just also Christian.

(You can see, then, why so many Christian atheists struggle with the idea that they’re still Christian–to them, Christianity is this modular belief in God and Jesus and a few other tenets, and everything else is… everything else. Which is, not to get ahead of myself, very compatible with some tacit white supremacy: the “everything else” is goes unexamined for its cultural specificity. It’s just Normal. Default. Neutral.)

Evangelicals in particular love to contrast this to Islam, to the idea that you have to learn Arabic and adopt elements of Arab culture to be Muslim, which helps fuel the image of Islam as a Foreign Ideology that’s taking over the West.

The rest of us don’t have that particular jack

Meanwhile, Christians position Christianity as a modular component of your life. Keep your culture, your traditions, your language and just swap out your Other Religion Module for a Christianity Module.

The end game is, in theory, a rainbow of diverse people and cultures that are all one big happy family in Christ. We’re going to come back to how Christianity isn’t actually modular, but for the moment, let’s talk about it as if it had succeeded in that design goal. 

Even if Christianity were successfully modular, if it were something that you could just plug in to the Belief System Receptor in a culture and leave the rest of it undisturbed, the problem is most cultures don’t have a modular Belief System Receptor. Spirituality has, for the entirety of human history, not been something that’s modular. It’s deeply interwoven with the rest of culture and society. You can’t just pull it out and plug something else in and have the culture remain stable.

(And to be clear, even using the term “spirituality” here is a sop to Christianity. What cultures have are worldviews that deal with humanity’s place in the universe/reality; people’s relationships to other people; the idea of individual, societal, or human purpose; how the culture defines membership; etc. These may or may not deal with the supernatural or “spiritual.”)

And so OF COURSE attempting to pull out a culture’s indigenous belief system and replace it with Christianity has almost always had destructive effects on that culture.

Not only is Christianity not representative of “religion” full stop, it’s actually arguably *anomalous* in its attempt to be modular (and thus universal to all cultures) rather than inextricable from culture.

Now, of course, it hasn’t actually succeeded in that–the US is a thoroughly Christian culture–but it does lead to the idea that one can somehow parse out which pieces of culture are “religious” versus which are “secular”. That framing is antithetical to most cultures. E.g. you can’t separate the development of a lot of cultural practices around what people eat and how they get it from elements of their worldview that Christians would probably label “religious.” But that entire *framing* of religious vs. secular is a Christian one.

Is Passover a religious holiday or a secular one? The answer isn’t one or the other, or neither, or both. It’s that the framing of this question is wrong.

And Christianity isn’t a plugin, however much it wants to be

Moreover, Christianity isn’t actually culture-neutral or modular. 

It’s easy for this to get obscured by seeing Christianity as a tool of particular cultures’ colonialism (e.g. the British using Christianity to spread British culture) or of whiteness in general, and not seeing how Christianity itself is colonial. This helps protect the idea that “true” Christianity is good and innocent, and if priests or missionaries are converting people at swordpoint or claiming land for European powers or destroying indigenous cultures, that must be a misuse of Christianity, a “fake” or “corrupted” Christianity.

Never mind that for every other culture, that culture is what its members do. Christianity, uniquely, must be judged on what it says its ideals are, not what it actually is. 

Mistaking the engine for the exhaust

But it’s not just an otherwise innocent tool of colonialism: it’s a driver of it. 

At the end of the day, it’s really hard to construct a version of the Great Commission that isn’t inherently colonial. The end-goal of a world in which everyone is Christian is a world without non-Christian cultures. (As is the end goal of a world in which everyone is atheist by Christian definitions.)

Yet we focus on the way Christianity came with British or Spanish culture when they colonized a place–the churches are here because the Spaniards who conquered this area were Catholic–and miss how Christianity actually has its own cultural tropes that it brings with it. It’s more subtle, of course, when Christianity didn’t come in explicitly as the result of military conquest.

Or put another way, those cultures didn’t just shape the Christianity they brought to places they colonized–they were shaped by it. How much of the commonality between European cultures is because of Christianity?

It’s not all a competition

A lot of Christians (cultural and practicing), if you push them, will eventually paint you a picture of a very Hobbesian world in which all religions, red in tooth and claw, are trying to take over the world. It’s the “natural order” to attempt to eliminate all cultures but your own. 

If you point out to them that belief and worldview are deeply personal, and proselytizing is objectifying, because you’re basically telling the person you’re proselytizing to that who they are is wrong, you often get some version of “that’s how everyone is, though.”

Like we all go through life seeing other humans as incomplete and fundamentally flawed and the only way to “fix” them is to get them to believe what we believe. And, like, that is not how everyone relates to others?

But it’s definitely how both practicing Christians and Christian antitheists relate to others. If, for Christians, your lack of Jesus is a fundamental flaw in you that needs to be fixed, for New Atheists, your “religion” (that is, your non-Christian culture) is a fundamental flaw in you that needs to be fixed. Neither Christians nor New Atheists are able to relate to anyone else as fine as they are. It’s all a Hobbesian zero-sum game. It’s all a game of conversion with only win and loss conditions. You are, essentially, only an NPC worth points.

The idea of being any other way is not only wrong, but impossible to them. If you claim to exist in any other way, you are either deluded or lying.

So, we get Christian atheists claiming that if you identify as Jewish, you can’t really be an atheist. Or sometimes they’ll make an exception for someone who’s “only ethnically Jewish.” If the only way you relate to your Jewishness is as ancestry, then you can be an atheist. Otherwise, you’re lying. 

Or, if you’re not lying, you’re deluded. You just don’t understand that there’s no need for you to keep any dietary practices or continue to engage in any form of ritual or celebrate any of those “religious” Jewish holidays, and by golly, this here “ex”-Christian atheist is here to separate out for you which parts of your culture are “religious” and which ones are “secular.”

Religious/secular is a Christian distinction

A lot of atheists from Christian backgrounds (whether or not they were raised explicitly Christian) have trouble seeing how Christian they are because they’ve accepted the Christian idea that “religion” is modular. (If we define “religion” the way Christians (whether practicing or cultural) define it, Christianity might be the only religion that actually exists. Maybe Islam?)

When people from non-Christian cultures talk about the hegemonically Christian and white supremacist nature of a lot of atheism, it reflects how outside of Christianity, spirituality/worldview isn’t something you can just pull out of a culture.

Christian atheists tend to see the cultural practices of non-Christians as “religious” and think that they should give them up (talk to Jewish atheists who keep kosher about Christian atheist reactions to that). But because Christianity positions itself as modular, people from Christian backgrounds tend not to see how Christian the culture they imagine as “neutral” or “normal” actually is. In their minds, you just pull out the Christianity module and are left with a neutral, secular society.

So, if people from non-Christian backgrounds would just give up their superstitions, they’d look the same as Christian atheists. 

Your secularism is specifically post-Christian

Of course, that culture with the Christianity module pulled out ISN’T neutral. So the idea that that’s what “secular society” should look like ends up following the same pattern as Christian colonialism throughout history: the promise that you can keep your culture and just plug in a different belief system (or, purportedly, a lack of a belief system), which has always, always been a lie. The secular, “enlightened” life that most Christian atheists envision is one that’s still built on white, western Christianity, and the idea that people should conform to it is still attempting to homogenize society to a white Christian ideal. 

For people from cultures that don’t see spirituality as modular, this is pretty obvious. It’s obvious to a lot of people from non-white Christian cultures that have syncretized Christianity in a way that doesn’t truck with the modularity illusion. 

I also think, even though they’re not conceptualizing it in these terms, that it’s actually obvious to a lot of evangelicals. (The difference being that white evangelical Christianity enthusiastically embraces white supremacy, so they see the destruction of non-Christian culture as good.) But I think it’s invisible to a lot of mainline non-evangelical Christians, and it’s definitely invisible to a lot of people who leave Christianity.

And that inability to see culture outside a Christian framing means that American secularism is still shaped like Christianity. It’s basically the same text with a few sentences deleted and some terms replaced.

Which, again, is by design. The idea that you can deconvert to (Christian) atheism and not have to change much besides your opinions about God is the mirror of how easy it’s supposed to be to convert to Christianity.

Human societies don’t follow evolutionary biology

The Victorian Christian framing underlying current Western ideas of enlightened secularism, that religious practice (and human culture in general) is subject to the same sort of unilateral, simple evolution toward a superior state to which they, at the time, largely reduced biological evolution, is deeply white supremacist.

It posits religious evolution as a constantly self-refining process from “primitive” animism and polytheism to monotheism to white European/American Christianity. For Christians, that’s the height of human culture. For ex-Christians, the next step is Christian-derived secularism.

Maybe you’ve seen this comic?

The thing is, animism isn’t more “primitive” than polytheism, and polytheism isn’t more “primitive” than monotheism. Older doesn’t mean less advanced/sophisticated/complex. Hinduism isn’t more “primitive” than Judaism just because it’s polytheistic and Judaism is monotheistic. 

Human cultures continue to change and adapt. (Arguably, older religions are more sophisticated than newer ones because they’ve had a lot more time to refine their practices and ideologies instead of having to define them.) Also, not all cultures are part of the same family tree. Christianity and Islam may be derived from Judaism, but Judaism and Hinduism have no real relationship to one another. 

But in this worldview, Christianity is “normal” religion, which is still more primitive than enlightened secularism, but more advanced than all those other primitive, superstitious, irrational beliefs.

Just like Christians, when Christian atheists do try to make room for cultures that aren’t white and European-derived, the tacit demand is “okay, but you have to separate out the parts of your culture that the Christian sacred-secular divide would deem ‘religious.’”

Either way, people from non-Christian cultures, if they’re to be equals, are supposed to get with the program and assimilate.

You’re not qualified to be a universal arbiter of what culture is good

Christian atheists usually want everyone to unplug that Religion module!

So, for example, you have ex-Christian atheists who are down with pluralism trying to get ex-Christian atheists who aren’t to leave Jews alone by pointing out that you can be atheist and Jewish.

But some of us aren’t atheist. (I’m agnostic by Christian standards.) And the idea that Jews shouldn’t be targets for harassment because they can be atheists and therefore possibly have some common sense is still demanding that people from other cultures conform to one culture’s standard of what being “rational” is.  

Which, like, is kind of galling when y’all don’t even understand what “belief in G-d” means to Jews, and people from a culture that took until the 1800s to figure out that washing their hands was good are setting themselves up as the Universal Arbiters of Rationality.

(BTW, most of this also holds true for non-white Christianity, too. I guarantee you most white Christian atheists don’t have a good sense of what role church plays in the lives of Black communities, so maybe shut up about it.)

In any case, reducing Christianity–a massive, ambient phenomenon inextricable from Western culture–to the specific manifestation of Christian practice that you grew up with is, frankly, absurd. 

And you can’t be any help in deconstructing hegemony when you refuse to perceive it and understand that it isn’t something you can take off like a garment, and you probably won’t ever recognize and uproot all the ways in which it affects you, especially when you are continuing to live within it. 

What hegemony doesn’t want you to know

One of the ways hegemony sustains and perpetuates itself is by reinforcing the idea not so much that other ways of being and knowing are evil (although that’s usually a stage in an ideology becoming hegemonic), but that they’re impossible. That they don’t actually exist. 

See, again, the idea that anyone claiming to live differently is either lying or deluded.

There are few clearer examples of how pervasive Christian hegemony is than Christian atheists being certain every religion works like Christianity. Hegemonic Christianity wants you to think that all cultures work like Christianity because it wants their belief systems to be modular so you can just …swap them. And it wants to pretend that culture/worldview is a free market where it can just outcompete other cultures.

But that’s… not how anything works. 

And the truth of the matter is that white nationalist Christians shoot at synagogues and Sikh temples and mosques because those other ways of being can’t be allowed to exist. 

They don’t shoot at atheist conventions because there’s room in hegemonic Christianity for Christian atheists precisely because Christian atheists are still culturally Christian. Their atheism is Christian-shaped.

They may not like you. They’re definitely going to try to convert you. They may not want you to be able to hold public office or teach their kids.

But the only challenge you’re providing is that of The Existence of Disbelief. And that’s fine. That makes you a really safe Other to have around. You can See The Light and not have to change much.

What you’re not doing is providing an example of a whole other way of being and knowing that (often) predates Christianity and is completely separate from it and has managed to survive it and continue to live and thrive (there’s a reason Christians like to speak of Jews and Judaism in the past tense, and it’s similar to the reason white people like to speak of indigenous peoples of the Americas in the past tense). 

That’s not a criticism–it’s fine to just… be post-Christian. There’s not actually anything wrong with being culturally Christian. The problems come in when you start denying that it’s a thing, or insisting that you, unique among humankind, are above Having A Culture.

But it does mean that you don’t pose the same sort of threat to Christianity that other cultures do, and hence, less violence. 

[cassiebones]

nobody can convince me that agatha and rio wouldn't have had more children had nicky not died, had Death been allowed to have living, semi-mortal children. They only lasted like 50 years before their eldest was born. They would have continued to make more babies for the next three hundred and beyond. Every time one of their children is old enough to basically fend for theirself, Agatha feels that longing for a baby and Rio can't deny her.

It takes three or four kids before Agatha has a kid that looks as much like her as Nicky looks like Rio. When this child, Mari (short for Mariposa), reaches adulthood, she develops that same little gap between her teeth (in modern times, she would have gotten braces, but she was born in the late 1700's okay, give her a break) so she does look somewhat like Rio, but she has bright blue eyes and her hair curls like Agatha's. She also has a similar power set to Agatha, which Agatha fosters as much as she could because nobody ever did that for her.

By modern day, they probably have about twenty kids, the youngest of which is still small enough to carry as they move into Westview, acting like a modern lesbian couple. They are single-handedly repopulating the witch community that Agatha killed off.

But they're happy and in love. All their children are pretty well-adjusted. Nicky still has a big heart. He's probably a doctor somewhere, moving around when people start to question why he doesn't age - at least until Eternals are accepted and superheroes just become more commonplace. Nobody questions why he looks like he's thirty-five when he should be closer to his seventies (nobody knows what his true age is) and he still visits his mothers. Due to the nature of his job, he doesn't always appreciate when Rio visits him at work.

Three of their children train as Reapers with Rio. The rest are scattered around the world, living their lives, but they always call their mothers, or they visit with their own partners and children.

The youngest three are juveniles, so they live with their mothers in the suburbs. They're as mischievous as Rio, causing havoc wherever they go, but they're studious, too, like Agatha, so they get good grades and do well in their magic studies.

When Wanda tries to start her bullshit, Agatha stops her, putting a pin in her grief. Instead of draining her power, she becomes a kind of mentor to Wanda. This Agatha never lost her son, but she does have a shit ton of trauma from her youth resulting from her own coven just refusing to teach her, and she recognizes Wanda as another untrained witch. So she trains her. She teaches her how to use the powers that she's familiar with. She gathers other witches (Lilia, Alice, Jen) to help her where they can. They converse with Stephen Strange on how to best help Wanda in her grief and magic.

I really wish Agatha's What If...? episode had been "What if Agatha had never lost her son?" rather than the Hollywood episode. Don't get me wrong: it was a fun fucking episode. But I just wish we'd seen more of Agatha being happy with her family.

[sarahsangelicdoll]

"cindy lou who" - R.C

. . . ⭑.ᐟ Currently playing; cindy lou who by Sabrina Carpenter . . . ↺▐▐ ↻

ᥫ᭡ Summary: You and Rafe broke up about a year ago. You thought you were over it until Rafe got over you and got a new girlfriend.

an: had this idea for awhile and i'm happy i finally wrote it but also not at all proud !, a part of this is unintentionally inspired by @bloodibambiidoll’s ‘buy me presents’ fic, may have a been a bit rushed.. may rewrite for next year.

ᥫ᭡ Content warning: Angsty, jealousy, unnecessary Sofia hate, not too deep, just sad romantic feels, from a jealousy-ridden perspective so cringey, Reader is a bit toxic idk, cringe warning in itself

Merry christmas !!

“I saw you laughing in of his pictures”

You sat on your bed, legs freshly shaven and moisturized. Hair done up in a messy bun and body bundled up in your blankets. The combination of your thick, blue blanket and sweat set you were wearing did a little too much to warm you from the cold. But the warmth was the least of your worries right now. Instead of sleeping like you rightfully should be at two in the morning, you were stalking your ex’s instagram.

His photos were mostly of himself or things he was doing around the island, for example a picture of him and Toppers martini’s that he posted exactly a week ago.

You thought, you were over Rafe, having not thought much of you twos break up almost a year ago, continuously rejecting Rafe when he tried to get back with you. “It would be too awkward now.” “We’re just not good for each other.” “Some people just aren’t meant to be for their own good.” “We’re better off as friends.”, all of these just a portion of the things you would say.

But then, you saw Sofia and Rafe at one of his parties at tannyhill, and ever since the two have always been together. It made your stomach do flips. You were used to Rafe’s world revolving around you, but now it didn’t. Now it revolved around Sofia.

You let out a huff that abruptly stopped when you scrolled down to the next photo. A photo of Sofia, wet, along the property of tannyhill. Laughing. Flash of the camera illuminating her features. Your stomach did jealous flips as you bit your lip, eyebrows instinctively furrowing as you took in the image.

The photo was oddly familiar to one of you, an almost exact replica of a polaroid Rafe took of you and kept in his wallet while you two were together and for a while after you two broke up. You swallowed and sucked in a shaky breath as you took in the photo. She looked utterly ridiculous. Why would she wear a white shirt to the beach? is she stupid? this is the girl Rafe gave you up for?

“Bet you’ll be the one with his ring on your finger”

Your eyes darted down to read the caption. ‘Prettier than a sunset.’ you read. You sucked in another, bitter and jealous breath. Sofia was a pogue, and so were you. It took Rafe four months to post you on his socials and even admit he thought you were pretty. And here he’s been with Sarah for two months and is already posting shit like this on his instagram?

You went to the comments, and to your delight, Topper and the other kooks didn’t like the post nor comment, but they did on yours. Heck you were even friends with them. Because you were welcomed by the kooks, Sofia’s just like a replacement for your absence… yeah, that’s most likely what it is. After all, Sofia is so… unusually similar to you in various different aspects, personality wise.

But your delight was quickly diminished as you saw Sofias comment, ‘where’s my ring if i’m so pretty? 💍’. You couldn’t help but audibly scoff as you read the comment, getting second hand embarrassment. Mouth clenching shut as you saw that Sofias comment was the only one Rafe liked.

“There’s red and green everywhere but i’m so blue”

You bit your cheek as you turned your phone off and looked up at the ceiling. Lit up with red, green and yellowish light reflections due to the mini christmas tree in the corner of your room and the christmas decorations outside.

You let out yet another shaky breath as you thought of the situation, entire gut knotting together and doing flips. You closed your eyes as you felt the tears prickling in your eyes. This shouldn’t be affecting you so bad, not after everything Rafe did and the fact you broke up with him.

You took a deep breath and opened them, a stray tear escaping your eye and following down the curves of your face. You sat up and stared at the tv in your room, playing whatever nonsense. You couldn’t help how you felt deflated and replaced, hell, even confused. You thought you were over Rafe, but you suppose the world had other plans than letting you peacefully move on.

You leaned over, arms reaching out towards your charger that was sat on your bedside table. You plugged your phone in and then rolled onto your side, facing the opposite direction. Snuggling into your blanket as you wiped the wetness of the stray tear away.

“Cindy lou who”

You stared off towards your wall. Your mind playing over all the stories you’ve heard of Sofia.

Hard working, kind, respectful, joyful, ‘loves’ Rafe, makes Rafe happy, caring, innocent, so on and so on. So much like how people describe you. You wondered if it was just hopeful thinking that maybe the only reason Rafe was with Sofia was her similarities to you.

You let out your tenth sigh of the night as you attempted to block out the thoughts and just close your eyes. thinking of anything but Rafe and Sofia. And eventually you fell asleep despite the war raging in your head.

“Maybe he met you somewhere in the desert”

You sat next to Kiara and Sarah in the back of the twinkie, which was driving down a bumpy road. Your hair done up in a messy ponytail and wearing an ugly blue christmas sweater and grey sweatpants. Biting the inside of your cheek as JJ, John B and Pope were debating on the directions of wherever the destination today was.

Sarah glanced down at you, noticing your distant expression, nudging you with her knee as she spoke, “What’s up with you?”

You just groaned, moving your knees up to your chest and placing your head back against the seat. “Nothin’” You murmured as you stared up at the ceiling, before a question crossed your mind.

“How did Rafe meet Sofia?” You asked, genuinely curious as to how they met. You and Rafe met after he got into a fight with his dad and got high as fuck off Cocaine, stumbling into the bar you work at, located just a couple minutes away from tannyhill

“While he was soul searching, he found someone better”

Sarah and Kiara both seemed caught off guard by your question but seemed like they both too got curious.

Sarah sighed and adjusted in her spot, speaking in a sarcastic tone as she threw in her idea. “I mean i’ve heard he’s trying to do some ‘soul searching’ so maybe that’s how they met.” She suggested.

“Maybe,” You said glancing at her before looking back up at the ceiling.

“I heard she’s a bartender,” Kiara responded, her words laced with slight amusement. “Maybe they met after Rafe got high as fuck again.” She chuckled at her own ‘joke’ as she attempted to lighten the mood.

Seriously? she was a bartender too? You didn’t know what to believe anymore. Was Rafe seriously over you or was he just trying to fill your absence?

“Isn’t that ironic,” You commented dryly, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Guess you make him happy like i couldn’t do, cindy lou who”

You were walking down towards ‘Heywards Seafood’, planning on seeing Pope around this time. Today was quite a warmer ‘winter’ day so you didn’t have to worry about dressing too warm. settling on a white tank and jeans.

You grabbed your wallet from your pocket and opened it up, looking to see how much money you have so you could perhaps buy something. Why not support your friend’s father’s business?

You pulled out a ten dollar pill. ‘That should get me a little snack’ you thought to yourself as you slowly made your way closer to the building, just to be stopped in your tracks.

“Seriously? ‘Heywards seafood’?” Rafes voice filled the air as you glanced up and looked around, seeing Rafe making his way over to the building along with Sofia. You sucked in a breath as you quickly moved to hide behind a wall, staying just close enough to hear what was being said.

“Yes,” Sofia started, anyone being able to hear the smile through her words. “They have good stuff. Swear i’ll be quick.” She said, her voice getting louder as she stopped just a couple feet from where you were. You peaked your head out just enough to get a quick peak of what the two were doing, and you immediately regretted it, Sofia leaning in and placing a kiss to Rafes cheek, eliciting a smile from the man. A wide one, one that used to be reserved for you. “Really?” Rafe said light-heartedly, doubting her words before chuckling, “Fine just be quick. I’ll wait out here.” He said, giving Sofia a smile as she giggled. A giggle that made her sound obnoxiously fake.

Sofia turned and entered the building of Heywards seafood, leaving Rafe alone. His smile staying as he watched Sofia disappear into the building, hand coming up to wipe his face as he turned, attempting to hide his smile as he walked a small distance away from the building.

You sucked in a deep breath. Turning to look straight ahead as your heart clenched in your chest. Did Rafe ever act like that when you’d giggle? When you’d leave him alone while you went in the store? Was Sofia really all that?

“With your hair so long, lips so red. Maybe we once met i forget”

You sat on the toilet. Procrastinating your shower as you stalked your ex’s new girlfriend, Sofias, tiktok. Scrolling way back to almost a year ago, around the time you and Rafe met. She didn’t post too much, so there was a sudden timeskip from March to January, and let’s just say it took you off guard.

Sofia had long hair framing her face and a deep red lip combo. You raised a brow ever so slightly in judgement. Long hair didn’t suit her and most definitely not with the red lip.

Despite your critiqued, you couldn’t help the lingering thought in the back of your mind. If Sofia looked like how she did now back then, then would Rafe really even struggle with the break up? Would he have just ran to Sofia? God, you sounded ridiculous and over paranoid, pulling at small flimsy straws, but you couldn’t help it.

But then realization dawned on you, a sense of… odd familiarity washing over you as you took in her appearance. You swore you saw her before, but you couldn’t seem to place the memory. Perhaps you two worked together? Either way, it didn’t matter. You turned your phone off and placed it onto the side of the sank. You desperately needed to get both Rafe and Sofia out of your mind. You were starting to scare yourself with how obsessed you were becoming.

“Scrolling five years back, i’m obsessed”

You sat at some retro fast food place, munching on french fries. Older music filling your ears as you were hunched over your phone, scrolling way, way back on Sofias instagram.

To say you were obsessed was an understatement. But you couldn’t help it, you were desperately searching for anything that’ll tell you why Rafe chose Sofia. Or any sense of closure to feel better about it.

Is this how Rafe felt when the two of you broke up? desperately searching for a reason? no… that wouldn’t make sense… his reasons were right in front of him; trying to kill his sister, killing Peterkin, shooting his sister, melting down the cross.

“Hey,” A voice interrupted your thoughts, looking up you saw Sarah. You quickly turned your phone off as you watched her move to sit in front of you, smile gracing her features. “Hey.” You said, giving her a small smile as you sat upright.

“Breaking my heart ‘tis the season i guess”

“What are you doing here all alone?” Sarah asked curiously as she grabbed the menu and looked over it.

“Nothing, just caught up in thoughts i suppose.” You replied, plopping another french fry in your mouth.

Your words and attitude caused Sarah to glance up from the menu, face tinged with concern before her attention quickly being diverted to outside. She sighed as she pretty much threw the book down and looked away from the mirror. “Oh my god my brother’s here.” She said, tone annoyed and frustrated as she glanced at you.

“Seriously?” You said, looking out the window. Rafes car parked just a couple feet away. You watched as he rounded the front of the car and opened the door, helping Sofia out.

Sofia looked joyful, it made your stomach coil. ‘God i’m petty’ You thought to yourself as you bit your cheek, knowing in the back of your mind that you were being utterly ridiculous. “Wanna leave?” You asked Sarah, turning back to face her. Ignoring how your heart ached in your chest. Sarah just nodded in response as she got up and made way for the back exit, you trailing behind with your french fries and jealousy in-hand.

“With your hair so long, lips so red. if you’re waking up now in his old bed, at his family’s house, just know that you’re just breaking my heart”

You stood outside in the cold, out near the water. Sofia and Rafe yet again stuck in your head.

You wondered what Rafe would think if he knew how much you were hurting. Surely if you went to him he would comfort you? Maybe you two could talk about it? Maybe get back together? Then Sofia can hurt like you are,

No, no, and no. God what’s going on with you? ‘You broke up with Rafe’ You tried to remind yourself. And not only that but all of your friends would absolutely hate you, hell that’s an understatement. And quite frankly, you didn’t want the reputation as a home wrecker. Lastly, as if you’re having a moment of clarity; You don’t want to hurt Sofia, god what did she do besides get with the guy you broke up with.

You groaned as you rubbed your temple, feeling conflicted. Did you love Rafe or did you love the attention? Are you the issue?

“Shit..” You mumbled out as you let out a deep breath and looked back up at the water. this entire situation was shitty and immature. Were you seriously just considering homewrecking?

“‘tis the season i guess”

You wiped down the countertop of the cocktail table. Your hair done up in a messy bun and bartender uniform hugging your figure. You were working tonight and then had the next four days off for Christmas, 23rd to 26th.

You turned your back to the table and threw the towel you used over the sink. Checking the time on your phone, seeing that there was two hours left of your shift. Behind you, two chairs got pulled out and you heard the sound of a woman speaking above the christmas music playing. You could tell just by the sound of the voice that it was some rich, kook snob. “I’ll be right back, just gotta use the washroom. Surprise me.” You heard the woman say. Rolling your eyes as you realized you’ll need to deal with some kook snobs, probably here for business, for the last bit of your shift.

You sighed, tensing slightly as you felt eyes bore into your back. You took a deep breath and then turned around to take the order, at first looking down at your cracked nail before looking up and seeing none other than the man who’s overtaken your mind for the past month, Rafe fucking Cameron.

You sucked in a breath as you saw him. Giving him an awkward smile as you stopped infront of him, space put between you two only by the bar counter. “Hey.” You said, words sounding more cold and bitter than intended, taking Rafe off guard a tad. “What’d you like?”

Rafe rubbed his chin awkwardly as he glanced up at the menu, “I’ll just take a beer and margarita.” He replied, eyes flickering down at you and then to the tv in the corner.

‘He can’t even look at me?’ You thought bitterly as you straightened your posture, “Coming right up.” You said, masking the hurt you were feeling with cold indifference.

You started making the margarita, ignoring Rafes occasional glances to you. God, this was deja vu. Your mind couldn’t help but go back to when you first met Rafe, though he was high and less calm, to put it nicely. You knew Rafe could sense it to.

You grabbed Rafes beer and turned back over to him, putting the two drinks in front of him. “Order up,” You said, tone still indifferent in your ears, bitter in his. Rafe sighed as he rubbed his face and turned his face to you.

“Look can we not do this? it’s almost Christmas, i won’t ‘bug’ you to get back with me anythin’, ok? i have a girlfriend now. Jus’ here for business.” Rafe said genuinely as he looked at you, gauging your reaction as he leaned back in his chair and plopped his hands in his lap.

You sighed as you looked at him, resting your bodyweight onto your right leg as you looked at him, deciding to let go of your bitterness, smiling softly. “Yeah sure,” You said tiredly, tilting your head towards your shoulder. “Just tired, been working all day.” You excused, yawning slightly.

Rafe smile slightly in relief, bringing his hands up to crack them slightly as he visibly relaxed more. “Yeah.. understand that.” He murmured, glancing around the bar. “You the only one working?”

“Yep, just me.” You said, tone fakely ‘amused’ at your situation. “Who’s your girlfriend?” You asked, cocking a brow slightly as you leaned back upright. Acting as though you haven’t been pretty much stalking both Rafe and his girlfriend for the last month.

Rafe seemed a bit shocked at your question though smiled at the chance to talk about his girlfriend some more, causing a whole ass wave, no, not wave, tsunami of jealousy to overcome you as you bit back an eye roll.

“Her names Sofia, she’s also from the cut, and she’s also a bartender, used to work here actually.” Rafe started as he got more comfortable in his chair. Resting his arms along his chest. “She’s super nice, been helping me a lot. I think you two would get along.” He continued, watching as you prepped yourself a drink.

You bit your lip as he spoke about Sofia. You and Sofia? get along? yeah no, never happening.

“Super caring too, kinda making me a tinge more sympathetic.” Rafe continued, chuckling slightly. On and on he went about Sofia, an obnoxious amount. You asked who she is, not for a biography.

You sighed as you finished making yourself a drink, taking a sip of it as you continued listening to Rafe, seemingly unaware of how much Sofia is alike to you. “I care about her a lot y’know?” Rafe said, scratching his cheek slightly.

That, now that, ‘i care about her a lot’, that caused your built-up jealousy to pour out. You smiled, well, a fake smile as you looked at Rafe. “She sure sounds like me, of course you’d ‘care’ for her.” You commented sarcastically and bitterly, a bit more harsh than intended, and out of character.

And as soon as the words left your mouth and Rafes smile fell you regretted it. You bit your lip as you turned away from Rafe, taking another sip of your drink you made specially for you. The woman Rafe was here to do business with coming out from the Washroom, ‘a complete life saver’ you thought to yourself.

Rafe watched your back as you clearly ended the conversation, taken aback by your sudden bluntness as he felt almost guilty and agitated even though he knew he shouldn’t be and that this wasn’t even his fault. He sighed as he sat upright in his seat, the air becoming tense again. “Merry Christmas Y/N.” Rafe said simply as the woman sat down next to him and he diverted his attention to her.

You bit your cheek as you didn’t reply, feeling your breathing quickly quicken in speed. You escaped off into the staff washroom, closing the door behind you and resting your hands onto the sink.

Sofia. God you hated her. You knew it was unfair to hate Sofia just because Rafe moved on, but you did. You also hated Rafe for moving on so easily. In a way he just gave up on you.

But no matter how much you tried to tell yourself you ‘hated’ Rafe, you couldn’t deny how badly your body yearned for his comfort again. His attention, you missed it. You missed when you were the only girl in his life that he cared about it, next to his sisters. You knew it was a toxic mindset, but that’s just what you were used to, and it just changed to suddenly that you didn’t know how to properly react.

“The snow’s gonna fall and the tree’s gonna glisten”

You let out a shaky breath as you wiped the tears that were slowly starting to fall down your cheek. Glancing back up and out the one-way window.

The trees, covered in snow, slowly moving side to side. Christmas lights decorating the white snow that was falling and gradually piling up. The day turning dark with the late hours.

“And i’m gonna puke at the thought of you kissin’ the boy who i love who’s now in love with you”

Just the thought of Rafe and Sofia together made you feel sick with jealousy. So much that you couldn’t help how it slowly bubbled up your throat and exited through your mouth, making it to the toilet just in time as you puked all the green jealousy out. Feeling your stomach physically empty out into the toilet. You gagged as you finally stopped.

You bit your lower lip as your knees went to the ground. Feeling just a tad bit weak, you rested your elbow on the toilet seat and head in your hand, not caring how unsanitary it may be right now.

You chin trembled as you tried hard not to cry, after all you still had a job to do. The taste of puke lingering in the back of your throat.

You sighed as you tried desperately to look for any good in this situation. Perhaps the fact you puked from jealousy and you’re so bothered by everything is a sign that you and Rafe will get a chance again? yeah. That’s a possibility.

“Cindy lou who. told all my friends, they said it can’t be true”

You walked down along the sidewalk with Sarah and Kiara, telling them about the event the previous night. Having finally come clean to them about how you’ve felt about Rafe recently.

“No way Rafe did that, does he ever think?” Kiara commented, disbelief gracing her features as she crossed her arms. “Honestly i don’t even know what you saw in Rafe in the first place.” Kiara added, tone taking on a lighter tone as she glanced towards you. Feeling sympathy for you at your solemn expression.

Sarah spoke next, tone taking on one more of a typical annoyed sibling tone. “I wouldn’t take it to heart Y/N.” Sarah said, enveloping your hand into hers in an attempt at comfort. “Rafe used to be obsessed with you, that wouldn’t just.. abruptly change.” Sarah continued on, face scrunching in confusion at her brother’s behaviour.

“Seriously Y/N, don’t let this affect your Christmas.” Kiara said gently, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “If it means anything i doubt Sofia and Rafe will even stick, Sofia seems like a decent person so she wouldn’t stick with someone like Rafe.” Kiara comforted. ‘Yeah, ‘decent’ person’ you thought to yourself. Biting your lip in frustration. Upset that nobody else saw Sofia the way you did, and that Kiara was right.

“Cindy lou who”

Sarah and Kiara didn’t see the Rafe you did, didn’t see the Rafe who wants to change and has been changing. If Sofia was a decent person she’d also see this and support him, not break up with him. She would do what you should have done. But now it was too late to do that, Rafe found someone who does support him and see him for who he is going to be and working to be, not currently is and is working to not be.

You sighed as you started feeling perhaps the most at peace then you have in a while. Looking at it this way, you couldn’t help but feel slightly bad. You supposed you could say you were having a moment of clarity; If you cared about Rafe, you’ll let him be happy. You won’t be so upset over him moving on, you won’t hate Sofia. Ok what are you saying, liking Sofia will most likely never happen. She’s just too much like you. But, like Sarah said, Rafe can’t just suddenly get over you. If it’s really not meant to be between the two of you, then you wouldn’t feel so jealous. Yeah, you liked the sound of that better. Better than wasting your time being jealous.

You sighed in content, even if it’ll just last for the next couple hours. Deciding to just let the universe flow. And having on odd confidence that Rafe and Sofia will not last. It’s just a matter of time until Rafe comes back running to you. Ok, perhaps you’re the problem.

⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2024 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours

[im-so-normal-iswear]

helloooo, can we have shadow x a reader who tends to get sick a lot maybe?

A/n: I really wanted to make this angsty, but then I remember I'm really bad at writing angst 💔💔

Shadow x reader who gets sick often

"Hmph, you ahould take better care of yourself"

Shadows voice rang as he turned the corner with medicine and water in hand. You got sick often. Today you were immobilized in bed from how sick you were.

"I try to." Was all you could say before going into another coughing fit and sighing.

He set the water down, opening the medicine and shaking some out onto his hand.

"Take this"

He handed them to you, shakily you took it with one hand, grabbing the glass of water and taking a sip as you swallowed the pills, before slumping back on the bed.

He gave you a short glance before turning away, muttering under his breath.

Not that he would ever admit it, but he really did hate how you seemed to always be sick. Sure he cares enough to help you out but it irritates him.

It reminds him too much of her. Maria.

Don't get it wrong, he doesnt view you as her, but he cant help but note how similar you are to her in those ways. Small comparisons here and there.

Its not even you getting sick so much that truely bothers him, its how nonchalant you are about it that irks him. Thats the real similarity he makes internally alot.

When your sick, wether or not its on the more serious flus, or just a common cold, youre always insisting your fine, waving off any and all questions, or concerns unless you cant get out of bed. It really irritates him.

He knows. He knows that not a single time your sick will amount to how serious marias illness was, but he still finds a bit of comfort in being able to take care of you when your like this. Being able to help you get better, something he couldn't do for Maria.

Shadow sat down on the chair beside your bed, arms crossed and his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He wasn’t one for lingering, but he wouldntvoeave, not yet at least. The sound of your heavy breathing filled the room, and despite how many times he’d heard it before, it still made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. You were stubborn, yes, and entirely too casual about your health, but you’d get better. You always did. He was here to ensure tthat though in the back of his mind he saw Maria there in that bed, just for a moment.

It was Maria all over again. The way she’d insist she was fine. The way she’d laugh, even as her hands trembled. The way her light was slowly extinguished while he could do nothing but stand by and watch.

His fists clenched.

"Shadow?"

Your voice broke through the haze of his thoughts. He looked up, startled, and immediately schooled his features into something neutral. You were watching him with a tired expression, your head tilted slightly.

"You’re zoning out," you murmured, pulling the blanket up higher as a shiver ran through you. "What’s on your mind?"

"Nothing," he replied curtly, his tone sharper than he intended. "Just… rest."

You didn’t argue, though your brows furrowed in concern. Closing your eyes, you nestled further into the covers, your breathing steadying as exhaustion overtook you.

Shadow watched you for a moment longer before standing abruptly. He needed air.

The hallways were quiet, the faint patter of rain against the windows the only sound accompanying him as he paced. His mind raced, memories he’d long since buried clawing their way to the surface.

"Shadow, it’s okay! I’m fine, really.”l"

Maria’s voice echoed in his ears, so vibrant, so full of life despite the context. He remembered the way she’d beam at him, even when confined to the cold, sterile walls of the ARK. Her insistence that she was "okay" had been both infuriating and inspiring, her strength something he admired and resented in equal measure.

He knows your not maria. But seeing you in bed sick and unmoving...

He couldn’t let the past repeat itself.

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Focusing on a possible solution helped Samantha, too. It kept her mind away from the plan, from her being bait. "Yes, you're right. It was probably a ritual or something of the sort. Maybe we can force him to do the reverse ritual if there's one." Oh, right. Violet had seen a woman turned into a monster. "Maybe he's hiding a monster somewhere, yes. Or maybe he's using some monster poison? Injecting it in the student's veins?"

She paused, her fingers resting on the rope. "I don't know if it works the same way, but... I saw things. Similar things. It's how I got recruited. I don't talk about it because..." Samantha looked down at the net. "It was horrible. Someone died." Her lip quivered. "It was a fertility clinic. They were making... hybrids? I don't really know. Half-monsters, half-babies. I worked there as an intern, and I had no idea this was happening. I thought it was a normal clinic. But one day, they tried to sacrifice me and another intern. They wanted to feed us to the monsters. I managed to escape, but..." The other intern was not so lucky. "I couldn't save him."

Samantha disguised a sob behind an awkward cough. "There was no turning them back, these creatures. They had never been fully human in the first place, anyway."

Violet was really very impressed by Sloane, how easily he played his part. But it was a little bit scary, too. Like with the flick of a switch, he had turned into a single dad, worried about his daughter. No wonder she always got tricked by the Sloane she knew. He didn't just disguise himself, he transformed himself.

"Thanks, Dad," she whispered just as low when he offered her his lunchbox. He was expertly making their situation seem even more heartbreaking to the man behind the desk. And it worked, too, because here he was, offering them a room -the room Sloane told her would be ideal.

This little charade reminded her of how much she missed her dad and her home in New York. When her eyes got just a little bit shinier, she wasn't playing. She did feel like crying.

"Thank you so much, sir," she was sure to say with a grateful smile. And when he disappeared into the office and Sloane suggested they get McDonald's the next day, she followed his example and continued with her own part -the tired daughter. "Really? I'd like that a lot," she replied, careful not to sound too excited -this was supposed to be a consolation prize after all.

He smiled that she thought he would make a good Robin Hood, he believed it too even if he didn't quite have the time to do it. He still had to go back to his studies when the mission was over, he had to get top marks! No time for vigilante thieving and ruining his planned career path, sadly.

He helped Samantha spread out the net and keep the pullies from tangling. Nodding as she spoke the mission seemed simpler in a way. They knew what was happening was man made and to stop it they needed to catch the man, undoing it was a bonus. "We'll manage something, it might have been a ritual or maybe like a potion or something," he thought for a moment, "Odin said that what she saw was a woman get stung by a monster before she started turning. Maybe it's something like that and there's like... an original monster?" All things they didn't know about yet but it was helping him to focus on their solution rather than their trap! He hoped it was the same for Samantha too.

Very pleased with Violet's performance and quietly thinking to himself that the Killian that was her father might have had his work cut out for him if she could put on such an act with such ease. He imagined a grown Killian was putty in the girl's hands. He had to resist chuckling to himself for the image, stealing the moment to rub tiredly at his eyes and down his face in such exhaustion. "You can have my lunch box from today for dinner," he then said quietly but just enough so the man could hear him, suggesting that Sloane hadn't eaten that day anyway and was giving his only meal to his daughter.

The man checked Sloane's ID but the act of both Violet looking so cold and upset at whatever it was her mother had done and then Sloane's apparent patient exhaustion tugged hard enough at his heart strings that he set the fake ID aside and started typing into the system to search for a dorm.

"Ah, yes, we have some free," the man explained and Sloane smiled but quickly suggested in some pleading panic, "preferably as close to the arts department as possible?" The man nodded with an 'of course' gesture and then a smile to Violet. "The nearest one is over the bridge in the languages department, but it's free of any residents." He explained sympathetically, "Room 328," the same as Sloane had mentioned earlier. "I'll just go and get the key set up," he promised before moving from the desk and off deeper into the office behind.

Sloane did not drop the act though and was sure to look to Violet kindly and still very tired. "You can have a nice rest and tomorrow we'll go out and get a McDonalds, just you and me." Promises he seemed to be genuinely offering though of course he was not, they were on a mission and as he understood it, Violet might not even be there come morning let alone dinner.

[darqx]

[It's going down] I'm yelling timber

Several doodles in this one!

❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

Everything is similar but she wears a dress version.

Yes (after becoming a Royal) but it's more of a "formaility" as he hasn't had any reason to use it yet. There's a lot of gaps since he relies more on mobility than brute force, and he can also rapidly fill in any areas with harder ichor if need be.

He used to work for the previous King as a Collector.

I think it depends, since he's a Royal now they tend to use some variation of their demon signs as an official "signature" so it might look like the first pic. His prior signature might look something like the second (fancy cursive).

Base: [x]

Rire's ichor tentacles are directly controlled by his consciousness/sub-consciousness so yes technically they could do such things XD But that is something that would have happened more when he was a child/learning how to use the ichor powers - he has such fine control now that the likelihood of it happening anymore is negligible.

...you could kiss them if you want I suppose, he does have some feeling through them lol.

I once described Rire's ichor as existing but not existing at the same time (ah, dichotomy haha). Basically if the ichor is not connected to the manifestation point on Rire's back all trace of it will eventually disappear. So that's handy in more ways then one :d

This post goes into more detail about the ichor consistencies:

Rire was born 973 years ago and was primarily raised by his mother after both his father and then later his stepfather died when he was a child/teen.

He would raise a child similarly to how he was raised. 🤔 YMMV whether this would be considered good parenting but he does have affection towards his own parents so there's that.

Well i did draw the baby!BTD in that same picture so...however i drew them as lol XD; Thanks muchly and keep at it!

Yes the years are the same. As stated in my BTD FAQ "I don’t know if you could classify what he feels as “love” in the same definition we are used to…" :d

Short answer: no.

Long answer: if you consider real world biology it would be like this

SOME species of demons are close enough to humans that they could reproduce with them. If the offspring is viable it's usually infertile like a liger (cross between a lion and a tiger) or a mule, though sometimes/rarely it could result in fertile offspring.

This works similarly between different demon species (different ones are more compatible with certain species compared to others etc), though the likelihood of fertile offspring is greater. Also depending on the species some genes are way more dominant so a child might end up basically being more or less one species type.

[An excerpt from a World War letter. Several similar letters have been documented from both Allies and Central/Axis Powers]

My dearest, I witnessed the most peculiar scene several days ago. Honestly I am not sure if it actually happened or if my mind was playing tricks on me. I was on my evening sentry duty over No Man's land when I saw him - a man, standing alone in the fog past the razor wire and amongst those poor souls neither side had managed to retrieve. Dearest, I swear that man had not been there a second ago! At first I thought this was enemy activity, but his uniform was clearly not German and neither was it one of ours - maybe the oddness is what stayed my tongue at the time. Out of a morbid curiosity I watched as he crouched near several bodies for a long moment - perhaps to pay his respects? - before walking off and disappearing out of sight. I am honestly surprised no one had shot at him! The next day there was a large shout as a grievously injured Johnson - whom was lost in No Man's Land after a failed trench raid - was suddenly within reaching distance just over our trench walls! It was a miracle! He was delirious and had no idea how he had made it back by himself, but mentioned a "General" who had offered help in his lowest moment. Clearly he was unwell as there were no Generals around...but dearest...I can't help but wonder --

[Johnson would survive his injuries and go on to become a well decorated soldier before returning home a hero. He would die 10 years later from "idiopathic anaphylaxis" with an odd look of fear on his face.]

I'm not sure why some of you think this but to put it as clearly as I can (since this is not the first time I've been asked this):

Cain is not my character.

I would hope that you guys understand that just because someone doesnt seem to be on the internet anymore it doesnt mean their character is suddenly an adoptable/up for grabs???

No - I have enough of my own characs I dont need to actually steal someone else's. (Also see above answer)

IMO in any universe Rire and Cain are like oil and water. So, i would say yes there is a way that they could get together but it would probably involve kidnapping and criminal confinement on one of their behalfs :d

I never read Warrior Cats so I have no particular thoughts about this lol.

Demon!Strade is a Gatoverse creation XD; - meaning Gato created him and so it has no correlation with my demon types. He would probably be like a level 4 or 5 maybe (aside from being LARGE, idk about his other power sets lol) and a clear case of needing an exorcism :d

Both of them are naturally charismatic (though, Demon!Rire can dial his up to noticeably unnatural levels). Human!Rire can be considered more manipulative and subtle than the demon version since in his 'verse "real world" consequences are actually things he has to consider. He is also a bit less interested in mind games than Demon!Rire.

-...gestures at humans, which he prefers to mess with for the sheer variety of reactions-

That is not part of his skill set, no :d Also much in the same way that animals with sharp teeth don't willy nilly bite their tongues off, demons with sharp teeth are like...used to having/biologically designed to have sharp teeth.

THANKING YOU \o/

It wouldn't lol. Also if i saw Rire IRL i would immediately pretend to have NOT seen him because that would mean that I've somehow had a hand in creating a tulpa.

[lqveharrington]

Hi, congrats on 2k! I was wondering if you could write Spencer Reid with Clean? Maybe something like Spencer got done with a bad case and is thinking about using but then reader helps him. Thanks!

Clean | S.R.

summary: When Spencer comes back from a bad case, you help him as best as you can; especially when his thoughts wander back to an unpleasant time in his life.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

includes: angst, fluff, addiction, drugging, talks about death, crying,

a/n: i love me some spencer reid 💛 (rules for celebration here!)

As a behavior analyst for the BAU in Quantico, it was your sole purpose to evaluate and look into potential criminals' mindsets. At first, you were hesitant to take the job they offered to you – not wanting to deal with so much pain in life. To your luck, they countered with an office job to manage the data collected by the agents who flew out to deal with the cases face to face instead. You were surprised to hear that they really wanted you on their team. Maybe it was because you took all the psychology classes in high school, or perhaps it was all TV shows you watched just to figure out how they ended in the first episode, but after much convincing by your family, you took the job.

It took adjusting and many days of learning everyone’s name before you could get comfortable with the people you worked with. Especially the team that went out for the cases.

Gideon and Hotch — and eventually Rossi — always scared you just a bit, but you learned they cared for you like a daughter. Emily, Penelope, and JJ loved you more than their job. They always hung back with you whenever they had spare time. Derek did his best not to tease you with how young you started working with the BAU, but soon realized how similar you and Spencer were. Ultimately calling you pretty girl in comparison to Spencer's pretty boy.

When you first met Spencer, you swore you both awkwardly froze and avoided each other until JJ forced the both of you to get along. It wasn't like you disliked him — it was the opposite. You only began to get closer to Spencer when he would bring you hot chocolate every day because of the one time he bumped into you and spilled your drink all over the floor.

Eventually he did ask you out on a date and the rest became history.

You even helped him get clean when the incident happened years ago. That case made reality sink in quickly, especially when you got the emergency call from JJ in Atlanta, Georgia. That was the closest you had ever come to joining the traveling team.

Over the years, you made sure to keep Spencer in check. It scared you to even think about him going back to addiction. Yes, he handled tough cases, but he always knew you were there to help him. Until the most recent case. Where the most recent victim looked exactly like his daughter.

"Hey, when did you guys get back?" You raised your brows in surprise when you found Spencer spinning a pen in between his fingers at his desk. "I didn't get a text from you—?"

"My phone died." He muttered and looked up at you, eyes tired and overworked. Within seconds, you were pulled into his arms as his head found its way into your neck. "Missed you and Liv lots."

"We missed you too, Spence." You wrap your arms around him and rub his back. You let him settle into your arms before you separated and sat on his desk, confused at his sudden affection. "I haven't looked at this case yet. What happened?"

The storm outside thundered, causing him to jump and clasp your hand in his own. You frowned and squeezed his hand, head tilting to the side. Spencer was never this afraid of rain, especially when Olivia loved the rain and always asked the both of you to play in the rain whenever you were both home. So you did what you do best — analyze him based on his behavior.

"Uhm, the victim was kidnapped and drugged until she nearly passed away from how much was injected into her veins." He felt for your pulse and counted how many times you heartbeat passed in a minute. "We were cutting it close with time when she got to the hospital."

You watched the way he kept pushing his hair back and readjusting his glasses. He was constantly fidgeting, which made you frown. He fidgeted plenty, but this felt like it traced a little deeper than the surface showed.

Pursing your lips, you stared at his shaking hands and met his brown eyes. "Spence... There's something more to it, isn't there?"

He swallowed and nodded, voice coming out quieter than intended. His hold on your hand tightened as he spoke, eyes shutting like he was in pain. "She uh... She looked just like Olivia, just older."

Your heart broke when you heard his voice crack. He hadn't thought about his own addiction in a while, and seeing a girl who looked like his daughter having a similar experience had him spiraling. You saw the look in his eyes, how scared he was to ever think of losing you or losing Olivia in the process of going back to addiction. He seemed to overthink the entire situation. If that was his own daughter — who he prayed wouldn't ever be harmed in any of his cases — he probably would've quit on the spot.

"Listen to me, Spence." You start and took both hands in your own, smiling softly when you saw his wedding ring adorning his hand. It had been a couple of years since you married him, but every time you saw the matching rings, you were instantly transported back to the day.

You squeezed his hand and kissed the back of them three times, one thing you began doing since you started dating. "Olivia and I know you will do everything in your power to be there for us. We also know you would do everything not to go back to drugs, you know why?" When he stared at you with wet eyes, you continued, your own voice cracking. "Because you love us too much to ever risk yourself to a life of addiction. You have grown so much and we both know you would hate yourself forever if Liv saw you injecting Dilaudid into your own arm."

He stayed quiet and listened to your words intently. Even with his IQ of 187, he knew you were right. He had thought about going back, letting the drugs take him back to the dark place he said he never wanted to go back to. But as always, you pulled him out of the dangerous waves before the water could fill his lungs. You were one of the only people who could hear his cries without anything being said.

You brought a hand up and wiped a stray tear falling from his eye, like you could hear his unspoken thoughts. "I know you Spencer Walter Reid. I can read you like the back of my hand, and not because that's my job, but because you let me know you."

Like a surge of the perfect storm brewing outside, he cupped your cheeks and pressed a kiss to your lips. It was filled with all his stored emotions from one singular case. You could feel the desperation, love, need. He sought out for you in his darkest times. You kept him clean all these years and he wasn't going to let that streak die because of a hard case.

You and Spencer both went to pick Olivia up from her ballet lessons, wanting to surprise her. And boy was she happy to see both her parents. When she heard the bell ring above the studio's front door, her head peek above the half wall and met her parents' eyes. She but all squealed in happiness and rushed over to Spencer first, jumping into his arms and grabbing his face in her small hands.

"Hi, daddy!" She giggled and squished his cheeks, her pink tutu splayed over him. "I missed you a lot! Like, more than the entire world a lot."

"I missed you too, Liv." He smiled and kissed her cheek, lowering his head to whisper into her ear. "Have you been good for mommy while I was away?"

She tilted her head and gave him a cheeky grin, reading him as well as you could. "I'm always good for mommy."

You raised your eyebrow at her and tickled her sides before kissing her cheek as well. She was the sun that shooed all the dark clouds from Spencer's mind. Of course, she would never know that. Not until she understood everything her father went through to be there for her.

"Go get your stuff so we can get home. I'm sure daddy is tired and wants to hear all your stories from school." You nod your head toward her pink backpack, the different keychains and trinkets Spencer bought her hanging from every zipper.

"Oh, daddy, I have so many stories to tell you! Like that one time—!"

"Get your stuff first, Liv." He let her down from his arms and chuckled when she ran toward the cubbies, stuffing all her belongings into her bag.

You perched your chin on his shoulder and looped your arm around his — the both of you watching your daughter with loving eyes. He understood what it meant to be BAU Special Agent, but he also understood what it meant to be a husband and father. He knew that the balance between work and home was difficult, but he would do anything to keep his family safe. Would he quit? No, you would never let him. But he would ensure that his thoughts would never wander back to such a dark place.

He would stay clean just for you and Olivia.

"I love you." He whispered to you and turned his head to meet your eyes, smile echoing your own. "Like more than the whole world."

You laugh softly and kiss his cheek, "I love you too, Spence. Don't ever forget it."

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[alex-procrastinates]

as a nearsighted glasses wearer this is very accurate, i think it should be very helpful! :)

if it's ok, i'd also like to add a few things:

sports are not usually an issue with glasses (except when you get hit directly in the face with a ball and your glasses get shoved into your nose, which really fucking hurts!) for example, i do gymnastics and my glasses have fallen off about 3 times in 9 years of doing cartwheels and flipping around bars and all sorts of stuff. i have, however, recently smacked myself in the face with my leg and bent my glasses slightly out of shape, which is kinda annoying lol

if you have worn glasses for long enough it is possible for them to just become like a part of your body. i've had glasses for 9 years and i sometimes forget to take them off before i get in the shower!

people who see you without your glasses for the first time WILL comment on how different you look, and sometimes might not recognise you at first

if you are drinking a hot drink and breathe into your mug, your glasses will fog up. it usually goes away within a few seconds.

a nearsighted character might rest their glasses on their forehead while reading or using their phone. i know bc i do this all the time

not sure if this is true for other vision impairments, but for nearsighted people, water can refract light in a similar way to their glasses, so they can see a bit better underwater even when wearing normal goggles. my underwater vision is almost perfectly clear, but my eyes aren't that bad.

in australia we usually call nearsighted "short-sighted" and farsighted "long-sighted". this seems to be true for the uk as well

hope this helps! and to op, if you're uncomfortable with me adding to your post, just let me know and i'll delete my reblog :)

How to write a character with glasses

A guide for anyone wanting to write characters with glasses, but doesn’t know how yet.

 Different types of visual impairment

Near-sighted – not being able to see stuff in the distance

Far-sighted – not being able to see stuff up close

Presbyopia – easier in German: Altersweitsichtigkeit = elderly far-sightedness, not being able to read small print when you’re older, sometimes end up being far- and near-sighted at the same time

Astigmatism – light is not focused evenly on the retina, results in distorted and blurry vision

it’s also pretty normal to have different prescriptions for both eyes, one being stronger/weaker than the other one

 Different types of visual aids

Eyeglasses with actual glasses – easier to break, so more dangerous, can be grinded and polished differently than other material

Plastic glasses – lighter than the real glass, not that easy to get damaged

Reading glasses – only needed for reading and driving

Monocle – old-fashioned aesthetic

Bifocals – glasses that correct presbyopia, bottom is seeing closer, top for seeing in the distance

Contact lenses – different types (post about it coming soon)

 How to write it?

think about what kind of visual impairment does your character have?

what are they able to see?

can they see basically everything, but cannot read correctly?

can they see enough to get by, but cannot read and drive and get headaches without their glasses?

can they only see blurred images and colours?

do not change it halfway through the story! Choose their impairment and then stick with it.

what are situations where the glasses could hinder them?

are they doing a lot of sport, are they getting into fights, situations where they don’t want to wear them for aesthetic reasons?

can they not do something because of their impairment? (joining security forces, driving big trucks, etc.)

are they annoyed that they have to wear them? Are they only wearing contact lenses or are they just avoiding wearing anything even though they can’t see everything?

you don’t have to make a big deal out of your character wearing glasses, but it does play a big part in your character’s life

remember to put in a few references about it here and there throughout the story

things to consider

glasses fog up

through temperature changes

while going outside or coming in

while sweating

glasses need to be adjusted

they will never stay where they are supposed to be

especially when moving around and keeping your head down

the character will need to adjust them from time to time and push them up again

glasses need to be cleaned a lot

everything will make them dirty

best option are specific cleaners

if you don’t have them handy a shirt will have to do, but it needs to be the right material, synthetic stuff is not working

people with glasses will ask their friends for their shirts if they have to

sunglasses, swim goggles and 3D glasses are impractical

3D glasses need to be over the glasses and it can be tricky to get it right

sunglasses need the right prescription and then you would have to change glasses every time you enter a building

there are clips that go over the normal glasses, but they have to be exact to look fine

swim goggles can also be with prescription, but you would also have to get your glasses as soon as you’re out of the water to take the goggles off and still see enough

there are also special glasses for other sports (it’s not great to do sports with real glasses, because if they break it can severely damage your eyes)

times where you have to take the glasses off

when showering

when going to bed

when putting on shirts with a tight neckline

glasses are expensive

some insurances pay for them, a lot don’t

the worse the eyesight the more expensive they get

glasses and frames are two different things and get sold separately (you can have really expensive glasses in a cheap frame or vice versa)

you also need a spare pair of glasses, if you lose yours or they get damaged (often this is just an old pair, where the prescription is no longer strong enough)

more things to consider

a new partner cannot just take the glasses and throw them to the side, when the fun starts, if it leaves the character without being able to see properly, there needs to be some more trust there

people will take the glasses and put them on, yelling ‘OMG you’re really blind!’ and then ask you how they look like, especially funny when you really can’t see them

people asking ‘how many fingers can you see?’

light hits differently, which means you see light differently and also, it’s hard to take good pictures with glasses

rain is a nightmare, it’s like driving through rain without a windshield wiper

having to be careful on roller coasters and other stuff, because they can and will fly off

especially with astigmatism it’s hard to drive at night

going to the hair dresser can be annoying when they take your glasses off and then ask you if that’s the right length to cut it and you can’t see it

you cannot lie in bed (except on the back) without the glasses pressing uncomfortable in your face

mascara definitely will end up on the glasses and getting that cleaned is a nightmare

wearing hats, beanies, giant headphones and even facemasks can be extra annoying, because the arms of the frame will get in the way

you can get headaches from not wearing your glasses, from the pressure of the frame of the glasses and from wearing new and therefore glasses with a stronger prescription

small children love glasses, as soon as they can grab stuff, they will yank them off your face if you let them get close enough

kids will tease you about them, but after middle school it’s not really a thing anymore (mostly and as adults it’s really nothing special)

glasses have blind spots on the sides and top and bottom, so you sometimes have to move your head more

Tropes

Blind without glasses and dropped glasses

I actually only have sharp vision for a distance of 10 cm, which means I would not get home save if I had to cross a street to get to my building without glasses

but I very rarely lose my glasses

so, the trope of someone not being able to see without them is correct in some cases, but it’s definitely not hilarious and there are not often situations where they are just without glasses and fumbling around

Being smart

people wearing glasses can be just as dumb as everyone else

try not to make the only one wearing glasses be the smart kid

The Cure

often found in fantasy books, people will somehow get cured from needing glasses

getting some superpowers that eradicate their visual impairment and ‘fixing’ them

The Makeover scene

I love makeover scenes just like everybody else does

but: it’s not really cool to see the ‘ugly duckling’ suddenly becoming a beautiful swan by throwing away their glasses

and it’s impractical, if they just put them away and it was established that they can’t really see that well without them it’s just stupid to leave them at home

if they get new and cooler glasses, the person giving them to them would have needed to know their exact prescription, glasses are expensive and it takes time before they are ready

if they wear contact lenses from now on, they would also need to know the prescription and if they have never worn contact lenses before it will take some time to get used to putting them in and wearing them

Finally… please write characters with glasses. This sounds like a lot of hassle, but for most people it’s the most normal thing in the world. Studies show that soon half the world population will need glasses and I still didn’t really have a cool girl with glasses as a role model in literature when I grew up. It’s just another form of representation and I hope I can help you with this post to create some cool characters!

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee! 🥰

[followthebluebell]

Hi Bluebell! Do you have any suggestions for water fountains for more flat-faced cats? My cat's a moggy, but she's definitely got some flat in her family tree, and all the fountains I see look so...small. I'm worried she won't be able to get her face in there :(

You could look into one that has a little water fall like this one:

This is the Petsafe Drinkwell Multi-Tier fountain (100 oz). This is the model I use at work (three of them! I use several other fountains too, but this was on sale for very cheap so we bought a lot of them). The persians don't have any problem using it.

Mostly they ignore the pool of water at the bottom and drink from the open top or the waterfall bit.

This is the next size up and the one I use at home for my personal cats (and also dog). I've had it for five years now and really like it.

My biggest complaint is that it's got some difficult parts to clean (the tank is very deep and hard to reach with brushes) and that it's plastic. Some cats have plastic sensitivities and, of course, plastic is harder to disinfect.

There's only one fountain at work that I absolutely despise. I don't know the model of it, but it's very similar to Catit's little flower fountain. Only, instead of being plastic, it's stainless steel and also terrible in every single way. I hate it so much. I never thought I would have such strong feelings about an inanimate object that I only have to deal with for a few minutes each day but it makes every one of those minutes terrible.

[freezeris]

⋆⁺₊❅.🎄personal astro observations ii🎄⋆⁺₊❅.

❗️Just a heads up: I'm not a professional, just an amateur, and these are going to be largely based on my first-hand experiences and people I know. Unfortunately I've had a lot of unfavorable experiences in my earlier life, so there will be a good amount of negative points I make about some placements, but in no way does this mean I think everyone who has these will express them in this way. We all have all 12 signs in our charts, so to hate any one of the archetypes would be detrimental to one's own growth, I think. Also: I mostly use tropical astrology and the placidus house system, so most observations will be based on that.

🎄 I'm sorry Aquarius Moon/Venus, but you are not beating the allegations... 👩‍⚖️ Not to be another person getting on Aquarius Moon/Venus' ass, but them ghosting you as soon as you show too much interest in them is SO real. 😭 If you're interested in one it's probably best to let them do most of the courting/pursuing and let them set the pace.

Aquarius is also ruled by Saturn, after all, so similar to Capricorn they can be more attracted if there's an element of challenge or difficulty in making the relationship work. Although they may not be aware or willing to admit it. 😅 This is why you often see them with partners who are way older, bad boys, rebels or outcasts in some way. Taylor Swift, especially in her youth, was such a good example of this and she is an Aquarius Venus. I mean: the song "Ours" is so fitting for this placement. 😭

That being said, these people usually make for great friends. 💗 It's just hard for them to date/marry because they prefer to naturally transition from friends to lovers without making a big deal of it. Honestly you might be better off not trying to have the "what are we?" conversation if you don't want to risk having them run off to da milk store......even though they're lactose intolerant........😭

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*

🎄 One reason why I find the Placidus house system so interesting is because of Interceptions and duplicate houses. I have a Gemini – Sagittarius Interception in the 4H – 10H Axis, and I definitely feel as though I was "denied" the traits of these signs in my self-expression. I was actively discouraged from being too curious or questioning of the worldview the adults around me tried to instill in me. My curiousity and zest for exploration & expansion was not nurtured at all. These themes simply weren't present in my upbringing. We never even took a single trip together as family, which is such a direct way for this Interception to manifest. 😅

Interceptions happen when your Midheaven is in a sign that trines or sextiles your Ascendant, instead of doing the normal square. So if you are an Aries Rising, the "normal" layout would call for Capricorn to be your MC, but it's also possible for it to fall in Aquarius instead. (Although this particular combination is very rare and not every combination is possible.) In that case some of the house cusps will be out of order and one pair of sister signs ends up being skipped, while another gets duplicated.

🎄Staying on the topic of Midheaven: when you have it in a sign that's not "normal" for your Ascendant to be paired with, and you look at your chart in the Whole Sign System, you'll notice that it will fall either in your 9th or 11th house, instead of your 10th.

🎄I've noticed that people with their MC in the 9th are more likely to be remembered for things that happened very early in their career or life in general. They are often more associated with how they got to their current point in life, than how they are doing right now. In celebrities I often see this as the media being obsessed with the one performance or song the star delivered in their youth, but not so much caring about the projects they do later in life. 😅

This isn't me calling anyone with this placement "washed up" or saying they peak early, it's just that people are obsessed with the things these natives did earlier in their career, to the point where it can overshadow their later achievements. I have this too, so I'm in the same boat. 🥲 But the good thing about MC in the 9th House is that it's easier to lay low and maintain a good reputation. As long as you weren't involved in too many scandalous things in your youth, at least.

Some examples:

🎄Dylan & Cole Sprouse (Virgo ASC + Taurus MC) who are still most famous for starring in "The Suite Life of Zack & Cody".

🎄Uma Thurman (Virgo ASC + Taurus MC) who is most associated with her roles in Pulp Fiction and Kill Bill.

🎄Dakota Fanning (Taurus ASC + Capricorn MC), was the youngest child actor to receive a SAG nomination, and is largely associated with the roles she took very early on in her career.

🎄Lorde (Capricorn ASC + Virgo MC) released "Royals" when she was 16/17 years young and it's still her most popular single to date.

🎄Robert Pattinson, (Taurus ASC + Capricorn MC) he's most associated with his role in Twilight, even though he's been landing other big roles as well, like him taking up the mantle as the new Batman.

🎄Mariah Carey (Taurus ASC + Capricorn MC) and her most well-known singles were released decades ago.

🎄Ben Affleck (Cancer ASC + Pisces MC), the roles he's most associated with are from films in the 90s and early 2000s.

🎄Johnny Depp (Leo ASC + Aries MC), his most iconic roles are from movies made in the 90s & early 2000s.

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🎄Meanwhile people with their MC in the 11th House, I've noticed, are more likely to have a big breakthrough later in their career. Their reputation tends to shift more frequently as well. Often they are also heavily associated with philantrophy, social justice or how they revolutionized something in their field/the world in general. These natives tend to be more active and popular on social media as well, compared to MC in the 9H.

Some examples:

🎄Chris Evans (Scorpio ASC + Virgo MC) and he had his big breakthrough moment in the 2010s as Captain America, and has enjoyed a lot more popularity from that point onwards.

🎄Antony Starr (Leo ASC + Gemini MC), had been an actor for decades before he took his big role as Homelander.

🎄Ariana Grande (Capricorn ASC + Scorpio MC), of course she is still quite young and has already risen to prominence in her teens/twenties, but her fame and relevancy only seems to be increasing with every year.

🎄Margot Robbie (Cancer ASC + Taurus MC), had her big break in 2013, due to her role in Wolf of Wall Street, and has only continued to cement herself as a popular actor since. The recent Barbie Movie is what really pushed her into the Mainstream.

🎄J.K. Rowling (Aquarius ASC + Sagittarius MC), we all know by now it took her a while to have her breakthrough. Over the years she's been very vocal on social media and her reputation has changed quite a bit. She went from mostly being known as a beloved childrens book author to someone who fights transwomen with tooth and nail... Yet the Harry Potter franchise still continues to grow in popularity, because it has a broad appeal and a lot of people feel nostalgic for it, having grown up with the series.

🎄This one is not 100% confirmed, but I still wanted to bring it up: Taylor Swift (suspected to be a Scorpio ASC + Virgo MC). I personally think this makes sense for multiple reasons. Of course she's always been successful ever since her debut, but her fame only keeps increasing. Even she didn't think she was ever gonna get bigger than she was back at her first peak in 2014, but clearly that has been proven wrong when The Eras Tour rolled around. Her reputation & public reception has changed a lot over the years as well. In part this is definitely due to her strong Scorpio energy (which she would still have even if she wasn't a Scorpio Rising), but having MC in the 11th and in a mutable sign like Virgo can also add to this. She's always been very present on social media, as well. Particularly in the earlier days of her career she was fairly active on MySpace, Tumblr and Twitter.

🎄Not fully confirmed either: but Pedro Pascal said he is either a Gemini or Cancer Rising. His MC would most likely fall in Aries either way, but I'm leaning more towards him being a Gemini Rising. This would also put his MC in his 11th House in Whole Sign, and it's certainly true for him that he has only had his big break in acting less than a decade ago. His popularity only continues to skyrocket with time.

🎄Sidenote: It's VERY RARE, but sometimes it's even possible to have your MC falling in your 8th or 12th house. I know a few celebrities who have, for example, a Gemini Rising with a Capricorn Midheaven, which would fall in their 8H in Whole Signs. I wanted to give a quick acknowledgement that this is also a possibility.

🎄 Paul Mescal is the most obvious Saturn dominant man I've ever seen. All of his planets, except for Pluto & Moon, are either in Saturn-ruled signs or conjunct his Saturn. We don't know his birth time, but no matter what his chart ruler is, Saturn will always be really dominant in his chart. 🪐

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🎄Having Pluto in the 4th or Pluto square Moon could mean your Mother started out as being really controlling, and then somewhere down the line did the opposite thing and abandoned you. Or the opposite scenario happened, where she wasn't very present in the early childhood of her children, but suddenly feels the need to insert herself once they're older. A good fictional example of the latter situation would by Lyra from His Dark Materials and her Mother Marisa Coulter. Pluto rules over extremes and control (issues), so when it touches the Moon or 4th House the mother tends to act in very extreme & controlling ways.

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🎄I would recommend against dating/being close friends with someone who has their Saturn in the same modality as most of your personal planets, especially when it squares. Or rather, you might notice that when you try to, you just don't feel comfortable opening up to them in the first place.

Saturn is where we can have the highest standards and biggest insecurities, causing us to be extremely critical of people who have placements in the same modality as our Saturn.

Unfortunately most of my family members have mutable Saturns, while I'm a mutabe dominant, so I've never felt comfortable being myself with them and they never really appreciated me. For me the ideal partner would probably have a cardinal Saturn, as I only have one cardinal placement. They'd be better off not having too many fixed personal planets themselves, though, since I'm a fixed Saturn and obviously I don't want to constantly feel critical of my partner and closest friends either. 😅

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🎄I've noticed some Gemini/Mercury dominant natives really have a thing for Bees and pollinators. I knew a Gemini Sun, Virgo Rising who said they were her favorites and even got a tattoo of one. She would often try to rescue them too. 🐝

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🎄I've noticed Pisces dominants, especially Pisces Venus, tend to prefer media that is more lighthearted and family friendly. They're pretty sensitive to negative energies, so they don't usually like saturating their minds with too much dark & serious stuff. It can really weigh on them and cause nightmares. It's also probably due to being exalted in Venus, which is a planet that mostly relates to pleasant energies. So Taurus & Libra dominants could also be like this, but for Pisces it's usually more emotionally intense as a water sign.

🎄 Mars in the 9th often gets this rep of forcing their own views on others, and it for sure can manifest this way. But I will say as someone with this placement myself, that I've CONSTANTLY been on the receiving end of this treatment, but I've never actually tried to do this myself because I fucking loathe when someone does that. I notice with this placement that if you (as the 9th House Mars person) don't stand firm in your beliefs, you'll have so many mfers come at you and try to bully you into taking on their belief system. 😭 I guess this is because where your Mars sits you invite in conflict and shows of dominance the most from other people. If you're not adamant and dominant enough in your beliefs, someone else will try to dominate that area of your life for you. You really gotta say: "No I don't take criticism, fuck off! 👊💥👊💥👊💥"

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🎄 8H Suns can sometimes have a father that is considered wealthy because the Sun = Father and 8H = inheritances. However, I will say as a 8H Sun myself, my father/family has always lived pretty close to the poverty line (although it could've been worse and I'm grateful for what I did have growing up), BUT when I compare my father to his parents and siblings, he is indeed the most successful person in his family. I'd say it's the same with Moon in 8H = having a (relatively) wealthy mother. A lot of things in astrology are relative compared to the persons family and peers, so not everyone with this will be RICH rich.

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🎄 Another thing that an 8H Sun/Moon could indicate is having a parent who is often physically (sometimes emotionally) absent from the natives life. It doesn't have to be straight up abandonment, it can also show up as the parent just traveling a lot for work or spending a lot of time at work. It doesn't always have to be in the natives childhood either. Sometimes they will have their parent for most of their childhood, but then the native themself moves away to a different city or country for boarding school/college/work/other reasons and could really miss their parents because of it. Sun or Moon in the 12th can experience this too, from what I've seen. The traveling/long distance aspect would apply even more strongly to the 12th House placements.

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🎄I often see Cancer Rising & a dominant Moon in the Solar Return Chart be cited as a strong indicator for conceiving/birthing children. And that's true, but I've rarely seen people mention Venus dominance in the SR chart being an indicator of this as well.

Because when I checked when my mother gave birth to both me and my sister, she had a Taurus & Libra ASC respectively. In the Taurus Rising SR her Venus (Chart Ruler) fell in her 5th house, along with the Sun & North Node.

In the Libra Rising SR she didn't have the Chart Ruler in the 5th or 4th, but she did have Venus conjunct Jupiter, Juno & North Node (in the 9th) + Uranus in the 5th. The Moon was also conjunct IC but from the 3rd house. And indeed, my sister was not a planned addition to the family, as Uranus would suggest.

🎄Cancer & Leo are the only-children of the Zodiac. They are basically meant to be the most "selfish" signs since they are ruled by the Luminaries (Sun & Moon) which are the most egoic planets. They are also the only signs to not share a planetary ruler with any other sign, hence why I lovingly call them "only children" lol. 😂 I can't stress enough that when I say this I don't mean it as an insult. It's just what the signs and their ruling planets represent. Ego isn't all bad. Plus, that's why they have the Saturn ruled signs (Capricorn and Aquarius) as their sister signs. They're here to make sure Leo and Cancer don't become blind to their surroundings, since Saturn and Capricorn + Aquarius rule over institutions, communities and societal structure, while the Moon/Cancer and Sun/Leo are very "self" & survival based.

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🎄 If you lack a certain element or modality in your chart, you'll probably feel more attracted to people dominant in this energy as well. I have very little fire and air energy, so most of the people that felt drawn to me or that I felt drawn to were dominant in it.

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🎄Very specific, but if you have a T-square you can also find yourself attracting people who have placements in the "empty leg" sign. Basically the sign opposite to the planet that receives the squares. In my case that would be Gemini, and that's probably the sign I used to attract the most. 😂

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🎄I don't know that many Capricorn Moons, and I've never had a super close relationship with one, but those that I have known were usually really sweet to me. Maybe that's just my impression because I'm also an Earth Moon, so we trine and naturally have easy rapport. But based on all the descriptions I've read y'all made them sound so cold and scary? 😭 Well they don't seem to be with me. 😌💅 Might also be in part because they fall in my 5H. Other people's placements in your 5th house will have a hard time resisting being more open and silly around you. 🐐 🎊

I mean, apparently everyone's favorite man, Pedro Pascal, is a Capricorn Moon too. And it even squares his Sun, yet he is extremely charming and likeable (sorry but I can't not simp, I am not immune to this man 🙈).

WELL, that is it for now, folks! Thanks for reading, if you've come this far. MWAH. 🫶

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🎄dividers by dollywons🎄

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jade Leech - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Mostro Lounge]

Jade: …I see. I've grasped the information you've just brought me. I shall inform Azul about it immediately.

Jamil: Seriously. Why'd I have to be the one stuck coming all the way to the Mostro Lounge to deliver the Headmage's message?

Jade: Heh, my sincerest apologies. I'm afraid our esteemed manager likes to scold us if we are on our phones during work.

Jamil: And what's that manager of yours doing, anyway? If I could've just been able to get in contact with him, I wouldn't have had to come all the way here.

Jade: He is conducting business in the VIP Room. I'm sure he's turned off his phone so as to not be rude to his guest.

Jade: Although, I suppose it's a shame. I rather would have had you come tomorrow instead of today, Jamil-san.

Jamil: Tomorrow? Is there something going on tomorrow? …No, nevermind. Forget I asked.

Jade: ACTUALLY, YOU SEE! It is our birthday tomorrow.

Jamil: Whew. I was a little worried as to what it could've been… But yeah, I guess it is your guys' birthday tomorrow.

Jamil: Good thing I came today, then.

Jamil: Who knows what'd you two'd be bugging me about if I actually came on the day of.

Jade: I would never bug you… I would have been content with a simple birthday greeting.

Jamil: Yeah, sure. Though I'm pretty sure your brother wouldn't let me slide with just a few words.

Jamil: Maybe I should prepare something ahead of time before things get dicey… Alright then, I'll be heading back now.

Jamil: Thanks for passing on the message to Azul. And… Have a good birthday.

Jade: Of course, thank you very much.

Jade: We look forward to serving you again. Please return home safely.

Jade: Phew, it seems all the customers have finally left. Today was yet another successfully busy day.

Jade: Now then, everyone, I leave cleaning of the lounge to you all. I'll go take stock of inventory…

[Octavinelle Student A appears]

Jade: Oh? I'm pretty sure your duty station was in the kitchen was it not? You should be starting to close everything down, why are you here in the lounge?

Jade: Floyd should be in the kitchen today, as well. Don't come to me if you've made him ang... [Octavinelle Student A speaks] Eh? Floyd got bored and left?

Jade: Well then, I suppose I'll head towards the kitchen. I'll leave it to all of you to finish cleaning the lounge.

[Octavinelle Dorm – Jade's Room]

[Floyd speaks]

Jade: Ah, Floyd. Because you left as you did, the kitchen was in such disarray.

[Floyd speaks]

Jade: …Oh my, you saw through me immediately.

Jade: Everyone finished their tasks quite efficiently after I kindly spoke with them.

[Floyd speaks]

Jade: Heh, it seems I'll be able to take my time to enjoy my little hobbies today. I'll have to be quick with my shower.

Jade: Now…

Jade: What should I start with tonight?

[Octavinelle Dorm – Jade's Room]

Jade: First, I'll check up on my terrariums… Ah no, the moss is starting to dry out.

Jade: I should water it well. I'll pour some water into the spray bottle, and…

[spray, spray]

Jade: …This looks fine enough. The moss is looking good and moist.

Jade: It looks almost completely different from when it was dried up… Fufu, I don't think I could ever get tired of observing moss like this.

Jade: …......

Jade: …AH, WH-WHAT'S THIS!?

Jade: The rock that I had been carefully observing for so long… It's covered in some green substance that I'm sure wasn't there this morning!

Jade: This color, this shape…!! It looks very similar to what I saw on page 487 of my Moss Encyclopedia.

[slams book open]

Jade: "When dry, the fronds become as spindly as thread; when moist, they take on a unique appearance."

Jade: "This moss is exceedingly rare, and as such the exact location and environment most suitable for growth is not well known."

Jade: Aah… As I expected…! It was absolutely worth observing this flora, without knowing if it was even a type of moss or not.

Jade: Look here, Floyd! I've obtained a rare species of moss!

[Floyd flips a page in his book]

Jade: He's… Reading, I see. It is a shame that I cannot share this exciting occasion with him, but I suppose I shouldn't press it today.

Jade: It would truly be regrettable if I brought about his ire and he damaged this rare specimen in the process.

Jade: Oh yes, I cannot just leave it like this. I should take a picture and jot down its information in my notebook!

Jade: Ah, right, I suppose I should fill this out while I am at my desk, as well.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Jade: Quality of life improvements, hm… I think I would wish for a more suitable environment to raise my terrariums.

Jade: Just because a place is suitable for humans to live in, that does not mean that plants or moss will thrive in the same way.

Jade: I've had plants wither away in the shade without knowing that they require a location bathed in sunlight…

Jade: I've even had mushrooms grow from the moss simply because the temperature and humidity were too high…

Jade: That incident was the absolute worst.

Jade: When I returned to my room, the mushroom spores had spread so fervently that the terrarium was completely unsalvageable…

Jade: The cause of that disaster was painfully apparent. It was all due to the fact that I could not control the temperature, humidity, nor the necessary daylight in my room.

Jade: In order to resolve such issues, it would be best to ensure everyone has their own room, regardless of year…

Jade: Or, at the very least, I'd like it if we could partition the rooms completely.

Jade: If only because there was one time that I had purchased a large humidifier, but Floyd broke it, saying he hated how muggy it made the room.

Jade: If we were able to have our individual spaces, then I could install a humidifier, a heater, or even add more windows to regulate natural light… AH!

Jade: Right, Octavinelle is located underwater, so we would also have to take into account levels of salt in the air.

Jade: I'll put "The buildings should be reinforced to be resistant to salt pollution." …Or perhaps I should just request that the whole dormitory be protected by a stronger layer of magic…

Jade: …Hm, there isn't much space to write my response on this survey. I even had to fully utilize the reverse side of the paper.

Jade: If I were able to provide a better environment for the moss to thrive in, then we should be able to increase their number and spread them even further. Heh, and thus my dreams are spread further.

[Octavinelle Dorm – Jade's Room]

Jade: …..

[Jade's eyes snap open]

Jade: It seems I've awoken before my alarm today, as well.

Jade: I'm sure Floyd won't wake for some time, so I should go and freshen up while I can.

[Octavinelle Dorm – Washroom]

Jade: It stays unruly even if I wet it… Haah, it seems my bedhead today is a stubborn foe.

Jade: I'll leave fixing my hair until the end, so for now, I should focus on my makeup routine.

Jade: The most important thing to take into account is protecting my skin from the sun. Sunscreen is to be applied evenly everywhere… Ah, yes, and I cannot forget my ears, either.

Jade: After that, I'll do my eye makeup, and apply a lip balm with further sunscreen protection…

Jade: Now, we get down to this unruly hair… I'll turn on the hair iron…

Jade: I'll grab the end of the length by my ear and move the flat iron down towards my fingertips while trying to give it a light curl.

Jade: …

Jade: …It came out too straight.

Jade: I thought I had twisted the end properly… I suppose I did not curl it enough. I'll try again…

Jade: …This time the strands are too springy, I must have added too much of a curl.

Jade: It seems my opponent is a fierce one this morning… How fascinating. I shall meet them head on.

Jade: After all, making a proper "J" is a difficult task… One that I find extremely worthwhile!

[Octavinelle Dorm – Jade's Room]

Jade: After fixing my hair, next is my usual… Wonderful, everything has come out perfectly.

Jade: Not a single wrinkle to be found. Ahh… I do love to see freshly ironed shirts in the morning.

Jade: I can feel my own mood slowly get better with each wrinkle smoothed out of my clothes.

Jade: Now, I just need to iron my handkerchief.

Jade: A black handkerchief, without any embroideries. A gentleman's elegance.

Jade: Now then, it is still rather early… I should head towards the dormitory lounge and enjoy a cup of tea by myself.

Jade: It might be nice to try some of the tea leaves that I've received recently today. After all, it is my birthday.

[Main Street]

Jade: Good morning, Jamil-san. What a coincidence, running into you in a place like this.

Jamil: How is it a coincidence? We're sophomores on our way to class, so it wouldn't be strange to meet up like this.

Jade: …

Jamil: What's with that look?

Jamil: Yeah, I know. Happy Birthday. …You just wanted to hear me say that, right?

Jade: Heheh, thank you. Just from hearing your well wishes, I think today will end up being a wonderful day.

Requested by @thelonepearl and @sakurakudo.

[mimicha-arts]

LC - YINGDU EP1 SPOILERS, TW - blood, death scenes

Yeah I logged in just for LC to sum up things in my DMs with Forest (love u), mostly about dives.

Still have too many ideas about how mechanics actually work, as well as abilities transmigration, so I'll focus on differences of dives and some things from previous seasons.

Scene with Vein.

In my understanding, the opening scene already includes 2 different developments of events.

1, where CXS, after being wounded, was led by LG into the room, while Vein went to pick up the gun. We see bloody footprints, traces on the table, but that's all.

2, where Wayne is already standing at the closed door, clearly shows other events - a chair, other objects scattered on the floor, according to the blood prints, the body seemed to have been dragged + there are no prints on the tabletop.

What is also interesting is that the background is slightly different in both scenes, if you pay attention to the shelves on the left.

There is a difference in the photos too - the first version shows only a crack, the second - a broken glass.

For me, the conclusion is that already here we see 2 different timelines.

Lu Guang's injury

In the first option, although Vein shoots at the door, he misses (time ~ 23:11), Lu Guang closes the door and is not injured

So , missing scene

We don't know what happened for about an hour. In the second version (cause it has stains on the floor, overturned things), the blood on the photo already speaks of the not shown scene. I doubt that Vein simply changed his mind and left, so Lu Guang had to "deal with" him.

At this point, he himself is deeply wounded, but the most important thing is that in these shots we are shown his yellow eyes - this is already a dive in a dive, some kind of repetition of the events.

s2ep12

At the same time, this drive is different from the drive that was shown in the second season.

The blood pattern on his clothes is similar, but even if we exclude the fact that he doesn't look out of breath/in pain, there are other details.

- blood stains on his face - furnishings, of objects on the table - blood on hands (by the way, in the scene with Vein, when he raised his hands in front of him, both of his hands were covered in blood)

Lu Guang's watch

For us as viewers, the watch on his right hand is a familiar part of the design, he wears it on his right hand in both s1 and s2

So, after diving, the first thing he tries to do is check the time, and looks at his right hand.

We still don't know the origin of his watch, since he didn't wear them in almost all the flashbacks. Except for the new one, where the watch is on his left hand.

Thus, Yingdu gives us a new diving point - April 12th (in addition to the dives on September 13).

Maybe the time of this dive will correlate with the time indicated in s2 (but with which there were no associated events)

Except for the poster, the watch on Lu Guang's left hand appeared in the flashback of CXS's death in s2, which probably separates this variant of his death from the ones shown in the scene with Vein, and perhaps the difference can give us insight into the timeline's chronologies later on.

September and April

To be honest, this whole thing makes me very excited, because of the existence of the old theory about the broken time in April and September - I wrote about it in detail a year ago in that post

Emma, April-September and chronology

For me, this means that circumstances of the case, who the unknown victim was, although they have faded into the background now, will still be a key.

Pretty sure this has all been discussed, but thanks for reading. Let's all… have fun with the new season ~