#took me forever to update this i know i know

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

Yours, Forever // Quinn Hughes

Pairings: Prince!Quinn x ofc!Brìghde ("Bree-juh")

Warnings: arranged marriage, mentions of violence and war, eventual smut, will update as each chapter is posted.

Summary: When the war between The Kingdoms of Sunstone and Shadowfell came to an end, a promise of marriage was made. When both kingdoms produced only heirs, the first princess from Sunstone was a celebration of becoming debt free. What happens when the princess learns of her duty? Will she accept happily? Or will the treaty be destroyed?

Authors Note: i am so excited to share this world i’ve been building with you! please know, there will be moments where Scottish Gaelic is spoken. each chapter that does will have translation at the end of each chapter!

On the 406th day, the sun rose the same it always had. Soldiers of Sunstone wondering if they would ever return home to their families. As the sun began to set, away in the distance a small white flag was raised. General Cormac and his immediate men worked their way to the other side of the valley. Guns held close to their sides, prepared for the worse.

Coming face to face with General Shadow, both men nodded. Signaling their men to wait outside.

“Evening, we are willing to end this. We have a few conditions.” Spoke General Shadow.

“We would like to merge our lands, each castle the same. Your family will still control Sunstone, mine will still rule over Shadowfell. There is a piece of land further north of our kingdoms that we can turn into our baseland. A place where an heir of mine and a Princess of yours will live, and rule over. They will wed, and when our time is up - they will rule over both kingdoms. This will go peacefully, we will make both places aware and their lives will not change much and we will handle things with grace and compassion. Our children, whether they be current or down the line will be taught of what's to come. If you accept this deal, we are willing to end this war.”

Cormac was quick to accept, signing the treaty that would be shown for decades to come.

This morning went from a happy day, I was woken up to a cupcake with a pretty candle and a celebration of my 18th. The day I was to start shadowing my mother and learning her duties. Shortly after everything was turned upside down.

Now i’m standing in a room, in front of a man everyone’s calling my fiancé.

The door shut, leaving me and my soon to be husband in the room. The world felt like it was caving in around me and I couldn’t stop it. How did my parents hide this from me for so long? How did they go every day telling me how the kingdom was going to mine just for me to turn 18 and be sent away to a man I’ve never met.

My hands went straight to the fabric near my legs, bunching a piece and trying to find comfort in the only thing I knew.

“I, uh, I know this is a lot. I’m truly sorry it was thrown on you like this.” He spoke softly. Almost like he did feel bad.

“How long have you known?” I snapped.

“Damn near my whole life really. I grew up hearing about the treaty, I was 3 when my father came in to announce to the castle my future wife was born. It’s been drilled in since then.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, why was everyone aware except for me? How was this fair? My life was being thrown away, all for some fucking treaty no one told me about.

“I did try to meet you sooner. I’ve been practically begging my father for the last 2 years to meet you. I tried to tell him it would be a big adjustment for all of us if you knew no one here. He didn’t listen, come to find out cause you didn’t know this was even a thing.”

Turning to face the balcony beside me, I fixed my shoulders and took a breath. “Quintin, if i’m doing this, we are doing it my way. I am Brìghde, Princess of Sunstone. I am an equal to you, and you will not treat me any less. All planning for Shadowfell’s future will be made together. I had a voice in my palace, that will not change here. Am I understood?” My voice was stern, never turning to face the man behind me.

“You will have whatever your heart wants here, I will make sure of it. You will be seen as nothing less than my equal, the future queen of Shadowfell. If anyone has an issue with that, it will be handled. Your voice will be heard here as well, I promise you that.” I heard his footsteps stop behind me, close enough that if I turned I would run right into his chest.

“Very well. If we agree, let’s go tell them we’ll do it. For the safety of my people, for the integrity of my family I will take your hand and plan the rest of my life here.”

Hours had passed before I was whisked away from the large room filled with the people I no longer knew and the people I was soon to know.

“Pardon me?” I voiced to the women walking me down the hall. “What is your name?”

She gave me a warm smile, “Clara, darling. You’ll be seeing a lot of me. Quinn hand picked me to help make you feel more comfortable here.” We walked in a comfortable silence down the hall until she stopped in front of a door.

“This is your bedroom. He had mentioned you may want your own space, so I went ahead and prepared this room for you. If there is anything you find unsatisfactory, please let me know. It’s my goal to help make you happy here. I will come back to check on you in a little while. Quinn’s room is just across the hall, you two are the only ones in this wing.” Clara spoke. She was quick to turn away.

“Wait, Clara?” Her head turned to look back towards me, a silent nod to continue. “Thank you, for all of this.”

I reached for the handle of the door, standing still. “Go on, you’re home now. Whether it feels like home yet or not. This is just as much yours. Go relax.” Clara gave the push I needed. As much as this doesnt feel like home, she’s right. This is my home now.

Stepping into the room, I was taken back by the gorgeous view from what looks to be a balcony. The sea was where I alway felt most at peace.

There was a table next to the door, and a bed further into the room on the opposite wall of the balcony.

A basket sat on the foot of the bed. Flowers, candy and a beautiful ring sat inside. A letter lay next to the basket.

I know all of this is sudden for you and honestly probably scary too. I can’t imagine how it felt to be woken up to news of you leaving and being married off. I cannot express my empathy enough for that.

I have requested for all of your belongings to be sent here as soon as possible. For now, I hope you find comfort in the clothes and bedding I had made for you. I heard from a little birdy (your mother), that dresses weren’t much of your thing, unless formal. So I had some other things made for you. As well as a couple gowns, for when the council needs us.

A seamstress is available for whenever you are ready to discuss a wedding gown, if you choose to wear one. Or if you even want a public wedding.

If you do not want one, please don’t worry. We do not have too. I’m here for whatever you would like, big and lavish or we sign the paper and put the rings on.

I met with the jeweler your mother has gone to, she had made all of your jewelry prior to this. She made the ring that is sitting in that tiny blue box. I thought a pearl with a onyx felt fitting from what I know about you. The pearl represents your love of the sea, (which I hope you enjoy that little balcony overlooking the ocean.) and an onyx for The Morrigan. In hopes she blesses us for the long life we have ahead of each other.

I seem to have rambled on for more than I intended too. I am just across the hall, if you need me and if I am busy; tell Clara. She'll bring you to me and whatever I'm doing can be put onhold.

I know this is hard and change is terrible sometimes, but i’m excited to see you grow and become happy here. Your smile is the breath of fresh air this kingdom needed.

See you at dinner, flower.

Yours forever,

Q.

[eluxcastar]

One of Repetition — Chapter One

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: your sudden dismissal from your position of harbinger, and the fatui as a whole, marks the end of the largest chapter in your life. you had never known a day without the tsaritsa's guidance, and you are set to never know another with it.

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: fem reader, reader is a harbinger, reader has a pyro vision, capitano is still not human and I haven’t played fontaine or natlan ngl, possible ooc, ACTUALLY EDITED FOR ONCE OMG RIRI CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

୨୧﹑words :: 4.6k

so erm. nooooo it hasn't been like two months since I updated 👀 what are you talking aboutttt. so, yeah, that took me forever (mostly because I was planning things), but I have the next chapter written already, so it'll be just an editing job, most likely 😔 I had this one prewritten too, but ig I decided I hated it. I ended up rewriting most of it. we aren't even out of oneshot content yet omg 😭

my head is on backwards rn it's eleven pm, and I'm supposed to be beta reading someone's fic for them 💀 I just spent all day struggling to fix this

also I have a discord server 🙏 you should join it I spill spoilers there, and there are fun people

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

Months pass before there is talk of the crowning of a new Harbinger, the people abuzz with the news and eager to know all they can, preferably before the aristocrats feel like sharing the night of the event. You considered attending the ceremony but ultimately decided against it. You may have the courage to do so, but you are certainly not stupid enough to wander into the waiting heart of the Fatui's clutches. You have waited patiently for this moment and can easily wait longer to hear the news.

No longer treating the inn like a home, you settled somewhere in the plains of another nation only a few weeks after you had first arrived there, sensing the barkeep was getting sick of you and the attention you were drawing to his otherwise obscure establishment. 

People settled there for a night, saw you were there, and word of mouth lured others as they boasted of their encounters with you to travellers who would come to see you. While this influx of new customers certainly boosted business, it also had the unintended consequence of driving away those who preferred to keep a low profile and valued its place as being for those 'in the know'. In other words, while you were great for a boom in business, you were bad for long-term business. 

The barkeep pushing the mora you tried to pay him to pay for another night was enough to send the message he wanted you gone, out by morning. The idea you were not to come back for quite some time was clear to you in the look he gave you. 

Liyue, on the other hand, is filled with mountains and teeming with visitors who have come to witness the highly anticipated Rite of Descension. Surprisingly, the influx of tourism only adds to the overall enjoyment of your experience. You would think that tourism would hinder your time there, but on the contrary, it makes it better in a way. The locals are expecting an influx of outsiders to come to see the Geo Archon in person, and, as a result, they are not only willing to hire help for the time but also serve later at food stalls, and the place is livelier. 

People notice you less as you blend into a crowd of tourists who also don't belong, and you manage to slip under the radar.

You have no interest in the Rite of Descension nor the Geo Archon, and most of your time is spent outside the harbour.

Wangshu Inn, a mid-point between the harbour and the border to Mondstadt, is still within Liyue. It is quieter—which is neither good nor bad—and home to some very understanding owners. They ask so few questions it almost alarms you, but their non-intrusive nature is a welcome change. You crave respite from the chaos and theatrics you were revelling in as a reprieve from the stress you were under, wondering how you would live your life now. At one point, you relished being hailed as a hero by many, but it soon became overwhelming, and you found yourself trapped in the clutches of Brighella once again.

Whether by design or happenstance, your identity had begun to consume your life again, and if you wanted to have any hope of living outside of Brighella, then that had to stop. And so, you sought a place to lay down your burdens and unwind, leading you to where you are now.

You arrive as your old self, and despite clinging to it since your travels had begun, you remove every piece of your armour for what you intend to be a long time and leave it all neatly arranged in a corner like a pile of folded laundry for when you eventually return to it.

Something compels you to finally don the fresh outfit you acquired during your journey through Fontaine. You collect the many pieces from where you stuffed them into your bag and lay them out before undressing from your underclothes. Admittedly, floor-length layered dresses, bustles and extravagance are not your style. If they were, you probably wouldn't have spent years making clinking noises every time you moved your arms. Years of being cooped up in a heavy suit of armour have attuned you to a hulking weight dragging down your every step.

But…

There's something alluring about trying out a new look, especially when it involves pants that don't weigh more than a third of your body weight. Besides, you always kind of liked the showy outfits of Fontaine anyway, just…not yet. Now seems like a good time to dip your toes in.

You almost don't recognise yourself when you finally see yourself in the mirror. Perhaps you got too used to seeing a metal helmet staring back at you and a suit of armour for a body, but the fresh air against your skin and lighter clothes feels…good. 

For the first time in a while, you feel free.

You look at yourself and see a girl. You've always seen a guard or a statue staring back at you, and you can't see the eyes hidden beneath that mask. What you're met with is a girl with messy hair and colourless eyes desperately trying to tame it down as if she's become self-aware that her helmet mussed her hair—it's a girl whose laziness is laid bare.

You watch your own hand pat uselessly at a knot as if that will wish the tangle to stay down by the force of sheer determination. Were those knots always there? You swear they weren't. Though perhaps foolishly, you hope not. You've been walking around like this for almost two weeks now.

Maybe that's why they tried to talk you into getting your hair done…

It's pointless. Your arm drops back to your side. You can't help but admire your reflection as you don a dress that falls just about your knees, even if you're doing it while you stumble to pull on the pair of boots you got with it while still standing. You surrender to crouch down and tie the laces.

When you stand, you return to marvelling at the sight of yourself. The boots are nice. There are no creases at the bends, and you notice the unmistakable clean sheen of new leather that draws a smile to your face. The dress is different—maybe too different—as you're not sure you recognise yourself. It's a dark dress meant to be paired with an undershirt. The saleswoman managed to talk you into one with a collar laced with frills and tied at the wrists and neck with bows—it's a popular style there, supposedly—and isn't this whole 'rebranding' of your identity supposed to be about fitting in? A vest-like piece pulled around your chest belts with a loop of fabric at the front; you assume it was made to vaguely resemble the corsets worn beneath the puffier dresses you shied away from.

The new outfit is making you giddy—too giddy for your taste. You don't recall having such an innate pep in your step, only one that felt deserved, but this is different. A suit of armour, no matter how shiny it may be, has never made you twirl like an overeager dancer just to see the fabric of your skirt catch the air and flow around your legs, only to fall back into place when you stop.

You find satisfaction is usually earned through hardship and perseverance, derived from a fundamental need to complete something you started. This is different. For once, your satisfaction with yourself comes from the beginning of something. This time, happiness comes to you without reason, a given right in this world where you revel in the lightness of your steps and the quiet sway of gentle, breathable fabric.

The jagged teeth you see in your smile can be hidden away behind a tight smile that looks awkward on your face. You ignore the sharp points you can only compare to an animal and pretend your eyes bear a more saturated hue.

Nothing significant has been accomplished. It's not like when you first descended the Abyss and returned unscathed despite your doubts. It's simple. It's human. It doesn't even seem like you made much progress toward becoming yourself when you lay it all out on paper. You bought clothes and wore them, that's it. 

Something about it feels so much like yourself. The freedom to stray from what you thought you were until now, something you hadn't dared to try before.

Yeah...you should unpack that hairbrush next.

-

One thing you like about Wangshu Inn is how it serves even people who aren't staying there. The ground floor overlooking the water is designated as almost a kind of restaurant. People filter in and out to be served, stay for lunch, meet with friends, and take breaks from their missions. It is meant as a place for travelling merchants, but you find that is not all its patrons see in it.

You are not nearly as sociable as you were in the Snezhnayan bar you were at, but this seems more manageable anyway. People leave you alone and don't crowd your table and head with presence and noise. You actually manage to relax when you're no one, even if you're fidgety and idle, because you have no idea what relaxing is supposed to look like when you're used to spending all of your time doing something, being somewhere, talking to someone. Peace is as hard-earned as victory, and the unfamiliar feeling of relaxation is both comforting and unsettling.

You strike quaint conversations, all of which feel far more enriching than any grandiose, embellished tale you got off a lowly wanderer attempting to make a name for himself on your stage. It's been a long time since you set foot in Liyue, and you don't think you've ever been here for leisure. The very concept of leisure is as foreign to you as the modern lands you're now travelling.

You wait by the lift for a ride back up to your room. A merchant stands by your side, shifting his weight between his feet as he stares up at the descending contraption that seems to laze down to the lower level of the inn.

"Are you from the Adventurers' Guild?" he asks unexpectedly. Your attention snaps from your daydream back to him as you're rudely jolted from your reverie. You're suddenly hyperaware of yourself, the dumb look on your face that you're used to concealing, and the fact that you've been caught off guard.

"No," you answer. Lying to the merchant is useless when it's too easy to disprove, even when it would serve you well.

"Huh. I thought you were," the merchant remarks. "You seemed like you would be. If you've come looking for work, they'll have a place for you."

"What's it to you?" you cannot help but ask.

"I have a transport job that needs doing," he explains with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It would save me a trip and the paperwork of putting up a job."

You nod, and the conversation trails off as the empty lift lowers before the both of you, jolting to a stop as it collides with the floorboards beneath it.

The two of you step on through the open side facing you and settle somewhere around the centre, though he drifts to perch his hand against the side for a hint more stability. You notice how he avoids looking over the edge, focused on what's directly ahead of him.

"They accept anyone?" you continue, wondering how far you'd have to go with your lies to get in. Admittedly, you'd also like to distract the man a bit, even if you'd deny that part given the chance.

He looks at you with a strange gleam in his eyes like he's not sure whether to thank you or scoff at what he must think is your pity. You have no pity for anyone.

"A friend of mine said they'll take anyone," he confirms. "All you need is power, and you have a vision, so I'm sure you'll be fine."

Everything seems to think that. Visions are some god-given, unattainable relic that represents pure power. Maybe they are. They're directly attached to the gnosis every archon received at the end of the archon war. They were Celestia's harbingers of conclusion—the end of an era. After that, though the gods could fight for eternity, it would be meaningless as long as each gnosis was irrevocably tied to a land and a being who possessed the power to crush each of them in an instant. Visions are pathetic slivers of the world compared to those chess pieces.

You have long grown tired of correcting people on that front.

"Will I have to stay here?" you ask instead, meandering back to the idle conversation you imagine humans enjoy far more than batty old ramblings of the past. People from Liyue snicker and sneer in the face of outsiders about their archon walking by their side, but their understanding of their archon is not as it once was.

Descending once a year is nothing compared to living amongst them as Morax used to.

"They have branches everywhere," he assures you. "They communicate with each other. I'll be here if you ever find my commission."

You knew that already, but you needed something to ask. You're saved by the bell as the lift jostles at the top of the inn, the ropes coming to yet another sudden stop and pausing to allow you to step off onto the balcony that oversees the lake and the landscape around you. Your departure is wordless as the merchant doesn't stop to say his goodbyes, eager to meet the other man waiting for him by the guard rail, who greets him with a tight smile and a handshake.

The Adventurers' Guild... You recall it forming. You've never known much about it, however, as it faded into the back of your mind practically the moment it was created. It fell into your version of obscurity naturally and never felt relevant when you were more concerned with the malformed creatures of the Abyss trying to kill you. Monitoring it was never your job, and most adventurers who find their way into the far reaches that you used to don't make it out to tell the tale.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to have a look at it when you get a chance. It could give you something to do.

-

Idling is in your nature, as it has been for years.

You idle because you have grown used to it. Patience, waiting, watching. You never liked it, but it is a constant that lingers. Unfortunately, as expected, you are sick of idling. It grew dull way back when you spent night after night bragging to an inn of drunks about something you never did.

So, you cement your name for the very first time.

For hours—perhaps a day—you paced your room at the inn, agonising over an answer to a question you weren't even sure would be posed. Innkeepers don't question paying hands. Adventurers do, especially guilds of them. They want to know all they can.

And you don't have a name.

Perhaps you once did—you certainly can't recall—but whatever you have been called, you no longer have a right to such names, not Brighella and not anything else. You need a new name, and in the absence of your mother, you will have to make your own.

But you cannot decide what.

You spent the night wondering and then the morning, as you woke with a sense of unease in the pit of your stomach. It feels more real than it has ever felt before, the weight of such a thing finally bearing down on you more than drinking and lying and weaving tales of a great adventure you never went on could ever hope to. You suspect people know that many stories you told were embellished or complete lies, but the appeal was never in truth.

The appeal was in a good story to entertain the drunken, and names are not made solely for drunken ears.

Before you descend the tree of Wangshu Inn, you have made your choice.

By the time you come to stand before the two organisers of the Liyue Adventurers' Guild on duty today, you force yourself to make peace with it and scribble the only way you can think to spell it down on the paper they give to you. It's the same old handwriting you recognise to be your own, not made for documents, signed by the weathered hand of a warrior making up a signature on the spot in the cursive hand you have always had.

You signed most of your words to the Tsaritsa that way, told of the deaths of a thousand men, more truthful tales of your ventures through the Abyss.

You withhold the stories, sliding the paper back to the woman with a cursory glance her way, seeking the answers to questions you don't want to ask. She takes it from you, collecting it in her hands and reading it in a brief flicker of her eyes across the page. 

"It's official things," she had told you. "The Snezhnaya branch wants documents of all new and current members, especially now with everything that's going on there."

"Of course," you respond, careful to measure your words and keep from spilling too much. "You can never be too careful."

They're searching for you.

Whether the Fatui wants them to or not, you can't say—perhaps it's someone else's prerogative. You wonder if the thought of reward has crossed everyone's mind as the rumours of your existence travel across Teyvat like wildfire. The promise of potential riches—something actually quite common in the snowy lands—is sure to lure everyone eager for mora to chase the traitorous criminal who tries to escape justice. Reward is how anything gets done in Snezhnaya. 

You're glad you left the armour in favour of the simple knee-length dress you find so much joy in. You're no longer imitating the image of Brighella, as her killer once did.

IIt is no longer a nameless charlatan they're after. You know they'll find you soon.

-

'Soon' seems to come quicker than you expected it would as the walk back, though providing no particular company, does present the same dangers as always—along with some new additions. You thought that the stray fatuus that litter the streets near the Northland Bank would be your greatest foes, a collective of walking spies who notice every passerby with the same keen eyes Pantalone personally carved into each of their loyalty-riddled heads by hand. You've noticed stares before, as you imagine many do not, or which they grew used to.

You eye them back with a scrutiny that you struggle to hide, eyes wandering down the winding stairs to a pair who talk amongst themselves without much regard, engrossed in their conversation. You doubt they would recognise you even if you passed too closely.

You narrowly avoid a salesman haggling you for attention, waving them off and hurrying past before they can finish their pitch, let alone convince you into forking over a single mora as you speed across the bridge from the harbour in pursuit of your only current home. The wind in your hair, as it never really has been before, the cold able to reach your skin in gentle touches, the caresses of wisps.

"Excuse me, miss?" a voice calls to you. From where? Your head whips around in search of the source, first forward, then above to the rock you recall seeing by the edge of the banister. 

Finally, you turn around, faced with the sight of a woman you've never met speaking with a voice you've never heard. It doesn't matter as you take in the deep purple uniform of a cicin mage with a hood adorned by two antenna-like pointed ears and littered with electric violet jewels to match the swinging lantern that crackles to life with a hearty glow—a member of the Fatui. 

The top half of her face is obscured by a mask, as is customary for most of the Fatui, but it is unmistakable the way her teeth flash in an unkind smile as you meet her gaze beneath the cover concealing her eyes. She stands with a stiff posture that gives away the impatience in her every breath and twitch of anticipation.

Has retribution finally come to stare you in the face?

Seconds pass, stuck in an unending standstill, the air thick with looming tension. Silence is all that remains, save for the songs of birds and the whispers of breeze—it is as if neither of you are even there. 

At last, she presents you with a letter. It is sealed with a long-dried splatter of wax decorated in the raised details of the stamp of a Harbinger. She extends it towards you, expecting you to take it sooner rather than later, as she taunts it before you with a jeering wave of the envelope.

"From the Damselette," she explains curtly.

You snatch the object from her with a huff of annoyance, having half the mind to snap for it, though you realise quickly enough that you have no actual authority over her—not in her mind. You look it over, taking in the seal—indeed the mark of the Damselette—and flipping it to check the front to spy if your title is penned upon it. It's blank.

"What could the Damselette want with me?" you ask her.

"Perhaps a warning." The words slip by, quiet but noticeable, immediately catching your attention. You raise an eyebrow at her. 

Her contempt for your very presence unveils itself with the sharpness of her words, the darkness brought into the light with the ugly sight of an expression that reads like the rot of a once-fresh fruit. 

You're very aware of the fact that her finding you means she knows something—perhaps more than she should. You are not familiar with her. It is unlikely that she ever worked under your command, though you'd be a liar to say you memorised every face that matched a name in your division. However, it is possible that she might've held a certain level of regard for Brighella, which has since turned to hostility as rumours of her arrogant killer run rampant. 

"I don't know. I'm not privy to those things," the mage adds.

In thought, you trace her from head to toe, scrutinising her for any indication of where her animosity came from. However, there is nothing that gives away her motives. You break your gaze away from her and glance down at the letter in your hand. 

"Walk with me," you say without leaving room for argument as you begin to lead her down the path away from the harbour. "I suggest you get a better hold of your tongue. They don't like it when you're rude to their guests."

Her smile does not waver, even as she obeys your invitation. Maybe she knows you were not asking. "You are not a guest," she retorts pointedly, stating that fact with glaringly false politeness.

You scoff despite your indignance. "Everyone who receives correspondence from a Harbinger is a guest," you tell her with a similar sharpness.

You suppose you can't fault her disdain when all is said and done.

The cicin mage quickens to fall into step beside you, an almost peaceful stroll taking the place of your standoff on the bridge. The mockery of something quaint is… pleasant in its own way though suffocating in another. Walking her somewhere that can't be seen from the city should not be too difficult. Maybe then, you'll finally get some peace and quiet. 

From somewhere tucked away in her clothing, she pulls what appears to be a knife from your peripheral vision and points it at you, but you tilt your head just enough to find it is only a blunt letter opener balanced in the palm of her hand, waiting to be picked up.

"I was ordered to stay until you had read the letter to deliver her your response," she says.

You pluck the knife from her hand, spinning it into place with a flick of your fingers—some fool's party trick you picked up gods know how many years ago—and free the contents with a single swipe of the blade, hearing the satisfying tear of the paper you couldn't help but always like. 

Just as the cicin mage believes you are a murderer, the letter addresses you as such—as if it were addressed to the Damselette's dear friend's killer in this volatile hour. Your lies have reached Columbina's ears. Moreover, she is playing along with them with a coy string of tall tales and pretty lies you imagine sound nicer to the ears of all who hear them than a single word from your mouth ever has. That's why she's the one with a title like Damselette rather than you. You never did make a very convincing helpless maiden.

You expected to find scrawls of threats and unfair deals demanded of you in the name of Her Majesty, but it is instead only an innocuous update on what is happening regarding your position—the reassurance that they have not violated the terms of the agreement made. All of the danger you currently face is your own fault, as Columbina less-than-subtly implies to you through her no-doubt carefully worded reasoning and explanations. All you see is a half-hearted apology and an excuse to tell you that you've once again made trouble for her, though you should've expected a scolding. You've earned many and received few. Preparations set them back, supposedly.

While you imagine preparing not only a Harbinger's funeral but a ceremony to announce their successor does take time, it would not take this much time with how prepared they were to kill you off in the first place—it was a planned betrayal. You imagine they picked the flowers for your coffin long before you caught wind of it. Quelling the rebellions of wayward partisans who see your death as a sign from Celestia would not have helped either, nor the desertion caused by the nerves of your admirers. You're almost certain that worlds have shaken.

It just looks better if they don't appear so prepared.

For whatever reason—perhaps your consolation prize for enduring her shameless lies—she shares a secret with you. As you casually scan the letter with little care for its contents, your attention is immediately drawn to the heart of the matter. It's the very subject on everyone's minds, and all that anyone speaks of, even now, months from the day they announced your supposed 'death' to the public.

They'll name him Il Capitano—The Captain.

You would not have picked it for him yourself, but that does not mean that you hate the name—quite the opposite, in fact—as you have to admit that when you envision the name paired with his face, it suits him well. She ends the letter promising that she will 'take good care of him', though you know that your respective ideas of those words do not align or even coexist in the same universe. There is an unmistakable discrepancy between her intentions and your own, and you don't like it.

Come back to us, Brighella. You can watch everything you wanted in person.

[goat-esc-winner-showdown]

PINNED POST

Welcome to... actually, now that the GOAT Eurovision Winner Showdown is over and I will be running other Eurovision themed tournaments I don't know how to introduce this blog?? oops

I will, however, be keeping my icon, and, for the time being, also the url

Info about future tournaments

The next Eurovision tournament will be the "Best song that ended up at the bottom spot" tournament and it will start in December or maybe January.

The tournament after the Bottom Spot tournament will be the Best Eurovision Meme Tournament, and I am currently accepting submissions for that one. Please send your suggestion via ask or by commenting in this post

Previous tournaments

Pinned post and final results about the GOAT Eurovision Winner Showdown

[estergen]

i finally finished my drawing of salem!!!

im really happy with how it turned out!!!

@wolfertinger666

[morningstargirl666]

THE LITTLE WOLF UPDATE

It's here. The new improved chapters 1-3 have posted. Read The Big Bad Wolf's prequel from the beginning here. Chapters 4 & 5 should be posted a week from now, either on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, depending on when I finish it.

Think of it as my little gift to you all - I hope you all have a Merry Christmas (or a Happy Hanukkah!). And for those who don't celebrate either, then Happy New Year!

If you want more details on all the changes I made to The Little Wolf, read below. It's not too spoil-ery but it's not exactly spoiler-free either, so by all means come back later to see if you found all the changes I made! Extra kudos to those who notices them all.

Over 20k+ of brand new content. This includes two new chapters (chapter 2 & 4 respectively) and around 20 or more new scenes to devour across the entirety of the fic.

Original scenes have been tweaked and expanded upon, with longer conversations or scenes between characters.

All punctuation, grammar and spelling has been proof read repeatedly. I won't say it's all perfect, because I've probably still missed bits, but its in a much better state than it was before. Dialogue grammar in particular has had a complete overhaul, which should make everything much easier to read.

Each chapter has song lyrics at the beginning, fitting the vibes or themes of the chapter. This is a part of a playlist that I will share in Running With Wolves after completing the editing to The Big Bad Wolf (which has it's own share of songs, compiled with a mix of the music I listen to while writing and music I feel embodies each chapter).

In a similar thread, new timestamps have been added whenever there is a time or location jump. Again, this is a change that will be happening to The Big Bad Wolf as well to make flashbacks clearer. Upon completion of TBBW's edit, a timeline will be added to Running With Wolves so you can see all of the events that take place in the series in chronological order.

Historical accuracy has been given a bigger focus. Obviously, there's still a need for suspension of disbelief (vikings never travelled that far south in America, horses weren't introduced to America until the 1500s etc) as I'm no history buff and I personally believe you can allow a little leeway for sake of creative freedom. However, that said, I've tried to right the most egregious wrongs by Julie Plec: the white washing of the native Americans, the almost European-Christian culture of the Mikaelsons' village (views on bastards, women like Rebekah not carrying arms and being all innocently feminine even though they were warrriors too in viking culture, lack of historical accuracy in settings/costumes/props etc) and of course, the complete lack of explanation behind how the vikings arrived in Southern America. Hopefully it should feel more alive, and I'll probably add even more in the final FINAL edit that will happen once I've finished TBBW.

The Little Wolf's main focus is Klaus' characterisation arc. However, in this rewrite, all the Mikaelson siblings get more screen time and you get their characterisation arcs in the background, as a treat.

Henrik is much more fleshed out as a character. He's mischievous and playful, a lot like Kol, with other attributes from the other siblings thrown in. He's also got more Youngest Sibling energy, just as the other siblings have Middle Child/Eldest Child energy, because in a fic about family, really that's the most important detail of them all.

I've delved deeper into Mikael and Esther's treatment of Klaus and how it wasn't much different to how they treated the other siblings after all. Don't get me wrong - in my mind Klaus was dealt the worst of Mikael's physical fury, but I don't believe 'he was singled out' is as black and white as the show would lead you to believe. That's not how abusive households work.

Talking about Klaus' characterisation, think of this fic as the death of Niklaus Mikaelson, leading to the birth of Klaus, The Original Hybrid. The Little Wolf leading the way for The Big, Bad Wolf. You'll get innocent baby boi Niklaus of course, but that same innocent kid has a feral side. When you become a vampire, it heightens who you already are and Klaus - he had that fury and violence in him all along, and it wasn't just because of the wolf.

In a lot of human-era Originals fics and the actual shows, when they're turned into vampires its all very planned out. Idk, like Esther and Mikael are evil villains twirling their moustaches? Turning their children into vampires, its all very pre-meditated, oh the horror and everything. And although there is elements of that in this rewrite (they ARE shitty, evil parents after all) I tried to do something a little original myself. In this fic, more focus is given to the family's grief and how Henrik's death becomes the shatterpoint for EVERYTHING. His death causes every bad decision made by the family from that moment on. It's less of "I planned to make my children the most powerful beings to ever walk this earth" and more of "I tried to save my children and didn't expect ANY of this so wtf do I do now, another bad decision? Yeah let's do that". You feel me? Hopefully that comes across anyways.

Okay what haven't I mentioned yet... WEREWOLF LORE. Yeah that's been expanded on and fleshed out some more. You get a glimpse into my take on how the werewolf gene is triggered, along with a coming of age ritual, general culture, outsider prejudice against werewolves etc...Klaus' views on them is much more explored, especially in relation to his heritage. Kinda playing with the idea that him being a bastard was never the problem to Mikael or Klaus - it was him being a werewolf.

Since I started re-writing this I watched way too many of Mike Flanagan's series'. So I kinda went all 'Midnight Mass' on the Mikaelson's village. Oopsies.

In a similar thread, the raven from the Fall of The House of Usher left a bigger impact on me than I like to admit. That's something so sexy about an omen of death okay leave me alone I NEED THE FORESHADOWING

There's probably more, I'm disclaiming that now, but I've forgotten. Go forth and devour my lovelies ✨

[conceptalbummultiverse]

Here are a few drawings (two new and one old) of a character from Strange Fascination: A Love Story, named Serafina. (When I first created her, she had the last name Moonrise, but since I decided that Stardust is not Ziggy’s real last name, I think I might change Serafina’s last name to something that’s a little less space-y.) Serafina is a character we don’t know much about, since only Ziggy knows her, and they haven’t spoken or seen each other for a long time, not since Serafina broke up with Ziggy after delivering some ominous news to him. Currently, she exists only in Ziggy’s memories… but will we eventually meet her in the story? Time will tell.

While I can’t say much about Serafina and Ziggy’s history together, I can say that she is an accomplished musician just like he is, only her main instrument is the Visi-Sonor (an instrument I stole from Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series). The Visi-Sonor creates holographic images while being played to shock and delight audiences. Besides music, Serafina is also passionate about gardening, especially since her garden is her main way to provide for herself and her family. She and Ziggy met a festival and quickly fell in love. What happens next is a story better told when Strange Fascination’s hiatus comes to an end.

[what-even-is-sleep]

Can’t wait for my drivers license to arrive so I can be driving legally again for the first time in 1.5 years!

[zackmartin]

BESTIE DYLAN AND BARBARA GOT MARRIED!!!

[idolsgf]

i realized i’m always behind on app changes everyone talks about because i turned automatic updates off lmao

[sakurarisen]

Plopped another mini, quick update into things because I am tired(tm) and I was left alone today with no drafts to do, unless I've lost threads in the activity feed and haven't realized it: There's now a 'Halcyon Lore' section in my rules with a few details to it! These are just base and basic details to explain what to expect from the fact it exists and what it is overall with a little better detail than I've had before, as well as how I plan to work it into canon settings. <3

This lore is growing by the day, steadily connecting a bunch of dots I didn't think were connected prior to this and I love it to pieces, but I also want it to be easy to follow for anyone interacting with me, too. If anyone's interested in this kindda stuff, given it does (and frankly/honestly, has been, even before I knew any of this) play into how I write Sera, it's the 'Halcyon Lore' section under my rules! <3

~Pom

[icemankazansky]

A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read

I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.

But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.

The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.

Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?

So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)

The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.

I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.

Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.

Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."

✔️ Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.

Contrast that to:

I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!

❌ Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.

Reframing

The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:

I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

✔️ Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.

This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.

I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.

❌ Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:

I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.

❌ Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.

Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was 🔥🔥🔥

✔️ "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."

thank u, next

The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones 🙁," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.

Let's do some examples:

This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.

❌ There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.

You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].

❌ "You should get me a new phone, too."

I want a sequel. 😞

❌ "Thank you, next!"

You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.

I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.

✔️ Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.

You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.

[coolpuppy12]

Introducing the Doo Doo Save File - Version One!

Disclaimer:

This save is still very much a work in progress. While most things appear to be complete (such as builds), there's still a lot to be done. So, keep that in mind. Also, I tried my best to playtest everything, but this is a HUGE save. So, it's possible I missed things. If I did, feel free to let me know!

TOU:

Please don't claim as your own. Don't reupload my builds as your own. Basically, don't be weird. Just give credit please as this took centuries to do lol.

Special Thanks!

EDIT: Ahhh! Big thank you to @lasabarcassims for helping me set up SimFileShare! Please check out their save as well. It’s amaaaazing.

Shout out to @aaliyahnavI @doit4thesims @forever-lbsims @senselesssims for playtesting this monstrosity. I greatly appreciate you all!

Thanks to @simmerapple (gallery: ImpossibleBelle) and @simkuza (Gallery: Mimilagu) for checking out the save and sending some of their amazing sims to use!

Lastly, I want to thank everyone for their continued support and encouragement! When I started this thing, I was just bored and looking for a way to improve my game. I honestly did not expect to finish it, nor did I expect so many of you to care lol. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. It's still very rough around the edges, but I hope it brings you some enjoyment!

Also, don't hesitate to tag me in any posts! I want to see my precious Doo Doo brought to life!

Doo Doo V1 (with rentals - updated): download here!

Alt. DL here!

Doo Doo V1 (without rentals - outdated): download here!

Alt. DL here!

MORE INFO AND SCREENSHOTS BELOW:

Here is an overview of everything:

16 worlds redone (Mt. Komorebi, Sulani, Selvadorada, and Tomarang still need some TLC)

Some updated townies with lore, relationships, jobs, etc. etc.

New townies!

New clubs and holidays

LOTS of packs used, so not BG friendly

For Version 2, I hope to finish this save completely. When will that be? That's a good question lol

What's not included:

All the packs - I don't own (and probably never will lol) HSY, Werewolves, Lovestruck, and MWS. Also missing most of the kits.

Specialty lots (i.e. police station, magic realm) won't be touched until Ver. 2

CC, Mods, and Tips

If you want the townies’ relationships to stay intact, I HIGHLY recommend downloading MCCC. If not, you shouldn’t have any issues playing the save, but some relationships will eventually be deleted due to the culling system. Instructions here!

I did use one piece of CC, but it is absolutely not required in order to download this save. It's the Modern Family Portrait by RAVASHEEN! Download only if you want some cute portraits of the families.

For this save, I grouped some of the worlds together. You don't have to play this way, it's just a note to consider:

Oasis Springs, Del Sol Valley, and StrangerVille

Newcrest, Willow Creek, and Magnolia Promenade

Windenburg, Forgotten Hallow, Glimmerbrook, and Henford

San Myshuno, Brindleton Bay

San Sequoia and Evergreen Harbor

The other worlds? They're just on their own for now.

PHOTOS!

[phant0mth1ef]

the feeling that i’m losing her, forever.

bakugou katsuki x childhood friend hcs! pt 2

- you’d both met in kindergarten when you had complimented his quirk which had just manifested, and in return, he asked to see yours.

- your quirk wasn’t anything too flashy, you could manipulate the terrain beneath you, or anything that was considered part of earth for that matter. (think of toph from atla).

- he straight up told you that your quirk sucked and so you hit him in the head with a rock. he got set to the infirmary and you had a lengthy chat with your principal about why you shouldn’t use quirks on other students.

- sought you out after that encounter because he liked that you weren’t scared or took what he said to heart because you knew you were good.

- even as a kid he was a cocky little shit so you consistently kept him in his place whenever he started his “forward march and here we go!” chant.

- over time, you two simply just stuck by each other because you were almost always in the same class, so you never really had any reason to ignore the boy, and he found himself not completely hating the feeling of having you right by his side.

- in middle school he found out that you put shiketsu instead of ua down as your top school and he threw a fit because he didn’t want to lose one of the things in his life that was consistent and stable, but got over it when you told him that you’d come visit.

- when he got into ua and you got into shiketsu, your parents joined together and had a celebratory dinner for you both, and he could swear he had never been happier than that moment.

- when your family had to move so you could go to shiketsu, the boy went over and pretended he wasn’t about to cry because truth be told, you were his best friend.

- at first, you’d both called each other almost every night to gain daily updates on how your new lives were treating you, and it was something bakugou had looked forward to after having to deal with those extras all day.

- the first time you guys didn’t check up on each other was the same night that the usj had been attacked by the league of villains, something that you had seen on the news as you immediately dialed up your friend, who texted you that he was just too tired to talk right now.

- the second time was after ua’s sports’ festival, when you called to congratulate him and he just completely ignored the call, no explanation as to why, just instantly getting sent to voicemail.

- you pretended like you didn’t care, obviously you knew he was busy and that he probably just didn’t have the time in between classes and trainings, but then again, you were doing the same things and making time for him, why couldn’t he do the same for you.

one time he accidentally butt dialed you before class had started and when you picked up you could hear the bustling nature and conversations going on in his classroom, the sound of the boy pulling out his seat and sitting down was heard.

“hello? katsuki?” no response.

you recognized izuku’s voice coming into earshot.

“kacchan, i’ve been meaning to ask. how’s y/n doing?” the boys positive attitude even conveyed itself through the phone as you waited to hear how bakugou would respond, because truth be told, you had a major crush on your best friend.

“i dunno.” and you could hear him taking a bite of something, like an apple or something crunchy.

“y/n?! if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you had a girlfriend bakugou!” an unrecognizable voice boomed through your headphones.

“s’not the case. she’s just a friend. i don’t like her like that. always callin’ me and shit, gets annoyin’ y’know?” he grunted as the sound of your bell ringing had filled your ears, you quickly hung up and turned off your phone. pretending that what just happened didn’t sting a bit.

- from there you stopped calling him so much, figuring that if he wanted to talk, he’d call you up first.

- eventually you stopped talking altogether because you stopped starting the conversations, refusing to make him feel as if he had to talk to you.

- bakugou of course was unfortunately a firm believer of “the phone works both ways,” so he never decided to start a conversation up either. matter of fact he refused to ever think of hovering his finger over your contact, instead opting to just tell kirishima about his thoughts.

- when ua moved into the dorms, bakugou had a bulletin board filled up with a variety of different things that seemed so out of character for him, like pictures of him as a kid, pictures of his family, newspaper clippings from the sports’ festival, and a few select pictures of you both through the years.

- the first time kirishima was let into the blonde boy’s room, it was like the first thing his eyes locked onto as he sat down at bakugou’s desk, seeing a genuine smile on his friends face.

“who’s that?” his voiced laced with curiosity as he unpinned the picture, taking it down to show his friend.

“eh? friend of mine.” his reply was short and concise, as if he didn’t want to talk about it. so kirishima just pinned the photo back up, and looked at the rest that littered his wall.

a picture of you both at your kindergarten graduation, a few candid pictures from grade school, and a picture of just you from middle school graduation, but you can tell bakugou took it because a tuft of the spiky blonde hair hung in front of the camera lens and left only half your face visible.

kirishima had to stifle his laugh when he saw a childhood picture of you and bakugou playing in a sandbox, the boy getting sand thrown into his face, and on the back of the photo read “katsuki’s first friend!” clearly something mitsuki had done for him.

- he felt his breath getting separated from his body when he saw you stepping off the bus at the provisional licensing exam, your shiketsu cap taunting him, teasing what could’ve been.

- of course he didn’t miss how your second year classmates all walked with you huddled between them, they’d known of your foul relationship with someone from ua, and as the one of the only first years that were attending the exam from shiketsu, they felt as if they had to protect you.

“oh, look kacchan! she’s here.” midoriya was excited, because after all, you were his friend as much as you were bakugou’s.

“i know.” and that was all he said before angrily walking off, he saw your phone in your hand, he knew it still worked.

he was acting as if he didn’t miss you. and even if his eyes lit up as you essentially dominated the piece of earth terrain, he’d never admit that he wanted his best friend back by his side.

“seiji was eliminated? no way!” you spoke to inasa after the first part of the exam, true disappointment in your voice as you found out bakugou had eliminated your classmate.

“he likes you, y’know.” inasa’s voice was naturally loud, so you weren’t shocked when people’s heads begun to turn at the sound of romance in the air.

“who?”

“shishikura.” all inasa wanted was for his friend to gain the girl he’d been pining for since the first day of school, even if his friend was a certified dick to some people.

katsuki hadn’t once bothered to look your way since you’d gotten to the exam site, but his knuckles were turning white as they gripped the table in front of him.

he didn’t realize it, but he had lost you a long time ago back when he had called you annoying.

[disneyprincemuke]

the orange peel theory * fem!driver

how many men in her life would stop to peel an orange for her if she asks randomly?

pairings: f1 grid x fem!driver

warnings: -

notes: juSt a random idea i got when i dreadfully peeled oranges for myself ugh i hate being single sometimes

guys this is the last vr update today i swear i’ve got too much times on my hands actually

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

-> max verstappen, #1

would be in the middle of an interview after quali when she comes up to him with a mandarin orange in hand

max stops mid sentence to look down at her in confusion but will take the orange into his hands as she asks him to peel it for her politely

he would cover the mic and whisper “can this wait? i’m in the middle of something” and she shows him her hands, perfectly manicured white nails with a frown and says “i’ll stain my nails”

and he just does it, peeling the orange as he carries on with the interview after she walks away without him knowing

when he finishes, he turns to give it to her but she’s no longer there and ends up eating the orange during his interview lol

-> logan sargeant, #2

he’d be sitting in his garage minding his own business when she comes and sits next to him with a bag of mandarin oranges in hand

he doesn’t even need to be told

he immediately reaches out and starts peeling the oranges for her, even tearing away the white strands because he knows she hates those

totally nothing to do with the fact that he’s had a crush on her forever

everything to do with the fact that they grew up together and he’s too lazy to fight

-> daniel ricciardo, #3

he’s literally just walked into the paddocks for race day

he feels all cool with all the cameras

suddenly she runs over to him with an orange in her hands and a hopeful smile

“peel this for me please?”

he does it without question

he walks the paddocks with her while peeling her orange and even sparks up conversation with her

-> lando norris, #4

literally walks away when he sees her approaching him with an orange

she’s been doing it all weekend and he refuses to be a victim

also because he’s not that fond of peeling oranges

or oranges, for that matter

she tries chasing after him but when she finally catches up, he simply ignores the request to peel the orange for her

-> pierre gasly, #10

he’ll be literally walking over to the grid for the driver’s parade

looking pretty cool in his cool fits

an orange is presented to him without question

he grins at her and thanks her for the orange

walks away and eats the orange himself

-> sergio perez, #11

would also be in the middle of an interview when she comes up with an orange

would peel it because he’s a mega dad and he’s really taken a liking to her

excuses himself from the interview to do it for her real quick

would take one piece of the orange for himself

claims it’s the taxes for making him do it instead of doing it herself

-> fernando alonso, #14

takes the orange without her saying anything

he’s always seen with seb on race weekends and is very used to her antics

literally gives her the orange peel and one piece of orange

eats the orange without her saying anything

she’s in damn near tears because she really expected fernando to peel it for her without question

-> charles lerclerc, #16

is sad that she didn’t bring him an orange too

still peels it for her though

even though he was in the middle of some paddock game with carlos

asks for a piece and because she loves him and her crush is still very much present, she simply gives him the whole orange

-> lance stroll, #18

he’d have been coming out of his racing home minding his own business

they don’t interact often because she scares him

is almost scared to say no to the orange peeling and actually says no

mutters “i always knew you hated me” as she walks away

which then makes him chase her to peel the orange for her and apologise profusely

because lance and her literally never talk and it took up all her courage to approach him with this orange, she gives him half of the orange

-> kevin magnussen, #20

asks her if she's got an extra orange for his baby girl

she literally came prepared and gives one to cute baby laura

so now kevin has to peel two oranges for two babies

outrageous, if u ask him

-> nyck de vries, #21

has unfortunately departed by the time she decided to be a menace about the orange peel theory

she thinks about him often though

they're texting buddies actually

-> yuki tsunoda, #22

literally came prepared

he's got a packet of candy he bought when he flew back to japan for a visit

she gives him the whole orange

she literally peels the orange for him in exchange for the candy

-> alex albon, #23

was literally walking to the grid for the opening ceremony of the race weekend

says no immediately

but he does change his mind and asks if he can have half if he peels it for her

peels it and takes more than half of the share

-> zhou guanyu, #24

is delighted to even see her because they don't come across one another often

is kinda touched that she asked him to peel an orange but then is disappointed to find out that he's not the first victim and that this is all a tiktok trend for her

peels it anyway

asks her to bring an extra orange if there's a next time as payment

-> niko hulkenberg, #27

she literally cannot find him

doesn't get to participate in the trend

she only saw him once that weekend and it was at the opening ceremony and she only had 1 orange for alex to peel

and on the grid in his race car

-> esteban ocon, #31

absolutely ADORES her

peels it without question

peeks around her shoulder to ask if she's brought another one for him

she says yes and that he's the only one who gets one for himself because she loves him back

-> lewis hamilton, #44

this psycho literally approaches lewis when he's on an interview panel

but that's because he asked her to do it at that time so he has a excuse to escape the panel

he's just so tired of the panel interviews

giggling with her like demons as he peels the orange

-> carlos sainz, #55

peels it for her without question

the only one to ask her why she's got so many oranges to eat and hand out

also the only one to ask her if oranges have been the only thing she's eaten all weekend

inhumanly impossible to eat this many oranges in one weekend perhaps

-> george russell, #63

is literally tearing up because she came to him to ask to peel the orange

he heard from alex what she's been doing

he's been waiting all weekend for her and was sad that it seemed like she had no intentions on letting him participate in her tiktok

she feels so bad for him that she joins him in peeling an orange as well

-> valtteri bottas, #77

is confused because he's just minding his own business using his phone during the driver's briefing

peels the orange for her anyway

asks if oranges are her favourite fruit

suggests eating something less acidic to avoid a tummyache

-> oscar piastri, #81

if anyone's tired of her being a menace with all these oranges, it's going to be him

but because he knows she'll pick a fight if he says no

he will peel the orange reluctantly

takes a picture with the orange because it's the same shade as the mclaren shirt he is wearing

— bonus

-> liam lawson, #30

asks her to fuck off

only ask him to peel an orange when she's lost all the ability to peel one for herself

asks her if he can have one from her orange stash

she says no in tears because he cussed at her

shrugs and walks away

-> sebastian vettel, #5

this clinically insane woman has got this 4 time world champion peeling oranges on the pit wall during qualifying

has him throw her a peeled orange in between laps during qualifying

eats it in the car for a racing 'buff' before she drives out for a lap

she's got too many oranges so he helps her eat some of them

eating oranges = beating mclaren = beating oscar because they're all the same colour and have a correlation obviously

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @love4lando @sadg3 @bborra @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @sadg3

[intotheelliwoods]

SOBS!!!! YOU COMBINED THE BROKEN ARM + THE BLOOD I CANT-

The cracks THE CRACKs WHY IS HE FALLING APART ough!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I see you are very normal about the mindscape, I am also very normal about it :) (lying)

and HEY- THE ANGST- HEY NOW-

Yall will never be ready for the update when it hits oops

@intotheelliwoods

i really like the ninpo/mindscape idea, if it wasn't obvious

angst under the cut :)

[endearng]

Firsts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: You and Spencer navigate through your firsts throughout your life as childhood friends.

WC: 6k

Warnings: death, grief, use of drugs to cope with grief, uhhhh i guess that's it

A/N: HELLO!!! It's been so so long and I'm sorry I took forever to update — uni's kicking my ass but now I'll try to write a bit more during holidays season. I hope you guys enjoy this one <3 Feedbacks are highly appreciated!

| masterlist

"Do you think we'll stay friends?"

"I'm sure we'll stay friends."

For a genius, your best friend, Spencer Reid, never seemed to notice some of his speech patterns — he would echo you sometimes, which you honestly found adorably funny, and he also had a tendency for rambling, even if it wasn't that appropriate at times. When you two were alone, you didn't mind; in fact, you encouraged him and let him talk to you all the way. When there was someone else, like either of your parents or a teacher (these were your regular companions), you would try to tap him on the arm subtly so he would know when to stop. Although it broke your heart, he said himself once that he appreciated when you helped him look more normal.

Right now, things are everything but normal. Spencer had graduated high school at the age of 12 while you were still in seventh grade and he was leaving to study at Caltech. You didn't dare to compare yourself to him, but you would definitely miss him around, since he was the first person you saw everyday (besides your parents, of course) and the one who walked you to school and then went on the way to his. Right now, you are sitting on the floor of your front porch, while Spencer is laying his head on your lap and you have your hands on his hair. You always said to him that he's got nice hair, no matter how he styled or decided to cut it. He blushed every single time.

"You know… I'm gonna miss you, Spencer."

"I'm gonna miss you. But you'll still be in my life."

"Will I?"

"I'm leaving, but I'll try my best to keep in touch. We can call each other. I'll spare a couple hours of my week so you can talk to me." A small grin stretched on his lips when he mentioned talking to you. A crease made its way between your brows when you thought you'd only talk to him weekly.

Trying to play it cool, you asked, just to be sure, just to check if the pang in your heart felt less intense, less hurtful. "Will you?"

"Yes, I will."

Despite having him in your lap, you couldn't see his eyes, for they were closed in delight from your gentle touch. You saw him smile softly and you could see just how relaxed he seemed with this big change — honestly, if you were him, you'd be terrified. Quickly trying to get rid of your sad and fearful thoughts, as you ran your hands through his hair, you poorly fought the urge to chuckle when you thought about braiding his hair. He felt the air that left your lungs hit his face when you did.

Curious, as he always had been, he inquired, "What is it?"

"You'd look good with braids."

"I'm not letting you braid my hair," even if his tone was one of mock offense, a chuckle made its way out of him.

"I didn't ask to."

You saw as he bit back a grin. Little did you know, but he's is heaven, here in your presence. In dire need of some place safe to just be, without the expectations and the big things that are expected from him and to happen to him. As you unknowingly soothed his thoughts with your gentle touch, he thought about how strange it is having someone touch him and not being utterly opposed to the idea. He also thought about how, for one time in his life, he didn't know something, which was the feeling spreading on his chest. Nevertheless, there was a ghost of a small, shy smile on his face as his shoulders relaxed.

He was happy.

—

As you made your way home from your sixteenth birthday dinner, something felt odd. Looking out the window, the city lights seemed to run from how fast your dad is driving. In the backseat, all alone, you tried to figure out what made you feel so empty all night long. As the car went over a bump, you instinctively looked to the side, and then everything made sense. Spencer wasn't there. Usually, after whatever family celebration you'd go to, he would be there (because you'd insist on taking him with you), by your side in the backseat of your dad's car, laughing at whatever funny thing had happened during the event. He was your company to every single thing you did, and you had been missing him quite more often as the contact between you two became more and more scarce.

Turning to look out the window again, your mom saw the frown on your face and sighed quietly, knowing precisely why you weren't chatting like you normally did. The specific pair of ears that you wanted to be listened by were not here. And she didn't blame you one bit.

As you got home, your frown was quickly replaced by a hopeful feeling on your chest and in your features when you found a voicemail addressed to you.

Hey! I hope you get home before midnight so that you won't think, not even for a minute, that I have forgotten about you. I'm so sorry I couldn't make it! I'm really stressed right now because there are too many things happening at the same time and I'm here all by myself, so... I guess you know, better than myself, how I feel. You… You know me so well. It is nice to be known by you. Anyway... Um... I'd like to wish you a happy birthday and, ah, I also would like you to know that I wish I could have been with you today. I'm really sorry because I know how much you love your birthdays. I'm sending you a gift, but I'm not sure if it will arrive on time. I miss you. I miss you and whatever Taylor Swift song you were always humming when we were walking back from school.

Anyway, er... I miss you—hah—I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you how much I miss you. And how much I miss our time together. Uh, happy birthday!

You didn't know when, but you had teared up at some point listening to him. You didn't know whether the cause was hearing his voice again or because he remembered you or because he told you he missed your time together or that he remembered the silly songs you'd sing when you were walking back home together. Before going to bed, you let your bedside table lamp on, as you always did before so Spencer knew, from the house beside yours, that you were up or you didn't care if he called you in the middle of the night. Either way...

You were happy.

—

Underneath the Christmas tree, the glow of the warm white fairy lights you and your mom had picked out was almost blinding. Yet, you and Spencer couldn't care less. You were both too infatuated by the blinding brightness that punished your eyes to care about having problems later. Closing your eyes, you smiled to yourself, happy to be doing something so ordinary, so dumb, with your best friend. Behind your eyelids, the light was not as relentless and it granted some relief from the current sight, which sort of looked like a kaleidoscope of... white. You heard when Spencer turned his head to look at you, but you missed his soft grin.

"It was overwhelming me," you explained.

"I know." He replied, still looking at you.

Your profile, under the yellowish glow, looked almost ethereal. The slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, everything was forever ingrained into his memory. By now, Spencer could map out every single freckle on your face — especially the particular one on your lower lip. He sighed at the sheer thought of your lips. You were now seventeen and so was Spencer. Puberty had been way gentler on you than it was on him and he noticed with a blush that you were growing up, just as he was. You were a little taller, for sure, and you had put on some weight in all the right places, not to mention your style that matched your personality. As for him, he had that voice pitch swing that he hated greatly, still wore thick glasses and overall went with the nerdy stereotype that everyone picked on him for… while you looked like you were glowing.

You opened your eyes and turned to look at him. You were so close that it almost hurt. Inches separated Spencer from what he thought would be the best feeling of his life. From the person that had him lying awake for hours, tossing and turning on his bed until the sun began to rise. "I can't wait to give you your gift. I think you'll love it!"

He grinned. "I'll be happy with anything." From you, he meant to say, but he didn't finish.

You closed your eyes again, a grin of your own on your face. He wondered... What if he got closer? What if he kissed you? What if you pulled away? What if you didn't pull away? What if you cut him off?

Almost unconsciously, he inched closer and closer to the point your breaths mingled together. You didn't pull away, not even for a second. Instead, you leaned in, getting ever closer to him than you ever had been before. The fairy lights made you look even prettier than before. You looked like a dream.

"I was thinking..."

"About what?" He asked. Despite his gaze being lost in you, he was acutely aware of the words coming out of your mouth.

God, your mouth.

"It's stupid..." You muttered, looking away from his eyes.

"You know you can talk to me." It's not stupid if it's you.

"Okay... okay." You breathed in. "Me and the girls were talking about first kisses. And I felt so, so embarrassed because I haven't had mine yet."

Spencer felt dizzy. Even if he wasn't the best at social cues, if he was reading this right, you wanted him to kiss you too. He exhaled softly, trying to clear his thoughts. His voice was weak when he asked, "And?"

"Have you had yours yet? I know we talk about everything and all that, but... have you?"

He chuckled at your question. How could he, the scrawny little nerdy boy have had his kiss and you hadn't? "You're joking right?"

"I'm not! I'm genuinely curious."

He didn't know, but your heart was in your throat, too scared of a positive answer.

"I haven't had my first kiss yet."

Somehow, that did nothing to calm your racing heart. Inching even closer, you muttered, "we could have it together."

If Spencer didn't pass out with your words, he was sure he would be unshakable for the rest of his life. Whatever life threw at him, it wouldn't matter as much as this moment of sheer strength and self-control, because he didn't pull you in immediately. "Are you sure?"

"I'd be fine with kissing you. You're my best friend. I—I know you won't judge me and you know I won't judge you either. And—and... even if things are... embarrassing... i—it will still be a good memory in the… future." As your soft voice reached his ears, he felt like he was in heaven.

Your arguments for kissing him made him wonder if you had spent that much time considering it as he did. "Okay, you've got a few points. I'm—I'm not... opposed to the idea."

Your heart burned. You both inched closer and closer, a hair width separating your lips. As your eyes fluttered closed and you placed one of your hands on the back of his neck, both hesitantly and surely, Spencer mimicked you and pressed his lips to yours with the lightest pressure as his hand found your waist tentatively. Your lips felt so soft and sweet. He knew he would feel you for days — and hoped you'd feel him for days, too.

Encouraged by him, you pressed your lips a bit harder against him. He gasped softly and you took the opportunity to capture his lower lip between yours and kiss it gently. Spencer could feel his heartbeat drumming on his ears and he tightened his hold on your waist the tiniest bit. Internally, he thought he died and went to heaven and that's how he was welcomed there. Your lips fit together so nicely and he felt his heart burning for you and he knew back then that he would do anything you asked him to in a heartbeat.

You pulled back to lick your lips and fitted them into his again. He sighed, again, moving to your accord as he tried focusing on how good it felt to be kissed by you rather than how you could regret it later. Distancing yourself, your eyes slowly fluttered open, finding his dazed ones already looking back at you. You grinned at him. Another secret between the two of you; but this time, it wasn't an embarrassing one.

He smiled back.

Later that day, Spencer sat on his bed, touching his lips, feeling the tingle yours had left behind. Smiling like an idiot, he wrote that date on the wood of his nightstand, black marker holding the evidence that tonight had actually happened, if he were to ever forget. If anyone asked, well, he would have to come up with something to hide the fact that he was relentlessly in love with you, but he would replay the best memory of his life in the back of his mind as his mouth stuttered out a little white lie.

He was so confused. And screwed. And so utterly happy.

—

At Caltech, at the ripe age of eighteen, on a working day, as usual, Spencer typed aggressively on his keyboard, writing an academic paper on a topic that had come to his mind during one of his classes and later inspired fully by a conversation with this one professor. Looking at the time on his computer screen, he cursed. It was already time he was supposed to be on his way to class, which was unlike him. There was a reason, though.

Last night, he had gotten home late. He had lost track of time talking to a girl whose name was Alex. They were both at the university library, and they hit it off immediately talking about Literature and then more mundane things — he had found out that she was a high schooler having classes with grad students, just like himself a few years back. Getting home late, his entire schedule for the day ahead had been ruined, so everything felt odd as he tried to navigate through his last obligations. He had gone to bed later than usual and overslept for some reason unknown to him.

As he got up abruptly, he knocked his knee on the desk, which was now getting very small for the size he had grown into. Shutting his eyes and suppressing a whine, he breathed in. As he opened his eyes, his line of sight caught glance of one of the two only photos he had hung up on his wall. The first was him and his mother, Diana. The second was you and him.

It was short after your fifteenth birthday, and he finally had had the time to go visit. You had greeted him with a very warm hug. That very same day, you had dragged him to your bedroom, which now didn't have the pink walls and the posters of the bands you liked so much anymore. Now, the walls were a cool tone of sage green and your walls were cleaner, the posters being replaced by photos of you and your friends from school. He had felt a tinge of jealousy, noticing just how much he was missing out on your life. Despite the lingering feeling, he tried to not let it get to him.

You thanked him so much for the gift he had given you, one of those polaroid cameras. He had spent so much time saving money to get you that present. The excited, happy tone in your voice during the phone call you had made to thank him made him feel like it had been worth it to spend that much.

"Hey, here she is! I named her Marie. From Marie Curie, of course." You explained, holding your camera carefully as you both entered your bedroom

"You named 'her' Marie?"

"She has a special place on my heart."

He chuckled. "You're so material, sometimes."

"You gave it to me!"

"I gave it to you." He whispered, a hint of a smile dancing around his features.

You smiled. "Come on, let's take a picture. It's her first. I waited a whole month so you'd be here to take this photo with me. It's only fair you're the first person to be photographed with me by Marie."

"Oh... okay..."

Holding the camera with both of your hands, you held it out so that it would capture the two of you. "Smile." You said, and, without checking his pose, you pressed the button, a big grin on your face, for the photo, of course, but also from being so madly happy that you were with him again. Spencer didn't know what do to, frozen on the spot because you were so, so close. He just looked at you, dumbstruck gaze on him as he watched you smile so beautifully at the camera.

His heart was doing somersaults.

After the flash in your face, you blinked rapidly, chuckling to yourself. "Oooh. That's uncomfortable, heh." You open your eyes and the first thing you see are his beautiful hazel ones, looking straight at you, as if he didn't even blink upon the bothering aftermath of the light on your faces. You nearly had to gulp under the intensity of his gaze. Then, you quickly regained consciousness and started fanning the small piece so that the picture would appear faster.

The result was the one now stuck to his wall: you, with the biggest smile on your face and he, lovestruck, dumb, lost gaze as he looked at you.

Sigh.

Spencer quickly shook his head, not meaning to be later and even more stressed than he already was. He missed you, though. And he let himself relish in that feeling of longing for a minute. Glancing at the photo, he couldn't help but think you were already eighteen. And that he had loved you from the first time he saw you — when he was twelve.

He sat on his bed, having removed the photo from the wall. As he held it delicately between his fingers, he thought of you. He always did. In spite of being late, in spite of everything telling him he had to go through his days, he felt something tugging at his heartstrings, a longing feeling that he should be somewhere else, something that told him something, so he knew.

It was time to go.

—

Back in his hometown, even the air felt different, despite exuding an aroma that reminded him of his younger days. It had been some time since he had visited, and the distance between you and him only grew further. Driving past your house — the state of California had finally issued his license —, he saw a somewhat big crowd of people, all dressed in black.

He felt like the noise around him didn't fully reach his brain. Like he was under water.

Robotically stepping out of his car, he approached the house cautiously. Almost as instantly as your mom welcomed him, he saw you across the room, dressed in black. Bloodshot eyes found him instantly, and a flicker of relief passed your expression — unable to muster up a smile, but oh so willing to show him that you were grateful for his presence. You felt frozen to the spot and had been standing in that corner for hours. A man placed his hand on your shoulder and that's when you looked away from Spencer. He noticed it, of course, and was obliged to acknowledge the blonde man by your side. You didn't smile at him either.

Spencer approached, somewhat relieved that you were okay, but so confused and overwhelmed by the entire situation. Almost unwilling to believe whatever bad thing had happened, because he had been so happy with you in that house.

Once he was within your earshot, you greeted weakly, "Hi."

"Hi."

Silence.

"Can we talk?"

Something about the look in your eyes told him that you desperately wanted, no, needed, craved it from him, his presence. With a subtle nod, you excused yourself from the man and lead him to the backyard. Sitting on the same bench you did when it was too late and you talked about the stars together, you reveal softly as you stare into the distance, "Dad's gone."

Spencer felt like he had been punched and all the air had left his lungs after your confirmation of something he was suspecting already. Finally, he blurted out, sitting down by yourself, "W—what?"

"He didn't wake up."

"He didn't wake up?"

"No... Last night, Spencer..." You begun, your voice thick with emotion, "he said that everything was alright." You frowned, tears streaming down your face, "That he... loves... loved me and mom... and that... that had been his role on Earth."

He stood quiet, waiting for the rest of what you had to say, still shaken by the news. Your broken voice and distant gaze were enough to skyrocket the pain he felt. Spencer absolutely adored your dad, and he was one of the few that Spencer confided in wholeheartedly when things got too rough for him to bear by himself. Even though your dad was the quiet type, Spencer would go as far as saying that he was somehow his dad as well.

With your silence, he had a little time to see past the pain. Analyzing your figure, he knew. He knew you had to leave. If you decided to stay, you'd be rooted to the spot and you wouldn't be able to grow any further, forever stuck into the never ending, relentless force of grief. Spencer knew that because, besides knowing you better than anyone else, he had left in hopes to escape the person he thought he was doomed to become. Your voice brought him out of his reverie. "I laughed. I thought he was joking."

"Maybe he was joking."

"Maybe he knew he was leaving."

Silence.

You look up at him. Asking for answers. For something. For comfort.

Sitting down beside you, he held your shaking shoulders as you let tears fall freely and you lost your breath and you choked on your own saliva. An ugly, guttural, desolate crying. Spencer held you through it all — he was ready to scream at anyone on the garden if they had the nerve to go there, but, actually, in that moment, you didn't care that somebody could see or hear you. The effect of the pills your mother had given you had started to wear off and you felt things way more intensely than when she first broke the news.

Dad's gone, was all that you could hear her voice say as Spencer turned his body to fully embrace you, placing your head on his shoulder and sobbing your pain as an effort to quell the ache of your loss.

It took every single ounce of self-control for Spencer not to break down with you, because in that moment, he preferred to swallow his own pain so that he could be your safe space instead. As your sobs slowly subsided, you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make the pain that invaded your whole body go away.

"I think..." you started, but never finished.

Silence.

"I think you should move away."

You looked at him, baffled, puzzled, hopeful.

"What?" You whispered softly.

"I think staying won't do you any good. And you know I'm right." His gaze never faltered.

You took a deep breath. "M-my mom... Spencer... she doesn't have anyone else. I-I can't do that... to her..." You gulped. The meer thought of leaving felt exhilarating, but you had to stay. You were rooted.

"Your brothers are always around." He replied.

"Not anymore. Much has changed since… since you... left."

"I didn't leave." He said, defensively.

"I didn't accuse you. At least I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Would you consider it? Leaving, I mean?" Please, say yes. Please, say yes. Come with me.

"I would... I don't know, Spencer." Your voice was broken. "Too... too much is going on. I can't just... go."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There's dad. And now mom. And that stupid college... I don't know where I fit." You fit next to me, he wanted to scream at you, but he realized it wasn't fair of him to demand anything from you at that moment. "I don't know what path to take without my dad here to guide me." A wet chuckle made its way out of you. He hugged you again.

On a sudden wave of boldness, he stated, "If you stay, this will be your life. If you go, you'll have somewhere to come back to if things go wrong. I—I… I know, um, that I sound very insensitive right now, but that's the truth. Why do you think I went away?"

"I can't." And your tears began again, even harder this time.

He sighed, holding you against his chest once again. Despite the unbearable pain of not being able to help, to persuade you, he decided to respect your decision.

“My father's in a casket. I have got no plans.” You muttered softly. His heart broke for you all over again.

“You've got me. And I've got you.”

Looking up at him, your eyes glimmered with hope. Desperate to believe him, desperate to leave. With him, if he'd have you.

But that wasn't how it worked.

You buried your face on his chest again, willing the tears to stop, to have some control over yourself again.

He held you through it all. He was there for you.

Spencer's stay didn't last long, even though it was filled with an unspoken, desperate beg for you to come with him, even if he didn't quite know how things would work once you accepted. After some thinking, he realized he was asking too much of you for the sake of trying to protect you from what he knew was going to happen. Losing his own father, albeit for a different reason, had changed him permanently and he was scared that you, losing yours, would turn into a different person too. The mere thought of losing you to grief was too much to handle, even if he understood that his pleas were unfair to you, not to mention absurd.

Spencer's brain was turned into a whirlwind of thoughts, all of them desperate to find a way out of this situation, to find a way out to get you out of that place — both physically and mentally. As he stood by your side during your dad's burial, he let you squeeze his hand as if that would somehow make the pain less intense for you. It didn't, but it felt nice to have someone to carry the weight with you.

—

Spencer had joined the FBI at the age of 23, when you were graduating from college. The difference was staggering and it made you laugh the same as it had when he was going to college and you were going to seventh grade. It had been years since you had last met in person, after all, Diana was the main reason he'd go to Vegas, and he didn't go there much because he was often too busy with his studies and his career. Once, he had confided in you, saying that he secretly wished that it would be enough of a good excuse to avoid seeing his mother in a facility and saving them both from the pain. Tonight, though, that would change. You were visiting him in Virginia.

A little nervous, you knocked on his door. Once he answered, you took in his appearance and your heart swelled at the sight. In your eyes, he'd always looked the prettiest, but now… It's like something had shifted: Spencer was all that you saw. And you didn't want to look at anything else anymore.

“Hi,” you greeted in a weak voice. Perhaps the intensity of your smile stole away your will to speak properly.

“You're here.” Spencer muttered, eyes filled with many emotions, but that you decided to read as relief.

“I am.”

“God, it's been so long,” he says, closing the gap between you and him, wrapping his arms around your torso, resting his head on your shoulder, not so subtly trying to smell your perfume. And failing to hide the overdrive when he noticed it was the same from all those years ago, from when you had first kissed.

Pulling away slightly, you cupped his cheeks with both hands and took in his shiny eyes, the ones that you adored so much and now met yours with a new perspective on everything. Once entering his apartment, you found that the place screamed his name, from the scattered books and the endless piles all over his living room. His TV had a documentary in a foreign language on, and you smiled to yourself. Spencer had never changed and, at his core, was still the boy you were once close friends with.

Spencer filled you in on the things you missed. You knew they were mostly about his job because he wasn't one to step out of his comfort zone — not that you'd judge him for it. “I miss having you around, tapping my arm so I know when to stop,” he revealed softly as you two shared a tub of ice cream.

Forget germs, forget pathogens, forget viruses, forget everything. She is here.

You giggled. It set his heart on fire. “Ah, Spencer… You know I only did it when other people were around. Other people are just other people. You're you. And rambling is part of who you are. Don't let that disappear.”

He smiled. You were still you.

“In fact, I have something to tell you.”

His heartbeat fastened, thinking of every possible scenario, reliving every single one of your experiences in the back of his mind. “You… you have something to tell me?” He echoed. He was still him.

Chuckling softly, “I'm glad you're still you, Spencer. I still say your name when people ask me who's my best friend. It's an excuse to relive our favorite stories as I tell them all about you.”

Spencer was left speechless, bashfully looking away from you as he resumed to talk about his days at the FBI. He told you all about his team, the people and what they found on a daily basis. “Do you think it's weird that I study what I do study?”

“No, Spence. You've always had a curious mind. Why do you ask?” You inquired back.

“I don't know… sometimes I think that people find me weird.”

“You're not,” you said, simply. “Your interests are very diverse, and anyone who talks to you will find that out. Being a profiler is not weird.”

He grinned. Your words or arguments about his insecurities throughout your friendship weren't always the most complex, but he always felt better by talking to you. He was never ashamed, never too scared of admitting something or voicing his needs. You made him feel like it was okay to speak, to want, to be. Whatever his limitations were and whatever words he left unspoken, they were never your fault. You'd never frowned at him, not once.

As the night progressed, he filled you in on what he had been doing for fun, mentioning his current readings — one of them on his nightstand. Giddily, you went over to his bedroom to find the novel that he was talking about, so that you could hear him talk about it and recite, by heart, quotes that illustrated his points and interpretation from the book. Upon entering his bedroom, you smiled to yourself. So Spencer. The sand-colored walls, the neat and clean floor, his slightly wrinkled bedsheets, a pile of laundry on top of his bed, a few scattered items on his nightstand — which, by the way, was the same in his mother's house. You had always found it amazingly pretty, the light wood and the black paint that covered the iron of the drawer pulls.

As you reached the piece of furniture and removed the book, you found something scribbled right under where the object had been lying. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind and you opened your mouth, ready to tell him not to ruin the perfect nightstand, but as you turned on the lamp to try and find out what was written there, the writing in black ink made you shiver. You fell silent. It was the date of your first kiss.

Time stopped. Why was that date written there? And why did the possibilities both scared and thrilled you so damn much? You felt someone behind you. “So, you found the book or what?” The question made its way out of his lips in a teasing tone. But, as you turned around softly, the book still clutched tightly in your hands, your eyes questioned him back. Not accusingly, only… curiously.

When he realized what you had discovered, the air left his lungs and he tried desperately to come up with an excuse. It turns out that he hadn't been asked by many people about the meaning of that date — and it's not like he had many visitors, anyway. “I… You… You… Did you… see it?” You managed to nod, weakly.

“What does it mean?” You asked, eyes never leaving his.

Looking away, he replied, “I was scared to forget.”

“Forget?” You inquired, shifting your weight.

“About it…. That night, I mean. about… us.” You gazed at him understandingly once he answered.

“About us?” Funnily enough, now you were the one parroting him. It would have made you chuckle if the situation wasn't that serious.

He breathes out, “Yeah, us.”

A beat of silence. You take a step towards him, and his breath hitches. “Have you forgotten?”

He searches your face. Upon finding nothing but support, he reveals, “There's not a single day I don't remember that moment.” You gulp and he takes a step closer, which makes your grip on the book tighten even more. You closed your eyes — a silent invitation, but it makes him falter once he doesn't have your eyes to navigate him through what he's supposed to do.

I'm glad you're still you, Spencer.

Encouraged by the memory of your words from moments ago and the presence of you, he closes the distance between you, once and for all. There's nothing that could hold him back from loving you once your lips touch and press together in a kiss that makes the book fall to your feet as your hands find their place on the back of his neck.

On any other day, Spencer Reid would be pissed upon seeing someone drop a book, let alone a considerably heavy one, on his feet — that's absurd. That moment, though, he couldn't care less as he squeezed your waist, as if trying to convince himself that you were there, that it was real, and that he finally got to do what he has always wanted.

Spencer and you had been through many firsts during the time you've known each other; some good firsts and some pretty bad firsts. But, there was a quote, from ‘Doctor Who’, that you always reminded him and yourself whenever things got too tough:

"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant."

As long as he had you to soften the bad things and had your company during the bad things that made the good ones unimportant, Spencer figured that life would be a pile of more good than bad things.