#you need to read what they actually said and determine for yourself whether it was warranted or not

[magical-reid]

The Quiet One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: Reader gets taken during a case and starts isolating herself

Word count: 11.1K (It's long, I know)

Summary: Spencer Reid becomes increasingly intrigued by Y/N, a reserved but brilliant new member of the BAU, who remains distant from the team despite her exceptional skills. As they spend more time together, Spencer finds himself drawn to her quiet strength and vulnerability, leading to a growing connection between them.

Spencer’s POV

Spencer Reid didn’t need to be an expert in psychology to know that Y/N was hiding something. It wasn’t a dark secret—at least, he didn’t think so—but it was a part of herself she kept locked away.

She was new, sure, but most new agents took Garcia’s boisterous affection or Morgan’s teasing in stride after a week or two. Y/N, however, stayed remarkably quiet unless the conversation turned to a case. Then she was brilliant—her analyses sharp and concise, her physical prowess undeniable in the field. Even Hotch had complimented her work ethic within the first month, which was rare.

But socially? She was an enigma, answering questions with one-word responses or polite nods. Garcia had deemed it her “personal mission” to get Y/N to loosen up.

And now, Spencer found himself curious too.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The BAU bullpen was oddly calm for once. Cases were lighter this week, leaving the team to catch up on paperwork. You didn’t mind it—it gave you time to settle into the rhythm of things.

Sitting at your desk during lunch, you pulled a battered paperback from your bag. It was a comfort read, one you returned to when the world felt overwhelming. The words on the page blurred slightly as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the faint hum of conversation between Morgan and JJ.

Then came the voice.

“That’s Jane Eyre, right?”

You glanced up to find Dr. Spencer Reid standing by your desk. His hands were shoved awkwardly into his pockets, a rare flicker of nervousness in his expression.

“Uh… yeah,” you said, holding up the book. “It is.”

“You know, Charlotte Brontë originally published it under the pseudonym Currer Bell because women authors weren’t taken seriously in the 19th century,” Spencer said, his voice gaining confidence as he dove into familiar territory. “It was actually one of the first novels to really explore the concept of the ‘modern woman.’”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to be impressed or amused. “I didn’t know that.”

His eyes lit up, and you instantly regretted not saying something more engaging.

“Well, there’s actually a lot of debate about whether Jane Eyre is autobiographical. Brontë infuses so many elements of her own life into the story, especially Jane’s resilience and independence—”

“Reid!” Morgan called from across the room, grinning. “Are you giving another one of your literary lectures?”

Spencer flushed, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I, uh… I was just—”

You shut the book and offered a small smile. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

That placated him, and he nodded quickly before retreating to his desk.

You couldn’t help but replay the interaction in your head for the rest of the day. Spencer had an undeniable passion for knowledge, and for the first time since joining the team, you found yourself wondering if you’d like to hear more of what he had to say.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

It started as a casual observation: Y/N always ate lunch alone.

After their brief interaction earlier that day, Spencer couldn’t help but notice her more often. She stayed on the periphery of conversations, her focus always sharp, but there was an unshakable air of… loneliness about her.

Garcia was determined to change that.

“I swear, my magic isn’t working on her!” Garcia huffed as she leaned against his desk later that afternoon. “But mark my words, Reid, I will crack that shell.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “You’re treating her like a puzzle.”

“Because she is a puzzle! She’s this brilliant, badass, stone-cold agent who also reads classics on her lunch break? She’s practically you in a different font.”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond but shut it again. The comparison caught him off guard. Was that why he was so fascinated by Y/N?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

Over the following weeks, Spencer became a surprising constant. It started with the occasional factoid about the books you were reading, but it soon extended to case-related conversations. You found his intelligence refreshing, and his quiet, thoughtful presence felt like something you could trust.

Garcia, on the other hand, was a force of nature.

“Okay, Miss Mysterious, you are coming to Rossi’s this weekend, and I will not take no for an answer,” she declared one Friday afternoon, her hands on her hips.

You tried to protest, but Garcia had a way of steamrolling right over you. Before you knew it, you were at Rossi’s house that Saturday evening, surrounded by your team.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

He watched from across the room as Y/N sat next to Garcia, a soft laugh escaping her lips as the tech analyst recounted some over-the-top story. It was the first time he’d seen Y/N genuinely relaxed, her quiet demeanor giving way to something brighter.

She caught his gaze and smiled hesitantly.

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

Rossi’s house felt warm in a way you hadn’t expected. The deep wood tones, the glowing fire in the hearth, and the hum of your team’s laughter filled the space with an almost familial intimacy. You’d arrived tense, unsure of how to handle this uncharted territory, but Garcia had stuck by you like glue, coaxing you into conversations with her sunny enthusiasm.

To your surprise, you didn’t mind.

“You’re not allergic to wine, are you?” Garcia asked, pressing a glass into your hand before you could protest. “This is Rossi’s best stuff. Don’t embarrass me by turning it down.”

You gave her a faint smirk and took a small sip, letting the rich flavor spread across your tongue. “It’s good.”

“Good?” Rossi barked from across the room. “That’s a $300 bottle! Show some respect!”

You startled, but Morgan waved him off. “Don’t let him scare you, Y/N. Rossi says that about every bottle he pulls out of his cellar.”

The group laughed, and you felt yourself relax by a fraction. You didn’t belong here, not fully—not yet—but it was nice to pretend for a little while.

It wasn’t until later in the evening, when the group had spread out into smaller clusters, that you found yourself wandering onto Rossi’s back patio. The cool night air was a relief after the heat of the crowded living room, and you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the sprawling yard.

The sound of the door opening behind you made you glance back. Spencer stepped outside, a mug in hand.

“Coffee?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

He nodded sheepishly. “I don’t drink, so… this is my go-to.”

You turned back to the yard. “Makes sense.”

Spencer hesitated before moving to stand beside you. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the faint hum of conversation from inside fading into the background.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” he said finally.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“With the team,” he clarified, his gaze flicking to yours. “I know how overwhelming it can be. They’re… intense.”

A small laugh escaped you. “That’s one way to put it.”

He smiled at that, his face softening in a way that made your chest ache.

“I’m not great at these things either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Social gatherings, I mean. But… it gets easier.”

“Does it?” you asked, surprising even yourself with the vulnerability in your tone.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “They’re good people. It just takes time to feel like you belong.”

You studied him for a moment, his profile outlined by the soft glow of the patio lights. It was strange, how he seemed to understand you in a way that no one else had tried to.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you fully, his eyes searching yours. “For what?”

“For… being you, I guess.”

His brow furrowed, but before he could respond, Garcia’s voice rang out from the doorway.

“There you are, lovebirds! C’mon, it’s picture time!”

You flushed, stepping back instinctively, but Spencer’s soft chuckle eased your embarrassment.

“Let’s not keep her waiting,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

As the two of you returned to the chaos inside, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to belong after all.

Spencer’s POV

The next few weeks were… different.

Y/N was still reserved, but something had shifted. She smiled more, lingered a little longer when the team joked around, and even initiated conversations once or twice.

Spencer found himself drawn to her even more. He wasn’t sure when his interest had crossed into something deeper—maybe it was the way her eyes lit up when she talked about a case, or how she always seemed to carry herself with quiet determination.

What he did know was that he wanted to spend more time with her.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

It was late when you returned to the office after a long day in the field. Most of the team had gone home, but the glow from Spencer’s desk lamp caught your eye as you passed by.

“You’re still here?” you asked, leaning against the doorway.

He looked up, startled. “Oh, yeah. Just… catching up on paperwork.”

You hesitated before stepping into the room. “Do you want some company?”

Spencer blinked at you, clearly surprised, but he nodded. “Sure.”

You pulled a chair up beside him, glancing at the neat stacks of files on his desk. “You’re ridiculously organized, you know that?”

He chuckled. “Comes with the territory.”

For a while, the two of you worked in companionable silence, the quiet hum of the office almost soothing. It wasn’t until you reached for a file at the same time that your hands brushed, and you both froze.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back quickly.

“No, it’s—” He cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

Your eyes met, and for a brief moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. But then the moment passed, and you both returned to your work, your hearts beating just a little faster.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The call came in at 3 a.m., pulling you out of a restless sleep. By the time you arrived at the BAU office, coffee in hand and exhaustion tugging at your limbs, the rest of the team was already gathered in the briefing room.

“Morning, sunshine,” Garcia greeted with mock cheerfulness as you slid into your seat.

“Morning,” you mumbled back, earning a sympathetic smile from her.

Hotch wasted no time launching into the details. “We’ve got three bodies in the last week, all women in their early twenties. Each victim was abducted, kept for approximately 48 hours, and then left in a public location. The cause of death is strangulation. The local PD in Richmond has requested our assistance.”

As the photos of the victims flashed across the screen, your stomach tightened. Young, bright faces extinguished too soon.

“Are we looking at someone who knew them?” you asked, your voice steady despite the knot forming in your gut.

JJ shook her head. “The victims don’t seem to have any connections to each other. Different neighborhoods, different jobs, no shared social circles.”

“So we’re dealing with an unsub who’s opportunistic,” Rossi said, leaning back in his chair.

“Most likely,” Spencer chimed in. “The cooling-off period is short, which could indicate a lack of control or a growing compulsion.”

As the team delved into theories and assigned tasks, you felt Spencer’s gaze linger on you for a moment. When you glanced his way, he offered a faint nod, as if to say, We’ve got this.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

Something about this case felt different.

It wasn’t the pattern—he’d seen similar cases before—but the look in Y/N’s eyes as she examined the crime scene photos. She was usually composed, but there was a flicker of something raw beneath her quiet exterior.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You ready to head to the ME’s office?”

He nodded quickly, grabbing his bag. As they left, he caught sight of Y/N slipping into the SUV with Morgan and Rossi, her expression unreadable.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The first day in Richmond was grueling. You’d interviewed families of the victims, combed through hours of CCTV footage, and spent far too long staring at a map of potential dump sites. By the time the team regrouped at the precinct that evening, the weight of the case was pressing down on you like a vice.

“Y/N,” Spencer said softly as you sat down at a desk in the corner, your head in your hands.

You looked up to find him holding out a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking it from him.

He hesitated before sitting beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, though the lump in your throat betrayed you. “It’s just… hard. They’re so young.”

Spencer’s expression softened. “It’s okay to feel that way. It means you care.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “How do you deal with it? Knowing that… we can’t save them all?”

“I remind myself that we can save the next one,” he said quietly. “That’s what keeps me going.”

His words settled over you like a balm, easing some of the tension in your chest.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said after a moment.

He offered a small smile. “Anytime.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The break came on the second day. Spencer had been poring over geographical profiles when he noticed a pattern in the unsub’s movements—a cluster of locations that centered around a local park.

“It’s a comfort zone,” he explained as the team gathered around. “The unsub likely lives or works nearby.”

With Garcia’s help, you narrowed down a list of potential suspects. One name stood out: Michael Devlin, a maintenance worker with a history of domestic violence.

“We’ve got enough for a warrant,” Hotch said, his voice clipped. “Morgan, Rossi, Y/N—head to his residence. Reid, JJ, and I will coordinate with SWAT in case he runs.”

Your heart pounded as you pulled on your vest and climbed into the SUV. The tension was palpable as Morgan briefed the team on the way to Devlin’s house.

“He’s dangerous, but he’s not expecting us,” Morgan said. “Stay sharp.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The house was eerily quiet when you arrived. Morgan motioned for you to take the back while he and Rossi approached the front.

Gun drawn, you moved silently around the perimeter, your pulse thrumming in your ears. A faint noise from inside made you freeze—a muffled cry.

You signaled to Morgan, who nodded and motioned for you to breach the back door.

The next moments were a blur. The door splintered under your weight, and you swept through the darkened hallway, your flashlight cutting through the gloom.

“FBI!” you shouted. “Hands in the air!”

In the basement, you found Devlin with his latest victim—a young woman, bound and gagged but alive. Devlin lunged toward her, but you didn’t hesitate. One precise shot to his leg sent him crumpling to the ground.

“Suspect down!” you called, rushing to the woman’s side.

Morgan and Rossi were there seconds later, securing Devlin while you freed the woman.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “You’re safe now.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The team returned to the hotel late that night, exhausted but victorious. You’d saved someone.

As you sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of the day finally caught up to you. A knock at the door startled you, and when you opened it, you found Spencer standing there.

“I thought you might want some company,” he said, holding up a bag of takeout.

You stepped aside, letting him in.

The two of you sat in companionable silence, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever.

“You did good today,” Spencer said softly, breaking the silence.

“So did you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

For a moment, neither of you looked away. The air felt charged again, but this time, you didn’t retreat.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The weeks following the Richmond case brought you and Spencer closer in ways you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t anything dramatic—no sweeping gestures or long, soul-baring conversations. Instead, it was the little moments that built a quiet, steady foundation.

You started spending more time at his desk between cases, initially just to borrow books or bounce ideas off him, but it became something more. A shared cup of coffee here, a late-night brainstorming session there. The rest of the team noticed, of course, but they didn’t say much—except for Garcia, who gave you a sly wink whenever she caught you lingering near Spencer.

It wasn’t just Spencer, though. You were starting to feel more connected to the entire team. Rossi’s dry humor, Morgan’s teasing camaraderie, JJ’s quiet support, and Garcia’s unrelenting cheerfulness—all of it felt like pieces of a puzzle finally snapping into place.

But Spencer… he was different.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

It had become second nature to seek out Y/N when he needed a fresh perspective. Her sharp mind complemented his own, and her methodical approach often helped him piece together details he might have overlooked.

But it wasn’t just her intelligence that drew him in—it was the way she listened. Spencer wasn’t used to people really listening when he rambled about obscure facts or spiraled into tangents. Y/N didn’t just tolerate it; she seemed genuinely interested, even when he went off-topic.

He found himself looking for excuses to talk to her, whether it was about a case, a book, or even something as mundane as coffee preferences.

“You’re spending a lot of time with our newbie,” Morgan teased one afternoon as Spencer returned to his desk.

Spencer bristled. “We’re just… working well together.”

Morgan’s grin widened. “Sure you are, kid. Sure you are.”

Spencer tried to ignore him, but the comment stuck in his mind for the rest of the day. Was it really so obvious?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The next case was in Chicago—three bodies were found in abandoned buildings, each with eerily similar staging. The unsub was methodical, leaving almost no evidence behind. It wasn’t until the fourth victim was found that a pattern began to emerge.

“We’re looking at someone with a background in construction or architecture,” you said during the briefing, pointing to the detailed layout drawn on the whiteboard. “Each site was chosen for its isolation and structural integrity. He’s not just picking random locations; he’s planning this down to the last detail.”

Spencer nodded, adding to your analysis. “It’s possible he sees himself as an artist. The staging suggests a need for control, but also a desire for recognition. He’s leaving a signature.”

Hotch glanced between the two of you. “Work with Garcia to identify anyone with the right skill set and a history of violence. We need to narrow this down before he strikes again.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You and Spencer were paired up to interview a potential suspect—a reclusive architect with a history of volatile behavior. As you drove through the quiet streets of Chicago, the conversation drifted to more personal topics.

“Do you miss it?” Spencer asked suddenly, his gaze focused on the road ahead.

“Miss what?”

“The academy,” he clarified. “Before the field. Before…” He gestured vaguely.

You considered the question for a moment. “Not really. I mean, it was challenging, but I always knew I wanted to be out here, making a difference. What about you? Do you miss… normalcy?”

Spencer laughed softly. “I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced normalcy. But I think I’ve found something better.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt your chest tighten.

Before you could respond, the GPS announced your arrival, pulling you back to the present.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The interview didn’t yield much—your suspect was uncooperative, but there wasn’t enough evidence to hold him. As you and Spencer left the building, the frustration was palpable.

“He’s hiding something,” you muttered as you walked to the car.

Spencer nodded. “Agreed. But without concrete evidence, we can’t—”

A sharp noise interrupted him—a metallic clang, followed by a figure darting into the alley beside the building.

“Stay here,” you said instinctively, drawing your weapon.

“Wait—” Spencer started to protest, but you were already moving.

The alley was narrow and dimly lit, and the figure was fast, but your training kicked in. You rounded a corner just in time to see the man scaling a fence.

“FBI! Stop!”

He didn’t.

You followed, adrenaline surging as you climbed the fence and hit the ground running. The suspect turned sharply, heading into an abandoned warehouse.

You slowed as you entered, your heart pounding. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the cavernous space.

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice called from behind you, and you turned to see him catching up, his own weapon drawn.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice tight.

“And let you go in alone? Not a chance.”

Before you could argue, the suspect lunged from the shadows. Spencer reacted instantly, stepping between you and the attacker. The fight was brief but chaotic, and by the time you secured the suspect with cuffs, your hands were trembling.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was still racing. “You?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I’m fine.”

For a moment, you just stood there, the weight of the encounter settling over you. Then, without thinking, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The suspect turned out to be a crucial lead, and the case wrapped up soon after. On the flight home, you found yourself sitting beside Spencer, the two of you poring over a book he’d brought.

“You’re starting to remind me of Reid 2.0,” Morgan teased as he walked by.

You rolled your eyes, but Spencer smiled.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you asked, glancing at Spencer.

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Not at all.”

As the plane soared through the clouds, you couldn’t help but feel that your partnership with Spencer was becoming something more—something you weren’t quite ready to name yet, but something that felt right all the same.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

(Next Case)

The case had felt off from the start.

You’d arrived in a small Colorado town after two young women disappeared within days of each other. The unsub had a clear pattern—abducting women in their twenties, keeping them for a few days, and leaving their mutilated bodies in remote areas.

You’d all felt the clock ticking with each passing hour. But even as the team worked tirelessly to profile the unsub and narrow down suspects, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong—something you couldn’t quite put into words.

You were walking back to the SUV alone after canvassing a witness when it happened.

A sharp sting at the base of your neck.

Then, darkness.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

“She should have been back by now,” Spencer said, his voice tight with worry.

The team had regrouped at the precinct, but Y/N’s absence was glaring. She’d been checking in regularly all day, but her last update had come nearly an hour ago.

“She probably just got held up with a witness,” Morgan offered, though even he sounded unconvinced.

“No,” Spencer said, his jaw clenched. “Something’s wrong.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speakerphone. “I’ve got her GPS! It’s… oh, no. It’s not moving. Her phone’s near a deserted building on the outskirts of town.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “Morgan, Reid, let’s go. JJ, Rossi, stay here and coordinate with the local PD. Garcia, keep tracking her phone.”

Spencer’s chest tightened as they raced toward the location, dread clawing at his insides.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

You woke to blinding pain.

Your arms were wrenched behind you, your wrists bound with coarse rope that cut into your skin. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of a single bulb overhead.

A figure loomed above you, his face obscured.

“Finally awake,” he said, his voice calm, almost casual.

You struggled against the restraints, your breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Don’t bother,” the man said, crouching to meet your gaze. “It’s just you and me now. And I don’t like it when people scream.”

He raised something shiny—a blade—and you froze.

The first cut was shallow, a deliberate line across your arm. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot, and you bit down hard on your lip to keep from crying out.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re strong. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Time became a blur after that. The pain was relentless—cuts, bruises, burns. He was methodical, asking questions he didn’t seem to care if you answered. You tried to focus on anything else—your training, the team, Spencer—but the agony kept dragging you back.

At some point, you lose consciousness again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

When they found you, Spencer nearly collapsed with relief—and horror.

You were slumped in the corner of the room, your clothes torn and blood staining your skin. Cuts and bruises covered your body, and your face was pale, almost unrecognizable.

“Y/N!” Spencer was the first to reach you, dropping to his knees beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, but there was no recognition in them, only fear.

“It’s me,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “It’s Spencer. You’re safe now.”

Your lips moved, but no sound came out.

Hotch and Morgan secured the unsub, who was screaming as they dragged him out of the building. Spencer barely registered it. All he could focus on was you—broken, fragile, and trembling in his arms.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The ride to the hospital was a blur. You were dimly aware of Spencer’s hand gripping yours, his voice low and soothing as he spoke to you, though you couldn’t make out the words.

The pain was overwhelming, but worse than that was the fear—the raw, unrelenting terror that you were still there, still in that room.

It wasn’t until you were in the hospital, surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of machines, that you began to feel grounded again.

Spencer stayed by your side the entire time.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t want to go home.

The thought of returning to the BAU, to the same desks and faces, felt impossible. But Hotch had insisted you needed to recover somewhere familiar, and the team had gently assured you they’d be there every step of the way.

You sat alone on the plane, staring out the window, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The team kept their distance, speaking in hushed tones as they gave you space.

You hated how broken you felt. You hated the way the memories of that room kept flashing through your mind, the way your skin still crawled despite the warm blanket Garcia had draped over your shoulders.

And yet, when Spencer moved to sit beside you, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed silent as he settled in, the faint scent of his cologne reaching you. After a long moment, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Spencer stiffened for half a second before relaxing, his arm curling around you protectively. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to.

The rest of the team exchanged quiet glances but said nothing. They knew better than to interrupt.

For the first time since the ordeal, you felt… safe.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

She didn’t say a word the entire flight, but Spencer didn’t mind.

When she’d leaned into him, something in his chest had cracked open. He didn’t know what to say or do, but he knew he’d do anything to protect her from feeling that way again.

As the plane descended toward Quantico, he tightened his arm around her, silently promising her—and himself—that he’d be there for her, no matter what.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

Recovery wasn’t linear.

You thought it might be—thought you could box up what happened and file it away in some corner of your mind. But the scars on your body weren’t just physical, and no matter how hard you tried, the memories of that room clung to you like smoke, thick and suffocating.

You barely left your apartment in the weeks after the case. The team gave you space but stayed present in small ways: a text from JJ checking in, a phone call from Morgan offering to bring dinner, Rossi dropping off an expensive bottle of wine “for when you’re ready.”

But Spencer and Garcia… they were different.

They didn’t just check-in. They showed up.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It started with the nightmares.

They came like clockwork, dragging you from sleep with a gasp and leaving you trembling in the dark. At first, you tried to handle them on your own. You’d curl up on the couch with a blanket, the TV murmuring softly in the background as you willed yourself to calm down.

But after one particularly bad night, your hands shaking so hard you couldn’t hold the phone steady, you called Spencer.

He answered on the second ring, his voice groggy but alert. “Y/N?”

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, immediately regretting the call. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted gently. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But he waited, his patience endless.

“I had a nightmare,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, then: “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the line had already gone dead.

When Spencer showed up at your door, his hair mussed and his sweater slightly wrinkled, you felt a pang of guilt.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, stepping inside.

He didn’t press you to talk about the nightmare. Instead, he made tea while you curled up on the couch, his calm presence enough to ground you. He stayed until the sun came up, his hand resting lightly on your arm as you drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep.

That became your new normal. Every time the nightmares came, Spencer would be there, no matter the hour.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Garcia was the first to call you out on your self-imposed isolation.

“Okay, honey, I love you, but you’re starting to worry me,” she said one afternoon, her voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “So fine that you’ve become a hermit. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m just… not ready to go out yet.”

Garcia was quiet for a moment, then her tone brightened. “Alright, challenge accepted. If you won’t go to the world, the world will come to you.”

The next day, Spencer and Garcia showed up at your apartment with an armful of books.

“Welcome to the world’s tiniest bookstore,” Garcia announced, sweeping into your living room like a tornado.

“I may have gone a little overboard,” Spencer admitted, setting the books down on your coffee table.

“A little?” Garcia scoffed. “Reid, this isn’t overboard—it’s a full-on invasion.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you flipped through the stack, your chest tightening at the sight of your favorite titles mixed in with a few new ones.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Garcia waved you off. “Please. This is nothing compared to the epic coffee shop we’re planning for tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Coffee shop?”

“Just wait,” Spencer said with a small smile.

The next morning, your living room was transformed.

Garcia had brought fairy lights, a Bluetooth speaker, and pastries from your favorite bakery. Spencer had set up a coffee station, complete with syrups and a milk frother.

“Order up!” Garcia called, handing you a steaming cup of your favorite drink.

You curled up in your armchair, the faint sound of jazz playing in the background as you sipped your coffee. For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of something like peace.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It was Spencer’s idea to bring the theater to you.

He showed up one evening with Garcia in tow, a projector tucked under his arm and a bag of popcorn balanced precariously in Garcia’s hands.

“Movie night!” Garcia declared, dropping the popcorn onto your kitchen counter.

“What’s all this?” you asked, watching as Spencer set up the projector.

“Well, we figured since you’re not quite ready to hit the theaters yet, we’d bring the theaters to you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes warm.

They went all out, dimming the lights and piling your couch with blankets and pillows. Spencer even gave a little lecture about the history of film before the movie started, earning an affectionate eye-roll from Garcia.

By the time the credits rolled, you were smiling—a real, genuine smile—and for the first time since the case, you felt like yourself again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You weren’t fully healed. The nightmares still came, and there were moments when the memories felt too heavy to bear. But Spencer and Garcia didn’t let you carry it alone.

With every late-night visit, every carefully planned surprise, they reminded you that you weren’t broken. You were still you, even if it took time to feel whole again.

One night, as you sat on the couch with Spencer beside you, your head resting on his shoulder, you found yourself whispering, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his voice soft.

“For… everything,” you said, your words faltering but earnest.

He didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened around you.

“Anytime,” he said, and you knew he meant it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The turning point came on a quiet Thursday night when the weight of everything finally broke through the walls you’d built around yourself.

It started innocuously enough. Spencer had come over, as he often did, with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a new book he thought you’d enjoy. The two of you had eaten in companionable silence, the TV murmuring in the background as the sky outside darkened.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. You hadn’t planned for any of it.

But then Spencer said something—something small and offhand about how strong you were—and it hit you like a freight train.

The tears came suddenly, unstoppable.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

He’d never seen her cry before.

Not during cases, not after the ordeal in Colorado, not even during the nightmares that haunted her nights. She’d always held herself together with an almost unnerving composure, her pain buried so deeply that even Spencer, with all his insight, couldn’t reach it.

But now, as she sat across from him on the couch, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, Spencer felt utterly helpless.

“Y/N,” he said softly, setting his food aside and leaning toward her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, her voice muffled. “I—I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he pressed gently.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m not okay, Spencer. I keep telling myself to move on, to be strong, but I—I don’t know how.”

Her admission shattered something in him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “Not with me. Not with any of us.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes red and shining with tears. “But what if I never feel normal again? What if I’m always this… broken?”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his hands enveloping hers.

“You’re not broken,” he said firmly. “You’re healing. And healing isn’t linear—it’s messy and hard, and sometimes it feels impossible. But you’re not alone in this. I’m here. We’re all here.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him, her breath hitching. Then, slowly, she let herself lean into him, her forehead resting against his shoulder.

Spencer held her carefully, his arms wrapping around her as though she might shatter.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured. “I promise.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

It felt like something had shifted that night.

You’d spent so long keeping your pain locked away, afraid that letting it out would make you weak, make you a burden. But Spencer hadn’t turned away. He’d held you, his presence steady and unwavering, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

Over the next few days, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t before. Little things at first—a comment about how much you missed running, a quiet confession about a song that made you cry. And then bigger things, like the fear that still gripped you every time you stepped outside, or the way your scars made you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Spencer listened to it all, never interrupting, never judging.

And when the words ran out, he simply stayed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The real turning point came a few weeks later, when you found yourself standing in your kitchen with Spencer, the two of you cooking dinner together.

You’d insisted on making something from scratch, though Spencer had warned you that his cooking skills were questionable at best. He was carefully chopping vegetables under your watchful eye when he suddenly stopped, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to you. “I was just… thinking about how different things are now.”

“Different how?”

He set the knife down, leaning against the counter. “When you first joined the team, you were so… reserved. It felt like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And after Colorado, I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You thought what?” you prompted, your voice soft.

“I thought I might lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The air between you seemed to shift, the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks finally coming to a head.

“You didn’t lose me,” you said quietly.

Spencer met your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “But I almost did. And it made me realize how much you mean to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I know this might not be the right time,” he continued, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability. “And I don’t want to make you feel pressured. But… I care about you, Y/N. More than I think I even realized until now.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his.

“I care about you too,” you said, your voice trembling. “More than I’ve let myself admit.”

Spencer’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“We don’t have to rush this,” he said. “Whatever you need—however long it takes—I’ll be here.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from pain.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Spencer squeezed your hand gently, his presence grounding you once again.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest began to lift.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

In the weeks that followed, the fragile threads of your connection with Spencer began to weave into something stronger. There were no grand declarations or dramatic shifts—just quiet, intimate moments that built on the foundation you’d already created.

The nightmares still came, though less frequently now. Spencer was always there when you needed him, showing up at your door with that same gentle determination. But the dynamic had subtly changed.

One night, after a particularly vivid dream, you didn’t wait for him to pull out his phone or suggest tea. Instead, you moved closer on the couch, resting your head against his chest.

His arms came around you instantly, holding you securely as his steady heartbeat anchored you to the present.

“Better?” he murmured after a while, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded against him, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his sweater. “Better.”

From then on, it became your unspoken ritual. Spencer would hold you through the worst of it, and when the panic began to fade, you’d sit together in comfortable silence, your breaths syncing as the weight of the dream dissipated.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

One evening, as the two of you sat at your kitchen table playing chess—well, he was playing chess, and you were doing your best to keep up—Spencer spoke quietly, his gaze fixed on the board.

“You know,” he said, moving a pawn, “I’ve never been very good at relationships.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile. “It’s true. My job, my… personality—it doesn’t exactly make things easy. But with you, it feels… different.”

“Different how?” you asked, leaning your chin on your hand as you studied his face.

He hesitated, then met your gaze. “Like I don’t have to try so hard to be understood.”

Your chest tightened at his words. “You don’t,” you said softly.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, and you knew you’d said exactly what he needed to hear.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer showed his affection in quiet ways.

He’d slip a bookmark into the pages of your latest read with a handwritten note—a quote he thought you’d like or a simple “this reminded me of you.”

He’d remember your favorite tea and make sure the cupboard was always stocked, even if it meant sneaking a box into your cart during a grocery run.

He’d lend you his scarf on cold mornings, looping it around your neck with an almost reverent care.

You found yourself returning the favor in your own subtle ways. You’d leave post-it notes on his bookshelves with little comments about the titles you borrowed, enjoying the way he’d chuckle when he found them.

You’d teach him how to cook simple meals, laughing as he fumbled with the stove but never letting him give up.

And once, after he’d spent an exhausting day at the BAU, you’d shown up at his apartment with takeout and a copy of his favorite movie, sitting with him on the couch until he finally let himself relax.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The turning point in your growing relationship came during a particularly hard day at work. The case had been brutal, dredging up memories you’d tried to bury, and you’d found yourself withdrawing again.

Spencer noticed immediately.

“Y/N,” he said gently as the two of you worked late in the bullpen, the rest of the team long gone. “Talk to me.”

You hesitated, your hands tightening around the file in front of you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t press, but his silence spoke volumes.

Finally, you set the file aside and looked at him. “It’s just… this case. It reminds me of Colorado. And I thought I was past that, but…” You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat.

Spencer reached across the desk, his hand brushing against yours. “Healing isn’t a straight line,” he said softly. “You’re allowed to have bad days.”

You swallowed hard, his understanding breaking through your defenses. “I don’t know how you always know exactly what to say.”

He gave a small shrug, his fingers curling around yours. “Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to feel broken. And I know how much it helps to have someone who understands.”

You held his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he said, his voice steady.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It happened on a quiet Sunday afternoon, as the two of you sat on your couch reading. The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over the room.

You weren’t sure what prompted it—maybe it was the way Spencer had leaned closer to point something out in your book, or the way his hand lingered on yours for a beat too long.

Whatever it was, when you turned to look at him, you found him already watching you.

“Spencer,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze flicked to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might pull back. But then, slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative and unsure. But as you relaxed into him, his hand came up to cup your cheek, deepening the connection.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting together, you couldn’t help but smile.

“That was…” you began, struggling to find the words.

“Long overdue?” he finished, his lips quirking in a shy smile.

You laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah. Long overdue.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

From that moment on, things felt… lighter.

You still had bad days, and Spencer still had his own struggles, but together, you found a balance. The quiet intimacy you’d built over months became the foundation for something stronger, something unshakable.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could face whatever came next—because you weren’t alone anymore.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Being with Spencer wasn’t like anything you’d experienced before.

It wasn’t a whirlwind romance filled with grand gestures or dramatic declarations. It was quiet, steady, and deeply rooted in trust. Spencer was the kind of person who noticed the small things—when you were fidgeting with your hands because you were nervous when you couldn’t quite meet his eyes because something was weighing on you, when your lips twitched ever so slightly at a joke you pretended not to find funny.

And, in return, you began to notice him.

The way he’d drum his fingers on his desk when he was deep in thought. The way he’d tilt his head slightly when he was about to say something he thought might make him sound awkward. The way his eyes lit up whenever you spoke, as though nothing else in the world mattered.

It was terrifying and comforting all at once, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

Spencer wasn’t used to feeling this… settled.

He’d been in relationships before, but none of them felt like this. With Y/N, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself or hold back parts of who he was. She saw him—really saw him—and still chose to stay.

It scared him sometimes, the intensity of his feelings for her. But then she’d laugh at one of his rambling stories, or brush a strand of hair out of his face with a soft smile, and all his fears would melt away.

He didn’t know where this was going, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid to find out.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

One rare day off, Spencer showed up at your apartment with a grin that immediately set you on edge.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Put your shoes on,” he said, his tone practically vibrating with excitement.

You frowned. “Why? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, rocking back on his heels.

You groaned, but his enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself grabbing your jacket.

The “surprise” turned out to be a day at a local botanical garden. Spencer’s excitement was almost childlike as he led you through the winding paths, pointing out rare plants and rattling off facts about their origins.

“This one,” he said, stopping in front of a sprawling orchid, “is called Paphiopedilum rothschildianum. It’s one of the rarest orchids in the world and can take up to 15 years to bloom.”

You tilted your head, pretending to be unimpressed. “That’s nice, but can it make coffee?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll add that to my list of criteria for impressive plants.”

Despite your teasing, you found yourself captivated by his passion. Watching him light up over something so simple was a reminder of why you cared for him so deeply.

Later, as you sat together on a bench surrounded by blooming flowers, Spencer reached for your hand.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?” you asked, genuinely puzzled.

“For letting me share this with you,” he said, his voice earnest.

Your chest tightened, and you squeezed his hand. “Always.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Dating someone you worked with was tricky, especially at the BAU, where boundaries between personal and professional were already blurry.

You and Spencer had agreed to keep your relationship private—for now, at least. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the team, but you both valued the quiet intimacy of what you’d built and weren’t ready to share it yet.

Still, there were moments when it was hard to hide.

Like when Spencer brought you coffee in the middle of a particularly stressful day and lingered just a little too long by your desk.

Or when Garcia caught the two of you exchanging a look across the bullpen and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“Spill,” she whispered to you later, cornering you in the break room.

“Spill what?” you asked innocently, though your cheeks betrayed you by turning red.

Garcia narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh. You’re lucky I love you, or I’d make it my personal mission to find out what you’re hiding.”

You laughed nervously and quickly changed the subject.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The first argument you and Spencer had wasn’t dramatic, but it rattled you nonetheless.

It started over something small—he’d forgotten to text you after a particularly dangerous case, and you’d spent the night worrying.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Spencer said, his voice tinged with frustration as you stood in your living room. “I was just… caught up in the aftermath.”

“I get that,” you said, your arms crossed. “But you know how I feel about not knowing if you’re okay.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted. “Having someone who worries about me.”

The vulnerability in his voice softened your anger, and you stepped closer, your expression gentler.

“I’m not trying to smother you,” you said quietly. “I just… I care about you, and I need to know you’re safe.”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded. “I’ll do better,” he said, his voice soft. “I promise.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “That’s all I ask.”

The tension melted, and as Spencer pulled you into his arms, you realized that even your arguments brought you closer.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

As the months went on, your relationship deepened in ways you hadn’t thought possible. Spencer became your safe haven, the person you turned to in your darkest moments. And in turn, you became his—a steady presence in a world that often felt overwhelming.

There were still challenges, of course. The job was unforgiving, and your own lingering fears sometimes crept back in. But with Spencer by your side, you felt stronger—more capable of facing whatever came your way.

One night, as you lay in bed together, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm, he spoke softly.

“I love you.”

The words were quiet, almost hesitant, but they hit you like a tidal wave.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears welling in your eyes.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small smile, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

In that moment, you knew you’d found something rare—something worth holding onto with everything you had.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t like you and Spencer were trying to hide your relationship, exactly. You just… hadn’t told anyone yet. There was something comforting about keeping it to yourselves, about having a part of your lives that existed outside the chaos of the BAU.

But the team wasn’t made up of fools.

Between Garcia’s laser focus, Morgan’s teasing intuition, and JJ’s quiet observations, it was only a matter of time before someone put the pieces together.

The unraveling began on a Wednesday afternoon when Garcia came storming into the bullpen, waving her phone like a sword.

“Explain this to me!” she demanded, stopping in front of your desk.

You blinked up at her, confused. “Explain what?”

“This!” she said, thrusting her phone into your face.

On the screen was a photo Spencer had posted to his rarely-used Instagram: a blurry shot of a chessboard and two coffee cups sitting on a familiar coffee table—your coffee table.

“Why is Reid at your place drinking coffee?” Garcia asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

You scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, we were… playing chess. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Garcia echoed, her tone incredulous. “Reid doesn’t even post pictures of his cat! And now he’s posting pictures from your apartment?”

Before you could respond, Morgan sauntered over, clearly intrigued. “What’s this about Reid and Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, your face burning.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Sure doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You glared at him, but before the conversation could go any further, Hotch called everyone into the briefing room, saving you from further interrogation.

For now.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The second slip came a week later when the team was out on a case in Seattle. You and Spencer had ended up sharing a room at the hotel due to a booking error, and you thought nothing of it. After all, you’d spent countless nights together—this was no different.

Except it was.

When Garcia called Spencer for an update, you could hear her voice loud and clear through the phone.

“Wait, what?” she screeched. “You’re sharing a room with Y/N?!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer said, his tone even.

“Not a big deal?” Garcia repeated, her voice rising in pitch. “Are you two—oh my God. You are, aren’t you?!”

Spencer’s eyes darted to you, his face a mix of panic and amusement. “Garcia, can we focus on the case?”

“Oh, we’ll talk about this later,” she said ominously before hanging up.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “She knows.”

“She suspects,” Spencer corrected, though he didn’t look particularly convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It all came to a head during one of Rossi’s famous dinners.

You and Spencer had arrived together, as usual, but this time, you’d carpooled, which immediately caught JJ’s attention.

“Did you two come together?” she asked casually as you handed her your coat.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It was just easier.”

“Right,” JJ said, her smile a little too knowing.

The evening went smoothly—until it didn’t.

You were helping Spencer carry dishes into the kitchen when Garcia cornered you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know, you two make a terrible couple,” she said, her tone dripping with faux innocence.

You froze, a plate halfway to the sink. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Garcia said, waving a hand. “We all know. You and Reid are about as subtle as a neon sign.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Morgan walked in with a wide grin.

“What’d I miss?”

“Garcia’s accusing me of dating Spencer,” you said, your voice a little too defensive.

“Accusing?” Morgan repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, sweetheart, we’re just confirming.”

Your face went red, and you glanced at Spencer for backup, but he just sighed and set the dishes down.

“They’re not wrong,” he said simply.

The room went silent for a beat.

“Wait,” JJ said, walking in with Rossi and Hotch close behind. “Are you serious? You two are together?”

You looked at Spencer, your heart racing. He met your gaze, his expression calm, but you could see the faint tension in his shoulders.

“Yes,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “We’re together.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Garcia’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Oh my gosh, this is so much better than I imagined. You two are like—like a bookish rom-com come to life!”

“Garcia,” you said, your face burning, “can we not make a big deal out of this?”

“Are you kidding?” she replied, her voice high with excitement. “This is the biggest deal! You and Reid? It’s like finding out Clark Kent and Lois Lane are secretly dating!”

“Technically,” Spencer started, “Lois Lane wasn’t actually aware of—”

“Not the time, Reid,” Morgan said, grinning as he leaned against the counter.

JJ folded her arms, her smile soft. “So how long has this been going on?”

“Uh…” You exchanged a glance with Spencer.

“A few months,” he said, his tone even.

“A few months?” Rossi interjected, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve been hiding this from us for months?”

“It’s not like we were trying to hide it,” you said quickly, your hands fidgeting. “We just… wanted to keep it private for a while.”

Hotch, who had been standing silently in the doorway, finally spoke. “And your relationship isn’t interfering with your work?”

“No, sir,” Spencer said immediately. “We’ve been careful to maintain professionalism in the field.”

Hotch studied the two of you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “As long as that remains the case, I have no objections.”

Relief flooded through you, and you gave him a small, grateful smile.

Morgan, however, was clearly enjoying himself. “So, Reid,” he said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder, “you finally made a move, huh? About time.”

Spencer’s face turned pink. “It wasn’t— I mean, we— It wasn’t like that,” he stammered.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Morgan said with a wink. “I’ve been watching you moon over her for months.”

“Morgan!” you protested, your own face heating up.

JJ chuckled. “Don’t let him get to you. We’re happy for you guys. Really.”

Garcia practically bounced on her heels. “Does this mean I can officially call you my favorite BAU couple? Because I’ve been holding back for so long, and—”

“Garcia,” you interrupted, laughing despite yourself, “let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Spencer’s POV

The teasing didn’t stop after dinner.

By the time everyone had moved into the living room, Garcia and Morgan were in full swing, grilling the two of you with questions about how you got together.

“Come on, give us something,” Garcia pleaded, her hands clasped dramatically. “Was there a grand romantic confession? A surprise kiss? A late-night stakeout where you realized you couldn’t live without each other?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Spencer said, his face still pink.

“She’s right,” JJ added with a laugh. “If anyone’s earned some privacy, it’s these two.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Fine, fine. But don’t think this means we’re letting you off the hook completely. I’m keeping an eye on you, Reid.”

“Duly noted,” Spencer said dryly, though his lips twitched in a faint smile.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

By the end of the night, you were exhausted but relieved. The team’s reactions had been overwhelming at first, but their acceptance and teasing affection had left you feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

As you and Spencer walked to his car, the cool night air brushing against your skin, you glanced at him, your heart full.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” you said with a small smile.

Spencer chuckled, unlocking the car. “I think Morgan’s never going to let this go.”

“Probably not,” you agreed, sliding into the passenger seat.

As he started the engine, you reached for his hand, your fingers threading through his.

“Thanks for being honest with them,” you said softly.

Spencer glanced at you, his expression warm. “I wasn’t going to let you handle that alone.”

The drive back to your apartment was quiet but comfortable, the tension of the evening melting away.

When he walked you to your door, you hesitated for a moment before pulling him into a gentle kiss.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his eyes shining with affection.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but smile.

The team knew now, and while things might be different going forward, you felt ready to face it—together.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The team adjusted to your relationship with Spencer in their own ways, but the teasing never let up. It became a new dynamic, woven into the fabric of your daily lives at the BAU, and while it was occasionally embarrassing, you couldn’t deny that it brought a warmth to the team that hadn’t been there before.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Garcia

Garcia, predictably, went all in.

She was ecstatic that her two “favorite nerds” were finally together, and she wasn’t shy about expressing it. She’d leave little notes on your desks with messages like “Lovebirds hard at work!” or “OTP: Reid & Y/N forever” scribbled in glittery pen.

One day, you caught her sneaking a photo of you and Spencer sitting close together during a case briefing.

“Garcia,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she said, attempting (poorly) to hide her phone.

“Penelope,” Spencer said, his tone exasperated but fond.

“Fine,” she relented with a dramatic sigh. “But you two are too cute, and it’s practically my duty to document it. What if your hypothetical future kids want to see their parents in their adorable early days?”

You buried your face in your hands as Spencer stammered, his ears turning pink.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Morgan

Morgan was relentless in his teasing, but you knew it came from a place of affection.

He had a knack for making both you and Spencer squirm in the most public ways possible.

“Reid,” he called out one morning as you all sat in the bullpen, “did you finally teach Y/N the quadratic formula last night? Or was it more of a hands-on tutoring session?”

You groaned, your face heating up. “Morgan, seriously?”

“What?” Morgan said with a grin. “Just trying to keep the workplace educational.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but shot you a small, reassuring smile. You’d both learned that ignoring Morgan was usually the best defense.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

JJ

JJ was quieter about her support but no less kind.

She’d give you subtle smiles when she caught you and Spencer exchanging glances or a soft nudge when the team’s teasing got out of hand.

One day, while you were working on a case together, she leaned in and said, “You’re good for him, you know.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Spencer’s always been… a little isolated,” she said thoughtfully. “He has us, but he’s never really let someone in the way he’s let you in. It’s good to see him happy.”

Her words stayed with you long after the conversation ended, filling you with a quiet warmth.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Rossi

Rossi was the least vocal about your relationship, but his approval came through in other ways.

He started inviting the two of you to his dinners more frequently, always seating you next to each other and making subtle comments like, “It’s nice to see Reid eating something other than takeout. You must be a good influence, Y/N.”

Once, when you thanked him for the meal as you were leaving, he gave you a knowing look. “Just take care of each other,” he said simply.

You nodded, the weight of his trust settling over you like a blanket.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hotch

Hotch was, as expected, professional about the whole thing. He never made any overt comments about your relationship but made it clear through his actions that he trusted you both to maintain your professionalism in the field.

That trust came to the forefront during a high-stakes case in New Orleans. You and Spencer were paired together to investigate a lead, and when the situation became tense, Hotch’s calm voice came through the comms.

“Reid, Y/N,” he said, his tone even. “I need you both to stay focused. You’re a team first.”

You could hear the unspoken meaning in his words: I trust you to keep your relationship separate from the job.

When the case wrapped successfully, he pulled you aside.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, standing a little straighter.

His gaze softened slightly. “You and Reid are good for each other. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment when it matters.”

“We won’t,” you promised, meaning every word.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

As time went on, your relationship with Spencer became a natural part of the team’s dynamic. The teasing remained, of course—Garcia’s glittery notes, Morgan’s innuendos, and Rossi’s subtle smirks were constants—but there was also an unspoken sense of support that ran deeper than you’d expected.

When cases got tough, the team knew to keep an extra eye on both of you, making sure the weight of the job didn’t pull you down too far. And when things were calm, they celebrated your happiness in their own unique ways, whether it was Garcia baking cupcakes with “R+Y” frosted on top or Morgan giving Spencer a mock toast at Rossi’s next dinner party.

You and Spencer never felt alone in your relationship—not with this group of people who had become your family.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Months turned into a year, and your relationship with Spencer became a steady, unshakable part of your life. What had started as a quiet connection had grown into something deep and enduring—something that didn’t just survive the pressures of the job but thrived despite them.

It was a rare night off, and you and Spencer were curled up on your couch. The soft glow of a lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air. A chessboard sat between you, though neither of you had made a move in over an hour.

Instead, your attention was focused on Spencer as he explained a theory about quantum mechanics with the same enthusiasm he brought to every subject. His hands moved as he spoke, his eyes alight with the passion you adored.

“Am I boring you?” he asked suddenly, noticing your quiet smile.

“Not at all,” you said, leaning forward to rest your hand over his. “I just love listening to you.”

Spencer’s expression softened, and he turned his hand over to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“You’ve changed my life, you know,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head, caught off guard. “I could say the same about you.”

He smiled, his eyes searching yours. “I mean it. Before you, I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who really… understood me. But you do.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “You make me feel the same way, Spencer.”

The kiss that followed was soft and unhurried, a quiet affirmation of everything you’d built together.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Rossi’s house was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. The entire team had gathered for one of his famous dinners, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how far you’d come.

You stood in the kitchen with Garcia, the two of you laughing as she recounted an over-the-top story about a case from her early days at the BAU. Across the room, Spencer was deep in conversation with Rossi, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained something.

Garcia nudged you, her grin wide. “He’s crazy about you, you know.”

You smiled, glancing at Spencer. “I’m pretty crazy about him, too.”

“Well, duh,” she said, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “I mean, you’re practically the BAU’s golden couple at this point.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” you asked, suddenly curious.

Garcia tilted her head, her expression softening. “Honey, weird doesn’t even come close to describing the BAU. But you two? You’re good for each other. And we’re all lucky to have you both.”

Before you could respond, Morgan called out from the dining room. “Come on, you two! Food’s getting cold!”

Garcia grabbed your hand, dragging you toward the table.

As you sat down beside Spencer, his hand found yours under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. You leaned into him, a quiet smile playing on your lips as the team fell into their usual rhythm of teasing and storytelling.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that night, as you and Spencer walked back to your car under the glow of the streetlights, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t known was possible.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, your fingers laced with his. “Always.”

He glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What are you thinking about?”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “How lucky I am,” you said simply.

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his hands resting on your waist. “I’m the lucky one.”

The kiss you shared under the stars was filled with the quiet certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

You’d found your place—with Spencer, with the team, with the life you’d built. And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole.

[creekfiend]

I wanted to make a bonsai kitten recovery post that outlines some of the stuff that I've been doing. Because I don't think that you need to ✨see a therapist✨ to start dealing with a lot of this stuff and I get really frustrated when that is the answer that everyone is constantly giving. Firstly a disclaimer, because I know what website I am on: this is a guide for things that have worked for me! I am not everyone and if there are things on here that do not work for you or even that you think are stupid, that is fine, but please do not make it my problem. If you are reading it and you're like "that sounds like it would actually be detrimental to my specific mental health because of my specific issues" then please disregard it. Use your critical thinking skills and do what you think is right for you!

My second disclaimer is that I didn't make any of this up myself; most of these are collected from various places either in therapeutic guide books or various websites about emotional regulation etc. Some of it is stuff that I have extrapolated from those places based on experience with what works for me or does not work for me. A lot of the way that I treat myself when I need to get my body and brain into a place where I can think about stuff productively is actually directly from gentle parenting guides, because frankly cptsd recovery stuff is very often like parenting a toddler. And the toddler is you. ALL THAT SAID,

The first skill that I had to get good at, that many of the other skills depend on, is to learn how to understand when I am Reacting to something. If I am Reacting it is extremely likely that that's going to only escalate the situation and make it much worse. I HAVE to be able to tell if I am Reacting emotionally to something in a way that is coming from a place of fear and panic. This is important because it involves not being prescriptive about your emotions. You could be Reacting to something that you do not logically feel is at all justified in making you feel that way and that doesn't matter! You can't be doing math equations to try to come to the answer of how you SHOULD be feeling; you have to be observing your mind and body to see how you factually ARE feeling and then respond to THAT. This can be really hard to learn how to do especially if you were abused as a child. (If you cannot think of yourself as someone who is abused as a child perhaps it would help to think of yourself as someone who simply was not taught various emotional regulation skills for mysterious reasons that have nothing to do with your parents' inadequacies.) I need to be able to glance inward and see what the physiological reaction that I'm having is and identify whether or not I feel like this is the biggest emergency in the world that needs to be addressed right now immediately! That is a sure sign that Mr Fight and Mr Flight are in the building and it is bad to make declarative statements or important decisions when that is the case. So, I have to work on dismissing them first. That is literally the first step to any of this. One of my friends calls this "fire mittens," which is to say, if you are wearing mittens that are on fire and you try to touch stuff, the stuff will also become on fire. You have to put the fire out first before you can touch other things.

Once I have determined that I am indeed Reacting and in a physiological state of fear, I have a document in my notes app that is a "what to do when you are in fight or flight mode" guide and it has several helpful things that I will try to outline here.

Firstly, the really important thing for me for trying to get back into an emotional state where I'm capable of making decisions and being thoughtful is to feel safe and comfortable. So I actually have some stuff in my document that is straight up just like "go in the blankie nest. put on this specific music album. light this specific scented candle." etc. You might want to have a specific food or drink that is comforting to you or some other sort of stim toy that helps you regulate. If there's any calming medication or supplements for anxiety that you take as needed, now is also the time to do that. Physical sensory grounding is really important for this. This is probably especially true if, like me, you are neurodivergent, but I think it is also true for everyone because we are animals! And you can't just think about it, you have to actually do it. Which sounds obvious but is the thing that has often tripped me up in the past. Once you start getting into the habit of actually physically doing this it DOES become easier though.

One of my rules is that if I want to respond to something but I am in fight or flight mode, I don't get to respond to it for at least 24 hours. I'm only allowed to respond once I've gotten myself out of fear mode. If it is some kind of comment on Facebook that has set me off, often this means that 24 hours later I realize that I actually don't want to get into it to begin with, which is great. If it's something that is pretty serious and interpersonal with a friend, sometimes that means I have to communicate to them that I'm going to take a while to process it and then get back to them. IMPORTANT: You CANNOT do this passive aggressively or else it undermines the whole thing. You can't phrase it in a way that will make your friends think that you are guilt tripping them for "making" you feel a way. It is VERY tempting to do this when you are in the first stages of trying to form this habit and you simply need to resist the urge because it will render this step worthless. I know. It sucks.

If I am feeling fearful and insecure about friends or loved ones, I also usually try to spend some time thinking about the people that I love and care about. Because often this stuff manifest for me as insecurity that the people that I care about do not care about me, or that they think that I'm being annoying, or that they are secretly thinking mean things about me. It's obviously not good for me to constantly be imagining that the people in my life who I care about are actually avatars of my own insecurity who are here to tell me that I'm secretly fundamentally unlovable! But crucially also it's ALSO not fair to those people to imagine them as that. They are not that guy, they are their own complex human beings with their own lives and experiences and interiority. So sometimes I do thought exercises where I will imagine my friends or loved ones doing things in their everyday lives and I will think about them as people and I will think about the things that they like to do and the things that they say and the places that they go, and I will try to imagine them fondly in those circumstances. This helps to remind me that they are just people and that the scary puppet wearing their faces is not real. To this end I sometimes will have a document of screenshots of things that they have said to me that I can use to reality check myself. I personally find reality checks to be essential for a lot of this. Things can feel true when they are not true at all. Things can feel wrong when they are actually true. The point of most of these exercises is to gently remind myself that those feelings are normal for me to be having, but that I do not need to let them dictate my responses.

It is crucial throughout all of this that you are nice to yourself. You can't talk to yourself in a mean way while you're doing this, or you will not get to a point where you are feeling safe enough to react from a place of not-fear. You can't make yourself feel ashamed or defensive for your emotional reactions. This is the particular area where I find gentle parenting protocols helpful. You HAVE to be patient with yourself.

Ok that's all for now bc I ran out of steam but I will try to think of more to add on another day maybe. Godspeed everyone

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Face Your Fears

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You get into a fight with your brothers, but your recklessness that follows creates problems for everyone.

“You were hunting before you were my age! I don’t get why—“

“It doesn’t matter if you get it or not! I said no!”

Sam rushed to the library when he heard his siblings’ voices raised in argument.

“What’s going on in here?” He asked, trying to keep a calm and neutral tone.

“She—“ Dean started, but you cut him off.

“Dean is being completely unfair!”

“Ok, ok, calm down,” Sam sighed.

“Calm down?! You two are off all the time, actually helping people, putting your lives on the line, and I’m—“

“Exactly! You don’t need to be putting yourself in danger like that!” Dean interrupted.

“It’s what you do! And I sit here and read books!”

“Don’t downplay what you do,” Sam said. “We need you here.”

“But I could do so much more out there with you!” You argued. “I’ve been training, I know I can help!”

“Yeah, or you’d screw it up and get killed, and I don’t need your blood on my hands!” Dean exploded.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Dean—“ Sam tried to speak up, but you interrupted him.

“So that’s it, really? You think I’m some kind of screw up?” You scoffed, and continued before Dean could speak. “It’s not like you’re perfect! You’ve screwed up the world before, and no one’s stopped you from going out to screw it up again!”

“Y/N—“ again Sam’s attempt to calm the situation was met with resistance.

“Well fine then, if I’m too much of a screw up for you, then I’ll get out of your way!” You shoved past your brothers and beelined for your room, slamming the door behind you.

…

Your brothers didn’t try to go after you. They were probably angry. You knew you went too far with what you said to Dean, but he called you a screw up; were you just supposed to take that and not say anything back?

It didn’t matter either way. You didn’t want them to try to talk to you, because you had something to do.

You had a hunt to go on.

You’d been researching one before you went to ask Dean about joining the next one; since he’d said no, you would take this one whether he liked it or not. And you were going alone.

…

It wasn’t hard to sneak out—back when you lived in motels, it would have been almost impossible to leave without one of your brothers waking up, but with the bunker it was easy.

You didn’t take the Impala—that would be too far, even for this rebellious streak. Instead, you took a cab to the next town over; you had struck gold, finding a hunt so close. It was pretty simple, too; three victims with hearts ripped out, definitely a werewolf. You had more silver bullets than you’d need packed up with a couple of guns in a duffel at your feet.

Dean was wrong about you, you could do this. After all, how hard could one little werewolf be?

…

Dean was right, and you were suffering the consequences of being wrong.

You struggled to pull your phone from your pocket, your fingers fumbling as your phone slipped around in your blood-soaked hands. Your breathing was labored, and every breath brought stabs of pain to your slashed-up abdomen.

You hadn’t noticed the signs of the second werewolf, so determined were you on taking the first one down. You hadn’t even seen him until he’d been right on you, ripping into your stomach. You’d had your gun in your hand, and by some miracle you’d managed to fire off a round into the werewolf on top of you, but not before he’d injured you pretty bad.

You finally got the phone in your hand, and you didn’t hesitate to press Dean’s number. You held the phone just slightly away from your face, wary of irritation the cuts on your cheek.

The phone barely had time to ring before Dean’s voice flooded your senses.

“Where are you?” His voice came out in a growl.

“D-De…” you hadn’t realized you were crying until you had to push your voice out past your tears.

“Sweetheart?” Dean’s anger was gone in a second when he heard your pained voice. “What’s going on?”

“I’m-I’m sorry, De,” you sobbed. “You were right, I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Shh shh, hey,” Dean soothed. “It’s alright sweetheart, I forgive you. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”

“I-I turned on my phone’s location,” you said. “Ple-please hurry. It hurts…”

Dean tried to ask you more, but a bang from somewhere nearby had you flinching, and the phone slipped out of your soaked hands and shattered on the concrete floor. You realized it was only your own gun, slipping off the table you’d laid it on. But it was too late; your phone was broken, and you had no way to call Dean back.

You could only hope that the tracker would still work.

…

Dean broke both the law and probably some speed records getting to your location. Sam was in the passenger seat, a first aid kit in his lap as he held on for dear life.

“I should’ve known she’d do something stupid,” Dean grunted.

“Dean, you couldn’t have known,” Sam reasoned. “And blaming yourself isn’t going to help her.”

Dean didn’t speak, and the rest of the ride was tensely silent.

“Here,” Sam said as navigator. “Turn left here, and she should be close by.”

Dean swerved the Impala to the left and screeched to a halt in an empty parking lot near a warehouse. Sam was right at his heels as he burst into the warehouse.

“De?” Your pained voice echoed throughout the building, so that it took Dean a moment to find you. When he did, he swore his heart skipped three beats. You were sitting in a pool of your own blood, propped up against the wall. Dean rushed to you, kneeling next to you and almost slipping in your blood.

“Hey, hey,” his voice was a mixture of soothing and panic as he brushed your blood-stained hair away from your face. “Alright sweetheart, tell Doctor Dean where it hurts.”

It was a pathetic joke, but you laughed anyway; Dean’s jokes always made you laugh.

But your laugh sent you to a fit of coughing. Dean winced as he examined the long gashes on your stomach.

“Ok, you’re ok,” Dean leaned back in relief when he saw that it wasn’t too deep; you’d be ok. “But I’m gonna have to carry you to the car, ok? Brace yourself.”

You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists, but you still couldn’t hold back the cry of pain when Dean lifted you into his arms.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Dean cringed. “I’m sorry. You’re gonna be ok.”

Dean laid you on your back in the backseat of the Impala, before taking the first aid kit from Sam and retrieving a needle and thread.

“Can’t we just bandage it up?” You whimpered, already squirming away from the needle. Dean’s finger froze for a second before he shook his head, his features softening. Both brothers were very aware of your fear of needles, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

“Sorry sweetheart, it’s gotta be stitched. Just close your eyes, it’ll feel worse if you watch.”

You closed your eyes, trusting your brother completely. However, before he could make the first stitch, your eyes popped open and you grabbed into his wrist.

“Wait,” you said. “I-I…I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Dean sighed. “I’m sorry too. I said some things that…that I didn’t mean. You aren’t a screw up, ok?”

“What do you call this?” You gestured to your own banged up body.

“Inexperience,” Dean answered. “And you never should’ve been out here alone. Going solo on your first hunt is never a good idea.”

“I’m sorry about that, too,” you mumbled.

“It’s ok, kiddo. Maybe later we…we can talk about you tagging along on one of our hunts.”

“Really?” You grinned.

“Later,” Dean said sternly. “After you’re all better. Now let me get to this.”

As Dean lifted the needle, you closed your eyes again. You felt Sam’s large hand grab onto yours, and you squeezed his hand gratefully, holding on as Dean started to stitch you up.

“I didn’t really think you would screw up the hunts,” Dean said as he worked. “I just…I don’t want you out there. It’s dangerous, and I…I’m scared something will happen to you. But I guess I can’t keep you from it if it’s what you really want.”

“It is,” you said. “I want to do what you guys do. I want to help people, and I wanna be with you guys.”

“Ok then,” Dean said, tying off the stitches and patting your side to let you know he was done. You opened your eyes, and he smiled at you.

“I guess I’ll just have to face my fears.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

[theaawalker]

Steps to Write 1K Words a Day (with a tight schedule)

follow for more tips 💋 || request writing tips 💌

1. Establish the Foundation

Know Your Why: Clarify your reason for writing daily by finishing a novel, building discipline, therapeutic expression, etc. Purpose keeps you going when time is tight.

Pick a Project & Stick With It: Avoid hopping between too many ideas. Commit to one main project to prevent decision fatigue.

Set a Realistic Timeframe: Determine how much daily time you actually have. Even 30 minutes can be enough with focus.

2. Shape the Writing Routine

Set a Daily Writing Slot: Choose the same 20-60-minute window each day, e.g., early morning, lunch break, and right before bed. Consistency beats chaos.

Break It into Sprints: Divide writing time into 2-3 focused sprints (10–20 minutes each) with mini-goals (e.g., 300 words per sprint).

Use Micro-Moments Wisely: Jot down scenes, lines, or dialogue in short bursts during downtime, e.g., commutes and between classes.

3. Build a Writing Habit

Create a Ritual: Start with a cue (tea, playlist, app launch), write, and end with a reward. Conditioning helps it stick.

Track Your Progress: Use a word count tracker, habit app, or physical calendar to visualize your momentum.

Aim for “Done,” Not “Perfect”: Don’t revise mid-draft. Keep the focus on finishing today’s 1,000 words, not editing yesterday’s.

4. Define Your Writing Environment

Eliminate Distractions: Silence notifications, close tabs, and let others know you’re “off the grid” during your writing window.

Use Tools That Work for You: Whether it's Google Docs, Scrivener, Word, or a distraction-free app (like FocusWriter), pick what helps you stay in flow.

Keep Materials Nearby: Outlines, scene notes, character sheets. Have them within reach to avoid losing time to memory gaps.

5. Develop Content Efficiently

Outline Briefly Before Writing: Know the scene’s goal, characters involved, and 1–2 key beats. This cuts down time spent thinking mid-writing.

Use Prompts or Templates: If stuck, use writing prompts or scene formulas (e.g., conflict ↣ tension ↣ resolution) to keep moving forward.

Lower the Stakes for First Drafts: Treat your draft as clay, not marble. Write fast, revise later.

6. Reward Yourself Consistently

Use Immediate Micro-Rewards: After each sprint, give yourself a small treat: a stretch, snack, meme scroll, or a favorite song.

Build End-of-Day Rituals: After hitting 1K, reward yourself with a guilt-free indulgence:

- A hot drink

- 30 minutes of gaming

- A mini-episode of your comfort show

- Reading time

Track for Bigger Rewards: Hit a streak (5 days? 2 weeks?) and treat yourself to something bigger: new notebook, movie night, favorite meal.

Celebrate Wins, Big or Small: Even if you only wrote 300 words, that’s progress. Celebrate effort, not just perfection.

7. Develop a Sustainable Arc

Adjust as Needed: If 1,000 words becomes overwhelming, drop to 500 and scale up again. It's better to be consistent than burned out.

Build in Break Days: Choose 1-2 buffer days per week for rest or catch-up. Remember, your brain needs recharge time.

Reflect Monthly: Look back on what worked, what didn’t, and what to change. Writing daily is a living habit, not a static rule.

Tools That Can Help

Timers: Pomodoro apps (e.g., Focus Keeper, Forest)

Trackers: Pacemaker Planner, WriteTrack

Writing Tools: 4theWords (gamified), Google Docs offline, Scrivener

Voice-to-Text Options: Google Voice Typing, Otter.ai

Examples of People with Tight Schedules Who Write Daily

Octavia Butler: Wrote early each morning before work. Do what she said, “Persist.”

Brandon Sanderson: Wrote in sprints between teaching and family time.

Toni Morrison: Wrote after her children went to sleep, hence treating every moment as sacred.

You (Eventually): With the right systems, even the busiest writer can find their rhythm.

Follow || Like || Comment || Repost || My Novel ⇚⇚⇚

thank you, i am farkle :)

[gallifreyan85]

Knock my knees (as I kneel down)

pairing: Agatha x reader

summary: after a witch you and agatha met betrays her and tries to frame her betrayal on you, you're left with the messy consequences that come with being agatha's only student

A/n: can be read as standalone, this is part 3 of (𝐼 𝒲𝒶𝓃𝓉) 𝒩𝑜 𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈. the previous parts can be found here.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Everything hurt.

You knew that siding with Agatha would be no easy feat, of course it wouldn’t, but here, now, with your palms scraped and knees bruised, picking yourself up off the ground with a heavy thudding heart, you slowly realized that it would be a bit harder than you’d originally imagined. You were outside. In front of Agatha’s house actually, somewhere between her front yard and the neigboring house across the street. You had a mostly normal morning. Your day went well, as well as it could when Agatha was your so called mentor and sort of housemate and something you didn’t know what to call just yet.

You ate breakfast. You had lessons. You practiced magic. Agatha was even being somewhat decent-- she’d gotten up in an okay mood-- until she said she had to go meet someone and you pleaded to go with her. Surprisingly, she let you, and so you went to meet with the witch that was currently trying to blast the rest of Agatha’s already disheveled suburban yard away with her magic. It started slow, everyone was civil, until apparently the witch turned on Agatha, and the next thing you knew the two of them were throwing spells at one another, each in their own witchy outfit, leaving you feeling uncertain and vulnerable in your jeans and sweater.

You’d just about managed to pick yourself up off the ground when another spell-- from whom you didn’t know, missed you by mere inches, making you instinctively cover your head and duck back down to the ground. The cement dragged against your already scraped skin making you wince, and you willed yourself to ignore it for the time being. You had to help Agatha.

You got up, more careful this time, but also more determined. Spells were zooming past you, and your eyes followed a flash of bright purple somewhere to your left, where you saw Agatha. She didn’t seem to be in much need of help. Standing tall a few feet of the ground, she was cackling in that perfect witch’s laugh, an amused smirk curling her lips, pale eyes almost glowing with a darkened look. You made your way to her, trying to keep your guard up, one hand raised and ready to blast, when the other witch’s shrill voice reached your ears.

“Alright, stop this—” she huffed, sounding angry, but there was a slight waver to her voice that you sorted as fear. She let herself float down with a foreign grace you hadn’t yet mastered, and raised her hands in a sort of mock surrender.

Agatha paused.

She stayed in the air, smirk never faltering, and lowered only one hand, curls of black and dark violet swirling around her palm, twisting in that mesmerizing way you wouldn’t admit that you loved.

“What’s the matter now, hmm?” she drawled, “Are you finally realizing you’re no match for me? Or are you getting tired? My so called apprentice could last more than you, and that’s saying something.”

You didn’t know whether to chuckle or feel hurt.

The witch didn’t laugh. Her brows flattened, an angry look in her eyes. She threw her magic towards Agatha with a shout, hitting her square in the chest and making her fall to the ground, but of course that didn’t do much. You watched with quiet admiration as your mentor got up, blowing dark hair away from her face, her hands now swirling with even more purple.

“That was not a good idea.” she murmured lightly, moving forward.

The other witch-- seemingly finally realizing who she was messing with, stepped back. She stumbled, nearly tripping over her robes, and shot Agatha a desperate look.

“I didn’t do this—” she pleaded, backing away still, “Everyone betrays you-- I only did it because I knew you would do the same to me if I didn’t—”

Agatha kept walking, a dark calm in her steps, shoulders down and back straight in casual determination.

“I really didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, save the excuses.” she smiled darkly, “You’re about to find out what happens to those who try to betray me and have the nerve to stick around.”

She was seconds away from blasting the witch when--

“It was her idea!”

Agatha paused, one hand still in the air, dark magic crackling at her fingertips.

The witch, taking the opportunity, quickly started talking.

“She was the one who suggested it-- I wasn’t sure but she said it would work—”

And it took you a moment to realize she was pointing at you.

At you.

You had no idea why she would say such a thing-- it was like Agatha said, a pathetic excuse for her to stall for more time, and- of course Agatha wouldn’t believe her.

Right?

You glanced between them, the witch half frantic, babbling on about you and your apparent plan to go behind Agatha’s back.

“-said that you’re so strict and controlling and she wanted to learn from someone nicer-- someone who would see her for what she is—”

You shook your head.

No. No, that wasn’t true, that wasn’t true at all--

Agatha slowly turned to look at you. Her steely blue eyes fixed on your face- your own wide eyes staring back.

“She’s lying.” you said, trying to keep your voice firm and even.

You were right, she was lying, but you couldn’t help the way your voice shook the slightest bit, because what if Agatha believed her?

What if she actually listened to her- you had asked her to be nicer, you had told her she was too cold and distant and wanted her to talk to you more, but--

Agatha didn’t say anything. She was just standing there, watching your expression. You tried to keep yourself from becoming more nervous. The witch, now almost gleeful at the sudden delay to her demise, actually smiled.

“See? You can hear it in her voice, the poor thing is too scared of you to even admit it! But it was her idea. She asked me-- she wanted someone who cares—”

You shook your head, involuntarily feeling yourself step back.

“Agatha, don’t listen to her, I didn’t-- I wouldn’t- you know I wouldn’t—”

And Agatha smirked.

Both you and the witch fell silent.

“Is that so?” Agatha murmured quietly, seemingly more to herself, taking a few casual steps towards the other witch. “My own apprentice, going behind my back…”

A shot of cold fear ran though you. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t seriously going to take some random witch’s word against yours--

“Agatha—” you tried, but she shushed you so fast you barely had time to inhale when the words died in your throat. You swallowed, uneasy.

“Now,” Agatha said slowly, still looking at the witch, “since this was her idea… you think I should punish her, and just leave you be? Does that sound fair, hm?”

You took another step back. This wasn’t happening. The witch shifted, slightly hesitant, and you could almost see the gears turning in her head, quick to find a way to get herself out of this.

“I won’t ever bother you again-” she said, voice a little shaky, “You won’t ever see me again, I’ll stay out of your way, I promise.”

Agatha chuckled.

“How unoriginal.” She scoffed, turning away for a moment, glancing at you.

Her eyes didn’t tell you much, and you tried your very best to make her see this was all a mistake, that you would never, ever betray her, but her expression revealed nothing. She was good at that, masking her true intentions. It was something you always liked, one of the many things you admired about her, but right now you felt you’d possibly burst into tears if she didn’t reveal what she was thinking soon. And she was thinking.

You knew that face, the way she held herself when she was turned away, making up her mind or forming a plan. Finally, she looked up.

You didn’t dare speak. Held your breath. But she didn’t turn to you.

She stepped closer to the witch, and you couldn’t help but notice that even though she was a little shorter than her, Agatha was staring her down in a way that would make anyone back down fast.

“Let this be a lesson for you.” she said, and the witch’s face relaxed.

You felt hot panic replacing the fear, surging through you in a way that made your knees feel a little weak. She wasn’t seriously going to listen to her and punish you instead-

You briefly wondered if you should run, but of course she would notice.

“Thank you—” the witch breathed, relief etched all over her face. “Thank you, I knew you would-”

“Cut the nonsense.” Agatha cut in sharply. “And take notes because I’ll only say this once. I don’t take kindly to being betrayed. I’ve been around long enough to know when someone is trying to talk their way out of it like a coward. She could’ve at least owned up to it. Maybe I’d have let her walk away then. You know I can be generous sometimes.” Isn't that right, hun?" she turned to you.

You flinched at her tone.

Her gaze said nothing but you knew there were tears it your eyes.

The words stung.

Mostly because of the fear of what she was about to do to you, but also because it genuinely hurt, hearing her talk to you like that after everything you did for her. Everything you'd do.

The witch looked at you almost smugly, nodding along to her words like they were gospel.

Agatha went on. "I don’t have the time, or the patience, for some pathetic excuse of a person calling themselves a witch thinking they can outsmart me like you just tried to.” And then she turned to her, enunciating every last word.

The witch’s smile faltered.

You felt a flicker of hope.

Was she really--

But of course she was. Agatha Harkness was never anything short of dramatic with a side of her usual unnerving flair.

The witch’s smile fell away completely.

Agatha smiled sharply.

“Now, pet,” she said lightly, turning back to you, “Why don’t you go back inside and make us some tea? I sure as hell could use some after what I’m about to deal with.”

You blinked. A tear fell onto your cheek, and you felt it sliding down, hot against your mouth, salty on your lips. Your vision was still blurry. Was all of that really just bluffing? Had she believed you? You tried to find your voice. It came out cracked and slightly wobbly.

“You- you’re not-”

Agatha laughed.

Actually laughed. She was smiling now.

“Oh, please. You think I couldn’t see right through that pathetic attempt at deflection? You betray me? Please, darling, you're not stupid but you don’t have it in you.”

And for once you took it, with whatever hurt that came along with her words, because she was right. You didn’t have it in you. You wouldn’t betray her. Not like that. Not ever.

Agatha smirked again. “That was really good,” she said casually the witch, almost congratulative. Her tone was the epitome of pure, cruel, teasing joy.

The witch, now looking reasonably petrified-- you couldn’t blame her even if she did just try to frame you-- turned around and started to run.

You raised your hand after her, still a little hazy from the recent events but ready to use your own magic to stop her, but Agatha waved you off, shaking her head.

“Don’t bother, pet. She won’t get far.”

A wave of her hand sent the witch falling over, halfway down the main road, bound with some barely visible purple magic. She struggled, but to no avail.

“Run along dear,” Agatha told you, turning her back to you and dawdling down the street, not sparing you another glance. “That tea better be steaming hot when I get back.”

With that, she left you alone in the wreckage of her yard.

You stayed still for a moment, breathing in shakily and trying to exhale, calm yourself down, but nothing seemed to be working. You stumbled your way over to the door, stepping inside and holding onto the couch as you sank down into the soft cushions, the familiar smell of Agatha’s house lingering in the air and making you feel a little calmer. For a moment there you thought she’d turned on you. You were close-- so close to being alone again, to being helpless and alone and all by yourself-- again--

You pressed your knuckles into your eyes, wiping your tears best as you could but they just kept coming. You didn’t even know why. You rarely seemed to know why recently, but you couldn’t get rid of the feeling, the stutter in your breathing, the slight tremble in your hands that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you tried. You took a deep breath.

It didn’t work.

You tried again.

More tears. trembling in your hands that you couldn’t shake off. You stifled a sob. Got up. Paced a small circle around the living room and only felt more desperate. What was even wrong with you? Agatha wasn’t mad- she wasn’t abandoning you or getting rid of you-- she told you to make tea for hell’s sake. You didn’t think you had it in you to do that without making a mess. You were always so close to messing up, too close, what if you went over that line and did something stupid? Or worse, what if you disappointed her?

You curled up on the floor with your back to the couch, sniffling and trying to leave the stupid spiral you’d thought yourself into when the front door closed, and Agatha stepped inside. She looked around for a moment, almost expectantly glancing to the kitchen and then around the house, before she noticed you, looking down and sighing deeply as if your distress had personally offended her.

“Oh, for—” she sighed, deep. “What now?”

You sniffled. Stayed on the floor. Half of you was expecting her to just step around you and leave you to wallow in your pity and tears. But she didn’t. Instead, with a very dramatic groan, she stepped around the coffee table and stopped in front of you.

“Why are you bawling on the floor?”

You sobbed in response. Babbled something incoherent.

“I can’t understand you when you’re all-- ” she gestured vaguely, exasperated, “like that.”

You sniffled.

“I thought you’d-- when she said—”

Agatha crossed her arms, still standing in front of you like a mother scolding their child. You tried to push that thought away.

“Her? Are you seriously letting that excuse of a witch get to you? As if I’d believe her.”

“I’d never b-betray you.” you sniffled.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Yes, I understand, kid, but you better explaining yourself or I’m gonna resort to using magic to make you talk.”

You pushed yourself back a little, wiping your eyes. “I just—”

“Yes?”

“I worry-- about-- disappointing you.”

Agatha stared. Then she laughed. Chuckled, faintly, and fixed her hair, the long iridescent robes of her cloak glittering faintly in the setting sun.

“That’s sweet darling, but it’s also not a reason to bawl your eyes out on my very expensive oriental rug.”

You sniffled. “What did you do to her?”

Agatha smirked. “Nothing much.”

“Is she dead?”

“No.” Agatha sighed, almost bored.

She walked past you and into the kitchen, huffing. “I thought I told you to make tea.”

You didn’t look up. She saw your expression and rolled her eyes, opening a kitchen cabinet. “Right, I forgot you’re too busy wailing over my approval.”

She picked up a mug. You hiccuped, trying to calm your breathing. You could hear water boiling on the stove and got yourself up off the floor, settling on the couch once more and pulling your knees up to your chest.

Your face hurt.

Your knees hurt.

Everything really hurt.

“Are you done with the crying?”

You nodded, though your eyes were still wet. You still felt like a mess, but you didn’t think you had it in you to cry anymore. Agatha’s sharp voice startled you out of your inner turmoil.

“Drink this.”

You looked up.

There was a steaming purple mug on the coffee table in front of you.

“What is it?” you mumbled.

Agatha huffed, offended. “Tea. What you think I’d poison you now? Really?”

You picked it up and took a sip. The warmth against your palms made you feel a little better. For a moment you wondered if she’d ever hold your hand like that, offer comfort to you in a way that was just--

Agatha sat on the other side of the couch, watching you fumble with your scraped hands. You avoided her eyes. Usually you’d look at her, meet her gaze, maybe even plead, but what was the point? She’d never really see you as anything like family, anything more than just some kid she was begrudgingly mentoring—

She crossed her legs. Then uncrossed them. You realized she was wearing normal clothes again, some purple sweater that looked cozy. Her hair was down, dark and loose over her shoulders. She huffed sharply.

“I can’t do this-- watching you mope is so depressing—” she said finally, shifting in her seat once more. She looked uncomfortable.

“Look pet,” she said, voice teetering on the edge of something foreign, “I don’t do sentimental or whatever you wanna call it, but- this nonsense about- about disappointing me-- it’s just that. Nonsense.” she looked up as if saying something very obvious,

“Got it?”

You looked up. Sniffled. Gripped the mug like it might save you. It didn't. It just made your hands hurt a little more.

You didn’t feel convinced, and it must’ve shown on your face because Agatha groaned slightly, almost frustrated.

“Do you think I'd put up with you every day if I didn’t think you had some potential? You might be a baby witch but you've got spunk. And that’s more than I can say for some.”

You wiped your eyes on the back of your sleeve.

Was this supposed to be a pep talk? A comforting attempt? She wasn’t very good at it--her expression was one word away from gagging on the foe sweetness of her words-- but she was trying. That was something.

“Thanks.” you said quietly.

She shook her head, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shrug off the emotions.

“Ugh. Don’t thank me. Next time you start bawling I'm hexing you, understand?”

A moment of silence.

“But you’re welcome.”

You smiled. It was faint, teary and tired, but real.

Agatha stared at you, hands twitching slightly as if prepared to fend off something-- probably a hug-- and got up so quickly you could barely react.

“That’s enough of the sweet talk. “ she said, glancing over you once, eyes hovering just a second too long on your scraped hands.

“You can have the evening off, clean up a little, pull yourself together.” she paused halfway over to the basement, “And finish your tea.”

You turned around, looking up at her before she could leave you alone. “Agatha?”

She paused, hesitant. “Yes?”

You wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came to you. Which was why you were surprised when she stepped back over to you and set one steady hand on your shoulder. You felt yourself relax a little.

“You’re a good student.” she said, voice quiet and unusually gentle, “You’re also my only student, so I guess that doesn’t count for much, but you’re loyal. No matter what I throw at you you’re still here, following me around like some stray cat. I don’t do that, you know, take in strays. But you’re already here and… I suppose you’re not… too annoying to be around. And your willingness to hang onto my every word is amusing.”

She let got up and left without another word, leaving you alone with your hope. It wouldn’t go away no matter how much you willed it to, as most things didn't, but still.

You took a deep breath, pushed off the lingering sensation of her hand on your shoulder, the way her words still rang out in your head. You should’ve sat up, and went to tend to your hands. Maybe wash your hair. But that could wait.

For now, you simply picked up your mug, the tea now pleasantly warm, and took another sip.

A/n: Helloooo, thanks for reading :-) Agatha is very thankful and so am I. Title is from Dear Arkansas Daughter by Lady Lamb. This is all because of some AgathaRio playlist I keep listening to on YouTube. Anywayyy. I have the next part planned out....ish. But the next fic posted will be the usual kind of mentor!Agatha outside of this series (meaning fluffff) It is now 1am and I had to stay and finish this (been trying for 3 days lol) goodnight. Love y'all and have a great day.

Taglist 💜@milflovers4, @senhorita-girassol, @dandelions4us, @kaymariesworld @ahintofchaos

If anyone wants on or off the taglist let me know <3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hii! How’s ur day?^_^

My request is, what if the reader is nervous to confess to Stanford, and Mabel helps them?

If ur able to do this thank you, and I love ur fanfics!

I decide to be a little mean here, whether it’ll be a misunderstanding on your part for Ford’s reaction or not, I’ll leave it up to fate. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2 right here

Mabel could tell immediately that you liked Ford but didn’t have the confidence to say anything to him in the slightest, and it disheartened the poor girl to see a potential romance that’ll never happen due to your fears of rejection.

So she decided that you needed the power of Mabel to gain the confidence to confess to Ford about how you truly felt because she knew deep down in her heart that Ford felt the same, he was just as awkward about as you were about his feelings.

(She may or may not have sneaked a peak inside his hours on his entry on you and felt as though she was reading a poem with how passionate he seemed to be about you, so much so it was enough to make her shed a tear)

‘But what if he meant all of that in a platonic way?’ You asked Mabel when she told you about the journal entry that she shouldn’t have read.

Mabel pouts and puts her bawled fists on her sides. ‘Is this the insecurities talking? You are amazing, fantastic, wonderful and a delight to have in someone’s life and Grunkle Ford would a stupid stupid head if he didn’t see the greatness you posses! Which he does and you should not let fear stand in the way of love!’ She exclaims as she dramatically posed, she really was Stanley’s grandniece that was for certain and undisputed.

‘Still, what would I even say to him?’ You asked as you sat down on the edge of your bed, holding your face in your hands. ‘I can’t just go up to him and say I like him, it’s too forward-‘

‘And totally not romantic nor memorable to tell your future descendants at all.’ Mabel adds which only made you flustered at the aspect that Mabel believed in your and Ford’s relationship that much, but Mabel always loved to look ahead to the future in an optimistic light, while taking great pride in having fun in the present with the people she cared about while she could before it was too late.

‘What if he finds me unbearable?’

‘Stop it with the what ifs!’ Mabel exclaimed as she walked over to you with a determined look in her eye, she had about enough of you looking down on yourself, and then using it as a scapegoat as to avoid confessing your burning feelings for her Grunkle Ford. ‘Ford likes you, I see it in his eyes when he looked at you, he looks at you as though you hung the stars in the sky! You take his breath away effortlessly and I see the way his cheeks get all pink when you compliment his turtleneck! What else could you probable want to be affirmed that he actually likes you!’

‘What’s going on in here, I could hear Mabel shouting from down the stairs, is everything okay?’ Ford asked when he opened the door to see you sat on the edge of your bed and Mabel looking as though her face couldn’t get any redder.

‘Yes every-‘ Mabel give you a pointed look and mouthed the words: tell him or I will.

You sighed and Ford only seems to grow more confused and worried about what he had walked in on by pure curiosity. ‘Y/n?’ He asked softly this time. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘I have something to tell you-‘ Mabel squeals ‘-alone.’ You finished all the while giving Mabel a pointed look as she pouted like a kicked puppy, she wanted to have a front row seat to the confession but she guessed outside the door would have to do for now as she shut the door behind her, leaving you and Ford alone like you wanted.

‘What’s wrong?’ Ford sat next to you, his beautiful eyes full of worry and concern as they flickered across your face as though he could see the things that were worrying you as though it was written across your forehead.

‘It’s nothing bad I promise it’s just that I…Ive been made aware of something that I fear might ruin our friendship.’ You said as you found yourself wanting to back away from actually confessing and leave it at that, but Mabel might as well have locked you both in the room for all you were aware until you actually did tell Ford that he tormented your heart in the best way possible.

‘I’m sure it won’t, there’s nothing that you could-‘

‘I really like you Ford, romantically.’ You blurted out as a silence befell the both of you that you swore you could hear a pin drop somewhere as you awaited the worst.

Ford looked at you for a prolonged period of time as though he was stuck in place and it only made your fears worsen when he had yet to say anything.

‘Ford? Say something please.’ You pleaded but what you weren’t expecting was for Ford to silently stand up and leave the room, closing the door behind him and soon enough you could hear your heart break as you heard him walk down the stairs, probably to go back to his lab for the rest of the day.

‘What happened.’ Mable asked as she walked back into the bedroom to see your broken state as you looked at her with a weak smile.

‘I lost him.’ You tell her before burrowing your head into your hands and for once Mabel didn’t know how to fix this…

[alocon]

My Person - Mick Schumacher

written by alocon

Summary: You're an aggressive driver... except when it comes to him

Before you read: Couple of curse words x

fc: N/A

[The Masterlist]

MS47 X Fem!Reader

Mad Max had seen nothing on you when you got crashed into in a race. The media, especially Drive to Survive, had always portrayed you as some evil, harsh, aggressive woman when you were nothing but a sweet, loving soul behind the camera, behind the racing where people actually know you. Sure, you weren't too big on making friends or pursuing friendships with people you didn't trust. You were friends with all the drivers, though. Even if you weren't best friends with them all, you were still relatively close with them all. That didn't stop the media from treating you as though you were the human equivalent of a pile of garbage. Typical. 

The drivers insisted that you were completely different from racing but no one believed it. Your positive radio messages praising good moves, even those against you, weren't shown and all your good deeds seemed to be overshadowed by DTS. You had fans though who knew all that you liked and what you were actually like. 

It didn't matter to them, though. To the media, to DTS, you were nothing but an evil, harsh, rude, disrespectful driver. You couldn't help being passionate about your job, though. You wanted to make your family proud. You wanted to make the whole of Brazil proud. You needed to make the whole of Brazil proud. So it made you tough, determined, it made you realise that there isn't much you wouldn't do to achieve your dreams. If it meant all your time and effort, it meant all that time and effort. Every. Single. Bit. But that's just something that came with being a Brazilian, determined Formula One driver who's dad was THE Rubens Barrichello.

Your dad and Michael Schumacher were closer than people believed. It was sometimes played off as a rivalry with a hint of friendship but, realistically speaking, they were relatively good friends. You weren't too close with their family, though, until around 2009. You had always been a very determined racer. And that meant being overly competitive in your karting days. Most of your karting group weren't as close with you because of that. Except one person - Mick Schumacher.

The friendship between you both had started off with you being quiet and closed off to everyone. He had been very determined to change that. Over time, you had learnt to tolerate his bubbly, smiley self and had started to care deeply for the man. He was the only person you allowed yourself around. You had never once raised your voice at him. Then again, you had never been angry at him post race. He had always been there if you had been taken out of a race. Whether that be him having DNFed as well or after he finished a race, he would always be there for you. And you were for him. No matter what happened, if he finished the race, if he dnfed, etc. you always made it very very clear that you were proud of him. You never let him feel anything but an incredible driver, an incredible person. Because that is exactly what he was. A good talent in a shitbox Haas. A good person. Your person. 

A fond memory the pair of you held was when Gina had convinced you both to watch Grey's Anatomy so she could discuss it with someone and you had watched it together. When Meredith first called Christina her person, Mick had looked down at you, where you had been cuddled into his gentle embrace. “You know,” he had said softly, pausing for a moment as you looked up at him, watching you as your beautiful eyes had met his, softening the second you had looked at him, nothing but adoration in your eyes. “You're my person.” He had stated it so genuinely, his hand running through your hair as you both just stared at each other. He had watched the way your eyes seemed to light up the second he said it. Just when he was convinced he couldn't pine over someone as much as he did, you once again had proved him wrong.

Mick had never considered himself scared of you. Lots of people would say that he was only friends with you because he was scared of you. But that wasn't true. That had never been true. He loved who you were when you were with him. He knew how misunderstood you were. He knew that, sure, sometimes you got pissed off when you DNFed, but everyone did. Sure, sometimes you would exchange a few words back and forth with another driver who took you out, but you always apologised if you got angry and the occasions you were very angry were incredibly rare. As in, he had only seen you properly shout at someone 3 times in the time he'd known you - once when Pierre Gasly had been driving incredibly recklessly and you had yelled at him a little bit because he easily could've seriously injured someone, once in Karting when you were 11 and someone had cost you the championship through a stupid move (yes, you had apologised for that), and in 2021 when Max Verstappen had crashed you out of the championship fight. You wouldn't have yelled at the man (and slapped him) had he not had that fucking smirk on his face when he found out that he was still in the championship fight, even though you weren't. He didn't care about you no longer being in the championship. In fact, it suited him better because it had been a two way tie instead of 3. He had later apologised for that though so, not wanting to cause any drama, you accepted.

Mick had never felt so scared in his life as he had been during the 2022 Japanese Grand Prix. Someone, he wasn't sure who, had hit the back of his car and he had felt his heart stop when he felt himself latch onto the back of your car, dragging you with him, quite roughly. What had stopped his heart most, at that point, was the tractor that was on track without a red flag. Luckily, to both of your luck, you were both in a position where you were just out of the way so you had both hit the barrier, albeit pretty hard, but without any tractor incidents. And the race had finally been red flagged. You hit your hands on the steering wheel, speaking over the radio. “For f**ks sake. Please tell me I'm not out of the championship.”

“You're not, Y/N. You're still in the championship race.”

“Thank f**king God. Who even crashed into me? That could've been so dangerous for both of us if we had gone into that tractor.”

“Uhm, it appears to be Schumacher. All cars are past, you can get out of your car now.”

You had taken your seat belt off with record speed, getting out of the car and replacing the steering wheel. You turned, seeing Mick. He was sitting on the floor, knees brought up to his chest, helmet off, and his head in his arms. You were confused. Was he hurt? You headed over to him, crouching down.

“Mick. You okay?” He looked up at you, nodding. “You're not hurt, no?” He shook his head. “Alright. Come on, let's go get in the car and get back to the pits, alright?” He followed you.

However, once you got out of the car, he rushed off straight to the Haas garage. No goodbye or anything, just left. Placing your helmet into the hands of your race engineer, you watched Mick wipe his face as he headed into the Haas garage. You turned to your race engineer, zoning in as he questioned you on you being okay and not injured and stuff.

You had joined Formula One in 2021 with Porsche. Porsche weren’t meant to be coming into F1 for a few years, however, they had somehow managed to convince the FIA that there should be an 11th team on the grid and, somehow, they had agreed. Willingly. Thus, Porsche F1 Team was born. The grid increased from 20 drivers to 22, with you being joined by someone you drove in F2 with - Felipe Drugovich, another Brazilian driver. You had been beyond hyped, especially when Porsche had absolutely ripped, bringing you all to P4 in the constructors in its first season. Now, however, there was a chance of it being P1. And you were going to take that chance. Your dream was to be a champion, to make your country and your dad proud, and you would do anything to make that happen.

Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you turned to see a frantic Haas employee. “I'm so sorry for interrupting. Mick is freaking out, we need you.”

“What happened? Is he okay?”

“He's really worried that he took you out of the championship. I think he's scared to lose you. We tried to reassure him but I think it would be better coming from you. He also isn't going to medical despite needing to.”

You turned to your race engineer. “Can we catch up later?”

He shook his head. “Y/N you need to go get checked in the medical centre. That should be your priority right now.”

“No. I don't think you understand. Mick is my priority. Always. I'll go to medical with him.” You walked away quickly, following his race engineer towards Haas.

You walked into the garage, ignoring the weird looks you were getting, and straight over to the German driver who was sitting in the back corner, just like how you found him at the track, but inside this time, surrounded by people. They quickly cleared off when you signalled for them to. You knelt down in front of him. You didn't say anything, placing your hand gently on his knee.

He looked at you. “I am so so sorry,” he whispered, and you could see that he'd been trying.

“For what? You didn't mean to take me out with you.”

He had already looked away from your face.  “Yeah but I ruined your chance of winning the championship again. I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me, I don't want to lose you.”

You placed your finger on his chin, lifting his head so his eyes met yours. Your hand then moved up to his cheek, taking his face into your hand softly. “Mickey, you didn't take me out of the championship. I can still win. And even if you did, you wouldn't lose me, alright?”

“But… Max last year.”

“Mick Schumacher, the only way that you will lose me is the day that I die.” He smiled slightly and you took the opportunity to wipe a bit of the wetness on his face away with your thumb. “Plus, that was so, so different. Max smirked and made a comment when he found out I wasn't in the championship, it was deliberate, and I still forgave him. But he's nothing compared to how far you would genuinely have to go to push me away.”

“I don't get it, why?”

“You're Mick. You're my Mick. You're my person and I love you more than I'll ever be able to express to you.”

You hadn't felt his hand on the back of your neck until it pulled you to connect your lips with his. You didn't react at first, just genuinely in shock at the feeling of his lips on yours. His soft, gentle lips. The thing you had always wanted. And it was what you had wanted for years. And then he pulled away. “Fuck, I'm so sorry Y/N, I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have-” You cut him off again to reconnect your lips, which he seemed to appreciate, as evident by his grip on your hair tightening slightly. 

You pulled away from the kiss. “Odds on our PR managers having heart attacks right now?”

He chuckled quietly, showing you that beautiful smile of his that you adored. “Oh, almost 100%,” he responded, causing you to laugh as well, head leaning to rest on his shoulder. “We're on camera,” he whispered in your ear. 

“Give them a wave,” you joked in response. “I believe we have to take a trip to medical.” You stood up, hand outstretched to take his. You shot a wink at the camera as you both stood up, before you walked out of the garage.

-Word Count: 2,083-

Hi All, This is short and quickly written and unedited. Apologies for not posting this on Monday. Let me know if you want to be on my general taglist Have a good day x Alocon

General Taglist: @casperlikej

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part 14)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest (at this stage accidental), Age Gap, PTSD, Domestic Abuse, Self-Harm, Fluff, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

The following morning however, when you arrived at the factory office, Tommy was waiting for you, sitting behind his large wooden desk.

His presence filled the room, commanding attention and respect. He wore his usual attire: a dark suit, white shirt, and tie, accentuating his powerful physique.

As you walked towards him, you couldn't help but admire the raw masculinity that radiated from him. His muscular frame, piercing eyes, and rugged good looks made him truly irresistible. The sight of him brought back memories of the past, the passionate encounter that had left you aching for more.

But, his face was nothing but stern as he looked up at you.

"Come, sit," he said bluntly as he gave you an order

rather than an invitation. Tommy’s commanding tone sent a thrill through you, reminding you of the raw power that radiated from him. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to be so close to him right now, but you complied nonetheless.

As you sat down, Tommy's gaze remained steady, unwavering, as though he was trying to read your thoughts.

"You are a Shelby now, whether you like it or not. And as a Shelby, you do not associate yourself with men like Liam O'Connor," your uncle explained and your pulse quickened as he spoke, feeling the weight of his words as anger rose from deep within you.

"Are you jealous Tommy or are you actually of the view that, as a Shelby, I cannot walk with a man of my choosing?" you queried with a hint of defiance in your voice.

"And why would I be jealous, eh? You are my fucking niece," 

he retorted, his eyes flashing with anger and possessiveness.

The tension in the room escalated as the two of you locked gazes, the intensity of your feelings for one another undeniable.

"I am your niece, yes, but some time ago, I was also your lover," you challenged, your voice low and measured, conveying a sense of power and control.

Tommy's expression hardened, his jaw clenching tightly. "What happened between us then doesn't change anything," he growled, clearly struggling with his emotions.

"No, it doesn't and that is exactly why you need to stay out of my private affairs, Thomas," you agreed, maintaining eye contact, refusing to be intimidated by his dominance.

His demeanour shifted, becoming less hostile as he sighed deeply, acknowledging your statement. "Alright, fine. But remember that the men I employ work for me for a reason. They are dangerous men, Y/N. Liam O'Connor is one of them and, I do no longer trust him now that he has taken an interest in you," Tommy explained after having slept on Polly's revelations and admissions. 

His declaration hung heavily in the air, a threat and a promise rolled into one. It stirred a mix of emotions within you - fear, excitement, and longing.

"You still want me, don't you?" your words echoed throughout the room, causing a chill to run down his spine. There was a pause as both of you took in the gravity of your statement. Tommy's eyes narrowed as he studied your face intently, searching for any signs of deception. His expression turned thoughtful as he considered your question.

"It doesn't matter what I want Love. You are family and I need to protect you," Tommy determined with a sigh.

"I can protect myself, Tommy!" you argued, determination etched on your features. "I'm not some fragile flower who needs to be shielded from harm." Your defiance only seemed to fuel his determination to protect you.

"You may think you're stronger than you are, but the truth is, we all need someone to watch our backs, eh," he replied with a steely resolve. "You are my responsibility, whether you like it or not and unless you want me to tell my brother about your relationship with Liam O'Connor, I want to know when you are going to see him next, eh," Tommy told you firmly, his eyes boring into yours.

There was silence in the room, as you processed his words. Despite your resolve, you were beginning to realize that he was serious about his warning.

"Tonight... I am seeing him tonight," you told him, looking downcast and fueled with anger. The mere mention of informing your father about Liam made you feel uneasy, knowing how he would react upon finding out about your dalliance.

"Where?" Tommy asked, clearly satisfied with your response.

"At my house," you admitted, feeling a mixture of guilt and frustration welling up inside you. 

"I will have your house watched by men who can be trusted, just in case, eh," Tommy stated matter-of-factly, his voice devoid of emotion. 

"Fine," you conceded, unable to argue further.

You knew that despite your resistance, Tommy's protective instincts ran deep, and there was little point in trying to change his mind. He needed to ensure you stayed safe, even if it meant encroaching on your personal life.

"You may go now," Tommy eventually told you with a note of finality in his voice and the room fell silent once again, as you stood up and prepared to leave.

A heavy burden weighed on your shoulders as you realized the precarious situation you found yourself in. The complexities of your relationships with Tommy and Liam threatened to consume you. How could you balance these competing forces without succumbing to the whims of either man?

***

On your way home, your thoughts drifted to the events of the evening. A surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins as you anticipated your meeting with Liam.

Part of you was excited by the forbidden nature of your secret rendezvous, while another part of you felt consumed by guilt, knowing that you were still deeply in love with Tommy. You recalled the passionate moments you shared with him, wondering if they could ever be rekindled.

Arriving at your house, you carefully checked the area before letting yourself in. Your heart raced as you imagined Tommy's men watching from the shadows, their cold stares following your every move.

It was awkward to know that you were being watched, yet there was also a sense of safety that came with Tommy's protection. He may be harsh and domineering, but deep down, you knew he cared for you.

Liam was already waiting for you when you entered your house, looking eager and slightly nervous. 

"Fuck, how did you get inside?" you asked, surprised to see him sitting on your lounge, sipping whiskey. 

"Your mother let me in before she left," Liam explained, his eyes glinting with darkness. 

"How do you know my mother?" you asked, suspiciously trying to gauge his intentions.

"I don't. But she saw Tommy's men outside and realised that I was one of them," Liam explained before advising you that, by now, Tommy's men would have left. 

"He asked them to watch you, because of me, didn't he?" Liam questioned, his tone laced with subtle aggression. You nodded silently, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you acknowledged the fact.

"There is something you should know about me, Y/N," Liam began, his voice taking on a deeper timbre. "I don't take kindly to anyone interfering in my affair, and that includes Thomas Shelby," he went on to say angrily, his gaze fixed on you, his intent clear.

"Listen, Liam," you tried to calm him down, but he wouldn't be pacified as, instead, he approached you, laying his claim.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered tenderly, his hand caressing your cheek. "Don't let him come between us," he implored, his desire evident in his eyes.

You couldn't help but be swayed by his earnestness, his determination to stand against the seemingly insurmountable obstacle of your relationship with Tommy.

"Why should I believe you?" you asked, testing his sincerity.

"Because I am ready to fight for you, Y/N," he assured you, his voice full of conviction. "And together with the help of my acquaintance, Michael Gray, we can take over the family business," 

Liam continued, his eyes bright with ambition.

You hesitated, absorbing his words. It was the first time he had spoken about this alliance openly, and you couldn't ignore the looming presence of your uncle and the power he held over you.

"But what about Tommy and Arthur?" you questioned, genuinely concerned about the consequences of your actions.

"I don't care about them. They are two spent horses," Liam responded, his tone bordering on aggressive.

"Does Polly know about this?" you wondered aloud, your brow furrowing.

"Polly knows nothing," Liam insisted, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "She would tell Tommy if she knew. We need to play our cards right." he suggested, and you could not believe what you were hearing.

"This is why you pursued me isn't it?" you probed further, seeking clarification while wondering where Tommy's men were at this point.

They were meant to be watching your house, but you felt as though they were neglecting their duties as, all of a sudden, Liam reached for your wrists.  

His touch made you anxious, leaving you vulnerable. "What are you doing?" you asked, trying to remain calm as his attitude changed. 

Liam took your hand in his, his grip strong and steady. "We are more than capable of seizing power from those who seek to control us," he said with confidence. "Thomas Shelby may hold power now, but it won't last forever. If we unite together, we can create something new, something better," he said, his voice dark and authoritative.

You looked around your house, thinking about a way to escape, but there was none. Your heart was racing, and your heart was spinning as you realized Liam's true intentions. 

You understood now why he had pursued you relentlessly, using every charm and resource at his disposal. He wanted to make you fall in love with him so he could use your newfound affection to secure a position within the family business. It was a cruel twist of fate that put you in this predicament.

Liam watched you warily, his expression a mix of determination and anticipation. Taking a deep breath, you summoned all your courage and faced him squarely.

"So, you think that if I fall in love with you, I would help you make a move against my father and uncle?” you queried, your voice laced with disbelief.

"Yes, and I also believe that once we are together, we can form a powerful alliance and, together with Michael Gray and his wife, we can take over the business," Liam responded confidently, unaware of the trap he had set for himself.

Stunned by his audacity, you took a step back, processing his words. The truth was undeniably painful as Liam had used you to manipulate his way into your family, and you, unknowingly, had played right into his hands.

Your heart pounded violently against your ribcage, and you felt nauseous from the shock of the revelation. 

“Marry me Y/N, and help us take over,” Liam's words continued to echo in your ears, reminding you of his cold, calculating nature.  

"I am not going to marry you, Liam!" you gasped, fury and betrayal coursing through your veins. "And even if I ever was to consider marrying someone, it certainly wouldn't be you!" you ought to point out, fuelling Liam's anger.

Anger flaring in his eyes, Liam leaned closer, challenging you with his stare. "Is that so? Then perhaps you should reconsider your options, Y/N. Because if you don't cooperate, it won't bode well for you,” he threatened you.

Your heart raced, fearing the worst. "What do you mean?" you asked, attempting to maintain your composure.

"Are you threatening me, Liam?" you ought to clarify, albeit knowing the answer. 

"Not at all," he replied, his tone eerily calm. "But I cannot guarantee that your father would put a bullet into his brother's head if he ever found out about your intimate relations with your Uncle Tommy," Liam exclaimed, his eyes narrowing. "Now, unless you change your mind, I will be forced to take matters into my own hands and have a word with the rest of the Shelby Family, disclosing your incestuous liaisons. Maybe the papers would take an interest in this too, seeing that Tommy is running for politics now," he went on to say, knowing that this could well and truly destroy the family business. 

His warning sent shivers down your spine, causing you to realize the extent of the danger you were in. You trembled slightly, realizing the precarious position you were in.

"Do not threaten me, Liam! What do you expect me to do?" you asked, your voice quivering with fear.

"Simple," he replied coldly. "Marry me and help me and Michael take over," he repeated, and your heart plummeted into your stomach as you processed his demand. “Your Shelby name is what I need. It’s worth something,” he went on to say, causing you to shake your head again in disbelief.  

Marriage? To this man? You couldn't possibly submit to such a life, bound to someone so cruel and selfish. Your resolve strengthened, and you spoke firmly, determined not to succumb to his threats.

"No, Liam. I will not marry you not only because of your despicable tactics but also because I simply cannot bring myself to love you. I will see Tommy about this, and I already know what he will do to you if he finds out about your threat," you told him sternly, frustration and fury lacing your voice.

His face clouded over with anger; his jaw clenched tightly. His hands shook, betraying his rage, as he tried to control his temper. Within seconds, he reached for your throat, grabbing it tightly with one hand. Fear flooded your body, your heart racing wildly as he squeezed harder. You gasped for air, tears streaming down your cheeks as he choked you. 

"You will not fuck me over Y/N!" Liam cursed as his grip tightened, and you knew that he had every intention to kill you by this point, so you kicked and screamed. 

"Stop! Please!" you gasped loudly, trying to fight Liam off and alarm anyone outside.

“Scream as much as you like. Tommy’s outside are dead,” Liam informed you, choking you harder as suddenly, amongst your struggles, you heard the sound of the door opening, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly.

You heard Tommy's voice shouting, full of rage, "Let go of her!" he yelled angrily, causing Liam to startle momentarily before tightening his grip on your neck.

By this point, Liam’s eyes flashed with murderous intent, almost ignoring Tommy's presence until Tommy approached him from behind, trying to pull him away from you with force.

Eventually, Liam let go of you, and you dropped to the ground. A fight broke out, and Liam drew his gun, raising it and aiming it straight at Tommy.

This caused you to panic as you knew there was no time to reason with him. Desperate, you lunged toward Liam, hoping to grab the gun from his grasp.

But, before you could act, Tommy pulled his gun and fired, the loud boom deafening the room. Liam dropped to the floor, blood seeping from the wound. With a chilling final glare, he lost consciousness.

Tommy was covered in blood, but the blood he was covered in was not his own.

You crawled towards him on the blood-soaked floor, your heart pounding in your chest. Tommy grabbed you by the arm, pulling you to your feet. The room was deathly silent as you watched the gruesome scene unfold before you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the horror of witnessing Liam's demise etched into your memory forever. As your gaze met Tommy's, you saw the mixture of relief and concern reflected in his eyes.

"You shot him?" you barely managed to say, your voice merely above a whisper.

"Of course, I fucking shot him, Love. He fucking deserved it, eh" Tommy said roughly, his eyes hard and unforgiving. 

The room went quiet, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall, as everyone processed the implications of Liam's demise. You felt Tommy's strong arms wrap around you, offering comfort and protection. 

"I did not know about his intentions, Tommy! I really did not fucking know," you cried, your body trembling as you clung to your uncle, desperately seeking solace in his arms. You held onto him fiercely, your fingers digging into his muscular shoulders, as you both stood amidst the carnage that had befallen you all.

Inside, you couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline as you realized how close you had come to losing Tommy, the man who had always been there for you, offering support and love despite your connection.

It was at times like these that you understood the depth of your feelings for him, and you yearned to confess those feelings openly.

Tommy, still holding you tightly, looked down at you with a mixture of love and concern in his eyes. "You couldn't have known, Love, and it doesn't matter now. It's going to be okay, eh," he murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"How did you know to come?" you asked while cupping Tommy's blood-stained face.

Your heart ached, and you could feel a tear forming in the corner of your eye. This was not how you wanted things to end, but it seemed like fate had taken hold of your life yet again.

"Moss informed me of the carnage Liam left on First Lane. He shot two of my men, so I came here as quickly as I could,’ Tommy explained with a heavy sigh, the exhaustion evident in his tone. 

"Thank you,” you barely managed to say while Tommy’s hold on you tightened.

"I thought I would fucking lose you, Y/N," he told you while cupping your face with his blood-stained hands.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of love and concern resonating within them. You realized then just how deep your feelings for him ran, longing to express them openly but knowing that this wasn't the time or place. Embracing you tightly, Tommy looked down at you with a mixture of love and concern in his eyes.

Then, Tommy's voice deepened, his warm breath ghosting across your ear as he spoke.   ”There is something I need to tell you," he said gently. 

"What do you want to tell me?" you asked cautiously, bracing yourself for whatever he might reveal.

Tommy took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before speaking. "Alright, here it goes," he began before inhaling again sharply while your heart thumped wildly in your chest, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

Then, Tommy's brow furrowed, his expression becoming intense. "I still love you," he admitted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. "And I promise you, I will find a way to make it up to you, eh?” he said. His words were honest and filled with sincerity, warming your heart even more.

Suddenly, you found yourself being lifted into Tommy's arms, his strong embrace making you feel safe once more. The room felt smaller now, just the two of you, surrounded by the echoes of your past mistakes. "You should never have to experience any pain for my sake," he continued his voice low and tender.

As Tommy spoke, your heart raced faster, feeling the intensity of his embrace. The world seemed to melt away, leaving you alone with him. In his arms, you felt a sense of safety and belonging and, despite the gravity of the situation, a wave of relief swept through you as you acknowledged your feelings for Tommy, recognizing the bond that connected you. 

"I know why you did what you did, Tommy," you told him before closing your eyes and leaning against his broad chest, allowing the warmth of his body to envelop you, the strength of his arms providing a refuge.

"And I forgave you for it some time ago, but I couldn't forget. I couldn't forget about you, the kisses, the sex, everything we shared," you admitted, and a silence fell upon the room as you allowed your words to sink in. Slowly, the corners of Tommy's mouth curved upwards, a small smile emerging, betraying his emotions.

Without words, he lifted up your chin, making you look at him before brushing his lips against yours, tender and reassuring.

"Out of all the women in this world, I have to fall in love with my fucking niece, eh," Tommy smirked after pulling back slightly, eyes locking with yours as they filled with unspoken promises.

"Yes, Uncle Tommy. I am your fucking niece, and you can't tell me that the thought of this doesn't arouse you just a tiny little bit," you teased before Tommy lowered his head again, this time pressing his lips firmly against yours. It was a passionate, almost savage kiss that left you breathless. Every nerve ending in your body lit up with pleasure, sending electric currents coursing through your veins.

The atmosphere in the room shifted drastically, growing increasingly erotic as the sexual tension between you two escalated. , He bent his head down to press a light kiss on your forehead, the warmth of his lips sending shivers down your spine. "It does arouse me," he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. “A little bit,” he then added as you both stood there, covered in blood.

Unable to resist, you leaned in closer, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss once more. The world seemed to fade away, and nothing else mattered except the undeniable passion that ignited between you both.

Your kisses grew deeper, more urgent as you both tried to convey the intensity of your feelings through your touch. Your hands roamed over his muscular back, tracing the lines of his sculpted torso. You revelled in the power of his embrace, relishing the way his strong arms wrapped around you, protecting you from the world outside.

He pressed his lips against yours, his tongue dancing teasingly with yours. His hands roamed down your waist, drawing you closer and bringing your hips flush against his. As your hips moved rhythmically, Tommy's hand travelled lower, slipping beneath your dress to cup your derrière. You gasped softly, feeling the pressure of his palm against your sensitive flesh. With each passing moment, you grew more aroused, unable to resist the urge to explore the contours of his body, even in this somewhat inappropriate situation.

As your lips captured each other's, you felt the intensity of his passion surge through your core until Tommy finally pulled away.

"I will call Johnny Dogs to clean up this mess, eh?" Tommy suggested, seeing that you still had to deal with the dead body in your house, which, at least for the past five minutes, you had ignored entirely.

"Where am I going to stay tonight?" you asked almost teasingly, a small grin forming on your lips before you handed Tommy your phone, and he made the call.

"You will be staying with me, Love," Tommy told you firmly after having made contact with Johnny, his blue eyes filled with resolve. 

He knew that there was no safer place for you than under his roof, especially after the events of tonight. 

"And what will you do to me, at your house, Uncle Tommy?" you teased, letting your voice drop seductively. You let your hand slide down his chest, brushing along his hard abs before stopping at the button of his trousers.

"Well, first of all, I will get you cleaned up," he replied huskily, his eyes darkening with desire.

"And then, I will probably fuck you, that is, if you are a good girl and behave yourself, eh?" he replied with a playful wink, his hand moving underneath your dress, grazing the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You laughed, taking Tommy's hand in yours and placing it against your throbbing core. "I think I can manage to behave myself, Uncle Tommy," you responded seductively, arching your back to press your breasts against his chest. "Just make sure to remind me of your threats when the time comes," you added with a devilish grin.

Tommy's eyes twinkled with amusement and lust, and he pulled you closer, his large hands wrapping around your waist.

"Trust me Love, I will do more than just remind you of my threats," Tommy teased, a devilish glint in his eyes.

As your bodies swayed together, you couldn't help but marvel at the connection between you both. There was an undeniable chemistry that had always existed between you two, one that transcended the boundaries of blood relations.

"Now, let's go before more coppers get here, eh?" Tommy commanded, his deep voice resonating through you.

His fingers laced with yours, leading you out of the room and towards the staircase.

The atmosphere in the house was eerie, almost as if the air itself held a secret. Your eyes scanned the dimly lit hallways, searching for signs of danger or witnesses who may have seen what happened. As you passed through the grand entrance hall, Tommy guided you towards the exit, the cool night air greeting you as you stepped outside. He helped you into his car, ensuring that you were comfortable before starting the engine. The streets were deserted, casting a sombre shadow over the city. 

"So, what happens to the body?" you asked as Tommy drove off into the night, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

"That's not your concern, Love. My men will take care of it," he replied gruffly, a faint trace of unease crossing his face. 

"It sure sounds like you have done this before," you commented with a raised eyebrow, catching Tommy's hesitation. 

"You know I have," he answered simply, his tone betraying a hint of darkness. "And don't ask questions you wouldn't want answers to, eh?" Tommy's warning was clear, yet you didn't back down, instead choosing to remain silent and let the conversation trail off.

"I still love you," you teased with a soft laugh, knowing full well how much Tommy craved your affection.

"Good," Tommy smirked arrogantly as he parked his car near his house. "Because I'm not letting you go again,” he announced as your gaze met his, the intensity of your feelings for each other palpable as you exchanged looks that seemed to hold entire universes within them. This wasn't merely a physical attraction; it was something far more profound, an undeniable connection that defied logic and reason.

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[antisocialsharky]

You Don't Owe People a Perfect Apology

I would like to start this post by saying, that I absolutely 100% recognize, that it is beneficial within our current society, to offer an apology for any situation in which you harm other people or their belongings and/or make any other kind of mistake that could warrant an acknowledgement of said mistake and the consequences it might have caused.

Saying "I'm sorry" is a handy communication tool that basically conveys "I made a mistake, I recognize I made that mistake and I acknowledge that it caused some type of negative consequence and therefore I am saying this out loud to reassure you that I noticed".

Thats all it has to be and its beautiful isn't it? That we have come up with such an easy short way to communicate something, that solves a situation, that just tends to happen every now and then! Or it would be beautiful, if apologies hadn't turned into a literal minefield.

Both offline and online, theres millions of situations a day where people utter the words "I'm sorry". Maybe they accidentally ran into someone, maybe they said something particularly nasty during an argument, or maybe they committed a crime and are currently facing their victim in a courtroom.

The reasons why someone may feel like an apology is warranted will be individual, but theres certain situations in which it is societally expected to offer an apology (people would also say you "owe" that apology to someone in those situations).

And while, as previously mentioned, I can acknowledge that apologizing is a good communication tool that benefits the ways in which we live & interact together, I have really big issues with how apologies are dictated nowadays.

Because your apology is going to be perceived as "insincere" and "worthless" if it doesn't conform to certain standards. Those standards change wildly and are never actually globally applicable, they are deeply deeply individual.

And before you try to tear me apart, I'm not saying that you don't get to have individual standards for an apology. Like god no, PLEASE have individual standards! Please take a deep dive into your brain and explore what you need from someone in order to be able to trust them again & forgive them! Its so so so important to be in tune with your individual emotional needs and its also important, that you surround yourself with people who are capable of meeting those needs.

Now you might ask yourself where my problem with it is then and its right in that first sentence. I have a problem with the fact, that apologies are seen as "insincere" and "worthless" if they do not conform to the standards of the person reading it.

Who are you to determine whether someone is sincere about something they say? Who are you to decide what someones intent behind that apology actually is?

The thing is, that you don't know. You never, ever know. You can't look in their brain, you don't see their thoughts. What you see are learned patterns.

If you've been confronted with people who apologize by explaining their actions in that apology and they all went back on their word, you may start to think, that that is a definitive sign, that someones apology is insincere. Because it feels that way to you and you have spotted the pattern.

And like I said, its so goddamn good, that you figured it out for yourself, that someone putting an explanation in their apology, is what makes you feel like they don't mean it! Thats important info you uncovered about your feelings, but it says nothing about the worth or sincerity of their apology.

Their apology could be 100% sincere and it could have taken them the biggest effort to offer it up and it could still feel lax and insincere to you. Doesn't mean it is, because it simply doesn't work like that. Your feelings towards something do not determine its existence. A flower you feel hate towards, isn't an inherently shitty flower. A color you hate, isn't an inherently disgusting color.

Your feelings towards something are valid and you should have them and you get to have them, but you do not get to decide, that that is now a global rule that applies to everybody and that no one is allowed to like that flower, or that color and be alright with its existence.

What you do get to do, is communicate your feelings. You get to look at that person who apologized to you and you get to say "hey, I appreciate that you apologized! I personally need people to apologize without giving me an explanation, as that makes it feel insincere to me. If you want to stay around me, I'll require that from you in the future, okay?"

If that other person would like to stay around you and/or wants you to accept that apology/potentially forgive them, they'll have to accept your boundaries and wishes and gear those apologies towards your needs as much as they can.

If they do not want to stay around you, or have their apology accepted and/or they are (for whatever reason) simply not able/comfortable with your style of apologies, they get to communicate that and either they get to stand up and leave, or you get to communicate that this is non negotiable for you and then you get to stand up and leave.

But what neither of you gets to do, is call the other person "bad", "an asshole", "insincere" or anything similar to that, simply because they cannot/do not want to meet your individual needs.

Let me repeat that:

You get to have your individual apology needs and wishes. You get to ask for those to be fulfilled. You get to kick people out of your life if they do not.

Other people get to have problems meeting your individual needs and wishes. They get to communicate that. They get to leave too and refuse to offer up an improved apology.

None of that will determine in any way how sincere the apology was to begin with and as long as the apology happened, no one gets to drag the other person down for having a different way of handling it. Person 1 doesn't get to drag Person 2 for refusing to offer a perfect apology and Person 2 doesn't get to drag Person 1 for having & upholding their boundaries.

That is something I deeply believe and I also believe that going against this principle, is something that fuels a lot of online fights and debates.

Theres multiple reasons why someone may not be able to or may not feel comfortable offering up anything beyond their personal style of apology:

• they might have a hard time admitting their fault to begin with and need to do it on their terms

• they may not be able to feel sorry in an emotional way/may lack remorse

• they might still be processing the situation and do not feel comfortable giving details on their thought process until they're done going trough it all

• they may still be feeling a lot of big emotions that are in the way of anything beyond a basic acknowledgement

• they may have never learned to offer up any other way of an apology

• they may not think they are at fault and therefore do not feel alright with doing anything beyond the basic societal expectation

• they may have made had bad experiences with apolgies before and have only been believed if they explain themselves or if they use certain phrases, etc.

• and like...a million other things that are all equally valid

Theres also multiple reasons why someone may need an apology to be specific and cannot handle anyone elses style of apologizing:

• they may have made bad experiences with certain types of apologies

• they may have build a belief construct in which certain requirements need to be fulfilled in order for it to fit

• they may have a fear of abandonment and need to hear certain words/phrases

• they may need to be in control of the situation and dictate whats happening

• they may have learned that there is only one correct style of apologizing and struggle to see validity in other styles

• they may have been brought up around certain values that they need to see reflected in that apology

• and also like a million other equally valid things

Theres reasons why people ask others to correct their apologies and theres reasons why people cannot or do not want to and all that is okay and valid and wouldn't be as much of a problem, if we'd all just communciate and grasp, that we're asking for our personal needs to be met and can just kick people out of our lifes if they do not/cannot.

What we don't get to do, is drag other peoples attempts and villanize them, just because we personally have negative feelings towards them or their apology. Our feelings do not get to determine their reality. They determine our reality.

Trying to enforce rules globally (which especially happens online), that apologies can never contain explanations, that apologies need to always contain "I- statements", that the person has to feel true remorse, that they can only do it in written form, that they need to make you able to comment on it directly, etc. is harmful goddamn bullshit.

As I said, you get to have those as individual requirements and wishes. Those get to be your emotional needs and you get to feel as if an apology is not enough for you and you get to act accordingly in terms of whether you allow that person to be part of your life or not. But you have no business labeling them or their apology as inherently "insincere", "worthless", "bad" or anything like that. Thats not your call to make. Your call is "that apology does not meet my individual needs therefore I'm not accepting it and I'm not allowing that person in my life anymore", but thats it.

And I'm pretty much 90% sure, that most of you have never actually thought about what you're implying when you call apologies "insincere" or drag peoples apologies trough the mud, as if they failed to meet some big global standard. But don't worry, I'll tell you, thats what I'm here for:

• you're insulting their language capabilities & possibly their own cultural ways of offering apologies

• you're judging their ability to feel emotions

• you're blaming them for things they might not have chosen and may not have found a way to deal with

• you're punishing them for not knowing better

• you're publically calling them incapable

• you're reducing them as a person to your expectations and whether they meet them or not

• you're enforcing a standard born out of your individual needs without checking if you're currently trampling over other peoples needs

Its very likely, that you're not doing any of that intentionally! Instead you're probably just hurt and don't have your emotional needs met and thats a valid way to feel, but it does not excuse the harm you are now causing by trying to make everyone conform to what you want, without any regard for them as people.

Truth is, they apologized. They did their societal communication duty. They acknowledged their mistake that way and they made sure you heard them do it. "I'm sorry" / "I apologize" is a complete sentence.

Whether that apology is sincere or not, is only something the person offering it up will know. Their ability to feel or not feel remorse, the way they stated or did not state it, their behavior or lack thereof afterwards, doesn't tell you that for certain.

So could we please stop pretending as if theres this global rule all apologies have to conform to and just acknowledge that we're hurt, because it doesn't meet our own emotional needs and learn to communicate that, instead of pointing at it, screaming "bad!!! :((("? I think we're ready for that, or at least I genuinely hope so, because if I have to see one more post about how an apology was insincere, just because they happened to say "I am sorry it caused you hurt" instead of "I'm sorry I hurt you", I think I'll actually scream.

Long story short:

• "I'm sorry" (or a similar equivalent) is a full sentence and fulfills your societal duty of acknowledging your mistake

• Everyone gets to have individual apology standards and gets to have boundaries as to how far the people around them need to fulfill those, in order to be allowed around them!

• No one gets to try to dictate global apology standards (this whole post is me communicating my feelings about this. not a mannual to act after), because your needs aren't the global standard everyone needs to conform to everywhere. Chances are you're unintentionally insulting others, by trying to enforce that.

• Theres valid reasons for needing "perfect" apologies and valid reasons for refusing them. As long as an apology of any kind was given, no one is the villain/bad person here or needs to be dragged and insulted.

• You will never know the feelings and reasons behind other peoples behaviors and apologies for said behavior. Thinking that you do and that you can determine their sincerity without fail, is baffling to me and if you really could comprehend the complexity of humans like that, you should run for office or be a psychologist cus damn could you save us a lot of trouble.

first posted on my instagram (same @)

[macgyvermedical]

Inpatient Mental Healthcare

This was a request from someone (actually 2 someones) who requested not to be named.

What is it like when you go to a hospital for a psych problem?

In the emergency department:

The first place most people go for a psych problem is the emergency department. The only thing they determine here is whether or not you are a threat to yourself (actively or via an inability to take care of or protect yourself) or someone else. The person that makes this determination is a psychiatrist. Depending on when you come in and how many other people also need the psychiatrist, it may take a long time for them to come see you.

Until that time, the goal of the emergency department is to keep you safe. This usually looks like either putting you in a specific room that has no cords or sharp objects, or putting you in a room with a "patient companion" or "sitter".

A patient companion is usually a nursing assistant. They are not trained to counsel you or provide any psych care. They are simply there to make sure you do not hurt yourself (and provide nursing-assistant-level care if you need it. This is help cleaning yourself, going to the bathroom, or dressing yourself). From this point on, you will not be alone, even in the bathroom. This is to keep you safe, even if it is at the expense of some privacy.

From this point on, the hospital is also responsible for keeping you and everyone around you safe. If you threaten another person in the hospital, such as staff or visitors, the police or hospital security will be called. You will also be offered medication to help you calm down. If you do not take it, but continue to threaten, you will likely be given the medication involuntarily.

Once you see a psychiatrist and they determine you need inpatient care, they will ask you to sign a "voluntary form" (called different things at different places). This basically says you are voluntarily admitting yourself to a psych facility until a psychiatrist says you are fit to leave. Understand this. You cannot decide to leave tomorrow once you sign the form. You will have to wait for a psychiatrist to clear you to leave.

If you don't sign the form, but you have said you have a plan to die or hurt someone else, or are deemed incapable of taking care of or protecting yourself from harm, they can write an emergency order to admit you for 72 hours to further evaluate you and see if you need additional inpatient care.

In a standard hospital:

Once an admission order is in place (voluntary or not) If you have medical needs (say, you made an attempt on your life already and need medical care for any injuries, or if you just have a serious medical problem on top of your psych problem) you will go to a standard hospital floor with a patient companion. You may also be admitted to a standard hospital floor if there are no beds available in psych.

In this location, you will see a psychiatrist at least daily to work out which meds are best for your condition, and to re-evaluate your mental health status.

The unfortunate part about this is that you do not get the benefit of group therapy or educational activities directed at psych patients. You also do not get the perspectives of other psych patients that you would in a psych facility. This is usually just to keep you safe until you can go to a psych facility.

In a psych facility:

If you are medically cleared and okay to go to a psych facility, you will be transported there by ambulance (if it's in a different building). Yes, even if the building is across the street. You will be given a room or a bed (depending on how the facility is set up). You will be read the rules of the floor. Your belongings (including phones and wallets) will be locked so they cannot be stolen or used to hurt someone. You may have access to things like clothing or shampoo if you brought it, while other facilities may insist that you wear their clothing and use their toiletries.

A psych floor is usually set up as a relatively free space like a day room, a hall of rooms or dorms, then a couple meeting rooms for counseling, and classrooms. Furniture in psych facilities is either too heavy to pick up or else bolted to the floor. Doors that lead off the floor are locked in both directions.

Days are structured differently at different facilities. Usually this is something like breakfast at a set time, then time to clean yourself up for the day, then group therapy, then a break, then an educational session, then lunch, then free time, then a meeting with your psychiatrist, then a meeting with a counselor, then dinner, then free time. Generally, unit phones and TVs are turned off during activities like group time or educational sessions to encourage people to attend.

[sunscreenstudies]

A Step-by-Step Guide for Socially Anxious Email Senders

Read the horrible, horrible email you have to reply to and then feel relief at the fact that "well, at least it's not a phone call!"

Determine what parts you have to reply to i.e. if they asked you a question about something or if there's a part where you need to ask them a question about something

Set a timer for 2 min, 5 min, or 10 min depending on the importance of the email, but no longer!

Write your greeting: "Hi [their first name]" for friendlies, "Dear Mr/Ms/Dr [their last name]" for acquaintances

Write your ending (Yes, we're doing this now before we write anything else): "Best wishes, [your first name]" for friendlies, "Kind Regards, [your first and last name]" for acquaintances

Write "Hope you're well!" This is a game changer because now they know you're thinking of them BUT they don't feel like they have to answer in the way that typing "How are you?" does. Plus, the exclamation mark always helps to lighten up an email that otherwise might feel stuffy.

Answer their questions. If they asked multiple, then split up your answers with filler phrases such as "In relation to...", "In regard to...", "As for...", etc. Finish your paragraph with "I hope this helps, but if you have any further questions, please feel free to ask!"

Ask your questions. If you don't have any questions, then find the most complicated/unclear part of their email, rephrase it, and throw it in after a "Just a quick note to confirm my understanding of the project: [the rephrased bit]". This will let them know that you did thoroughly read their email, and it also provides them with an excuse to email you back with "yes, you're right" or "actually..." which removes the awkwardness they might be feeling as to whether there's any need to reply to your email or not. Finish your paragraph with "Thank you!" (it never hurts to be nice)

Check for spelling or grammar mistakes (if you don't have an extension like Grammarly, then copy and paste your email into Google Docs/Word doc/LibraOffice doc/etc. to check for errors there. Once you've corrected them, copy and paste the corrected text back into your email, replacing the original text)

Reread your email three times. Look at me. Look. At. Me. Three times. That's it! No more and no less! Your timer should have gone off by now, so times up, tough luck, you have to send it, the timer said so. If your timer hasn't gone off yet, then congrats! You beat the clock! Now let's celebrate by sending that horrible email immediatley.

Check your "sent" email box once - just once - to make sure that your email did successfully send and to shut up that part of your brain that's going "but what if they didn't get it?!" They got it. Exit your email browser/app.

Turn your phone/laptop on "do not disturb", leave your desk, make yourself a big mug of something hot (I personally prefer black tea, but you could make tea, coffee, hot chocolate, soup, etc. - whatever you enjoy the most!). Bonus Points: If you're at home or in an enclosed office, then throw on your favourite song or a dancing playlist, and spend five minutes dancing and shaking off that nervous energy before getting back to work. Congratulations: You did it!

[drdemonprince]

thanks for saying what you have about covert incest. I have this memory of my dad that I won't even type out cuz it's just horrible and I haven't been able to determine if it actually happened or if it's a memory of a dream I had but part of me thinks the former cuz I don't think I could've imagined something so horrible. and he died recently and I was determined to find some kind of physical evidence that it really happened but when my mom was moving she got rid of most of his stuff before I got there and I've been so pissed about it but not able to tell her or anyone why and it just reinforces my upset toward her cuz if it really happened then she didn't protect me and goes out of her way to protect him instead but in reading your posts I'm starting to think that whether it actually happened or not doesn't matter, the feelings are there and they're real and I ought to just treat it as though it really happened. anyway sorry to be vague, this has just been a huge weight on me and I feel like finding your blog on here has been such a blessing, especially cuz this has been weighing on me even more lately cuz I've been identifying as a butch lesbian for awhile but have been wondering if I'm actually a bi trans man and have been wanting to explore sexual experiences with queer men to find out if I'd enjoy it but have been really cautious about it and haven't really tried anything yet cuz I'm scared of what it might bring up in me and I'm autistic too so the whole dating and hookup thing is scary to me even without this memory shit and idk if queer men would be interested in me anyway. but yeah I'm gonna explore those resources you shared when I'm ready and I just wanted you to know you're making a difference even through sharing your experiences on your tumblr blog. and also just wanted to confess all this to somebody so thank you for that too

<3 thanks Anon.

Your feelings and traumatized reactions are real, and your vague sense of a memory almost certainly signals that Something was not Right in the dynamic with your father, and you can stand by that and care for yourself as someone whose boundaries have been trammeled upon even if you never get to know the exact facts of what happened. So much of childhood disappears down the memory hole, and there is no easy accounting for it, but as a therapist once wisely said to me, if a person has a fracture that's consistent with a violent attack, you can often see the effects and care for them even if you can't know exactly what happened there.

I'm glad you're feeling open to the idea of exploring your own sexuality and gender identity, too. There are absolutely queer men, both trans and cis, who will be interested in you, and you can move at the pace that works for you. Remember there are no rules to queer sexuality, that's the whole point -- so you never have to try anything you don't want to do. You can have a rich, fulfilling sex life with men that never involves PIV, if you aren't interested in that, or that is completely dependent upon a kink dynamic that isn't directly sexual. or you can just put yourself on the grindr grid and find some guy who wants to give you a massage or eat you out all day. There's so many kinds of very eager people out there, and so you can be as selective and as firm in your boundaries and vetting as you need to be! There's every kind of person out there. I have some guy in my Fetlife DMs right now who only wants to shave my body; another who only wants to jerk off while watching me smell leather. The world is abundant with funny little opportunities.

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

Hey, this is going to be long and wordy but I’m kinda desperate. Lately I’ve been having doubts about whether Jesus actually said what’s recorded in the gospels and whether those accounts are true, and the uncertainty there scares me, especially since I know the gospel writers almost certainly had their own agendas and that’s why accounts of the same event can sound different, why the birth narrative was skipped over or not, etc. On top of that I’ve seen posts from Jewish users outlining why Judaism typically doesn’t accept Jesus as Messiah/why you can’t be Jewish if you believe that, and their arguments seem pretty sound. So it all boils down to this big scary question of “What if this whole Jesus-as-Messiah thing was just the result of projection onto some random guy who seemed to be the real deal because the writers were so desperate to be rescued from the Roman occupation?” It sucks cuz I’ve been enjoying my renewed interest in church (for the most part) and while I’ve tried my best to learn not to take the Bible literally all the time (yay for growing up in an inerrantist doctrinal tradition 🙄), I still want to take it seriously and I still want to believe in Jesus as savior/Lord/etc. I don’t want to just be like, “Yeah I don’t buy the whole Messiah thing but I can still follow his example!” I want there to be meat behind why I follow, if that makes sense. So inasmuch as this could be my OCD being bored and trying to take hold of whatever it thinks would bug me the most (wouldn’t be the first time!), I would really appreciate any advice you have. I know there may not be any certainty or reassurance to be found here, but I still want to hear from someone who’s been there before so I can chart a path forward, and I think this is an important question to wrestle with. Plus I remember from one of your posts you said you have seminary notes on this exact topic so I’m curious lol.

"Gospel Truth": how do we know what Jesus really said and did?

Hey again! Sorry for the long delay on this one but I wanted to do some research before responding! You're right that these are important questions, and you're absolutely not the only one to feel doubt and anxiety over them. You're also right that I can't offer you certainty, but I do hope you'll find encouragement here, and places to go as you continue your journey.

This got super long (as always lol), so let's start with aTL;DR:

In this post, you'll find that there's a lot that we can surmise is very probable about Jesus' life story, but that ultimately we can't know much for certain — and that's okay. In Evolving in Monkey Town: How a Girl Who Knew All the Answers Learned to Ask the Questions), Rachel Held Evans gets to the heart of the matter:

"I don’t know which Bible stories ought to be treated as historically accurate, scientifically provable accounts of facts and which stories are meant to be metaphorical. I don’t know if it really matters so long as those stories transform my life."

This is a time where scholarship & faith go hand-in-hand: using the minds God gifted us, we study and learn what we can; and we cultivate faith in the things we can't — a faith that doesn't deny doubt, but makes room for it, and calls us into community so that we can wrestle out meaning together.

A couple other notes before we kick off:

Please know that you don't Have To Study All The Things if you decide it's healthier for you not to go chasing those rabbit holes. You don't need to be an expert in Biblical studies to be a "good Christian" or to take scripture seriously or to get to know God deeply.

I trust you know yourself and how your OCD works better than I could. So I'm going to share the information I have, and leave it to you to determine for yourself how much information you need in order to feel reassured, without giving your mind new problems to ruminate over.

So here's a link to a Google doc that has A Lot of information — like, too much lol. But save it for after you read this post; I'm putting the most relevant & important info here! If you finish this post and feel satisfied, you never even have to look in the doc.

However deep you go, if you find yourself getting overwhelmed, know that whatever you are feeling is valid and probably pretty common, and take a break! Do a calming meditation or an activity you enjoy to help regulate your mind and body. If possible, have someone you can unpack this stuff with — or have a notebook ready to journal in. <3

Okay, all that outta the way, let's dig in!

Who wrote the Gospels?

Tradition goes that the authors of the four canonical Gospels are three of Jesus' closest disciples — Matthew, Mark, and John — plus a disciple of Paul — Luke. But academics have determine that this tradition is very improbable; it's much more likely that none of the four authors knew Jesus personally, and that the earliest of them (Mark) wasn't recorded till the 60s — decades after Jesus lived and died!

When people learn this, it often leads to something of a crisis of faith. If these writers didn't even know Jesus firsthand, where the heck did they get their information?? And come to think of it, why do their accounts differ? Is some of it made up? Is all of it made up??

The anxiety and fear that wells up is normal, and it's healthy to acknowledge that you're feeling it. But once that first shock abates, it's possible to discover a sort of freedom in the knowledge that the Gospel writers (and all the authors of the biblical texts) were human, with human biases and specific goals fitting their unique context; and that they didn't have all the answers!

This realization can free us to approach scripture without certain expectations (that it's all inerrant and prescriptive, etc.), and allows us to bring our doubts to the table with us. If something in the text seems questionable — particularly if it seems to promote bigotry and injustice rather than God's love — we can consider whether something in its author's cultural context might be responsible for that part of scripture.

So taking some time to learn the unique contexts of each writer can be quite enriching to how we engage the Gospels. For a chart that sums up the Gospel writers' unique contexts, audiences, and priorities, see this post.

For even more, you'll want a book that digs into that stuff — I recommend Raymond Brown's An Introduction to the New Testament (the abridged version!!). As you learn about the Gospel writers, I hope several things become evident:

First, that they weren't just making things up whole cloth, or relying on a game of "he said she said" telephone for their information! Each one drew from different primary or secondary sources, eyewitness testimonies or written texts (many of which no longer exist, but scholars have pieced together evidence of, like the famous "Q source" that both Matthew and Luke drew from).

Yes, each author does have an agenda in writing about Jesus, and in how they tell his story. But that's not a nefarious thing; it's true of any text, whether biography, poetry, novel, song — you don't take the time to write something without a purpose in mind! With variation between their specific goals, overall each Gospel writer's agenda was to persuade their audience that Jesus is worth following, and/or to offer encouragement to those who already believed.

Another thing that modern readers sometimes interpret as intentionally deceptive is that, yeah, the Gospels contain things that aren't strictly factual, and that the writers knew weren't strictly factual. This is because ancient ideas about history & biography are very different from our own. When we read a biography, we expect it to be all facts, with citations proving those facts. But the ancients were much less concerned with making sure every detail was accurate; instead, they were focused on making their specific point about whatever thing or person they were writing/reading about. So yes, they might embellish one detail or leave out another in order to fortify their desired message. They cared more about the Truth as they interpreted it than a purely factual account.

On a similar note, each Gospel writer understands Jesus and the meaning behind his story a little differently — hence why they all tell things in slightly different orders, and characterize Jesus differently, etc. This is also understandable — we all interpret stories differently; we all come to different conclusions even when we have the same or similar information. See the section in the google doc titled "each Gospel's essence" to learn more about the different ways each writer characterizes Jesus, and why they may have interpreted him the way they did.

On that topic, let's get to your question about...

Jesus — Messiah, or no?

If you read the Gospel of Matthew and take it as pure fact, you'll determine that Jesus is the Messiah his people were waiting for — that he did indeed fulfill various scriptures. But if you read Mark, you won't find that argument at all! To the author of Mark, Jesus clearly did not match the stipulations of the awaited-for Messiah — and for Mark, that's kinda the point: that Jesus is something new and surprising, unlike anything human beings expected, upturning our ideas of power and salvation.

...So how did they come to these vastly different views??

Well, Matthew was a Jew writing to persuade his fellow Jews that the Jesus movement was worth joining; to do so, he felt he had to "prove" that it fit into Jewish tradition. So he prioritizes showing how Jesus is a righteous Jew who abides by Torah, and that he is indeed the Messiah they've been waiting for.

(It's also worth noting that when Matthew writes, over and over, about Jesus "fulfilling" various bits of Hebrew scripture, that verb "fulfilling" doesn't mean what it might sound like to us — that a given text was always and only about Jesus, with the prophet having Jesus in mind when they wrote it. Rather, to Matthew "fulfilling" the text meant "filling it up" with more meaning — adding to its meaning, not replacing the old meaning. More on that, with citations, in the Google doc.)

Meanwhile, Mark's author was a Jew writing mostly to gentile members of the early Jesus movement. He knew they wouldn't care whether or not Jesus fit the Jewish expectations for a Messiah! (In fact, giving Jesus a bit more of a "Greek" flair would appeal to them more.) So Mark doesn't perform the mental and rhetorical gymnastics that Matthew does to try to make Jesus fit the Messiah requirements.

So which Gospel got it right?

For many matters of scripture, I say "it's open to interpretation!" or "Maybe both are right in different ways, conveying different truths!" But for this particular case, it is very important as Christians to accept that Jesus absolutely does not fit the Jewish requirements for their Messiah. To argue otherwise is antisemitic — it's supersessionist, meaning it claims that Christianity supersedes or replaces Judaism.

We might understand, as the author of Mark did, Jesus to be a messiah — which just means "anointed one" in Hebrew (the Greek counterpart is "Christ") — without making antisemitic claims that Jews "failed to recognize their own Messiah." (In fact, there are multiple messiahs in scripture, e.g. in Isaiah 45, the foreign king Cyrus is referred to as God's messiah; though later scriptures like Daniel do start talking about a specific Messiah who will usher in redemption & a new age for the Jewish people.)

We can understand why some of the biblical authors, like Matthew, interpreted Jesus as this specific Messiah as a result of their own specific context, without agreeing with their view. See this post about “Anti-Jewish Content in the New Testament: Why it’s there and what we should do about it” for more on this important topic.  (You can also find even further resources on supersessionism in this post.)

...Okay, so we've looked at the authors of the Gospels a good bit. We've learned that their idea of a "biography" is very different from ours — that they didn't consider it bad to rearrange, leave out, or embellish accounts — but what does that leave us with when it comes to knowing who Jesus "really" was?

What can we know for sure about Jesus?

Let's look at the facts. The first one is: we don't have any. Not any 100% certain ones, anyway. The guy lived before audio recorders and cameras; we're relying on written and oral accounts, which can be fabricated.

However, there are points about the Jesus story that are regarded as almost certainly historical by the vast majority of historians today, so let's look at those first:

Jesus almost 100% certainly existed. There is enough historical evidence (both inside and outside the Bible) to confirm this — even non-Christian historians almost unanimously agree that there was a historical Jesus. (Phew, am I right?)

Almost all historians also agree that several parts of Jesus' story almost definitely happened: that he was baptized in the Jordan; that he traveled around teaching and offering miracles (whether or not they agree he actually had the power to perform real miracles, of course); and that he was arrested and crucified by the occupying Roman Empire.

Some of these almost-irrefutable claims lend plausibility to others: if he traveled around teaching, what was he teaching? Why not the sermons, the parables recorded in the Gospels? And if he was crucified — the death of a criminal, an insurrectionist — what did he do to get himself crucified? He must have done something to cause Rome to see him as a threat to their Empire — why not some of the sayings and actions that are recorded in the Gospels, like his claim to be "Son of God" (a title used for Caesar); his protest march into Jerusalem satirizing Caesar; and his disruption at the Temple?

The attempt to determine which parts of scripture are "authentic," i.e. things that really happened / things Jesus really said," is often called "The Quest for the Historical Jesus."

Over the decades, scholars interested in this pursuit have developed various "criteria of authenticity," which they use to try to determine how probable any given bit of the Gospels is. In the google doc, I summarize the history of this "quest" and describe some of the most popular criteria. But what's important to understand is that these criteria have major limitations — they're often applied somewhat arbitrarily, for one thing, and ultimately they can't "prove" for sure whether something in the text is definitely historical or definitely not. So honestly, this is not a field of study that I recommend everyone go immerse themselves in! When I do, I have fun for a while, then kinda end up more overwhelmed by how much we can't know.

Still, sometimes these criteria of authenticity do yield some interesting points. For instance, the "Criteria of Embarrassment" (yes, that's what it's called lol) asserts that anything in the text that would have been embarrassing to its author is more likely to be historical fact — because why would the author have made something up that puts them in an unflattering light, or might be used to argue against their message?

For example, a lot of Gospel stories depict Jesus' disciples being kinda clueless, or saying petty things, or failing miserably (e.g. the denial of Peter). Why would the Gospel authors have wanted to make these earliest believers, who are meant to be role models for their audience, look so bad? This criterion says that wouldn't — that they must include those stories because they really happened, rather than being things the author made up to make their point.

Or take the Criterion of Multiple Attestation, which determines how many sources include a certain saying or event. The more sources contain a specific story, the more plausibly "authentic" that story is, since it means that different unconnected communities knew that story. Logical enough.

So yes, there are ways to consider the historicity of the Gospels — but not definitively. So the question becomes: is the historical knowledge we do have enough for me to feel some level of, I don't know, peace? stability in my faith?

And, at the end of the day, how important to me is it that every single thing the Gospels say is completely factual?

Back to what matters: the Good News

Facts are great — God gifted us our minds, and various scripture stories show God encourages us to wrestle with the text! — but we are called to faith as well.

Furthermore, taking the Bible seriously means accepting it for what it is — a collection of ancient texts compiled by humans, even if guided by Divinity — rather than insisting it be what it is not. For the Gospels, that means accepting that they are not biography, but story, and prioritize Truth over fact.

My pastor friend Roger puts it like this:

“For me, it isn’t about deciding which things Jesus really said or didn’t say. That’s a road that goes nowhere. As a pastoral response, I take scripture at face value and work to empathize with the people in and behind the text. Through that empathy, I can find some meaning that connects with what we’re facing here and now.”

When we acknowledge that the Bible includes human interpretations of the Divine, and that we bring our own human interpretations to our reading of it, where does that leave us?

It leaves us in need of conversation, of an expansion of our perspectives by talking through scripture in community. We do that conversing with friends, or attending Bible studies at church, or reading a variety of theological texts — getting as many unique understandings of Jesus as we can, joining our ideas together to get an ever broader glimpse of the Divine.

There's a reason Jesus taught in parables: he didn't want there to be one definitive answer to matters of life and faith! He wanted to ignite conversation, to draw us into community — because it's in community that we are the image of God, the Body of Christ.

So keep on wrestling, wondering, talking it through (taking time to rest when needed — there's no rush!). We discover scripture's meaning for us in our own place and time through the wrestling, together.

[alovelyfox]

Chapter 2: An Awkward Encounter

Was it left? Or right? Oh crap, were you even on the right set of stairs? You couldn't for the life of you remember, and the sweat trickling down your back was starting to stick. You had rushed into the law firm without bothering to check your appearance after biking three miles and getting into an accident. A stare from the receptionist however, made you realize that it was probably worth a trip to the bathroom before meeting your new colleagues. The young man at the front desk took pity on you, and gave you a list of directions which would take you to the secret bathroom hidden in the stairwell where you could fix herself up. But the ringing in your ears from running up the stairs meant you couldn't understand a word he said, which leads to you now wandering aimlessly around while your body grew more tired by the second.

However, the glint of a restroom sign on the flight of stairs below gave you a much needed boost of energy. Determined to not be any later than you already were, you hurry down the steps, inadvertently bumping into a tall man who was heading upwards. His scent was familiar, but your eyes were focused on the sign, so you squeak out an apology and practically sprint down towards it.

Luckily the bathroom was unoccupied, so you quickly lock the door and get to work. Looking in the mirror, you wonder if this was how you looked like to the man you crashed into with your bike this morning. Your mind thought back to his curly red hair, standing out against the black and white of his suit. The freckles which were smattered across his face, his lucid green eyes gazing into yours... Deciding that it would be fate if you ever met again, you take a look inside your purse. You had luckily overpacked due to where you were going in the evening, so you take out some deodorant and perfume and eliminate the smell of sweat which was wafting from you.

You fix your makeup, smooth down your hair, and pat down your clothes, before smiling to yourself in the mirror. After long years of study, you were finally here. Your dream job, helping make society a better place. It didn’t pay as much as the fancy corporate jobs many of your classmates took, but you had just gotten a new roommate with whom you could split your rent/living expenses with. And anyways, it didn’t matter. You were doing what you loved, and that was enough for you.

…

Finally making it to the office looking much more presentable, the receptionist introduces himself as Sam, and takes you to meet everyone else. The office’s designated floor was pretty small, with a big open bullpen for the junior lawyers and separate offices for the senior lawyers. But it's in one of those high-rise buildings with a view over the city anyone would die for. You sneak glances towards it while being acquainted with everyone else, who are all extremely warm and welcoming.

“Oh, there’s one more guy you’ve gotta meet, Kyle. He’s gonna be your supervisor while you’re here, so you better make a good first impression. He was the one meant to greet you, but when he came in he ran straight into his office and shut the door. I actually prepared some coffee for you both so you could sit down and have a little meeting, do you mind taking it to him now? He’s in the office down the hall on the left”. Sam winks as he hands you two cups of coffee and sets you on your way.

…

The nameplate on the door reads ‘Kyle Broflovski’ in gold letters, and you can't tell whether it intimidated or intrigued you. You mean to knock but your hands are full with the coffee, so you sort of thud against the door. When there's no response, you figure he might not even be in there, so using your elbow you push the door handle and open it.

You have no idea what you're expecting Mr. Broflovski to look like, but it's certainly with more clothes on. The man standing behind the desk is half naked, his muscled back facing you while deciding on which dress shirt to take from a closet. He shrugs a white one on and turns around, only to yelp in surprise and take several steps back from where he was standing. Your feet are planted firmly in place, trying to figure out whether or not this is your new supervisor, and avoiding all eye contact with his abs which are barely concealed by his unbuttoned shirt.

“Who are you?” He asks, a slight hint of panic in his voice.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir, but I’d rather tell you who I am when you’re fully clothed and I can actually see your face”.

“Oh right”, he mumbles before turning back around to haphazardly button the rest of his shirt. Taking a seat down on his desk chair, he looks at you up and down before his eyes widen from recognition.

“I know you. You’re the girl from this morning, the one who spilt coffee all over me, then bought me an apology bagel. What the hell are you doing in my office?”

You finally make proper eye contact with him and realize he’s completely right. You were the girl who spilt coffee all over him, and he was the guy with the gorgeous green eyes. And of course just to smite her, God made him your new supervisor with whom you'd had the most awkward introduction with ever. Twice.

“I’m Y/N L/N, your new junior lawyer, Mr. Broflovski. I’m so sorry for barging in like this, I’m normally so polite I swear. Well, I mean, when I’m not crashing into people with my bike. Sorry about that again by the way. Haha…”

You try to laugh off the last part, but it comes out sounding insincere so you shut your mouth and wait for him to react. He rakes a hand through his red curls then motions for you to sit down on an empty chair in front of him.

“Call me Kyle. Sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that, I knew you were coming. I just didn’t know you would be… you.”

He reaches for the cup of coffee and you get a closer look at his face than this morning. Upon closer inspection, you can see the dark circles that outline his face, making him look twice as old than you assume he is. His eyes are still as absorbing however, and you can now notice his hooked nose when he turns to the side and takes a sip of his cup. He still looks extremely attractive, something you now realize you’ve already told him. Heat rises to your face and you pray that he doesn’t remember how awkward and weird you were, so you sit up straighter in the chair and speak in a strong, confident voice.

“Look Kyle, I know we got off to an unfortunate start, but I’ve worked my ass off to get into this law firm, and I’d hate for a bad relationship with you to ruin it. So, let’s start over. I already brought you two cups of coffee this morning so I’d say we’re even for me ruining your shirt. The other stuff I’m sure we can get over, so if you don’t mind, Sam said you wanted to have a meeting with me and I suggest we get that underway.”

You nod at him, watching his reaction, really just seeing if he was going to kick you out of his office for how blunt you just were. But a small smirk appears on his face, and he nods back at you.

“Alright then.”

He spends the next hour explaining to you the inner workings of the company, what you’ll be needing to do in your position, etc. You're quite passionate about the job, so you listen carefully to what he says, his face only being a little bit distracting. He then hands you some paperwork to sign in order to complete your employment, but you notice how intently he's staring at you while you fill it out. Like you're a puzzle, and he's trying to figure you out. After you finish signing every dotted line, he extends out his hand to welcome you officially to the company. You shake it warmly, taking note of how much bigger it is than your own, and the slight crackle of electricity you feel crawl up your skin when the two of you make contact.

He leads you out into the hallway, and tells you what to do for the rest of the day and where to do it. You give him your thanks alongside a big smile, which makes the tips of his ears go slightly red. He turns away without saying a word and shuts the door, which you find somewhat rude but assumes he's a busy man with more important things to do than smile back.

…

The rest of the day goes by in a flash. Kyle had given you a lot of work to get started on, so after wrapping it all up it's around 5:45. You start to panic as you're meant to be at the bar by 6, so you swiftly pack up all your belongings which had been scattered across your new desk and head towards the stairs. You're about to start running down when someone's arm pulls you back. Kyle's standing behind you, with an amused expression on his face.

"You know, this is one of the best buildings in the city. We do have an elevator." He points his head towards the two metal doors a little further left than where you're standing, something you must've missed in your rushed state both this morning and now. You smile at him and make your way over, and he comes in with you. Both of you reach to press the ground floor button, and your fingers lightly graze each other. You snap your hand back, that familiar electric spark from shaking his hand in the morning returning back to tingle on your fingertips. He pushes the button and both of you head down.

The ride is quiet, the elevator being filled with a silence both of you are comfortable with. You exit the building and are about to wish Kyle a good night but a feeling of anxiousness spreads across your body and face.

"Is everything okay? You look... scared." Kyle asks, as you pace around the outside of the building.

"Shit, I can't find my bike. I padlocked it here this morning, where the hell is it?" You spend the next couple minutes searching for it to no avail, but with the clock ticking down you eventually give up, all the while Kyle watches you carefully.

"You need a ride? It's getting kind of late and with the high chance that you don't find your bike it's probably not a good idea to be walking home alone."

"Really? That would be amazing."

"Cool. My car's parked near the coffee cart from this morning."

You don't really wanna go revisit the place you made an absolute fool of yourself, but you start walking with Kyle anyways and once inside the car you give him an address.

…

His car's pretty nice, not surprising considering that he probably definitely gets paid shitloads from the firm. He also keeps it rather clean, a nice contrast to the guys in your college whose cars looked like a visual representation of a landfill. You decide you like this, and want to know more about him.

"Do you normally leave the office this late?" You ask, considering it was almost 6 and everyone else at the office had left at 5 on the dot.

"Yeah. You could've left earlier though, it's only your first day. No one expects you to work late in your first week. Or at least, I don't."

"I wasn't expecting to work that late. Actually I meant to leave early, but I got so absorbed in the work that I just forgot." Your face heats up slightly as you say this, and you hope he doesn't think that you're sucking up to him or anything. You genuinely did enjoy everything you got given to do today.

"Any particular reason for needing to leave early?" He asks, and your face heats up more.

"Uh, yeah. I have a date. That's actually where you're driving me now."

His hands grip the steering wheel slightly harder, but he keeps his tone apathetic.

"Oh, you have a boyfriend?"

"No no, it's just a first date. Kind of like a blind date. He was the one who set it up actually. I wasn't planning to go, but he's been pretty persistent about going out with me, and I figured that if my first day at work went badly I could blow off some steam."

Kyle doesn't respond to this, but you can see his shoulder relax. He doesn't probe further, so you spend the rest of the ride alone with your thoughts, thinking about how you even got roped into this date in the first place. You don't even really wanna go now, but it's too late to cancel. Plus, you told your new roommate that you'd be home late, and you didn't want to seem lame by coming back before 7. She seemed super nice, way nicer than the one you had in your college dorm. You helped move her in last weekend, then split a bottle of wine. She told you that she recently landed a job working at Greenpeace, and you both bonded over your shared passion about saving the world. She mentioned a little about her time growing up in a small town called South Park in Colorado, but mainly talked about her excitement of getting out of there and starting a new adventure in the city. You hadn't seen her much since that night with both of you being busy preparing for your new jobs, but you secretly hoped you would become closer. You don't keep in touch with many of your college friends, and want a best friend to confide in about everything. Especially things like how hard it was to sit next to your boss right now when he smelt so good and his face looked so cute all concentrated on driving. You dash these thoughts out of your mind and stare out the window until you reach the bar you're meeting your date in.

"Thank you so much for driving me, Kyle, I really apprecia-"

"You should give me your number." He says bluntly.

"I'm sorry?" You ask bewildered. You would've given it happily, but the way he asks makes it seem more like a command rather than a question.

"You said this was a blind date, right? If the guy ends up being a creep, you won't have any way to get home. I can come pick you up instead."

He doesn't seem to realize you could probably call a taxi to pick you up, but the idea of your number being saved into a guy as handsome as Kyle's phone wasn't something you were gonna give up. He hands you his phone and you type it in, before expressing another thank you and heading into the bar. He waits until you're safely inside before he leaves, a fact that shouldn't make you smile but does anyway. You text your guy and he directs you to where he is, sitting in a small booth in the corner.

"Hey, I think you're my date. Stan Marsh, right?"

He smiles.

[caltropspress]

RAPS + CRAFTS #33: Gabe 'Nandez

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

Gabriel Matias Fernandez Traoré aka Gabe ‘Nandez. Past projects in chronological order - H.T., Sifu, Disconnected, Plaques (a compilation), Cliquetape, Diplomacy, Grove, Ox, Seven, Strife, Canis Cascus, Pangea, H.T. III, H.T. III (Deluxe), Object Permanence. Upcoming projects - False Profit produced by Thomas Maggart, a collaborative album with U.K. rapper Louis Jack, and more.

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

My desk, at home. If I’m not at home, then any desk. Or something desk like, if available. I tend to write at night and during twilight, generally speaking.

And yeah I try to write every day, and usually do. That being said, I ultimately need a few days off after writing every day for an extended period of time. But that in itself is also part of my writing process, it’s holistic.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

Pen and paper always. I’ll take walks and write bars in my head but it all comes together when I pull the pen and notebook out.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

I write in bars, it’s all organized. Scientific. 

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

Depends. Sometimes I’ll write 32 bars and decide I don’t want to use them after all, but that doesn’t happen often. I haven’t trashed an entire verse in a minute, there’s usually always a few gems in there that I can re-purpose. If I do trash something forever, it’s usually like…four bars in. Might read it back later and go “What the fuck was I on here?”

The first two lines tend to dictate everything. The first two bars cannot be trash. That’s the headline, it has to be strong because it sets the tone for the entire verse. I make sure the first two work and then it usually stays good from there.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

Honestly, the text messages I’ve sent women read like straight poetry sometimes. Like I’ll structure them like a poem, stanzas and shit like that, with rhythm and shit. I’m not even trynna come off like Casanova right now, I’m just being honest. Those texts are romantic as fuck and I’m proud of them. 

I’ve had to mess around with other mediums during academia but haven’t done so since I left. 

And ultimately I consider what I do with this rap shit poetry. Not crazy about labels but I’d still classify my writing as that.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

There usually isn’t much editing involved and I rarely trip over finishing stuff once I start it. I might take a long time to actually start the verse though, the first two bars. So I’ll just listen to the music for as long as I need to until the first two bars come to me, and then it’s pretty much smooth sailing from there. Usually. Every song is different though.

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

Ideally, I tailor the writing to a specific piece of music, but I’ve transplanted verses to other beats before, definitely.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

It really depends. There are general themes in my life that dictate the themes in my art, and I can just go stream-of-consciousness while sounding topical in my creative universe on any song. Sometimes a specific thing will inspire me, like my song “Commerce God” for example, which was inspired by the god Hermes/Mercury, and riffs around the statue of Mercury on top of Grand Central Station.

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

I would say both.

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

Good question, and a hard one. I’ll say “Ox” 'cause it’s the song of mine that’s reached the most people so far. I think it’s cause it has a balanced amount of depth and flexing. That beat goes crazy too. Stars just aligned on that one.

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

“Self emancipated from a place of permanent ruin” is one that comes to mind. It’s a comment on how I kicked narcotics and alcohol but also sounds real fly and rolls of the tongue well. 

It’s from a track called “Semtex.” Wrote that one in like half an hour off of no sleep at 5:00AM type shit . Always fond of those type of sessions.

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

I’m cool with punching in 'cause I’m good at it and can make it seamless. Or at least seamless enough where I’m cool with it. But there are times where I know I can just one-take a section of a song, so I’ll do that.  I’m with whatever needs to get done to get the song recorded, and the procedure is never exactly the same. It’s all very instinctive when I’m in the booth.

I’ve one-taked an entire song before, my song “Up Top.” First take, one take. That was crazy. But I don’t go in there planning on doing that. That just happened organically.

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

Old books and stories. Theology, mythology, some philosophy. From different cultures. 

Otherwise life. People, the interactions I have or have had with them. Dreams sometimes.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

Self-doubt isn’t something I struggle with in general. All of my music is objectively great because it’s tediously well made. I might cringe at some of my old stuff, but I don’t at most of it.

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

Off top, Prodigy. But, to be honest, I’m at the stage where I’ve found my voice, so I don’t really run into situations where I’m writing and go, “Nah, that’s his shit.” It does happen sometimes, but it’s rare. 

Sometimes I’ll throw a dart in someone else’s style on purpose as an homage.

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

I’m here to express myself through art. By doing so, my viewpoints are shared, my energy is felt. This action, in turn, communicates the essence of my being and my spirit, which does what it’s intended to do, according to or regardless of my intention. 

I can’t control how someone is going to react to an action I take, let alone how my art is going to make them feel. I’m confident that I can direct and influence accurately - I’m confident that we all can. But, ultimately, I don’t have a desire to sway people in a particular direction, through art or in everyday life. That’s up to people.

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: Sebastian Thompson

[novemberdevils]

very lonely. maybe i need to do more with that... how do I stop you from teasing me? But like please spoil more I beg you, jack makes me wants to study him because from my pov-meaning me and therapist friend over analysing everything- it feels that he is lonely in the way that doesn’t simply disappear when you are around loved ones because you spent a lot of time being set aside whether it was by choice or not but it make him cautious to every time he feels safe or at “home” as he will be waiting for the I guess carpet to be swept from underneath him because nothing could last for him you know??, also this is me making you overthink even more but I have no idea if you mentioned it and I somehow I completely overlooked it but did jack come up with any of the other drivers or did he go a completely different route? I feel if he did go a different route it would make his outcastness even more because it would mean no one really understands what he has gone through they only know what jack decides to tell.

Honestly poor carlos for dealing with nicojack because no matter how much he tries to guess what the fuck is going on with them he will never get it right because come on how can he thinks that they are fucking, chocking, and taking pictures of each other after having sex??, somehow being gentle with yourself is always harder and being yourself biggest critic can be really damaging but it’s nearly impossible to be gentle when you feel that you don’t deserve or want that gentleness even when it’s what you actually need, ohh ok thanks for explaining the luke and nico it makes more sense than nico being in his room; but both of them thinking that oh jack must come to his room but then they both find each other but not jack hilarious if you ask me, maybe that will be a scene i write from nico's perspective and put on tumblr actually... PLEASE DO IT 🙏 YOU CANNOT SAY THIS AND NOT DO IT, jack and luke are not even in the same genre of books let alone being on the same page they need a therapist and just talk, don't worry the liar will be revealed in monaco. i've already written the scene I LOVE YOU.

Tbh I don’t want this fic to end so the scene running away and writing itself makes me happy but I don’t think it makes you as happy, I need to know who was lying and why NOW or I might day, Yeah. the creative writing to aviation major pipeline doesn't exist i created it hey high five for going the pipeline that don’t exists mine is from computer science to forensic anthropology, also you being in aviation is insane like that must be some cool degree that you get to have not my forensic anthropology and digging around in dirt, yayy for them unlocking a new space hopefully next it would be buying a house together-too much?-.

But instead of saying anything sane or normal, Jack opens his mouth and says, “I wanna cash in.”

Nico barely looks at him. “What?”

“I want a picture of you like this,” Jack says. It sounds completely ridiculous now that he’s said it all out loud, but— “You owe me. From Imola.”

For a moment, Nico just blinks at him. Then, “Where’s your phone?” HOW DARE YOU!!!! I need more please please please get the chapter out now like this was the perfect snippet because it doesn’t give us anything major except for the pic so we will want to read more and see what lead to this I hate you.

i cannot remember what game this was about but i hope they didn’t fumble!! I too cannot remember what game it was but I remember they didn’t fumble it; it was maybe against the blues?? I have no clue, yeah jack is, as always, on the struggle bus me and him both but he has a nico and I don’t so im judging him for thinking bad, I feel this what makes jack more complex the fact he determines his worth over what he achieved so if he feels he didn’t meet the impossible expectations he set for himself he will not feel worthy of the love he gets, honestly i have also forgotten if jack told anyone about what carlos said in shanghai look I reread a couple of scenes last few days and I believe this was the first time he says carlos was the one who said that to him, and the thing with the quinn nico parallel with the control is that both of them meant it in different situations-nico the sex and quinn with general life- but jack still doesn’t believe either of them even when one proved that he was the one in control he still doesn’t believe that, also please yap about the playlist I need your thoughts about every song.

STOP BEING VAGUELY MEAN!!! You break my heart every time you tease, jack being noo nico is so nice to me he is the best but as soon as nico is in front of me and he doesn’t cater to every whim jack has he becomes the meanest person ever; nico I would say poor you but you were the one who chose to deal with the brattiness that is jack, the draisaitl and nico fight is quite literally everything for me so thanks for including it, unforch i do kind of like mclaren I unfortunately will have to inform you we should stop yapping to each other this is a betrayal I cannot handle or forgive, it’s evil as hell! It hurts as hell but sure you can use evil, omg please commission it I will chip in or give you ideas!!,  (which involved a notebook and a pen, it was getting serious in the campus library) you and me both a coworker of mine was telling me the other day like wow filling out reports even on your break I was not filling out reports.

No like sometimes a fic is so good but then you reach a smut section and it would be just bad smut and then you can’t continue it but yours ranks top three in the best smut I have ever read so you absolutely knocked out of the park, also you writers scare me because what do you mean you have these masterpiece laying around when I can’t even comment without commenting major crimes against the English language??? A round of applause because you 100% deserve it, ha ha. Images. the snippet i posted the other day references the cashing in thing but it arguably brings more questions than answers. point is he cashes in in the next chapter so Soon you will discover yeah I hate you, im glad that asking when the next chapter comes out doesn’t annoy you but please do take care of yourself I might be annoying you about the chapter but please always priority yourself, I can’t believe that we are already have reached Spain like I know there is still so many rounds left but im already experiencing withdrawal symptoms, I will be not so patiently waiting for the chapter!! 2/2

i will never stop teasing re: i am evil. so yeah jack is a very lonely guy. shoutout to the shit from pre-spain i just posted where he’s insistent that nico can’t be his friend because then he’s be his only friend… womp. and i have totally not mentioned it because i am a dumb who didn’t outline this fic lmao but. ? it’s Very much established that he was in karting with nico but nico is older so he went through the cars series faster — jack did come up through the standard f1 ladder (he’s an f3 & f2 champion, and in my head those are consecutive) but i never really specified who on the grid he raced against in those series… mathematically he should’ve come up around the same time as drysdale and holtz so let’s call that canon 😁 neither of them were ever FDA drivers so jack likely gave few fucks about them. also implied that it’s only jamie’s second year in f1 and it is jack’s. fourth. wait have i ever explicitly given the timeline or is it all implicit my bad don’t ask me what team jamie drove for in his rookie season i have no fucking idea. this is what i get for not planning anything

feeder series tangent aside. actually no. jack was too busy still giving a fuck about nico even when he wasn’t directly competing against him because he is a Crazy person. jack doesn’t even know what his f2 teammate is up to lmao like he didn’t care about anything except winning and getting an f1 drive. and did i ever imply that nico skipped f2. i cannot remember how max-coded i made the guy 😭 he won an f3 championship as established in ch5. jack you are a crazy person

carlos is actually fed up to the max even if he doesn’t know Exactly what anything is to be fed up with. he probably assumes some racing conspiracy shit not. crazy sex. the friend thing from the new chapter definitely threw carlos for a loop but he is highkey being a cartoon villain about it 😭 and yeah i love imagining nico coming into jack’s room and luke is just sitting there like wtf are you doing in here. i should write that scene. i know i’ve said i might. and. maybe. probably. there is a likelihood. don’t let me forget about that because literally i always remember i said i was going to write a scene from nico’s pov but i can never remember which scene i said. and it’s that one. so

MY BEAUTIFUL PIPELINE. i keep getting crazy emails and i’m like wtf have i gotten myself into. $25 fine if i don’t wear my id badge when required… like don’t you know i am coming from a major where you sit in a conference room with the worst people in the world and criticize each other. the switch up is insane lowkey

if i ever post a snippet i will post an evil snippet just know that 😈😈😈 now that the chapter is out i hope you liked the scene lol it’s one i’ve had cooking up in my brain for like a month and a half. maybe minus the taking a picture part. but like. the whole Concept of it. sometimes smut scenes can be. emotionally symbolic. is that the term i want? like. yknow. the taking control thing. and then. the spain one. uhh do with that what you will

yayyy glad they didn’t fumble Mystery Game! and so true jack puts a lot a lot of weight on his accomplishments, not to keep yapping about ch5 but in my defense it was like the only thing i looked at yesterday — he fr believes that not at minimum getting on the podium after his shit pit stop is as good as losing. like dawg. calm down. and thank you for the confirmation on the shanghai thing lmao i was pretty sure i had only implied that someone had said something mean to him. at this point, will jack ever refer to carlos as carlos again 😭 he’s been sainz for like ever. and on the control parallel — my beloved — nico does also mean in general life but him choosing to establish that thought during a sex thing was definitely. a choice. but he is very adamant in telling jack that he wants to know what he thinks, he wants jack to say and do what he wants without stopping to be concerned about how it will be received, but jack obviously sucks at that. either way he does not believe he is in control ever at any point in time. and i have admittedly started the unnecessary song analysis google doc so the thoughts are coming!

i will never stop being mean… nico has his reasons. lots of them. Ha. ha ha. and vouch on all the stuff about bad smut ruining a good fic 😭 like i hate to be that guy… but i have sooo many fic opinions oopsies. i’m glad you enjoy the scenes i write though thank you! and i have been writing for years and years and years so i did my time writing god awful smut, i have officially graduated to being. not terrible 😁