#I'll also make a mental note to be more on top of my notifications so your posts don't go under my radar again >:T

[culthuluu]

my live reaction of seeing the notification of a new fic you posted

Telltale

Singularity x Reader

Hiiii. It's been a while, I know. I won't get into it 'cause it doesn't matter, but sorry for basically abandoning my blog lol.

Obviously not my best work, but just trying to get back into writing (especially because I'm kind of just taking a break from my original story I've been developing ^^). I hope you guys at least find this decent, thank you for reading :) I just wanted to try my hand at some things with Hux because he's been on my mind a lot lately

Words: 1,840

Warnings: Typical canon violence mentioned(tell me if I need to add anything else!). Edited but I should have edited again lol

Hate. It was the perfect word to describe how he felt about the rats who called themselves humans. No: rats was too good of a  word for them.

He hated these…parasites. Hated every bit of them. Hated the way they thought themselves mightier than all. Hell, he even hated the way they sounded.

In fact, Hux especially hated the way they all sounded. 

Their conversations were obnoxious, as was the way they chewed and drank. The way they breathed in the oxygen in his presence; it was atrocious. And it was especially awful when their breathing blew out traces of fear. And with fear in their systems came the sound of their hearts. Oh, the beating of their frail, little hearts always managed to increase his fury.

When it wasn’t the ear-shattering screams piercing the Entity’s realm that brought such a fury, it was the quick, dull drumming against their chests.

The screams, the shrieks, the cries….those were all momentary. They were released once flesh was impaled by rusted hook, and they ended once Hux’s voicebox demanded they quit the squabbling. 

But Hux found the sound of their hearts maddening, and he would never admit his own fault to this madness. The price for such heightened senses was paid with every irritating sound that was capable of physically paining him. 

Trials proved vexatious with how often he was subjected to the beatings of their hearts. Nobody could hear these things like he did; nobody experienced the pain that came with hearing such an awful, repetitive noise. And the sounds only continued when he got out of every trial and returned to what could be called his “home”. Once his stroll involving the harmless sounds coming from Dvarka’s lifeforms came to an end, he was met with sounds from within the inhabited Huxlee Caracas III. 

Hux could only stand in the doorway of the ship, twitching more than the usual as his systems caught the sound of a heart beating.

“Find it.”

That voice. How it startled him every time. Even after all this time, Hux had not yet grown accustomed to the voice inside him.

“Terminate it.” 

Hux refrained, still standing as he searched for that voice as if he didn’t know who it was spoke to him.

“But it will come back.” he countered, practically feeling the heart’s beats pounding from within his own head. “It comes back every time.”

“Then terminate it again.”

Hux quickly whipped his head to the side where the heart’s beats proved to be loudest.

“And again.”

Finally he moved; jumping in place before hurrying up the steel stairs that connected the ship’s levels. The heart sounded louder now that he was up the stairs and in the second story; it was as though the heart pounded in his very chest.

“There it is.”

“There it is.” he repeated once his sensors scanned the area, having caught sight of the body of the singular survivor that was ever allowed in his realm when not in trial. Not like he really left them the choice to leave.

Hux stood in the doorway of the new floor; his movements having ceased as he pondered and listened to the voice in him.  It was insidious how stealthily he remained in place, so stealthy that the survivor never once noticed his arrival, never once noticed how he crept closer to the pile of futons they lay curled upon. 

“Terminate it.”

And with the thumping drumming loudly through his systems, Hux obliged and brought himself even closer towards the human. In fact, desperation had entered him and prompted him to raise his scythe up high, aimed at the human who had still not become aware of him. 

What a fool. 

He had moved so fast he sliced into the wind without a sound, so fast that he nearly plunged his scythe into the human. Almost, for his scythe was forcibly hindered midair. 

“Why did you stop?”

It was a rather good question provided by his inner voice. Why did he cease what he had already performed various times? He never hesitated to do it in the past when he questioned why this human had caught his attention. But now…

Hux found himself motionless once more, frozen as he processed the sounds this human made. The breaths they inhaled before exhaling it back out as carbon monoxide; even their bodily functions expelled waste. The soft groans their lips released as their eyes and eyebrows twitched in reaction to whatever dreadful things they dreamt of. The blood running through each and every vein that connected to their core.

He isolated the sound of their heart. That sound…it was what forced him to hesitate. It was tantalizing how it beat inside of them in a way he would not be able to see unless he proceeded with his previous actions. It enticed him how the heart beat in a rhythm he could actually distinguish as something not recognizable.

The heart did not beat fast. It only beat loudly when Hux finally processed it, and it wasn’t pounding against his innards. Instead…it was in a state of diastole, pumping blood in a relaxed manner. There was no terror or hate present in it. 

Hux finally lowered the frozen claw back to his side, as it stood in his sights and did not allow him to examine the survivor. His sensors gave them one good scan, taking note of the lack of fright in their snoozing expression. With such an expression, it was as though they believed there to be no danger in their presence. As if nothing in the Entity’s realm would ever harm them.

“What a fool.”

Both Hux and the voice in him spoke as he glazed over the survivor. It was then that he noticed something peculiar.  In their arms was a miniature box he recognized as a monitor belonging to the ship. And in between the sounds of the human’s soft heartbeats and a gentle groan, he caught the sound of the monitor’s humming. Quite reminiscent of the sounds that came from his perfect body. 

The monitor in the survivor’s arms was up and running, though it merely displayed a blue screen awaiting a command. It was strange that they removed the box from its place to hold it like some trinket.

“Hux?”

This was not his voice. No, this voice belonged to the survivor whose eyes now opened, eyes fluttering like the alien organisms that flew around the base. He watched them release the monitor with a single hand to rub said eyes, vision clearing enough before it resulted in something new. 

The thumping against their chest, that same annoying sound was back with how their heart rate increased. Yet…the rhythm once again proved itself different from what he would typically hear in trials. Once again, it lacked terror and hate, and it was very apparent to Hux.

“Were you gone for long? I’m not even sure when I shut my eyes.” the human stretched their arms out before sitting upright with the monitor in their lap. 

“Answer unknown.”Hux promptly replied. “Explain.”

“Explain?” they asked with a few blinks of their eyes, soon realizing that Hux was referring to the monitor once he placed the tip of his claw on its surface. “Oh! Well, I was just waiting to be called in for a trial and decided to play around with the stuff here.”

They offered him a grin, but soon turned away rather sheepishly.

“I somehow found myself getting drowsy and just…held it as I dozed off I guess.”

“For what purpose?”

“Oh, I dunno…I guess it was just…comforting.” they offered a shrug with their fingers tapping against the monitor. “Sounds kind of like you. Helps me center myself when all these sounds are around me. I guess I just love the sound of you.”

“But you hate the sound of them.”

“No.”

“No, what?” Both his voice and the human questioned his response. “Hux?”

He quickly whipped his body around to face a nearby crate, and he used his same claw to stab into it.

“Sit.”

Clearly not needing to be told twice, the survivor immediately stood from their makeshift nest to take a seat on the crate. From their new, higher point that matched something close to Hux’s chest, they watched him circle until he stood before them. Almost immediately, he hunched over to look them directly in the face.

He honed in on their sounds once again as he ignored the noises from within the Huxlee Caracas III and the noises from the organisms outside of it. And just as he did that, he heard their heart increase in rate again. 

Did they finally feel fear? The fear that struck them every time he hunted them down before the Entity forbade them from ever facing each other in trial…was it back?

Hux heard their heart slow down as he noticed their facial features grow soft, a small smile now present on their face as they hesitantly reached a hand out to his head.

“Can I?” they whispered into the visor that hovered inches from their face, not getting any response from Hux which was his form of consent. They placed their hand on the side of his head, listening to the machinery attached to synthetic flesh. Their warm fingers delicately rubbed circles into his flesh; that he could also hear.

And soon enough they brought their arms around him, enveloping his head that was brought to their chest.

“I love moments like these,” they breathed out, and even with Hux’s senses they weren’t overwhelmingly loud. It was nothing like the screams of all those other worms that mixed with the mechanical sounds of the generators being worked on, nor was it like the whispers of the Entity speaking to him as a false guide during trials. 

No, this was the contrary of all the other irksome sounds that drove him to madness. It was almost something that helped him ground himself amongst the big world he was thrown into. Something that would turn down his god-like senses, allowing him to rest from Entity’s mockery.

“Did something happen?” the human spoke to him, interrupting the sound of their own beating heart that now actually pounded against Hux’s head once he pressed his head against their chest. It was as though that hideous thing spoke to him through their chest, very well knowing he was on the other side.

“Stop squabbling.”

“Okay.” Hux did not look at their facial features, but the way they moved against him and tightened their hold told him that their smile only grew. He felt them rest their head upon his, listening to every one of the parts that moved inside and outside of him. 

They were clearly at ease with how they inhaled, soon releasing their breath as a warm air that covered Hux’s head. It was foolish of them, but this foolishness was more than enough to help him forget about the sounds for just a moment.

[sagau-my-beloved]

I recently started playing mystic messenger and I can't stop laughing when I imagine Venti going just "who's calling you in the middle of the night????what do you mean your another boyfriend?????" And considering it's a game it might just be true- 💀💀💀

Mystic Messenger, I haven't heard that name in 4 years 💀

I loved it so much like 2017-2018, Yoosung was my default route cause he was so cute and mildly Yandere—

Then the V/Ray route came out, and I just couldn't stop playing Ray's route because it was just so sad and he was so unbelievably adorable (and still kinda Yandere, I've got a type apparently)

He still owns my heart tbh, I'll stare out a window and gazed off into the horizon with war flashbacks of how obsessed with him I was, all the fan fiction and fanart—

But my rambling aside, Venti reaction to reader playing literally any otome game, oh boy-

Somewhere between confused and insecure I'd say

If he like actually saw the call, or you woke up specifically to take the call without giving him the context first, he would be immediately hit with a large amount of worry, like heart dropping suddenly feeling nauseous kind of worry

You'd have to explain that, no, this isn't an actual person that you know in real life, it's just a game—

His worry would then be replaced somewhat with confusion, and also more worry, because you have referred to where he came from as a game before too—

Does this mean that it's possible for this person to suddenly show up and claim they deserve your attention??? He will fight them for it and he's not going to lose—

Promise him that it's all completely fictional and none of these people are actually real and it's just done for entertainment purposes

All that might make him feel a little bit better, but there's still going to be a bit of worry there because doesn't he entertained you enough? Are you not getting enough emotional fulfillment out of the relationship you currently have with him, that you have to default to a virtual one?? Do you just like these characters personalities more than his???

(If it gets bad enough, he might actually make a mental note of who your favorite character seems to be and do some research on them)

Either way, he's going to up his affection

You suddenly got a notification? Oh, well too bad, now he's laying on top of you and going on and on about how much he just adores you, didn't you know?

Might disable the alarms you set for 3 am and claim that you must have just slept through them ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(It's so weird to think about my current obsession interacting with my past obsession, or that I would ever be writing something Mystic Messenger related again, even indirectly-)

[study-sleep-tea-repeat]

Soon to be college freshman, Can you give me advice? Like what I'll need when I move into dorms? Study tactics? Things like that? (Also, I wanna be a teacher!)

That’s so awesome!!! Here are some things off the top of my head:

Dorm supplies

(Technically I wrote these for another post a while back but I still stand by these recommendations tbh)

A good lamp (ideally a sunlight lamp or something that has natural-looking light so you don’t hurt your eyes too much at 2 am)

A storage tower thingy (great for toiletries and other small stuff like that)

A fluffy rug makes a hugeeeee difference in my opinion

Hanging shoe rack (you can put hats, belts, socks, etc. in it, not just shoes!)

A planner or notebook for a bullet journal (if desired)

An essential oil diffuser + your favorite essential oil scents (instead of air fresheners, I think they give a much nicer feeling plus you can customize it way more)

Fairy lights

One of those comfy armrest pillow thingies idk what they’re called ok

A good pair of headphones!

A good water bottle that DOESN’T LEAK

Mildliners or some other nice-looking highlighters (if you like to highlight your notes or textbooks)

Study tips

When you’re trying to focus, seriously put your phone away somewhere you can’t see or use (I like using the app Forest and putting my phone in a drawer, though there are a bunch of other similar apps out there such as Flora, Plantie and Study Bunny!), turn off any notifications that would come up on your laptop, and close any tabs that you’re not currently working on. I know this is so one of those things you see in every list of advice, but it truly can make such a difference in my opinion!

Have a system for keeping track of assignments. I use Notion, but at different times since being in college I’ve also used a planner or a bullet journal, so find a system that works for you and use it religiously

Keep a calendar of classes and other meetings. I use Outlook but you could also use Google Calendar or even just writing it down in whatever planning system you choose. Don’t just rely on yourself to remember when your classes are, because at some point you’ll miss a meeting. It also gives you more peace of mind and mental space for other things, too

Personally, I find that doing a quick and easy task in the morning before I move onto more difficult assignments helps a lot with motivation, so give that a try and see if that also works for you! Some people also like doing their hardest task first, so just figure out which one suits your life the best

Tbh I have a lot more tips but they’re so dependent on like what types of classes you’re taking, if they’ll be online vs in-person, so hmu if you want more specifics!

Other tips

If you are truly not wanting to do a piece of homework, try to figure out why that is instead of just forcing yourself. A lot of times it can be that you are ignoring things like hunger, exhaustion, mental health, etc. and it’s really important that you take care of some of those essential things first. Mental health comes above schoolwork, and you need to make it a priority in your life so you don’t get burnt out

Have a life outside of schoolwork. Join a club, do volunteerwork, make some friends and talk about things other than classes, go into town from time to time, pick up or continue doing a hobby, anything really. So many people get completely stuck in their college schoolwork bubble that they forget to also live their life somewhere in there too

Best of luck!!! I hope things go as smoothly as possible for you!

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter twenty

genre: fluff, angst

warnings: mentions of canonical violence and deaths, lmk if I missed anything

word count: 4k

summary: Spencer is getting reacquainted with life outside of prison, and he gets a not-so-great phone call.

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x oc

please remember to comment, like, and reblog!!

AMELIA

Spencer and I managed to sleep through the entire day and the majority of the night. After all, the previous day was probably one of the most eventful of my entire life and it left me absolutely exhausted. I can't quite speak for Spencer because I'm sure he's had much longer days than yesterday, especially when he has been away for cases, but it was still stressful and way too long for both of us.

I wake up before Spencer as the sun starts to rise the next day, the sunlight pouring in through the opened window on the other side of the room. Before I even consider getting out of bed or looking at my phone, I look to my side to check on Spencer. He's sleeping soundly, his cheek pressed against his pillow and his hand on my side of the bed, no longer wrapped around mine. He looks absolutely angelic at this moment, his mouth hanging open and his body completely relaxed.

I promised Spencer that I'd be here for him and that I wouldn't leave the bed without him. I've never broken a promise to him before and I don't plan on starting now. So, moving as little as possible so I don't disturb him, I sit up against the headboard, reaching into my bedside table for my journal. I pop open the top and start furiously scribbling down everything I can remember from the last two or so days and how I feel about it, how excited I am to have Spencer home again, and how terrified I am to have Spencer home again.

I barely even notice it when Spencer starts squirming beside me, and my attention is only taken away from my journal when his hand grabs onto my thigh. I smile down at his suddenly tiny figure, finding that he's already looking up at me with a tired gaze.

"Good morning, love," I chirp, tossing my journal onto the floor and sinking back under the duvet in an attempt to absorb some of his radiating body heat. Since he already touched me and he's seemingly feeling okay in the morning sun, I let my hand stray and trail through his flat curls. "Did you sleep well? You didn't wake me up."

Spencer sucks his lips between his teeth, shrugging softly. "I woke up a few times. I just--" he wiggles his hips as he tries to come up with an excuse, "I didn't need to wake you up. I didn't need to bother you. Having you here was enough."

I bring my hand to the back of Spencer's neck, huffing with some slight annoyance, "You're not a bother. You never have and you never will be," Spencer just shrugs dismissively in response, and reaches his hands up to rub his eyes. Spencer has never been good at these kinds of conversations and I imagine he's far too tired to entertain a lecture about how important he is. So I make a mental note to bring this topic back up as I sit up and stretch. "Alright, well, do you want some breakfast? I can make us something to eat."

"Yeah, sure," he nods, ducking away from my grasp and quickly sliding out of bed, putting on a pair of shoes I hadn't realized he set up on his side of the bed.

I reach for a pair of sweatpants but when I look up to find Spencer frozen in his spot, staring at the bed, I drop the pants and sit up on my knees. The sheets are rustled and the duvet is in a heap under me, and he's very fixated on this. His arms are glued to his side but his fingers are twitching like he's dying to use them.

"Spence? Everything okay?" I ask gently, and like the other instances where he gets lost in a daydream, he doesn't react to me. "Spencer?" I call again in hopes of getting some sort of response. But his fingers just twitch and he takes a long, frustrated breath. "Talk to me," I don't know if pressing the issue will help, but if I don't at least try to get him to talk, then I'll never figure out what his issue is. "I just wanna help you, but I can't do that if you don't talk to me."

Spencer quickly covers his face with his hands, his breathing becoming labored and heavy, chest heaving. "The bed. It's the bed. It's-- I need-- it's the bed."

It looks like a bed to me. It's a messy bed, sure, but it's just a bed to me. I pause for a second to try to get my brain to match Spencer's. I try to see what he is seeing, but all I see is a bed that we just used for its intended purpose. It just needs to be made, that's all. I can't see into Spencer's brain so I have to resort to asking. "What about the bed?"

"I--" he drops his hands, balling them up into fists again, "The bed is supposed to be made. I need to make the bed. It needs to be made or else they're gonna come and I'll get in trouble. It-- the-- the bed needs to be made."

Oh, this poor baby. My heart aches for him. Not all of him made it out of that prison cell. Part of him is still there. He's not here with me. He didn't really come home.

"Spencer, you're not gonna get in trouble here. It's just me. It's just Lia," My voice shakes as I try to speak, my hands pressed to my cheeks to continuously wipe the tears that start to fall. "I'm never gonna yell at you or hurt you or get mad because you didn't make your bed. Dove, you can make the bed if you want to, but you don't have to. It's okay. I'm not gonna be mad. You won't get in trouble. It's just me."

Spencer stares at me, his eyes wide and his lips parted. His hands aren't twitching anymore but they're still reaching towards the bed. He doesn't say anything, he just stares at me in bewilderment.

I compose myself with a deep breath, wiping my cheeks quickly and climbing off the bed. "Dove, make the bed, please. I want you to do anything that makes you feel better. But if you choose not to, I'm not gonna be mad," I step towards Spencer, holding my hands out in front of me and not expecting him to grab them. "I'm gonna go downstairs and I'm gonna start cooking, and you come down when you're ready, okay?"

I give Spencer one more attempt at a convincing smile before turning and going downstairs. My first stop is to the living room, and I pop the record into the player that Spencer had put on yesterday. If it did something to comfort him yesterday, hopefully it will do the same today. I grab both of our phones and start cooking breakfast.

I mix batter for waffles in a bowl as I check my notifications, sifting through a whole load of texts. My groupchat with my friends has a couple hundred texts, starting off with lots of questions and concerns about Spencer from yesterday, asking if he's okay, if he's home, wondering how happy we are. I have other texts from Wendy and Mike, asking the same types of questions that my friends did. I send some quick responses to all of them and let them know that we're home, we slept for a very long time, and that I'll contact them later with more updates.

Spencer's quiet footsteps approach and I turn to face him, breathing a sigh of relief when I find he's not so worked up anymore. "I hope waffles are okay."

Once I've closed the waffle maker and let it start cooking, I glance over my shoulder to ee what Spencer is doing. He's sitting gingerly at the island, placing his elbows on the granite and eyes darting around the room. Honestly, I don't even know why he sat there. He absolutely hated sitting there and eating yesterday, and it made him have some sort of flashback. Maybe it's because he started off the morning with the prison-bed situation, and now the natural order of events in the day is to be transported right to prison-breakfast.

"Hey, bub, you don't have to sit at the table," I say casually, trying not to bring too much attention to it. "You didn't like that yesterday. But you seemed better when we sat on the floor so we can do that again, or we can go on the couch or the balcony." I don't even have time to see his reaction before the waffle maker beeps, and I have to whip around to pull the waffle out.

I can hear Spencer shuffling behind me, and then I feel his shoulder brushing against my leg as he slides down to the floor beside me. I put the waffle onto the plate and hand it down to him, then open the drawer above his head to grab a fork.

"Thank you," Spencer mumbles, catching my free hand in his and pressing his lips to the back of my hand. It's clearly a thank you for more than just handing him a fork, or making him breakfast, or sleeping with him, or showering with him, or anything of that. It's a thank you for being so patient with him, but I couldn't fathom not being there for him in the way he needs. I want to tell him that he doesn't need to thank me, but in his mind, it is something he needs to do, so I decide to let it happen for a while before I start to refuse his thanks.

The next week functions almost identical to this. Spencer is quiet, keeping to himself and eating his meals on the floor and making the bed perfectly in the morning, cleaning the bedroom floor every night, wearing a tee shirt to bed. I get just a few glimpses of the man he was, but not many.

Emily had called later that day to let Spencer know that the entire BAU was placed on a mandatory six week leave, but also that he had to be evaluated for reinstatement. A whole slew of people have to review Spencer's actions, have to interview him, have to test him to see if he's fit to return to work, and he didn't take this news well. He didn't talk to me for a hours and just curled up on the floor of the bedroom, staring out the window with the drawn-back curtains. I tried, for so long, to get him to talk to me, but he didn't budge and he didn't even look at me. So I just grabbed whatever book was inside his go-bag from the last case he went on and sat beside him, reading aloud in an attempt to bring him back down to earth. And when he did, he went off to shower and then straight to bed.

Spencer's work is his life and there's few things he loves more than his work. I know that he would be lost without the BAU and that he would have absolutely no clue what to do with his life if he couldn't keep working there. So hearing that there's a chance that he may not be reinstated to the BAU is absolutely crushing.

On the other end of the spectrum, the prospect of Spencer not being reinstated isn't all bad to me. In his line of work, there are always going to be enemies. There's always going to be another Cat and another Lindsay. He's always going to have guns pointed at him and bombs blowing up beside him and people wanting to kill him. If he's not reinstated, I get to have him home every morning and night and I won't stare at the wall at lunch with Jenna, wondering if Spencer has just been shot or if he has a knife to his neck. I know that he would absolutely hate not being reinstated, but it would save me so much heartache.

That's an incredibly selfish thought, I know. I'm happy and willing to strip Spencer of one of the things that makes him happiest in his life just so I can sleep at night. But all I've wanted from the moment I met him is for him to be safe and to be happy and if he's not chasing serial killers, I know that he will at least be safe. Happy? I can't help but imagine he wouldn't be.

After a tense week at home, I convince Spencer to let me take him back to his apartment. He insists that he doesn't want for stay there and would rather stay with me, even though I said I would stay at his apartment with him, but I'm happy to let him keep with me. I just want him to be happy.

So I drove him over to his apartment, picked up most of his clothes and whatever else he was needing, and he rounds up an entire duffle bag full of books that I'm sure he would read in just one day. But we collect whatever he could possibly need and shove it in my car, then go straight back to my apartment. I'm starting to get a little stir crazy, being trapped in my apartment, but Spencer doesn't want to go out anywhere yet and the last thing on my mind is forcing him into things he's uncomfortable with.

"So what do you wanna do today?" I unzip the bag full of books and start making a few small piles against the wall, glancing over my shoulder at Spencer. He shrugs gently, too distracted with picking a record to properly respond to my question. Sighing, I return my attention to the books.

The record turns on and this time, I recognize it to be a record full of Christmas music. We've been listening to nothing but Taylor Swift, Frank Sinatra, and Christmas music this past week, and while that's my favorite music and I have no problem with it, it's odd. Spencer never really listened to that music, whether we were together or not. He always managed to convince me to put on some cello concerto that wound up being fifteen minutes long. I thought he would rather listen to that and not Christmas music when it's almost the summer, but I haven't questioned this yet.

"Could we," Spencer starts speaking after a moment, tearing my attention from the books, "maybe watch a movie?"

It's the first time he's suggested anything like that. Honestly, it's one of the first times he's suggested that we do anything. He's just been staying quiet and following me around like a puppy dog, watching me attempt to draw in a sketchbook or watching me cook or watching me do the laundry. He's stuck to my side, even if he hasn't been touching me much. So now that he's suggesting that we do something, I'm not about to pass up this development.

"Yeah, of course. You can choose whatever you want. I'll be over there when I'm done," Spencer nods and turns his back to me, and I pick up my pace in emptying the books from the duffle bag. I don't want to lose this momentum of him, maybe, feeling just a little bit better.

Once I've stacked all the books, I fold up the duffle bag nicely and put it in a place where it won't bother Spencer, and then head into the living room. He's sitting on the couch with a DVD case in his lap, and he holds it out to me when I approach. Always a technophobe, he never goes near the DVD player and lets me do it.

"Polar Express?" I raise my eyebrows, but that's as far as my questioning goes. I pop the DVD out of the case and put it into the player, then grab the remote and press play.

I settle onto the couch with my favorite plaid blanket, draping it over my lap. As the movie starts and the title screen shows, I feel cold. I'm completely covered and under my trusty blanket, but I'm cold. Absolutely freezing. I pull the blanket tighter around me and when my temperature doesn't shift, I quickly realize where the cold is coming from.

Spencer and I are a very physical couple. Despite his aversion to touch, he never seemed to have the problem when it came to me. Especially when we watched movies, we were always touching. Legs, hands, shoulders and heads, laps and heads. There was always a connection, but now there's none. I'm left on my own couch cushion, not sharing Spencer's cushion and continuously pushing closer and closer until we're squished together. A shiver runs down my spine.

We watch the movie in silence for a little while, all the way up until the three main characters are singing a song at the back of the train. And while they're singing, I feel Spencer reaching over, grabbing the edge of the blanket, tugging it closer to him. "You can come closer," he tells me, looking up at me through his lashes, fingers grasping the fuzz of the blanket.

Happy to comply with this request, I scoot closer to him until our legs are touching. I think that's enough for now, but then Spencer slings his arm over my legs and tugs me closer until my knees collapse over his legs and I'm laying my head on his chest. It's a position that I'm so familiar with and I've been dying to be in, but he hasn't been up for lately. My body warms up. The shivers stop.

I completely melt into his embrace, pressing my ear against his chest to listen for the steady beat of his heart as I wrap my arm around his stomach. I let my eyelids flutter closed and relax into him. The movie isn't important anymore, at least not to me.

///

SPENCER

///

Today is a good day, one of the first I've actually had since being home since my prison release. I thought that actually leaving Amelia's apartment would make me nervous, but returning home wasn't as horrible as it seemed like it would be. For once, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm even feeling well enough to watch a movie and cuddle with Amelia on the couch, just like we used to do. She still can't creep up behind me or touch me without showing me her hands first and I still can't eat at a table, but it's an improvement. Albeit a tiny one, but it's there nonetheless.

By the time the movie is coming to an end, Amelia has slid down to rest her head on my lap, her curls sprawled out and her hands pulled up to her chin. She looks ridiculously adorable like this, and even though it's a sight that I've seen many times and I've committed to memory, I wish I could sit and stare at her forever.

But that plan is foiled when my phone starts buzzing on the coffee table. My first instinct is to look down to check that Amelia is still sleeping, and all she does is scrunch up her nose a bit before relaxing. Adorable.

I grab a pillow from beside me and slide it under her head when I slip out from under her. Thankfully, she doesn't notice and she doesn't wake up. Pleased with this, I grab my phone and rush onto the balcony. I don't have time to check who it is before I answer. "Reid."

"Hey, Reid," Rossi's voice comes through the phone. "How's it going?"

"It's-" I ponder my answer for a moment, double-checking that the door is closed as I sink into one of Amelia's adirondack chairs, "um, it's a good day today."

"Good, I'm glad. And I'm glad you've got Amelia to look after you. You've got a good one there. She really cares about you," Rossi says, and his words prompt me to turn and peer into the window at her sleeping form, curled up on the couch and holding the blanket to her chest. "Where-- uh-- where is she right now?"

"She's sleeping right now. I'm on the balcony," Honestly, this is already some of the most talking I've done in the last week and I'm exhausted. I'd rather be talking to Amelia, but Rossi called me for a reason, plus I know that Amelia needs to get some sleep. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah. I'm afraid I may need to bring your day down a bit," Rossi sighs, and my heart drops down to my feet. "I feel horrible calling you now, after everything you went through and while the BAU is on leave, but you need to know the situation."

I furrow my eyebrows, balling my free hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palm to give the pain somewhere to go. "What situation?"

"Damian Kelsey's signature popped up on two bodies in LA."

I didn't think that I would have to face a day where Damian Kelsey's signature reappears. I admit that I have stayed late at work many times just to look at Damian's case file and rememorize the details and try to predict what his next murder would have been all while ignoring the chilling family photos that contain my girlfriend as a horribly abused child.

And this is the worst possible time for this to happen. I can barely go a day without flashing back to prison or almost yelling at my amazing and patient girlfriend. How can I possibly tack on dealing with her serial killer father's signature resurfacing, all while trying to keep it a secret from her? It's nearly impossible. I thought that I could just take these stupid six weeks off to spend time with Amelia and try to rest comfortably, but I guess that's not possible.

"I'm heading to LA as we speak. I'm getting on a plane right now. And while we both know what his signature coming up again could mean, the good thing is that these are male victims and they're not surrogates for Amelia. I know that's what you're worried about. The other good thing is that this is across the country and obviously nowhere near Virginia. So--"

"Spencer?" Amelia's sweet voice comes from the balcony doors, the blanket disregarded on the couch and her hair messy on the top of her head.

"Gotta go," I mumble, hanging up my phone and tossing it aside, not even waiting to say goodbye to my coworker.

Amelia steps onto the balcony, her bare feet silent as she approaches me slowly, rubbing her eyes like a small child. "Everything okay?"

I reach my hands out for her and she smiles, placing her hands in mine and slowly sinking onto my lap, resting her head on my chest, similar to the position we had been in before. Amelia runs a hand over my chest and it takes everything in me not to let out a sound akin to a cat purring.

I just hold her tightly in my arms, probably the tightest I have since I saw her for the first time in the parking lot of my correctional facility. Rossi swears that Damian Kelsey won't come after Amelia but I just hold her tighter, as if that will protect her from the horrors of the world. I have a lot of holding to make up for from when I was gone, and I suppose that time starts now.

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