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im watching gilmore girls and my friend told me im very rory coded but i lowkey hate her

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a post will have 500 notes and only 48 of them will be reblogs. i promise you that reblogging something will not ruin your aesthetic on this utterly swagless website.

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man this guy is my favourite character (throws rocks at him) (throws rocks at him) (throws rocks at him) (throws rocks at him (thr

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dream blunt rotation except I'm the blunt

insp

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cutest<3

spencer reid

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how was this read over a thousand times im giggling n twirlin my hair rn... you guys.... !!!

Stranger Danger

Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader Summary: The power goes out. You and your daughter leave your apartment to find some light. Luckily, a stranger floods your being with it. WC: 2.1k Warnings: reader is scared of the dark; light mentions to stranger danger; it's a meet cute (guilty). Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: HI!!! I couldn't sleep so I decided to finish and post this one. I hope you guys enjoy it. Totally planning on a sequel for these three. Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. <3 neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

Spencer Reid was the most unnoticed and absent tenant of his building. His apartment was almost eerily quiet during most of the time, because of two main reasons. One, he was out of town often because of his job, of course, and, two, he didn't do much when he was there. He was a man who kept to himself whose idea of fun consisted of reading classic Literature. And don't take it the wrong way; not being around much didn't mean that he disliked his place, it was quite the opposite. He thoroughly enjoyed having a space to call his own, to organize, to cramp up the areas just the way he liked it. It gave him a sense of comfort, even though it felt lonely more often than not.

One of his neighbors had a child, he could tell that much because of the noises he would hear when he was around — while playing or the whining when she wanted something, after all, that's how kids usually behave. Spencer didn't mind them, of course, he was away for most of the time, so it wouldn't be rational to be bothered by a child acting like one. It was like being annoyed by an adult acting out, which did happen, but adults were supposed to be more self-aware than kids.

Although fairly acquainted with the routine of the family by putting pieces together from time to time (something his brain couldn't help but do, almost automatically), he had never seen their faces. He knew their voices and could even tell their footsteps apart. Sometimes, he would think about them. How did their day go, if everything was alright, if they ever addressed uncomfortable topics, if they ever had problems like his own frequently faced after they discovered about his mother's condition. He was acutely aware of the fact that those thoughts were the results of some sort of projection, almost like those neighbors were his personal novel to read and he longed to relate to its characters, because so much of his childhood had been ripped from him in ways he worried he could never recover from and terribly soon — he didn't remember ever knowing the sense of a loving, ordinary family like they apparently did and lived.

Today was a day off. He sat on his balcony, the summer breeze kissing his skin and messing up his hair, writing a letter to his mother. He tried his best to remain true to the commitment of making her a part of his life as a way to ease the guilt and sadness that gnawed at him for not being capable of caring for her properly by himself. He dearly missed Diana, he was his mother, after all. The only one who stood by him, even if not at her best, the only family he had left.

Satisfied with his writing, he finished the letter with a promise that he'd visit her soon. As he was folding the paper to put it inside the envelope, everything went black. The light left completely and, for a moment, he thought he had fainted because of the suddenness of it. That's when he heard the shrieking coming from the apartment next door and with a small chuckle, he deduced it was a power outage.

"Oookay, we don't need to panic, Oli, right? The light will be back in a few moments," he heard from the balcony next to his. It was the mother's voice, surely.

"Mommy, 'm scared," the little girl, Olivia, cried.

"I know, baby, but mommy is right here," was the answer provided, followed by the sound of a loud and exaggerated kiss. He heard the little girl giggle. "That's better, sweetie. Come on, let's talk. How are you feeling?"

"'m scared, but happy that you're here, mommy," she said.

"I'm happy to be with you, too, my girl," the woman cooed.

Spencer all but listened to the sweet interaction close to him. Unbeknownst to the woman, he held it even closer to his heart. It was one of the purest forms of love he had ever witnessed and he was grateful for them both during that time.

You, on the other hand, felt panic rising in your chest as the minutes passed and the dark still engulfed you, your little girl's voice the only comfort soothing you from time to time. Olivia was really scared of the dark, so as time went by, you tried to assure her that there was nothing to be scared of, and even if she was, she shouldn't feel embarrassed, that it was okay to express those feelings and that you were there for her. You were glad that she trusted you enough to believe those empty words, because you were terrified of the dark.

It all started as a kid. Not knowing what could be lurking in the shadows absolutely freaked you out and admiting it out loud was mortifying, so you did your best to hide it. If your daughter's reaction was anything to go by, you were doing a good job, so you relished on that.

Right now, it was becoming more and more difficult to play the part of the brave, fearless mother. So you started singing, soon enough followed by your daughter.

Super trouper lights are gonna blind me

But I won't feel blue like I always do

'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you

Olivia giggled. It was one of her favorite songs, you had introduced it to her when she was too shy before one of her recitals. She had only memorized the chorus, of course. You were forever thankful for having that song engraved in your memory, because now the footage you had from said recital had Olivia showing all her moves looking right at you, basically all of the time.

"Oli, what do you think of going to the lobby? Maybe we could find some friends there." You suggested, which made Spencer's interest rise. Could it be a chance for him to finally address faces to the family he almost felt a part of?

For someone so bright, he truly didn't know if he was overstepping or being obsessive, it just made sense to him. Like aforementioned, he felt like it was a novel.

He heard little hands clapping excitedly and heard the next door opening and then closing right after. He used the time to think if he was behaving like the creeps he profiled for a living, but decided to give himself some credit by realizing he didn't mean to do no harm, he was just curious.

As time went by, the lobby soon became crowded with people and basically everyone had a flashlight on. It made Spencer laugh internally. He searched the area for a woman and a little kid, but no success. The room was so packed it almost felt suffocating and for a moment he felt ridiculous for considering searching a room for someone whose face he wasn't familiar with. What was he thinking? His mother always said that his job should stay out of his personal life and he had yet to learn that. So, he decided to go outside for a breath of fresh air.

What he didn't expect was to find a woman and a little girl sitting on the benches just outside the apartment complex. Their voices sounded exactly like the ones he had been noticing for some time now. He froze, unable to look away from them.

The girl had her mother's features. They were so scarily alike that it felt like he was watching the same person during different periods of her life, but simultaneously, as if he was on some sort of time travel.

He was ripped out of his daydreams when the little girl came running towards him, "Look, mommy! He has a letter! You send them to grandpa!"

Although very embarrassed by your daughter's sudden run, you jumped on your feet to catch up with her. You didn't know that man, so it only made sense to be very alert and to keep your child away from him. As you neared the two of them, you placed your hands on Oli's shoulders, who was standing in front of him, you took in his appearance. He was tall, a little lanky and had long-ish hair, cut just around his shoulders. He had dress pants and a shirt loosely buttoned up as well. His eyes were searching your face, as if he was scanning you as well. The poor lighting didn’t help either of you, but you two were almost touching with your eyes, if such a thing were possible, from how much you were looking, almost admiring each other.

Amid his thoughts from earlier, he didn't even realize he was still holding the letter he had written that afternoon.

"Hi," you greeted, a little awkwardly, "I'm sorry. She’s still learning about stranger danger. Or bothering people." You chuckled, nervously.

What the hell have you just said?

"Actually, stranger danger did the most harm to this country in terms of crimes like that. I remember them coming to my classroom. It was Officer Friendly with stranger danger coloring books. Taught a whole generation about a scary man in a trench coat, hiding behind a tree. Then we learned that strangers are only a fraction of the offenders out there." He rambled.

What the hell has he just said?

You knitted your eyebrows together, perceiving his comment as peculiar, to say the least. "Well, yeah."

"Sorry about that. I tend to ramble about some topics. I'm not a creep, I swear. I work with the FBI, I know it can be odd to start a conversation like that. Well, your daughter did," he chuckled, albeit tensely, "My name's Spencer. Spencer Reid. I live in this building. Third floor."

You laughed a little over his rambling, relief flooding your body once you realized that he was just a regular guy. A regular guy that worked for the FBI. You told him your name and Olivia's as he offered you a friendly handshake, "Me and Olivia live there, too."

"MOMMY!" Olivia shouted, sounding exasperated and thrilled at the same time. "He is the ghost neighbor!"

"Ghost neighbor?" He asked, shocked and a little humored.

You laughed at your daughter and the confusion adorning his beautiful features. "Oli, don't scream. We already talked about it," you addressed your daughter, firmly but gently. Spencer was in awe. "It's just an inside joke between the kids. You're almost never home and every once in a while they hear some sounds coming from your apartment. They say a ghost lives there. They even put up some decorations on your front door on Halloween, but I decided to remove it in case it bothered you."

Olivia laughed like someone had spilled a funny secret and Spencer quickly joined her. You chuckled, even though you were more puzzled than anything by the fact that your daughter had approached, so confidently, a stranger. It made you both terrified and happy. Terrified because he could be a weirdo. Happy because she was able to come out of her shell. Even happier to see her coming out of her shell with a nice stranger.

"It’s alright. I wouldn’t have minded. I love Halloween.” He said, addressing you. You could tell then that, at least, he wasn’t someone bitter. “Sorry to disappoint, Miss Olivia. It's just me moving some chairs every now and then. But I won't tell if you won't."

"I won't!" She squealed, and Spencer smiled. You couldn't draw your eyes away from their exchange. Olivia balled her small fists on your skirt, pulling you out of your reverie, so you crouched down at her height. She whispered something in your ear. Spencer watched, curiously, as you nodded at her.

"She said you need a pinky promise." You told him once you were standing again. Spencer gladly crouched and stuck out his pinky towards Olivia, who intertwined her own with his.

"Now we can't tell anybody." He said, with a genuine smile on her face.

"Mommy, you hafta promise it too." Olivia said, grabbing your hand and pulling your pinky toward Spencer's hand, linking them together. You felt the heat rising to your face.

The power came back. Suddenly, your pinky was linked to a very handsome man who you had just met because of your one-of-a-kind daughter. It made you nervous, because the light highlighting his beautiful features in all the right places made you feel like a deer caught in the headlights. By looking at him alone, you thought of words related to the light four times. As he looked back at you with a gorgeous smile on his face, you finally understood why people associate light with feelings.

divider by @cafekitsune <3

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i wanna DIE

🎈First Days

OKAY SO you know that one post and its the husbands first day of college and their sons first day of school? Spencers first day as a professor and babies first day of school‼️

also my patreon i post cool stuff there!

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small updates :)

in february i went on a doctor's appointment to find out that my levels were absolutely fucked up and i mean prediabetes and all. they told me i should be taking better care of myself and indeed they were right. so lately i've been busy with working out and trying to eat a little healthier than i used to. on top of that, uni and work have been kicking my ass like never before but at least i'm done with my midterms by now. i'm also looking for a job that allows me to work from home which is kinda hard but i had an interview just last week so i'm hopeful :)))

i haven't forgotten about writing but honestly there's just so much on my plate and i've been struggling to find time even for myself.

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Bella where have you been loca?

haiiii! omg 🥺🥺 i've been a little too busy with uni + working two jobs + personal life lately and honestly everything's got me almost burning out. i do have plans of coming back here though, maybe next month when things settle down a little bit — i at least will be done with my finals!!

i miss you guys so muchhhh :(((

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oioioi i miss tumblr :(

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sweet jesus

It's a Craving, not a Crush

Summary: Ever since you laid eyes on Emily, you were craving to taste her

“I could eat that girl for lunch Yeah, she dances on my tongue Tastes like she might be the one And I could never get enough”

Lunch by Billie Eilish

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) heavy kissing, grinding, fingering, oral (Emily receiving)

Word count: 1.1k

Author’s Note: Lunch is the perfect lesbian hymn to write about Emily Prentiss. I may or may not have lost my mind while thinking about going down on Emily. I hope you guys enjoy! This is for the lovely anon who requested “more Emily Prentiss”. 

Masterlist

Emily must have known exactly what she was doing when she put on a tight red dress tonight. She looked good in anything but seeing her in that color almost drove you insane. You were drawn to her like a honeybee desperate to find the sweet nectar of the most beautiful flower on earth.

There was no time to be wasted when she followed you inside your apartment after your date. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured before you captured her lips with yours. 

The kiss was timid at first, soft and sweet. That changed once Emily pushed her body against yours. Her tongue slipped in your mouth when you sighed and you were happy to reciprocate her action. Deepening this kiss only ignited the flame that was already burning so hot inside you. 

Your lips left her mouth to explore her neck instead and a shy moan slipped from her. Mesmerized by the sound, you gently bit down on her pulse point in hopes to hear it again. Another sigh and you were lost in the glory that was the woman in front of you. 

Curious hands began exploring each other's bodies, pawing at soft curves and stroking over smooth fabric. It was not enough, though. One more kiss on her lips before you fell to your knees, ready to worship her fully. With widened eyes she watched you drag her dress up her thighs until the lace of her underwear was revealed. 

“So eager,” she chuckled when you placed a soft kiss on her thigh and another one at the seam of her panties. 

“Need to taste you,” you confessed before you let your tongue wander over the soft lace.

Emily placed her hand on your forehead and gently pushed you away from her, having you whine in protest. 

“Why don’t we take this to your bedroom,” she suggested while pulling on your hand to help you get up. “That’s much more comfortable.” 

There was no reason to dissent, so you led her to your bed. Emily’s hands felt warm and determined when she began undressing you layer after layer until you stood bare in front of her. 

“You’re so pretty,” she breathed while letting her fingertips ghost over your skin. 

Then, she shed her dress and let you watch as her underwear dropped to the floor as well. You couldn’t decide where to look first so you let your sight wander over her wicked grin, the swell of her breasts, her porcelain skin and the soft curls at her center. 

Any restraint you still had broke when she closed the distance between the two of you. Her lips on yours were eager as she kissed you with a fervor that knocked the air out of your lungs. You guided her onto the bed without breaking the kiss, hovering over her while wetness began pooling at your core. 

Emily caressed your breasts. Her touch was welcomed but not what you craved right then. You were certain you would combust if you didn’t get to finally taste her. With a clear goal in mind, you let your mouth wander down her neck. Several kisses were placed on her breasts before you licked over her hardened peaks. 

The way she arched her back was intoxicated and you were starting to feel light-headed. When you took her nipple in your mouth and gently sucked on it, the room filled with Emily’s moans. Already delirious, you descended further down her body. 

Without hesitation Emily opened her legs for you, revealing herself. It was as if you were witnessing a blossom go in full bloom, silken petals kissed by morning dew, layered perfectly. Her heady scent was enchanting and you had no choice but to lay down to appease your appetite for her. 

With precise motions you collected her honeyed wetness on your tongue, making her squirm underneath you. Taking your time, you explored her with your mouth to fully appreciate her uniqueness. Emily was getting impatient, though. 

“Don’t tease me,” she sighed while placing her hand in your hair. 

You couldn’t help but smile against her skin. One more kiss on her inner thigh and another one into her soft curls and then you began focusing your attention on her swollen bud. It took a few moments until you learned what exactly made her grind her hips against your face. WIth your arms hooked around her thighs you kept her steady.

When you closed your lips around her and gently sucked on her pearl, a fit of broken moans and sighs escaped Emily’s throat. Her arousal began coating your chin and you realized how your own wetness had begun dripping from your entrance. You couldn’t help but grind your hips against the mattress in a desperate attempt to find some friction. 

A moan against Emily’s velvety folds gave away how much you enjoyed going down on her. She found your eyes and smirked at you. 

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” She teased and you hummed in response. 

One of your hands moved from her thigh to her heat. You leaned back for a moment to let two of your fingers drag through her folds before gliding into her with ease. Her warmth enveloped you perfectly and there was no resistance from her body. You curled your fingers just enough to make her throw her head back into the pillows before you began thrusting into her. 

“You taste like heaven,” you breathed before your mouth found her sensitive nub once more, licking and kissing and sucking it until her walls began fluttering around your fingers. A wet spot had formed on the mattress between your own thighs. Rolling your hips against the sheets some more soothed the burning sensation in your core. You tensed your thighs to intensify the sensation. 

Emily fell apart with a loud cry, grinding her hips against your face almost erratically. When you felt her pulsing around your fingers, you couldn’t help but follow her into this sensation of pure bliss. With a tremble in your thighs you rocked your hips against the mattress until you came undone together with her. 

You let Emily ride out her high on your tongue before you sat up between her knees and brought your fingers to your mouth to indulge in the taste of her release. 

“Dirty girl,” she chuckled before reaching out her arms. “Come here.” 

She welcomed you inside your embrace and gave you a sweet kiss, certainly tasting herself on your tongue. Then, she shifted her position until she was hovering over you. With a teasing grin spread over her face, she moved down your body and cooed, “My turn.”

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @grumpyy-bearr @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @sapphicprentiss @lovelyy-moonlight @storiesofsvu @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @lover-of-books-and-tea @spensreid @person-005 @sleepysongbirdsings @brownbunnyb

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my shayla...

Spencer Reid in every episode of Criminal Minds:

Season 4, Episode 23, ‘Roadkill’

Masterlist ✰

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nvm already saw all the notifs ik u loved it too

OF COURSE I DID OMGGGJHGWGE

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MARI MEU AMOR, LEU ESSA COISA LINDA??????????

simmm eu li! e sem ofensas eu sei que foi feita pra mim e pra minha playlist de mpb de 7h. FUI NA LUA E VOLTEI

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I'm absolutely BAWLING 😭😭😭😭😭

TE AMO MEANS I LOVE YOU. / S.REID / SUMMARY - Spencer doesn’t want you to feel homesick…

PAIRING: brazilian!reader x spencer reid / w/c: 1.3k / fluff

a/n: req so fire I don’t have anything to add😭 anon req here

You can barely feel your legs by the time you step through the front door. Everything aches—your back, your feet, your head. The combination of a long shift, missed meals, and a pounding homesickness you didn’t even realize had crept up on you leaves you disoriented and dazed. You drop your bag to the floor with a heavy thud and let your shoes fall off wherever they land.

“Spence?” you call out weakly, unsure if he’s even home.

No response.

Your heart dips. It’s silly—you’re not even mad. You just really wanted to collapse into his arms and let him talk about some obscure historical fact you won’t remember while you bury your face in the scent of his cardigan.

Dragging your feet forward, you turn toward the kitchen, hoping he might’ve left a note or something.

But what you see stops you cold.

It’s not just that Spencer is home—he’s in the living room, kneeling in front of the stereo, surrounded by what must be dozens of vinyl records and CDs. Some still in shrink wrap. Others open, their contents splayed out delicately on the rug, like he’s trying to solve a musical puzzle.

He doesn’t notice you at first. His long fingers are carefully placing one of the records into a sleeve. His lips move silently, probably reading the liner notes. You know that face—the one he makes when he’s concentrating too hard to hear anything around him.

You step closer, confused and stunned. “Spencer… what is all this?”

He finally looks up, startled, and then a wide, bashful smile spreads across his face. “You’re home early.”

You scoff, dropping your keys onto the counter and squinting at the organized chaos on the floor. “No, I’m actually late. I had to cover for Clara because her babysitter bailed. What is all this?”

Spencer stands slowly, brushing invisible lint from his pants. There’s a faint smudge of dust on his nose that makes him look boyish. “I was going to surprise you. I wasn’t finished yet.”

You blink. “With what? An entire music store?”

He chuckles and takes your hand, gently tugging you down to sit with him on the floor. “Do you remember a couple weeks ago, you said you missed home? That nothing here really sounded like Brazil?”

You nod slowly, your throat tightening. It had been an offhand comment, murmured into his chest after a stressful day. You hadn’t even realized he’d taken it to heart.

“Well,” he says, excitement flickering behind his soft eyes, “I did some research. A lot, actually. I talked to a Brazilian record collector online, and I found a store that imports vintage and modern music. Some of it’s digital, but I thought it would be more special to have the real thing. Something you can hold and play and… feel.”

He gestures to the piles. “There’s MPB—Chico Buarque, Gal Costa, Caetano Veloso. Some Bossa Nova—João Gilberto, Elis Regina. A few funk carioca and samba records too. And—oh!—I found a Tropicália collection from the ’60s. It was hard to find, but the guy I talked to helped me out.”

You’re frozen, eyes moving from album cover to album cover, tears threatening to blur everything. He says each name so carefully, stumbling a little over the pronunciations but clearly trying.

“I thought maybe we could build a little library,” he continues, a bit shy now, like he’s not sure he’s done the right thing. “A musical version of home. For you.”

Your lip trembles.

“Oh no,” Spencer says, eyes going wide. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You launch yourself at him before he can say anything else, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as you press your face into his shoulder.

He immediately holds you back, murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” even though you’re not crying from sadness.

“I’m not upset,” you whisper, voice thick. “I’m just… I’m so tired. And I missed you. And then I walk in and you’ve done this?”

He chuckles softly into your hair. “You sounded so sad that day. I didn’t know how to fix it. But I thought… maybe music would help.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He blushes, his hands settling on your waist. “I wanted you to feel like you belonged. Even when you’re far away from where you came from.”

Your heart stutters.

You’ve always loved how brilliant Spencer is, how his mind never stops moving. But it’s this—his softness, his attentiveness, the way he listens—that makes you fall in love with him again and again.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His smile deepens. “I love you too.”

You glance at the records again, something bubbling up in your chest. “Did you really get funk carioca?”

He grins. “Yes, and I regret it already. Some of those lyrics…”

You burst out laughing. “It’s not all inappropriate, I swear.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because one of those songs taught me three Portuguese curse words I didn’t know before.”

You fall back against the couch, giggling uncontrollably. “Now you’re culturally enriched.”

“I’m something, that’s for sure.”

He stands and offers you a hand. “Come on. You haven’t even seen the best part.”

You let him pull you up, and he guides you to the little corner of the living room you’d both half-abandoned for months. It had been your reading nook at one point, but life got busy. The chair became a coat rack. The little table sat empty. But now, it’s glowing with soft light from a string of fairy lights. A portable record player sits on the table, already spinning a vinyl softly through the air.

The opening notes of “Águas de Março” float into the room—gentle, warm, familiar.

Your breath catches. “That’s… my dad used to play this when we were cleaning on Sundays.”

Spencer squeezes your hand. “I hoped it would feel like home.”

You sit down in the chair, letting the music wash over you, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, you relax.

Spencer kneels in front of you again, resting his arms on your knees. “Want to teach me the lyrics?”

You glance down at him, grinning. “You want to sing in Portuguese?”

“I want to impress your grandma next time we video call,” he admits sheepishly.

You laugh. “She already thinks you’re a genius.”

“I’d like her to also think I’m charming.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Okay. Repeat after me: ‘É pau, é pedra, é o fim do caminho…’”

He repeats it, tripping over the accent.

You giggle and gently correct him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Better.”

“Again?”

“‘É um resto de toco, é um pouco sozinho…’”

He says it again, a little smoother this time.

You don’t even notice how much time passes. You teach him line by line, each repetition followed by laughter and a kiss, until your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Eventually, you end up sprawled together on the rug, your head on his chest, your hand resting over his heart. The music continues to spin, one record after another, creating a bubble of nostalgia and love and safety around you both.

Spencer’s fingers draw soft patterns on your arm. “Do you think it helps?” he murmurs. “The music?”

You nod against him. “It feels like I’m not so far away. Like my past and my present are holding hands.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. “Then it was worth every penny.”

“You’re too good to me.”

He hums. “I think you underestimate how much I love you.”

You smile, eyes fluttering shut.

No one had ever loved you quite like this before—with thoughtfulness, with quiet gestures, with an understanding that homesickness isn’t always loud or obvious, but it’s there. Like a shadow.

And somehow, Spencer had found the perfect way to bring the sun back.

Later that night, as you fall asleep to the soft hum of Caetano Veloso playing from your new collection, Spencer whispers, “I think I’ll start learning Portuguese.”

You’re half-asleep, but you hear him.

“Why?” you murmur, curling closer.

“So I can talk to you in your first language. The way you dream.”

And you think, just before sleep pulls you under:

This man is my home, too.

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i luuuuurve when ppl go through my entire account and like a bunch of posts too. taking notes on which ones do worse. sorry it didn't impress you queen <3

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unless they specifically asked, you don’t get to tell a fanfic writer you think they mischaracterized the character by the way. because the second someone writes a fanfic about a character, that character becomes the writer’s own version of the character. canon is only a suggestion, but whether or not an author will follow it / how much of canon an author will take is entirely up to them. you don’t get to stick your nose in their world and tell them “hey this is not to my liking therefore I think you’re doing it wrong” when you can simply leave quietly and move on to something else you may enjoy