#I’ve got experience with this

[hellofellowneighborhoodnothings]

house md summary

[desperatecheesecubes]

Growing up asexual is actually so funny because all of a sudden people all around are like ‘oh my god what if I don’t know how to kiss??? I have to practice!’ And start doing unhinged things and the whole time you’re like

[weatherera]

Frame 16 (plus some evidence that there’s more than the stills)

[icarryitin]

Effortless

spencer reid/gn!reader

coming into this from a fandom where my last fic got literally 11 notes (half of which were my own self-rbs) the reception for workplace hot was heartwarming, pls accept more pre-relationship work crush goodness as thanks🧡🧡

series masterlist

word count: 1.6k// warnings: absolutely hopeless pining, this man is so so clever but so so oblivious

summary: Taking care of you just comes naturally to him.

“Chicken.”

“Did you know, the origin of ‘chicken’ in reference to someone who’s afraid can be traced back to the use of ‘hen-heart’ as a synonym for ‘fainthearted’? Its first documented use was in the York Mystery Plays - which are considered to have been written prior to 1450.”

“Chicken.” Morgan repeats.

“Shut up.”

While his second response is decidedly less eloquent, Spencer’s pretty sure he can’t fact-dump his way out of this particular conversation.

It’s not exactly a secret - his giant, all consuming, world ending crush on you - at least, it’s not a secret from anyone except you. He’s past being embarrassed about it when one of the others brings it up, as long as it’s not around you. That’s happened exactly once, and Spencer’s automatic response was to chatter about the migration patterns of a specific type of bird he’d read an article about the day before. Ceaselessly. No matter how much everyone else had begged him to stop, until the previous subject was well and truly forgotten. So when you’d asked a leading question about another kind of bird? He was more than happy to oblige. You’ve always done that, listened to him. It’s nice.

It’s probably what got him in this mess in the first place.

Somewhere along the way, a routine developed itself. He remembers the first day you asked him to elaborate on something he’d started on earlier in the day, trivia about the fluctuations in the popularity of a specific make of car. It had ended up being useful in the context of the case anyway but, more importantly to Spencer, the tidbit had you cornering him in the kitchen to ask him about it. And now it’s just what happens. You potter around to make your lunch, he chatters about the most recent paper he’s read like your own personal podcast.

It’s a comfortable friendship, solidified by little things like that. Though they’re not all that little to him, if anything they’ve only deepened his feelings for you - he doesn’t let on, for your sake, he tries not to.

But his affection sneaks out in other ways.

He gravitates towards you without realising it, just to exist in your space. At the round table, on the jet, at crime scenes, in whichever office the local PD have cleared out for the team. He’s never hovering, but he’s not not hovering. Just working parallel to you. It’s why he likes the bullpen, for all its hustle and bustle, because he can look at you out of the corner of his eye whenever he wants to. He can spin his chair to face you, stretch his legs out across the aisle, and let a wave of sheer steadiness wash over him. Sometimes it’s you, reaching over to hand him something or abandoning your post completely to perch on the corner of his desk. Spencer thinks that’s what it might be, the peace you seem to exude that quiets his busy mind - the kindness you extend to victims and their families that flows through your very veins. It follows you like an aura, there’s very little he won’t do to be bathed in it whenever he can. It’s all led to a unique dynamic that means you’re paired up together more often than not.

You move around each other unconsciously now, leaning over maps and files and evidence. Swapping pens and ducking under one another’s arms as you both scribble away at the board. It’s almost choreographed, natural. Everything is with you, and that’s what gets him. There’s a part of Spencer Reid’s brain that is dedicated to considering his actions in relation to the people around him, running in the background like a computer programme, but he doesn’t have to run it around you. He doesn’t think, for once. He just does.

It’s effortless, second nature, to make space for you. The same as it is to leave a seat open for you, even if it’s the only one. To nudge you gently when you’re too far in your own head to realise you’re picking at your skin. You’ve started nudging him back in recent weeks when he does the same, chewing on the inside of his lips and paying absolutely no mind to the damage he’s doing. You notice, you care enough to stop him. Just like you’ll leave an empty space on the nearest desk for him to hop up on. He’s not sure if you realise you’re even doing it. Clearing perfect Spencer-sized spots at every precinct and office you’re set up in, because you know he prefers it to the chairs. Which makes his own actions feel a little less overt and, in turn, lets him breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe this is just what good friends do for each other. He can call you that, at least, if his own fears won’t afford him the chance to call you anything else.

Though, he’s not sure he could stop himself from taking care of you in his own way if he tried. Mostly because he’s not trying in the first place.

He didn’t even realise what he was doing, the first time he turned to you to double check your protective vest was secure. Narrow fingers tugging on straps, barely even processing the inviting warmth of you underneath them, he’d been too focused on making sure you were as protected as you could be. And then he’d walked into the Unsub’s home ahead of you anyway.

Spencer never walks ahead of you, anywhere. He’s always ushering you in first, something drilled into him by some unknown force, his basest of instincts - you’re ahead of him into the office, into precincts, into crime scenes, even into the elevator. But in a hostile situation? He’s first through the door every time.

So much so that it’s routine now, wherever the case, whoever is around. He grasps the shoulders of the thick vest and wiggles it, he rips the velcro straps off at your waist only to secure them again. A little tighter, and he’s quietly grateful that you let him. The heat of you at his back is reassuring when scenes aren’t secure. To know that, based on his experience anyway, the Unsub will more than likely jump out ahead of him - and he’ll be the one between you and the bullet. Which is maybe a little dramatic, but it’s the truth.

“Ready, boys?”

Doctor Spencer Reid has never claimed to believe in any god, but he makes sure to thank something for the interruption. Anything to get himself and his giant crush out from under Derek Morgan’s microscope.

It’s Emily who speaks, Emily who tosses protective vests at him and Derek, but Spencer’s eyes are focused on you entering the office behind her. You’re concentrating on your own vest, securing straps that’ll only be repositioned in a minute or two. But you still do it yourself each time, as if you’re not expecting him to come over and double check your work. There’s no way you haven’t noticed by now. That he’ll do it every time, that he doesn’t do it for anybody else, that he spends twice as long checking on your vest than he does securing his own. FBI emblem emblazoned on his chest, Spencer crosses the room dutifully to conduct his little ritual.

Velcro isn’t quiet. It pierces through the background noise when he undoes the buckle at your side and tears it free, but his eyes don’t move from the task at hand. Yours are heavy on his face, the way they always are when he gets this close. He pretends not to notice.

“Thank you.” You whisper softly. So softly that between the chatter and gun checking behind him, only the two of you can hear.

It’s only now, now he’s certain your vest is snug as possible, that he allows his careful gaze flicker to meet yours. He struggles not to take a step back with the force of it.

“Of course.” He replies, reluctantly pulling his cold fingers out from the warmth beneath the shoulders of your vest. His smile, small, self-conscious, is returned tenfold and beaming. The same way it always is. He doesn’t know how you do it - see the things you see every day and still manage a grin wider than the Río de la Plata. Maybe he can’t explain everything.

He catches a movement over your shoulder, it’s Morgan. Arms folded at the elbow, fists tucked close to his chest, as he makes the exaggerated movements of a chicken. Head bobbing and all. The teasing support, because that’s all it is, is nice to have - but there’s not one member of the team who understands exactly why he’s so afraid to say anything to you. In an ideal world, he wouldn’t be. He’d be able to pull you aside and tell you exactly how many days it’s been since he’d met you, started crushing on you, fallen absolutely hopelessly in love. It kind of all started at once, if he’s being completely honest. And in that ideal world, you would smile that billion kilowatt smile and tell him you love him too, and even the paperwork from the bureau wouldn’t matter. This isn’t an ideal world, however. He knows that better than most.

Spencer’s been rejected before, more than even he would care to admit, by friends and lovers and parents and colleagues and strangers. But he’s not sure he could take it from you, not while you hold his heart so tenderly in your hands. Even unaware of the responsibility, you’re gentle with him.

He’ll keep you close, regardless, as much as he can without arousing your suspicion. He’ll keep making space for you and double checking your vest until every ugly confession claws its way out of him.

That’s enough, for now.

if you’ve made it this far, pls know i am kissing u gently on the forehead🧡🧡

i’m also thinking about opening requests for all things pre-relationship spencer bc mutual pining and obliviousness is my fav fav fav thing, in case anyone was interested👀

[borderlinereminders]

Some people are mentally ill, and experience symptoms you will never be able to understand. Yes, even people with the same mental illness as you at times. It might not make sense to you. It might even shock you and you can’t wrap your head around how someone could experience that symptom, or have a specific thought, anxiety or whatever else.

And it’s okay to not understand. We can’t all understand everything. But please don’t talk down to someone because you “don’t understand”.

Just understand that people have different experiences. Even two people with the same illness. And your experience being different doesn’t mean their experience isn’t valid.

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

I don’t know if there’s anything as explicitly horny In Arknights as Pudding’s operator record tbh

[m-kyunie]

HEEEEYYY KH NATION!!!!!!! 🏝️🐚 the weather is getting so hot & humid here, I wish I could try paopu fruit

[boyvibrator]

T4T detrans kink not from transphobic trauma but from the longing of feeling desirable when you used to be a girl, when cis guys would want you. when you had long hair and hardly any body hair and straight boys flirted with you.

but you were trans. you felt awkward in that mold of girl and boy. you were probably gay too, and you liked these boys. but not in the same way they liked you, not the same way other girls around you liked boys. and you missed out on a lot of fun experiences growing up because of this

and now you’re on T. and that’s amazing. and maybe cis gay guys are even into you, and that’s cool. but they just… don’t really get you. and you don’t really get them. sometimes you kinda wish you could be that young girl again, and have the guys you’re interested in wanting your attention and putting in the work to have you as their girlfriend. you used to have that, but you missed out on those opportunities

and let’s say you try to hook up with straight guys. the problem is. not that many are gonna be into you, you’re too hairy, too many, voice too deep, and even if they are okay with that they just wanna fetishize your trans body. they’re not seeing you how you want to be seen. you want to be GIRL. you want to be feminine again and wanted

but with a trans guy? happily seeing you as a girl? seeing right through you, loving those curves and your soft skin and recognizing the girl underneath your transition? he understands and he gets it. and you see HIM how he needs to be seen. as the young man going after girls like he never got to when he was young before his transition. because cis girls just don’t get it. but you get it.

[forgetful-nerd]

So uh- if 2003! Donnie met 2012! Donnie do y’all think he’d be slight unsettled by his reddish eyes because of…..ya know….

The “Good Genes” episode?

[thattheater-kid]

Aroace culture is accidentally writing all your characters to be aspec because you have a hard time writing romantic and sexual relationships.

[disteal]

There is an astonishingly bad habit in our online demographic for laymen to offer unsolicited, incorrect advice on how to do activism with complete confidence and authority despite it clearly being some made-up shit they thought sounded right.

[lukashaa]

Little daniil & artemy doodles featuring One (1) clara

[new-groundz]

Does she serve

[weirdohasleft]

A Blue man and a Ghost meet in a church…

((Just an idea as I’m having brainrott))

Danny, with his horrific injuries from being ‘caught’, somehow escapes to his friends before retreating into his core. His friends take his core into the ghost zone, trying to get to Frostbite, but are stopped by (either Fenton parents or GIW agents) flooding into the ghost zone after them.

Tuck and Sam are panicking and so they wrap Danny’s core into Tuck’s beanie and Sam’s jacket before tossing him onto one of the flouting platforms and leading the ghost hunters away…they didn’t expect Danny to be sucked into one of the natural portals along the way down…

Danny wakes up in Germany of all places, alone, with pieces of his best friend’s clothing splayed over him… He takes this with surprising grace (not) and deals with his newfound homelessness in a foreign country as well as he can. At least his King status allows him to be a polyglot…

Meanwhile, Kurt Wagner had returned church that had raised him, planing on pay respects (again) to the Priest that had sheltered him. It wasn’t the same church, as that one has burned down far long ago, but there had been a new church built in its place. This new church had been abandoned soon after its construction, too many people saying that it was haunted with angry ghosts and feeling too anxious to worship within such a building.

Kurt had thought they had been silly, thinking like that and leaving the building to rot. Through, that was before he, himself, had caught sight of a ghost dwelling inside inside. Wait, no. This was still a living child. A boy sat in one of the pews and stared at him with wary curiosity. Through he was so washed out and in such a sorry state that…Well, Kurt believes he could be forgiven for mistaking the boy for the dead.

In the dim morning glow flooding through the stained glass, his eyes reflected and glowed in the shadows. Which was…huh. Seems Kurt has stumbled upon not just a squatter, but a mutant squatter at that.

[kitocrystal]

I’m not dead.

[vanhelsingapologist]

To all things housed in her silence.

From "Memento Mori,” a fanzine organized by @curseofsergei.