#a few months back when i had this thread where i rambled a lot too about just my thoughts

[noxtivagus]

i shld really fix that spam account n use it more often bcs oh my god i really often ramble just like this

[journen]

Okay!! Because I'm not a huge fan of the format of long twitter threads, and this whole thing got kinda long 😅 I figured it could be best to post these story idea ramblings to Tumblr! So lol, prepare for some ramblings sabout my Ghost and Soap AU that's post MW2 campaign where Simon leaves the army to raise his nephew after his fam are killed.

This is all based off the au from this fic I wrote 🙈 if you want more context, you can find some here!

I just have a lot of ideas for this au and wanted to share some that I'll probably never be able to write, but yeah. Lmk if you guys have any thoughts! 😊

I guess TW too for: mentioned child injury, mentioned murder, references to Ghost's past from the comics. There's nothing graphic tho!

--------------------

Price swears to Simon, in that hospital room a few days after the attack on Simon's fam, where Jo is lying injured and unconscious, but stable, that he will track down Roba and his men to get justice. He makes it a vow.

Theres not much development on the case for years tho. Maybe, after it initially happened, there was a brief investigation into it, but they ran into a lot of issues getting jurisdiction to operate in Mexico so the case went dry.

So, Simon has to learn to live with the fact that the people who did this to his family, and who tortured him, are still alive out there somewhere. But his nephew is his first priority, and he's accepted that too. He's not going to carelessly risk his life so he can't be there to raise his orphaned nephew in the name of revenge.

I don't think Simon, at this stage of his life, would be a violent revenge seeker? Perhaps if he is pushed too far, but let's not go there yet hahhaha.

Also, he's with Soap too, who helps ground him and keep him level headed.

Anyways, years later, Price calls Simon up, telling him of their update on the case. Maybe Roba has been located, and they only have a few day window to act. 

Price shows him the layout of the compound. Simon recognizes it. It's where he was kept captive for months all those years ago. Price offers that, if he wants, there's a spot on the squad for him. His Intel could be valuable. And he's cleared it with a lot of the other high ups to bring Simon along, or just didn't give them a choice, lol. (I have no idea if this would actually be possible irl, to have an SAS soldier who left the ranks, rejoin for a covert mission, but bare with me. Price can make it happen in this AU 🤣)

Simon has been out of active service for 5/6 years at this point though. And Price is asking him if he wants back in for one final op. Joseph is now around 10 years old maybe. He and Soap have been in a steady relationship for 5, Soap still serving in the military.

Anyways, cue big moment of Ghost picking up his old skull mask again. One he hasn't worn in 6 years. Holding the fabric brings back a lot of old memories for him. It feels heavy in his hands. He had changed so much since when he was the man who wore this mask...

but he still had it in him. He knew he did, deep down.

But did he want to *go* there, was he ready? Was it appropriate?

Would he be letting down Joseph though, if he agreed to this op?

What would Soap's feelings on the matter be?

But ultimately, Ghost agrees to it. I think he would need to take some time to consider it though. Maybe talk it through with the bf, Soap. But I think Simon would come to the conclusion that the team would be safest with him on the squad because of his existing knowledge of the compound. And he'd maybe feel safer being there himself, there to try to help the others if they run into trouble fighting his demons.

He does tell Price he has one condition about the op though, is that nobody dies. And he doesn't plan on dying either. He has to live for Joseph, and for Soap, too.

Jo is maybe 9 or 10 at this point. When Simon and Soap go away, I don't think Simon would tell Jo the real nature of his mission. He wouldn't lie to him, but the truth is a lot for a 10 year old to take in right? Maybe he says the mission is going to be scary, but that he's going to do his best to make sure they all make it back okay.

Maybe Joseph stays with one of Soap's sisters.

Ghost feels terrible to do this to Jo but he has to stop Roba from doing this again.

And blabkabla stuff happens and Simon makes it back okay tho yayyyyy 🤣

[niphredil-14]

TMNT Rapael/Reader- "Held Space"

A/N: this took me absolute ages and is unedited because i got lazy. shoutout to my now ex-gf for dumping me which gave me the inspiration to finally finish this fic Pairing: Best-friend!Raphael (i imagined this as 2003, but frankly could be any of them)/reader Content Warnings: cheating, insults, toxic bf, best-friend raph Word Count: 2.1k

She stood on the subway, arm reaching up to hold onto the handgrip as she quickly switched her gaze between her phone and her surroundings. There were too many people around, and so little space, but she did her best to shuffle around to keep some semblance of a personal bubble. She was lucky that she didn’t have too many stops between her work and home, and though it felt like much longer to her, within fifteen minutes of hopping onto the train, she was stepping off, eyes flicking down to her phone when it chimed. Unlocking her phone, it opened up to her text thread with one of her best friends, the contact name, raphie, followed by a ninja emoji, a turtle emoji, and a red scarf emoji. She had promised to text him once she had got off work and was heading home. Most of the thread had been meaningless rambles, a few memes, and lots of complaints about the horrors of customer service from her, and even more complaints about Leo from him. It was the newest additions to the thread that captured her attention.

You: I mean, at least my bf’s on cooking duty tonight. I don’t think that I could handle having to cook after today lmao

raphie: yeah, so long as you trust him to not fill it chock full of nuts and not know where your epi-pen is again.

You: yeah that sucked

You: But that was one time! And I feel like it can he easy to forget someone’s allergies if it wasn’t all that important before. And he’s been better lately!

raphie: better as in actually good? Or better as in just not ghosting you for weeks at a time even though you live in the same apartment??

She sighed as she looked down at her phone. Raph had insanely high standard for anyone that was close to the people he cared about, and she was sure that it was just his protective side showing a bit. She figured that if Raph just knew him a bit better, that he wouldn’t be so harsh on him. She thought that it was just because Raph didn’t know him like she did, and that, really, Sam hadn’t been all that bad recently. Things seemed to be looking up. There was a brief time that he wasn’t being so loving, but in the past month, he had really turned around, he was amicable and affectionate, and kept up his side of the chore chart, he was really putting in an effort. And Raph, she thought, just didn’t know what he was talking about. She pondered all of this as she walked the few blocks from the train station to her apartment. With every step, her exhaustion grew, until the reached her door. She struggled with her keys for a moment, before finally getting them into the lock and turning the handle, letting the door swing open. She took a step into the apartment, shutting the door behind her, and dropping her purse down on the floor beside her. It was when the purse did not land flatly as it normally would that she looked down, and found that another purse had gotten in the way of a successful landing. Confusion wrote itself across her face, as her eyes then trailed around the room, finding several feminine items that most certainly did not belong to her. She experienced a strange sense of extreme clarity and clear-headedness that was always so unexpected in moments of great pain and betrayal. She let her gaze travel all over the room a few more times, as she then noticed the sounds emanating from her bedroom. She pulled out her phone and opened her most recent text thread.

You: raph

raphie: ?

You: I need you to come to my apartment now.

She slid her phone back into her pocket, not waiting for a response, and quietly opened the door again.

“Baby! I’m home! I thought you were gonna start on dinner?” She called out as she slammed the door shut. The noises from the bedroom ceased, and she imagined the panic on the lovers’ faces. She waited a moment by the door, and heard a voice yell from the bedroom.

“You have a girlfriend?” A feminine voice spoke. His voice was muffled through the door, though she could tell that the girl with him cut him off. “You fucking asshole!” She heard the two of them moving about in the bedroom, and moved to the kitchen, opening up a cupboard and grabbing a wine glass. The bedroom door slammed open, and a flustered woman stormed out and up to her. “I am so sorry! He told me that he was single, I had no idea, I swear.” She looked at the woman, and despite her anger, couldn’t logically stay mad when she knew that they had both been wronged.

“Not your fault that he’s a lying piece of shit.”

“No kidding.” The woman replied. They both stood there, somewhat awkwardly for a moment before the woman apologized again and left. She was given only aa moment of peace before her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend came stumbling out of the bedroom, evidently only just having finished putting on pants. He was paid no heed, as she reached for a corkscrew in the far back of a cupboard.

“Baby, I can explain!” The words flew out of his mouth, and he took a large inhale, as if preparing to ramble. She cut him off before his lungs had filled.

“There’s no need. You shouldn’t waste the little time that you have to gather your essentials.” She spoke, her voice calm and even.

“What?” He asked, incredulous.

“You can come back for the rest of your things Saturday at 3pm, as for now, just fill a bag or two with your most immediate essentials and leave.”

“The fuck?! You can’t kick me out! This is my home too!” He stepped towards her, and she looked at the clock. She knew Raph wouldn’t ignore her text.

“Not according to the lease. Which has only my name on it.”

“Bullshit! That doesn’t mean shit. And you didn’t even gimme a chance to explain!”

“There’s clearly nothing that needs to be explained. Despite what you may think, I’m not stupid. I’m fully capable of putting two and two together.” She cut off another one of his fruitless attempts to argue. “Sam. My name is on the lease, I, alone pay for the rent and all the bills. On top of my full time job, I also do a solid ninety-percent of the cleaning and chores, and pay for all of your stupid subscriptions. As far as the law, or anyone with basic common sense is concerned, I own this apartment and everything in it. Now, round up your shit, or at the very least your wallet and car keys, while you still have time to get out of my home.”

“The fuck do you mean,’still have time?’ I’m not going anywhere. You can’t force me out of my own damn house.” She could hear the bedroom window be forced open, and the thud of two feet landing on the ground.

“You will leave, or you will be forced to leave.” She said, doing her best to not allow her emotions to show in her voice. He continued to step closer to her, still yelling.

“You really think you can force me to do anything, bitch?” She turned to face him, and looked past him, seeing Raph quickly approach. A smile beautifully matched the cold look glowing in her eyes.

“I don’t need to. You’re leaving.” She said, firmly. He lurched, but a much larger arm than his came around his neck, and applied heavy force, forcing a choked out wheeze to fall from his lips. Sam was pulled backwards into a firm body, his hands unsuccessfully clawing at the arm around his neck.

Raph spoke with a large smirk etched across his snout. “This guy botherin’ you, ma’am?” Humor dripped from every syllable. She returned his smile kindly.

“As a matter of fact, he is.”

“Well, then, lemme take care of that for ya.” Raph said, sliding his arm away from Sam’s neck, and grabbing onto his thumb, twisting so that his body would follow as Raph dragged him to the door and threw him out, leaving him crumpled on the ground, gasping for air. She walked up beside Raph, and tossed Sam’s wallet on the ground in front of him, before retreating back into her apartment once more. Raph gave the pained man a cruel smile as he spoke. “And stay out!” After slamming the door in his face, Raph turned and walked farther into the apartment, reentering the kitchen once more, where he found her finally pouring herself a glass of wine.

He stepped towards her slowly, careful to not startle her. “Hey, uh, you okay?” She stood with her back facing him still. He saw her take a large sip of her wine, looking out the kitchen window. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke, her voice losing its conviction by the syllable.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Raph.” He took another few steps until he was only inches away from her. She still kept her back to him, and so he reached out and placed a gentle hand on her upper arm, carefully turning her to face him. As soon as they were face to face, she crumpled. Her lips pulled tight in a grimace, and her eyebrows scrunching up, the skin of her nose and cheeks already flushed and rosy, and her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Oh sweetheart.” Raph said, bringing his other hand up to her un-held arm. “What happened?” Her head lolled slightly to the side, and a heavy sigh escaped her.

“You were right, and I should have listened to you.” She said, her voice breaking at long last. “I just-“ She stuttered. “I just wanted to believe that we were happy and that everything was good, you know?” He nodded along, and rubbed gently strokes on her arms as she told him the events of the night. “I don’t understand why he would do that. I did my best to be a good girlfriend. I did everything for him. Why wasn’t I good enough?” She was rambling, just letting all of her negative and untrue thoughts come barreling right out of her mouth. Raph’s grimace grew as he was forced to listen to all her depressing self-talk.

“Stop that.” He cut her off sharply, more so than he meant to. He attempted to correct his harshness by giving her a small, reassuring smile. “He’s just a dick, you did nothin’ wrong, it wasn’t you.” She inhaled, and he continued to talk before she got a chance to argue with him. “You were perfect, and he didn’t deserve you. I know how much work you put into the relationship, and how much effort you put into planning special things for him. You were not the issue. He was just the biggest piece of shit around, and you were unfortunate enough to fall for him.”

“Raph,” She said, quietly.

“’m not done.” He continued. “He was damn fuckin lucky to be blessed with your presence, let alone to have you as a girlfriend. You got any idea how lucky any man’d be to have you, huh?” She sniffled, and he pulled her in tighter, letting her hide her face in his shoulder. “I wish I coulda convinced you to leave him sooner. You deserve way better than that garbage, you hear me?” She burrowed her face deeper into the scaly skin of his shoulder. “You hear me?” He repeated, and waited until she nodded into his shoulder before he continued. “I know that it hurts now, but believe me when I say that you don’t need him. You could do so much better than him, Sweetheart, you don’t even know.”

The only sound that came from her in response were sniffles, routinely interrupted with a hiccup as she sobbed into his skin. He held her there for several moments, not offering any more words, simply sharing the experience with her and holding space for her pain, but he couldn’t just stand there for long. Gently, he adjusted his hold and lifted her off of the ground, holding her tight to his body, and began to steadily walk into the living room, dropping the both of them down onto the couch. He continued to hold her close, as he rubbed large, slow circles on her back, allowing her to push all of her tears out, uncaring of the slight dribble of snot beginning to drop onto his skin.

“You’re gonna be okay, Hon, I’m here, I’ve gotcha.”

[moonlit-rabbit]

The Tale of Black and Green • Prologue

My take on the Au/Theory where Baizhu and Pantalone are actually brothers. They just look and sound the same lol.

Once upon a time, there were two siblings, both boys.

They were both in poverty, however they were happy with each other.

But sadly, the youngest was sick as can be, so eldest prayed and prayed to the gods for help, but no god answered.

He prayed for the gods to give him a vision, but none answered yet again.

He thought how cruel a god can be. They had everything yet cannot give him something as simple as a mere vision.

He tried working hard yet to no avail.

He always came home to the small straw hut where his shivering younger brother lay.

Whenever he set eyes on him he was always reminded of how his younger brother looked oh so different from him.

Unlike his dark mysterious locks of black, his brother had demure yet welcoming soft green threads as his.

It drew people in and when they find out that he was sick, they would feel pity for the green boy in rags; Yet when they gaze at the determined dark-haired boy also in rags, they ignored him.

He sometimes hated it.

How his younger brother was favoured more, but this didn't stop him from loving the younger wholeheartedly.

Although when the vision came, it wasn't as easy to love him as he did previously.

Twas the night where the oldest of the two just finished selling wood and just came back.

Usually, the youngest would have been sleeping by now, but before he could even touch the now wooden doors, it was flung open by an ecstatic familiar grassy-haired male.

'Brother! I received a vision!' The shorter of the two squeeled. He had to backtrack.

His frail younger brother? Who did nothing but lay down and sit tight received a vision?

How? He tried so hard, praying for hours on end, yet this sickly pale-faced boy got one as easy as that?

It was another blow to him. Even Celestia favoured him. What more?

'Brother, I got accepted by Sumeru Academia!'

He felt like crying.

Why does this world favour his weak brother and not him? The one that tried his best for the both of them?

Why?

Why?...

'You're not going.' For once in his life can he be selfish?

The latter quieted down and a shocked look replaced the joy that was once present on his fair face.

'Why?' The heartbroken words he uttered after minutes of silence broke the eldest's heart.

'Because we don't have the money!' It was part of the reason, yes, but more so his jealousy.

'Well I'll work hard too!' The spring boy fired back.

'You're sick! What can you possibly do?!'

Another gut-wrenching silence engulfed the two until a wet sniff broke it.

—

It was already times up.

Five days had passed and the younger had to go on his merry way to Sumeru.

Five days since they spoke.

He tried to talk to him of course, but the younger just ignored his tries. It was indeed frustrating, but he understood what he did wrong.

So he just left a note and a few couple mora he saved and went to sell wood, like the usual.

He didn't have a chance to say goodbye personally, but he was satisfied enough with the coffee-coloured note his precious younger brother left him.

'Dear brother, I accept your apology.

I promise to study hard and get a full scholarship! I'll work even harder when I graduate so that we can become rich!

I promise to give you a peaceful life without hardships too!

When I come back I'll treat you by buying that one hot pot dish you were always rambling about in Liuli Pavilion.

I hope you won't miss me too much!

Take care

- Love Baizhu'

He smiled.

They were both still blood, they could never hate each other.

After Baizhu went to Sumeru, the house became a lot quieter. He only ate meals alone in silence.

Sometimes if the letters Baizhu sends comes in early, he would eat and write at the same time much to Baizhu's dismay.

But as the months' pass, Baizhu began writing less and less due to the workload assigned to him. He didn't mind, really. This meant working more and getting enough money.

He even began working at a store in Liyue Harbor as a money manager.

The pay was well enough that he could buy almost luxurious pieces of clothing, but he knew he could do better than that. So he began studying, borrowing books about the art of trade, sales, and economy from booksellers so that he might get the chance of working in the Liyue Qixing.

But that dream surely didn't come true, for he now began working for the Fatui.

He rose up the ranks rather quickly with the help of his cleverness and intellect that he shared with his brother.

He became Pantalone, the one that manages all the money in Snezhnaya.

The one who will make Snezhnaya the heart that pumps money around the world.

But he of course never forgot to send letters to his younger brother.

He told him how he acquired a more than high-paying job in Snezhnaya and that he would be more than glad to pay for his cost of living in Sumeru due to the fact that Baizhu also acquired a full scholarship in that Sumeru school.

Although he never told Baizhu what job he had... Oh well.

[blast0rama]

I’m Sorry, But Things Cost Money

Sort of a rambling series of thoughts here, inspired by a post I saw over on Threads1.

I’m not going to link to the specific thread, but there was a trending post which boiled down to “Hey, remember 2013, when Netflix was $20, and you could stream everything?” It picked an ongoing nit in my brain when it comes to how people are reacting to streaming costs.

I will preface this rant with a few points:

Yes, Hollywood Accounting is weird

Yes, the executives at the companies who provide our entertainment are vastly overpaid

Yes, even some actors are overpaid2

I think it’s time that we make an effort to understand the costs of our entertainment. While movie budgets have bloated over the last decade, plus, the money is generally on screen. CG, practical effects, name actors, quality cinematographers and more. Not to mention the literal hundreds of other people who work on these films. The credits aren’t just for show, folks.

What ruined our understanding of these concepts is two fold:

The studios all chased what Netflix did

We devalued what this entertainment meant by flooding the market and calling it “content”3

Let’s look at what was prior to Netflix. The cable bundle. $100+ a month, the owners of the channels getting a carrier fee every month, plus whatever money they generate from television advertising. Not to mention the money generated from DVD sales, theatrical re-releases, and licensing their shows and movies to other networks.

Netflix shows up, and guess what? They pay licensing fees to studios! Sure, they’re all undervalued because “who’d want to watch TV on a computer”, but it’s found money.

Netflix grows. People start cutting the cord. Carrier fees aren’t as strong. Shrinking audiences mean less money for their ads. People stop buying discs. Who goes to the theater? Why should we license our work to someone else, when WE can be Netflix?

Now, let’s look at the things that a Warner Bros, a NBC Universal, a Disney, a Paramount then had to pay out to “join the club” with Netflix.

The infrastructure to launch and maintain their own streaming services

The money to buy back license rights from other networks or services to have their shows and movies on something they own

Also, they better be making brand new content for this service, and they need a LOT of it AND it better serve EVERY POSSIBLE AUDIENCE AROUND THE WORLD

And lets be sure to charge LESS than Netflix, too.

That’s how they end up spending literal billions. And losing literal billions.

And to do what? To follow the worldwide leader in this type of service, Netflix…a company that is only as big as it is because they were the first, and they’re the name, like Photoshop, Kleenex and Nintendo, that people think of when they think of their product. Even they’ve found the siren’s song of advertising revenue.

The creators of all these shows and movies? They used to get paid every time a disc was sold, or a movie was aired on television. Limited slots, limited availability. How do you make that work for libraries which are expected to have everything in perpetuity forever. What’s the math there look like?

That’s why the writers and the actors had their strike. To get the money they were deserved and weren’t getting.

Now you say, hey, wait! I’m not getting access to everything ever from these studios? Why can’t they just all be on Netflix? Why can’t I just pay one subscription and get everything, ever?

Ask musicians how Spotify, Tidal, Apple Music, et al. are working for them.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe crew, they’ll be fine. Just like Taylor Swift.

But what of the Wes Andersons, the David Lynches, and the future version of them to come? Would that be sustainable? Would these projects get green-lit?

We’re at a time where art needs to be valued more highly. A time where studios that were once built around a diverse lineup of movies and shows for audiences of all kinds, at different budgets, they instead put their money behind the sure things, repeating the same things again and again.

And we sit there, and we ask for MORE MORE MORE all of the time?

And we want it cheaper.

And if they’re not? I’m gonna PIRATE everything!4

When you have access to everything, everything means nothing.

Would you want to be paid the same amount of money at your job, forever, and you are responsible for everything you’ve ever done, forever?

Think of the movies and shows that surprised you. The movies and shows that took risks, and weren’t what you expected, or you had to go off the beaten path to find.

Things cost money. Art has value. Pay for it.

The Social Media service you’re embarrassed to read, and never post to! ↩

But probably not as much as you think when you consider the monies generated by their efforts ↩

I react to this word the way others do moist. ↩

I think there’s a fair point to be made about piracy as a way of archiving media, or gaining access to content not available to you internationally, but…I don’t think that’s the majority of use here. ↩

[alesyira-ffn]

well, looks like I put off writing for a whole 'nother month. And that means ITD has been on a temporary hiatus for SIX MONTHS. I feel a little bad. I suppose I can point to the fact that I didn't leave it on a cliffhanger ... ?

I have been heavily invested in reading BNHA fanfics (I've literally read so many that I can't find good ones anymore, and the rest would be hidden gems that don't rank highly enough to catch my attention yet), but the good news is that even the tiny thoughts about 'hm, maybe I could write one' have pretty much ended there, because there's enough (not enough I WANT MORE) brilliant stuff out there to read already, and any time I think about writing anything my brain cycles back around to finishing up this fic (despite having so few readers) because it's my word-baby.

I've also put serious consideration into redoing the first story with Shippo as a third-person POV (and streamlining the plot), but then I realized I'd need to re-write like the first 50k or so of the blue anshan as third-person, too, and that seems like a terrible slog, but then again, I did have a lot of story threads I had meant to expand differently when I'd originally started writing it, and the whole thing could use a major overhaul, but ... Maybe I'd name the new version "The Things We Want" and like make it a multi-story posting of the rewritten adventures jfc wait nvm that's a lot of writing

okay I've rambled long enough. esp about a fandom / crossover that doesn't hand back very much feedback to feed my need for validation.

Actual Story Updates: there are none. but here's another teaser from ch63 to tide (all three of) you over, as thanks for checking in that I'm still alive.

He briefly looked her over from head to toe, searching for trace of major injury or blood, and once he’d ensured she was still in one piece he scooped her into his arms for a fierce hug, burying his nose in her hair as he curled himself around her. “Holy fuck Kagome, why— where the hell—” he cut himself off with a shudder and a hacking cough, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he pulled away from her to peer more closely at her appearance. “Whoa,” he exclaimed at the completely unexpected riot of odors clinging to her dingy, dated clothing, and she peeked up at him with a sheepish half-smirk through a gap in her bangs. He coughed again and sneezed once with a brief shake of his head. “Look, I know I said I’d still like your scent even if you’d been rolling around in the woods for a week, but you smell like…” he trailed off, swallowing back a strong wave of nausea. “Like I’ve been traipsing around in a dungeon?” she offered with a deadpan expression as she tugged at the sodden edge of her sleeve with a long sigh. “Or maybe drenched in slime guts and bloody dragon bile?” His mouth fell open in brief surprise before he exhaled a chuckle and pulled her close again. “It’ll wash,” he muttered, savoring the feel of her back in his arms.

[nojey]

unnoticed

quackity / alex x streamer!reader

genre: fluff -> angst pronouns: they / them word count: 2.1k warning(s): cursing, suggestive jokes

synopsis: you had known alex since you started streaming but none of your viewers knew. you started getting closer and eventually you started streaming together but your viewers didn’t like that.

“(y/n)!” alex screamed into his phone after you answered the facetime call.  “yes, my love?!” you screamed back. alex giggled and asked, “do you want to stream sometime soon? i mean like, we’ve known each other for a few months and we haven’t streamed together, i know you’re a fairly new streamer but i even asked dream if you could come onto the smp, and i have something planned- well karl and sapnap helped me plan it- but that’s not the point, the point is-” he rambled.  “alex? are you asking me on a minecraft date?” you asked. “no! well, maybe, okay yeah. i’m asking you on a minecraft date.” he confirmed.  “i’d love to go on a minecraft date with you, alex.” you said, blushing a bit. 

truth is, you’ve had a crush on alex for a few months. when he first slid into your dms you didn’t really expect it, but it turned out to start a beautiful friendship. you always flirted with alex in hopes that he’d notice, but it never seemed like he did. he never retaliated back but little did you know, he was just too shy to.

“uh- okay great! tomorrow, at 3pm your time, stream it. we’re going to have a lot of fun. wear pajamas, or you know- just be comfortable okay?” he rushed. you laughed a bit and said, “yes alex, of course. bye now,” then smiled and hung up. 

you immediately went tot twitter and started a thread: @(y/s/n): this weeks stream schedule (times are pst): @(y/s/n): tomorrow @ 3pm: minecraft date w/ someone i haven’t streamed with yet  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ↳ @ quackity: i wonder who this might be hmMmMMmm @(y/s/n): tuesday @ 1pm: i somehow got invited to an among us lobby w/ corpse, sykkuno, valkyrae, disguised toast, quarterjade, masayoshi, peterparktv, jacksepticeye, and ludwig  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ @(y/s/n): wednesday @ 1pm: if things don’t go well w/ person on monday- looking for a mc boyfriend! ↳ @ quackity: WELL THAT’S RUDE TO ASSUME THAT THINGS WONT GO WELL (Y/N) @(y/s/n): thursday @ 3pm: chitchat w/ nihachu !! @(y/s/n): friday @ 2pm: pummel party w/ ??

as soon as you tweeted all them out, you looked at replies and saw that quackity had replied to both monday and wednesday schedules. giggling to yourself, you replied back to him.

@(y/s/n): @ quackity way to make it obvious alex, if you wanna date me just say it (¬_¬) @(y/s/n): @ quackity how can you assume that it will go well alex (Ő-Ő) ↳ @ quackity: i just know (y/n)!!! truST ME!!!!

laughing once more, you plugged your phone into the charger and went to bed, excited for what alex had planned for you two tomorrow. 

getting ready for the minecraft date was very nerve wracking. the only thing you could think about was whether alex considered this a real date or not. deep inside you hoped that this was a real one. 

the ringing from your phone disrupted your thought. looking down on the screen you saw that the one person you were thinking of was calling you. 

“hello?” you answered. “hi, (y/n), are you ready?” alex asked. “uh, yeah, i just- i just need to start my stream and introduce what we’re doing.” “okay, um- i’m going to send you a link to the dream smp discord server. join it and join vc 4.” he replied.  “for sure, see you then.” you smiled. “see you.” he said and hung up.

“fuck,” you said and wiped your hands onto your pants. you definitely weren’t ready but still, joined the discord server and joined vc 4 then deafened. you set up your stream and hit go live.

“hey everyone! as you may know, if you follow my twitter, today i’m going on a minecraft date! uh no, no one knows who it is yet, but i have a feeling a LOT of you already know who it is.” you said, reading chat and wiggling your eyebrows.

“okay, i’m going to join the server and then share my screen when he’s standing in front of me.” you started playing some music so your viewers didn’t get bored while they waited for you to start. 

once you were logged into the smp you privately messaged alex and asked him where he was. before he could answer you turned around to look at the walls you were surrounded by and screamed out after seeing quackity’s naked body behind you. 

“chat, i’m okay, just got scared. um anyways, yeah.”  you said and showed your screen, revealing the man himself. “quackity!” you screamed into your mic. “jesus christ, (y/n) we can save screaming my name for later.” he said in a suggestive voice. you then started punching him and after each punch you said, “stop. saying. suggestive. comments. we haven’t even started the date yet!”  “okay, okay, okay! i’m literally going to die, (y/n) stop!!” he yelled out. you kept hitting him to see if he was lying but after the second punch quackity was slain by (y/mc/n) showed up in the chat. 

ranboo: i see that the date is going well

you started laughing uncontrollably while alex was silent. “(y/n),” he said in a more serious voice. you hummed as he continued his sentence. “why did you kill me?” “i wanted to know if you were lying. was that a canon life? i think that should be a canon life.” you laughed. “no it wasn’t a fucking canon life. (y/n) you’re not even an official member of the smp!” he said. “i could be,” you said wiggling your eyebrows and crouching up and down. “anyways. follow me, i’m bringing you to where we’re having our date.” so you followed him and when you reached your destination you were at party park with karl and sapnap standing in front of you. 

“hello boys. what are you doing here on our date. is this an amusement park date, quackity? i didn’t take you for that type of guy. it’s kind of cheesy.” you rambled. “no! this isn’t where our date is happening. jeez, have a little more faith in me (y/n).” he said, moving his minecraft character to look at you slowly and creepily. “well there wasn’t much to begin with,” you said, chuckling a bit. you heard karl and sapnap giggling to what you had said.  “hey! take that back!” quackity said, punching your minecraft character. you audibly gasped and turned to look at karl and sapnap again. “you guys saw that right? he just hit me.” you said, faking shock. they both quickly nodded their heads. “i can’t believe you would hit me on our first date.” you said, turning to look at him this time. “you literally killed me!” he yelled out.

so this went on for about 30 more minutes till quackity explained to you that your date would pretty much be a minecraft manhunt with quackity, sapnap, and karl hunting you but you had to find something instead of defeating the enderdragon. if they killed you and they won, you owed alex a real date. no stream, just them. 

“you’re going to hunt me for our first date?” you asked in disbelief. quackity then nodded his head up and down in a very fast motion. “mm cool,” you said as you punched him and ran away in a different direction.

it had been about 45 minutes and you killed karl and sapnap twice, but quackity had not been seen the whole time. but as you were running away from sapnap, quackity appeared in front of you and you faked trying to kill him, letting him just kill you because you wanted to go on that second date with him. 

(y/mc/n) was slain by quackity ranboo: date still going really well, looks like you guys are really hitting it off!

“awe man, looks like i have to go on another date with quackity!” you said. sarcastically faking the disappointment. reading your chat for the first time this stream, it wasn’t your usual happy messages. instead they were filled with negativity.

i don’t see why quackity wants to go on a date with them why did dream let them on the smp?? there are so many other content creators who deserve to be on the smp way more than they do they’re so fucking annoying begging for attention much?

so you grew quiet and just listened to quackity end off his stream while you ended yours without saying anything. but once he finished saying goodbye to his stream, you immediately said bye to him.

“i’m gonna go now alex, thank you for the minecraft date. text me the details for the next. bye.” you rushed.

alex found it really weird that you had just left like that, you guys almost always stayed on call after he finished streaming for at least 3 hours just talking. but he let it slide, hoping it wasn’t something he had done.

you went onto twitter to update about your streaming schedule. @(y/s/n): looks like my stream schedule may be moving around because i’m going on a second date with @ quackity!

alex quickly went to go reply to it but gazed over the replies to your tweet and wasn’t very happy with them. you don’t deserve to go on another date with him you’re literally just using him for clout what an attention whore leave him alone already!

knowing that you barely ever got hate, he quickly called you instead. thinking very hard about what he was about to do. looking at your phone you saw that alex was facetiming you, you wiped your face from the tears that had fallen and sniffled, hoping you didn’t sound too congested.

“hello?” you said. “hey um, i have to tell you something.” he replied. the serious tone of his voice got you very nervous. was he about to confirm everything your chat had told you or even the tweets you just read? “i really like you, (y/n).” he said. you looked at your phone in surprise and he continued. “and i really don’t know if you feel the same way about me but i read the replies to your tweet and i know that you’re a pretty new streamer and i just don’t want you to already be getting hate because of me, you don’t deserve that. you’re an amazing person and i just, i don’t want to be the reason you’re getting hate. so i think it’d be best if we just laid off talking to each other for now.” “i like you too, alex.” you whispered. “but i respect your decision. goodbye for now?” you said, offering a smile to the screen he was displayed on. it looked like he was just as shocked as you when he told you how he felt. “uh, yeah. goodbye for now. don’t be a stranger (y/n).” you smiled once more and hung up.

as soon as you hung up you started crying again. you really liked alex, but maybe you didn’t show that well enough, because if you did, maybe you guys would’ve been together at this point.

the next day, you streamed normally with a faked high energy that nobody seemed to notice, this time not paying attention to your chat. deep inside you really just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep all your stresses away. it really sucked to find out the guy you’ve had a crush on liked you back but he decided to end whatever you guys had going on.

but your chat couldn’t know so you kept a fake facade on, hoping no one asked about him.

though to alex, it looked like you were so unbothered by him pretty much ending your friendship. he started slightly believing the tweets that mentioned how you were just using him for clout. but after really thinking about it, he realized, why would you have been friends with him months before, without any of your fans knowing if you really were just using him. so he scolded himself and went about his day.

you were ending your stream with a big smile, as soon as you hit that end streaming button that smile was gone. you changed into a hoodie and curled into your bed. you just looked up at your ceiling and started crying, you pretty much lost the guy you really liked. your feelings being unnoticed by the public eye.

[moon-light-jukebox]

Don’t Go - [Reid x Reader]

masterlist

Summary: After being tortured by Tobias Hankel, Dr. Spencer Reid is struggling and everyone can see it. Reader can’t bear his pain and tries to comfort him...only to be heartbroken when he says their night meant nothing.  

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 10.6k

Genre: Angst. Angst. Angst. But fluff at the end cause I’m not a monster. 

Content Warning: Talk of drug use, language, penetrative sex, oral sex (female receiving), and just angst. All the angst. Get tissue. 

A/n: This is set over the arc of episodes  2x16 - 2x18. A special thank you to @imjusthereformggcontent and @catsadams for reading through the beginning of this in its first form. You’re both angels.  I hope this is everything y’all wanted it to be, my doves. Thank you for sticking with me. 

Request prompt: Can you write a fic where Spencer is high on dilaudid and tells you that your night together was nothing and that you're nothing to him. Then the next day he can't rember telling you and and he can't figure out why you are avoiding him.

-- Don’t Go -- 

The first indication I got that today wasn’t going to be normal came when Special Agent Grant Anderson shuffled into my office just after 9:30 am. He didn’t knock before he entered and then shut the door quickly behind him.

I glanced up from the paperwork in front of me, my eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Something on your mind, Special Agent?” I teased.

Ever since Anderson made a mistake that led to SSA Elle Greenaway being shot a few months ago, a lot of people on this floor had been giving him the cold shoulder, despite the fact that Greenaway had forgiven him before she left the BAU.

When I first joined the bureau and was assigned to this unit, Anderson had been my first friend. He was there for me when I felt nervous and like I was a complete imposter. He’s the reason I was still a member of this team; I’d never turn my back on him.

“Something’s up with Reid.”

I propped both of my elbows on the desk, my chin resting on my folded hands. “Well, he was just abducted and tortured. That’s gonna have an effect on someone.”

Anderson was already shaking his head before I got done speaking. “This is different. I just tried to talk to him while he was getting some coffee. I asked him about David Tennant taking over as The Doctor and he…he snapped at me, y/l/n.”

Okay, that’s odd. “Maybe he just didn’t feel like talking,” I defended. “He was tortured, Grant.”

“I’ve known him since I started here. He’s…something is wrong.”

I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “It can’t be anything too bad. I mean, he’s surrounded by profilers. His mentor is Jason Gideon for god’s sake. If something was wrong, they’d know.”

Anderson walked forward and braced his palms on my desk, his eyes boring into mine.

“Dr. Spencer Reid is also one of the best profilers in the world. I’m telling you, y/n, something is wrong.”

I conceded with a sigh. “What do we do?”

“I think you should talk to him.”

My spine stiffened. “Me? Why?” But I knew why.

Anderson scoffed. “You know how he looks at you. And I know how you look at him.”

Dr. Spencer Reid’s nervousness around me could have been blamed on many things, Anderson insisted it meant he liked me. I wasn’t convinced…because I saw how he looked at JJ.

How I looked at Reid was obvious. He was the most brilliant man I had ever met, he was kind, sweet, and his eyes sparkled when he talked about something he loved. My heart fluttered when he realized he was rambling and he blushed, and my day was made whenever he would seek me out to talk to me.

I had a crush on Spencer Reid.

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll talk to him.”

He shot me a relieved smile and backed away from the desk. “Sooner than later, please.”

Such a sassy bitch, I thought as he shut the door.

--

It was well after 6 pm when I gathered my things to leave the office that day. I had been hired as one of the many, many agents that worked under JJ. Media liaison wasn't her only role; she also fielded hundreds of requests for FBI assistance every week. It was my job to go through those requests, make initial judgments, and then send out responses.

I had always been happier working behind the scenes, so a job filled with paperwork suited me just fine. All I wanted to do was help catch bad guys, and with the BAU I felt like I was making a difference.

Speaking to Reid had been on my mind all day, but I had expected that I'd have the night to think up a plan of attack then talk to him first thing in the morning, but when I walked past the bullpen I saw him at his desk.

The entire floor appeared to be empty apart from him. His shoulders were hunched, his head resting in his hands.

I was opening the doors before I realized what was happening. I had crossed the distance until I was standing in front of him before I even knew what I was going to say.

“Reid,” I said softly. I almost touched him, but I didn’t think he’d like that. He didn’t seem to like to be touched.

His head snapped up; the circles under his eyes were darker than normal, his hair was messier than usual, and his clothing was in disarray. He cleared his throat, his tongue running over his dry lips.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.

"I can't imagine what you're going through," I began, standing at the end of his desk. "I don't even know how to begin to think about it. So, I won't ask you to talk about it. I won't ask you to talk at all. I just…I just want you to know that I'm here if you just want a friend. If you want to grab some coffee and talk about nothing…whatever."

Those warm brown eyes were duller than I’d ever seen them, but they ran over my entire body quizzically, like he wasn’t sure I was even there.

After a beat, I decided it was best to leave him to it. I couldn't force him to accept my offer…not that I would force him even if I could. "Goodnight, Reid."

I turned and made my way back to the double glass doors of the bullpen. I hadn’t heard him move, so I was completely thrown off guard when his hand wrapped around my wrist. My eyes looked up to meet his, confusion plain on my face.

His eyes weren't dull anymore, they were shimmering but not in any way I ever wanted to see. He swiped at his cheek angrily when the first tear fell. "Don't go," he rasped.

I won’t.  

--

We didn’t speak as we took the elevator down to the lobby. It was only when we reached the front doors of the building that I spoke. “Where do you want to go?”

He scratched at his forearm, his eyes moving over the room behind us like he was expecting someone to run out from any direction. I wasn't a profiler, but I recognized hypervigilance when I saw it.

“I don’t know. Not here.”

I nodded. “Alright. Do you want to go…get food? Coffee?” He shook his head, his hands now picking at the threads of the cardigan he wore. “We could go for a walk?”

“I…” He cleared his throat, his eyes rising to meet mine. “I don’t want to be around a lot of people right now.”

“Okay, we can-“

“But,” he interrupted. “I…I’m afraid to be alone, y/n. I’m…I’m so fucking afraid.”

I reached for him only to still my hand at the last second, millimeters away from touching him. “I won’t leave you alone, Reid.” My teeth dug into my lower lip as I thought. “We could go to your apartment. Or mine.” I quickly added when I saw how his eyes widened at the mention of his place.

“I…I don’t want to go home.” He licked his lips again, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Then you don’t have to go home right now. We’ll go to my place. We can order dinner, watch a movie, or we can do nothing. It’s up to you.”

The look of relief on his face, combined with the smile he sent me warmed up a part of my heart I didn’t even know was cold.

--

The ride to my apartment was mostly silent; I had turned the radio on for background noise. Spencer’s eyes kept staring out of my passenger side window while his hands twisted in his lap.

He followed behind me quietly when we entered my building, then took the elevator up to my apartment. Spencer’s eyes glided over my apartment, taking in the photos of my friends and family on the walls, the throw pillows on my couch, and the titles on my bookshelf.

I went into the kitchen to get us both a bottle of water only to find him standing in the same spot when I returned.

“Are you hungry?”

He shook his head.

“Okay, do you want to sit down?”

He nodded, following me over to my couch. I curled my feet up under myself, my hands folded in my lap. “Spencer…I know I said you don’t have to talk, and you don’t. But…I want to help. I just…I want to do anything I can to help you.” I let out a breath, embarrassed that my voice was already thick with tears. “If that means sitting here beside you and just staring at the wall that’s fine. I…I just want to help.”

Reid’s head swiveled over to face me, those beautiful brown eyes were frightened. “Tobias…he…he hurt me. And I can still feel it,” he whispered, his voice raw even in that hushed volume. “It’s all I feel. I just…I don’t want to hurt anymore, y/n. I can’t stand it.”

I couldn’t stop myself from rising up on my knees and moving towards him. “Can I hug you? Is that okay?”

The words weren’t out of my mouth before he wrapped his arms around my middle, laying his head against my chest. When the first sob wracked through his body, I felt something inside of me crack. The second sob triggered my own.

I didn't know what had happened to him, and if I did know, I don't think I would ever truly understand. But the agony he was in affected me more than any pain I had ever felt myself.

My fingers ran through his hair, tugging at the soft tangles. His hair is curly, I thought absentmindedly. He always wore it slicked down…but it was curly.

Spencer finally quieted after a few moments, his sobs turning into sniffles. “Thank you.”

I gave a broken chuckle. “Don’t thank me for caring about you, Spencer.”

He pulled his head back to look at me, his eyes moving over my cheeks. “You cried for me.”

I nodded.

“Why?”

The question was so unexpected that I wasn’t prepared to do anything but tell the truth. “It hurts me to see you hurt.”

Spencer looked at me for a moment longer, absorbing my words before his palm came up and cupped my jaw, his thumb wiping my left-over tears away. He gentled pulled my head down until my lips pressed against his. Our first kiss was tender, his lips were slightly chapped but still unbelievably soft. Something about this kiss broke my heart more than his tears did.

My hands had come up to cup his face, my actions a mirror of his own. “I…I don’t want to take advantage of you, Spencer,” I mumbled out when we had pulled apart.

He chuckled softly. “You’re worried about that?” His mood became somber when I nodded. “Y/n…you know how I look at you. Everyone does. I don’t…I don’t want this if you don’t. I don’t want you to do this out of pity-“

“Spencer,” I gasped. “I would never…I’d never touch you out of pity. I-I want to touch you. I have for a long time.”

you. I have for a long time.”

Tears started to shine in his eyes again at my words. “Then please touch me, y/n. I don’t want to feel this pain anymore. I just…I just want to feel how I feel when you hold me. It-It doesn’t hurt when you touch me.”

Our lips came together the second time in understanding and hope. My mouth brushed against his with a promise that I was touching him because I wanted to. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth nibbling on it while his hands wove into my hair.

I moved to straddle his lap, my knees on either side of him, while my hands started working on the buttons of his shirt.

Spencer’s tongue ghosted against my lips; the groan he gave when I immediately let him inside made my core throb.

He froze when I started to push his shirt off his shoulders. “What is it?”

“It’s…I don’t want you to see…what he did to me. Please?”

I moved off of him quickly, extending my hand to pull him from the couch. I led him down the hall to my bedroom, not turning on the overhead light when we entered; the only source of light was a sliver of moonlight through the curtains.

“You don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to,” I whispered. “Do you…”

His lips crushed against mine, his hands grabbing my hips to pull me against his body. Those long fingers started working my shirt up my body, breaking away momentarily to pull it over my head.

Once my pants were down my thighs, he pushed me back onto the bed. He had removed his cardigan but left his button-up shirt on. I reached behind myself to unhook my bra, feeling a sudden nervousness rise up in my chest.

His fingers were warm when they brushed over my collarbones, drifting down over my breasts. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

I pulled him on top of me when I leaned back on the bed, our lips meeting in a heated frenzy. He palmed my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple, causing me to arch up against him.

Spencer’s lips moved down until he was mouthing my neck, his teeth nipping at the skin, all the while his hand ghosted down my body until his fingers hooked on the top of my panties.

His head lifted, his eyes searching mine. “Can I touch you?”

I nodded, my hand moving atop his, guiding him inside my panties; I couldn’t control my gasp when his fingers parted my folds to brush against me.

My hands went to his belt. “I-is this okay?”

He nodded, his mouth coming down to cover the tip of my breast, his tongue teasing my nipple to a point. Those long fingers gathered wetness from my opening to bring it up to circle my clit. Ever the scientist, Spencer paid attention to every reaction I had, he wanted to learn how to touch me.

When his middle and ring finger entered me, his palm grinding against my clit, I finally got his pants open. My hand snacked inside to palm his cock, pulling a grown from him.

“Can I push these down a bit?”

“Please,” he breathed, his lips coming over mine.

His pants were down to his mid-thighs before I wrapped my hand around him. He was bigger than I expected, not overly thick, but longer than anyone I had been with before.

“Y/n,” he whimpered against my lips, his fingers speeding up inside of me.

I gave a few pumps, my movements uncoordinated. “I want to feel you inside me, Spence. Please?”

Reid groaned, removing his fingers from my heat. “Do you have a condom?”

I turned to my bedside table, fumbling in the darkness. When I turned back to face him, I saw two of his fingers in his mouth. The same two fingers that had just been inside of me.

“Jesus,” I breathed out, finding the sight of him sucking my arousal off his fingers incredibly erotic.

He took the condom from me, his lips quirking up in a smile. "I've…I've never done that before." His eyes moved down to my still covered pussy. "I want to…but I-I don't want this time to be worse for you than it has to be," he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Hey," I muttered, my hands cupping that well-defined jaw. "This isn't going to be bad for me, Spencer. Just being with you is wonderful."

My words felt heavy in the air. Because they were true.

Spencer swallowed thickly, rolling the condom down over his length. I tugged my panties off, leaving me totally bare to him, while he still had most of his clothing on.

Even with that weird detail, this was still wonderful; being with Spencer like this was…everything.

I gripped him, lining him up at my entrance. His forehead dropped against mine when he started to push inside of me.

“Spence,” I breathed, my hands clutching at his hips.

“Are you okay?” he panted.

“Better than okay. You feel so good.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I don’t think anything could feel better than…fuck.” His slim hips pressed against mine when he was fully sheathed inside of me.

I felt my pussy flutter at his words. I’d never heard Spencer curse like that before.

We started a steady pace; his thrusts were even, and my hips rose to meet them. His arms were braced on either side of my head, his lips brushing against mine while he fucked me.

Calling it fucking seemed wrong. It was so much more.

“Y/n,” he groaned. “I’m close.”

My hand squeezed down between our bodies to rub my clit. “Hold on. I’m almost there.” I whined out.

His moan seemed to tingle across my skin when he dropped his head against my shoulder. “I want to feel you cum, baby.”

I whimpered at his words. “Spencer, harder. I need it harder.”

His hips snapped against mine as he slammed into me, I felt his teeth on the tender skin where my neck and shoulder met for a second before he bit down.

The mix of pain with pleasure sent me over the edge. My pussy clamped down on him as I found my own orgasm, pulling him over the edge with me.

My fingers ran over his back, scratching at the material of his shirt. I breathed his name out over and over while I floated back down from my high.

I felt his tongue soothe over the bite mark he had just given me as he gave a few more jerks inside of me before pulling out. He placed the sweetest kiss against my lips and when he pulled back, his eyes were shining, but not with tears this time.

--

After we cleaned up, we ordered take out and watched some sci-fi movie that was on cable. I couldn’t tell you a thing about it; I was too busy watching Spencer’s face when he told me all about it. I was enraptured by his voice, the way his hands moved.

He was so beautiful.

Before I was ready, I realized that it was already approaching midnight. “It’s late,” I said.

He nodded. “I should go.”

It was childish, but I couldn’t stop my lip from jutting out in a pout, causing him to laugh.

“What is it, beautiful?” he questioned, his voice teasing.

I shoved his shoulder. “Don’t ‘beautiful’ me, Spencer Reid,” I scolded, delighted when he laughed. “I just…I’m not ready for you to go.”

Something in Spencer’s eyes changed. He seemed almost relieved at my words. “I’m not ready to go either.”

I leaned over, placing a soft kiss in the center of his lips. “Then don’t go.”

--

Spending the night with Spence was worth how early I had to wake up the following morning to drive him by his apartment before work. I had offered to wait and give him a ride to work, but he had gotten a text from Garcia. They had gotten called to Houston for a case; Morgan was going to swing by and get him.

“I’ll call you when I can,” he promised, cupping my face when he kissed me goodbye.

The circles under his eyes this morning weren’t as dark as they had been before.

--

I could barely contain my excitement when we got the notification that the team was headed back. Part of me felt silly for being so excited. I mean, it was just one night; but it hadn’t felt like just one night.

Spencer hadn’t called me during the few days he’d been in Texas, but I hadn’t really expected him to. If anyone understood his job, it was someone who worked with his team. The BAU was such an elite unit within the FBI for a reason; they would stop at nothing to solve a case.

When the glass doors of the bullpen opened and I saw Hotch stride in, heading for his office, I couldn’t contain my smile.

“I saw that,” Anderson muttered.

I reached out and smack his arm. “You wanted me to talk to Reid.”

He nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. “And judging by that mark on your neck you did more than talk.”

I scowled at him. “See if I’m on your side the next time you fuck up,” I teased, knowing he wouldn’t take my words to heart.

He just offered me a wide smile. That’s how Anderson had lasted so long here, he never really held onto anything.

“Your man doesn’t look so good,” he said suddenly.

I turned, my eyes seeking out Spencer. He was right, the dark circles were back under his eyes, his clothes were wrinkled, his hair sticking up in every direction.

He never turned his head in my direction.

--

I had wanted to give Spencer some space when he first arrived back. What if something about this case had affected him? I thought that maybe that was the reason he had been avoiding me.

My department always had more paperwork than usual when the team came back from a case, so I wasn’t able to leave until after 7. While I gathered up my things I debated about calling Reid, thinking he was already gone. When I went to take Hotch some files about 20 minutes earlier Spencer was rushing out of the bullpen with his bag clutched in his hands.

Even though I wasn’t expecting to see him, I couldn’t stop myself from looking in the glass doors when I passed by out of habit.

He was sitting at his desk. His head was tilted back, and it looked like his eyes were closed. Even in a position that most people would appear relaxed in, he still seemed incredibly tense.  

I can just pop in and tell him hi, I reasoned. Let him know I’m not expecting anything, but I’m here for him.

I had given a lot of thought to my relationship with Spencer over the days he was gone. He was still healing from what happened with Tobias, it wasn’t fair of me to put unreasonable expectations on him right now. I was his friend before anything else. I could put my personal feelings aside if I needed to.

Squaring my shoulders, I pushed the doors open and headed towards his desk. The only person still at their desk was the newest member of the team, SSA Prentiss.

“Hey, y/n,” she greeted.

I had intended to return her greeting, but Spencer’s eyes snapped open and zeroed in on me. The look in his eyes made my blood freeze in my veins. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before, like my presence in this space was annoying to him.

Reid stood abruptly, pulling the strap of his messenger back up on his shoulder before he brushed past me. I had barely processed his actions before he was already leaving the bullpen.

“Spence!” I called. “Hang on!”

He just kept walking. I all but sprinted in my attempt to catch up to him. “Spencer, what the fuck,” I whispered. I knew he had seen me. Once I was closer to him, I reached out and gripped his elbow in an attempt to get his attention.

His entire body jerked as he spun around to face me. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed, venom dripping from his words.

My body recoiled from him like he’d slapped me. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I thought…I just…”

Just then a pair of agents walked past us and they did not bother hiding the curiosity in their eyes.

Spencer’s hand shot out and gripped my forearm, pulling me along behind him. The hold he had on my arm was almost painful, but I couldn’t focus on anything. My brain was still playing his words over and over again.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

He didn’t stop until we reached the copy room; he jerked the door open and shoved me inside.

“Spencer!” I yanked my arm out of his grip, rubbing the skin with my other hand. “What the fuck is going on?!”

“You thought what?” he snarled taking a step closer to me. “You thought that because I fucked you that means you’re my girlfriend now or something?”

My eyes widened at his words. Something cold and heavy settled in the pit of my stomach while some unnamable feeling made me throat constrict. “N-no, I didn’t think that. I just-“

I had heard Spencer’s laugh so many times before, it used to make me smile every time I heard it. People who hadn’t heard him laugh before might have thought the sound that he made when he heard my words was a laugh. But it wasn’t. It was harsh and brittle. His face was pulled into a smile that was condescending.

“Are you sure, y/l/n? Because you’ve sure been fucking acting like it all day. I feel your pathetic little looks everywhere I turn. Like I kicked your dog or something.”

I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes because…this wasn’t Spencer. This wasn’t my Spencer. My Spencer couldn’t use chopsticks and held my face when he kissed me.

“Oh, my fucking god,” he groaned in disgust. “Are you going to cry, y/n? Are you kidding me right now?”

People always say terrible things happen so fast, it’s what I read in witness statements all the time. This was a terrible thing, but time seemed to slow down for it. I saw everything in perfect detail, I heard every single syllable that came out of this mouth.

When the first tear slid down my cheek that dark, brittle laugh left his mouth again. “If you weren’t being so pathetic, I might feel bad for you.”

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered, wiping at my cheeks.

“Why am I doing what, y/n?” His voice was so much louder than it was before. It didn’t make sense that he brought me to a more private place to avoid attention but now he was…yelling at me. “We fucked, do you get that? That is all! I don’t know what sad little schoolgirl fantasy you built up in your mind, but that night wasn’t special to me.”

Oh. I swallowed down my emotion, my eyes moving away from him to stare down at the floor. I wished I was the sort of person that could lash out whenever I was hurt, to hurt that person back as badly as they hurt me; but it’s just not who I was.

Like a shark that smelled blood in the water, Spencer moved closer to me. His fingers brushed over the strands of hair that hung near my shoulder. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, y/n. You’re not special. You were just a desperate girl that wanted attention. You were a pussy to use.”

I jerked back violently at his words, putting as much distance as I could between us. My entire body felt so cold, my face frozen in a mask of confusion.

Reid scoffed once more before he turned and left the room.

He never looked back at me.

I’m not sure how long I stayed in the copy room after he’d left. It may have been seconds; it could have been hours. I think I was in some sort of shock; my body just autopiloted to a place I felt safe.

I don’t remember unlocking my office door. I don’t remember collapsing in my chair and burying my head in my hands while sobs tore out of my chest.

All I remember is hearing my name a moment before I felt someone standing beside me.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called softly. “What’s wrong, y/n?”

I lifted my head and looked into the worried face of one of my best friends.

Anderson didn’t say anything further, he just pulled me up from my chair and wrapped his arms around me while I cried.

--

Pain is a universal experience, but everyone feels it differently. Everyone heals differently.

My grandmother used to say, “Everything will be different in the morning.” I was never sure if that was true or not, but today I chose to believe it was. The pain and humiliation that burned in my gut when I remembered Spencer’s words yesterday wouldn’t last forever.

I had made a mistake. I had let someone use my body only to find out that person wasn’t who I thought they were. I wasn’t the first person to make that mistake, and I’m sure I wouldn’t be the last.

Anderson had stayed with me in my office last night while I pulled myself together enough to go home. He didn’t ask what had happened, but he wasn’t stupid, I’m sure he suspected what had broken my heart.

In a perfect world, I would have fallen for someone like Grant Anderson. He was kind, funny, and a constant source of comfort when I felt my world breaking apart.

I had always tried to think of each painful moment as a lesson in some way, and lessons can teach you both good and bad things. Even my worst moments of pain, I couldn’t regret the choices that lead me to them. Every single experience shapes us into who we grow to be.

One day, when this pain in my heart wasn't so sharp, I think I might be able to look back on my night with Spencer Reid without feeling regret. He had been my friend, he was hurting. How I tried to help his suffering was a mark of who I was.

How he caused me pain was a mark of who he was.

Grant had sent me a text around 6 am, asking me if I was going to take some personal time. The BAU wasn't assigned to an active case today, but I had sent some files over to JJ that looked promising. My money was they'd be headed out to New Orleans tomorrow to catch a serial killer once she had reviewed those files.

A very large part of myself wanted to stay home; I wanted to hide from my pain and tend to my wounded heart in private. But no matter how big that part of me was, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t let this pain consume me.

I wouldn’t let it.

With that thought in mind, I squared my shoulders and walked into the headquarters of the FBI.

--

The hardest moments after a tragedy are the moments after; after the first wave of pain has passed and you’re expected to go back to your normal life. The world never slowed down just because you were in agony.

JJ came by and told me she thought New Orleans looked promising and asked if I could contact the lead detective for any updates then forward those to her.

She wasn’t a profiler but even she knew something was wrong. Right before she walked out of my office she said, “Hey, are you okay?”

It's always so much worse when they ask you if you're okay because they never want an honest answer. So, on top of all the agony, you feel you have to pull off a convincing lie.

“Just tired, JJ.”

I don’t think she quite believed me, but she was kind enough not to push me any further.

A few hours later JJ was on the phone the detective heading up the investigation into the murders happening in the French Quarter. It looked like the team was heading out to New Orleans sometime tomorrow morning.

My job mostly had me working with JJ, but SSA Hotchner was the unit chief. It wasn’t uncommon that I had to get his signature of approval on something JJ needed. So, when it was time to stop by Hotch’s office, I made my way there with no outward reluctance.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spencer standing around the cluster of desks that housed his teammates. They all called out in greeting after I dropped the files off, but I had only waved over my shoulder and rushed out of the room.

Anderson had been popping in and out of my office all morning. First, he had made excuses for coming by, but much to my amusement he had dropped the façade after he came to ask me if he could borrow a pen…while he was holding a pen.

The biggest dilemma of my day was over coffee. Of course, I hadn’t gotten any sleep last night and I was dragging. Caffeine was obviously the answer.

But if you knew Spencer Reid, you know he was always at the coffee machine in the BAU bullpen.

I could just go downstairs to counterterrorism, I thought idly. But if I’m already in the elevator I could just run down the block and get coffee. JJ wouldn’t mind.

I was still debating my options when I heard a tentative knock on my door.

I am not proud of my actions, I’m truly not. But there is only one person in this whole building who would knock on a door that hesitantly.

The blinds in my office were closed…but I had left the door unlocked.

On instinct, I slid out of my chair, knees hitting the floor, and hid under my desk.

What the fuck are you doing, y/n? I mentally scolded myself. This is a new low, even for you.

It turned out to be pointless anyway.

He didn’t open the door.

--

“You don’t have to tell me,” Anderson began. “But…”

“I have to tell you?” I supplied after a beat.

He flopped down in the chair on the other side of my desk. “Exactly.”

The small smile that curled up on my face was the first real smile I’d had in almost 24 hours.

How had it only been 24 hours?

“Listen,” he said, bringing my attention back to him. “I know it’s about Reid. I’m not a profiler, but it’s all that makes sense.”

“How’s that?”

One of his dark brown eyebrows raised at the question. “I mean, even if we ignored everything else, the fact that he keeps walking past your office door is a dead giveaway.”

I rubbed my temples with my fingers. “Grant, I can’t right now.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” I whispered out. “I don’t…I need to hold it together. Just for a while longer.”

Grant reclined his back against the chair, his eyes surveying me. “Fine. But I don’t like seeing you like this.”

I don’t like feeling like this.

“Alright,” he sighed, rising to his feet. “I have to go run some sort of errand for Garcia.”

I didn’t bother asking, he’d say it was “classified.”

All the air seemed to leave the room when he opened the door.

Spencer was standing on the other side, his hand up like he had been about to knock.

Grant’s entire body jerked while Spencer’s eyes widened. “What are you doing here?” my friend demanded.

The most startling thing was how surprised Spencer looked at Grant’s tone; like it was some oddity that one of my closest friends would have been angry on my behalf.

“C-can I talk to you?” he asked, his voice squeaking on the last word.

I licked my lips, weighing my options. How could he hurt me any worse? I gave Grant a nod, signaling that I was okay. He moved out of the way, granting Spencer entry, but I knew my friend; he wouldn’t be far.

The man in front of me waited until the door was shut before he spoke. “Did I do something?”

My eyes had dropped down to my hands only to shoot up to his face at those words. What?

“To make you upset?” he clarified. “I…you’ve been avoiding me all day. And I know you were in here earlier when I knocked.”

His words tore at the bandages I had wrapped my heart in, ripping my wound open again. All I could do was wrap my arms around my middle in an attempt to physically hold myself together. “W-why would I want to talk to you?”

If possible, he looked even more confused than I felt. “What is going on?” He took a step towards me. “Baby-“

My reaction to hearing that word come out of his mouth was visceral. I shot to my feet, almost stumbling over my chair in an attempt to put more distance between us.

Spencer froze. “I…I don’t understand,” he pleaded. “Please, y/n, you have to talk to me. It…it hurts me to see you hurt.”

Any work I had done to repair my heart was destroyed at his words. I never should have let him inside. The look on his face twisted a knife in my stomach. He had the audacity to look distraught over my tears like he wasn’t the cause of them.

“I know I said I’d call but I was just so busy with the case…I thought…you’d understand.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth while my eyes blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear the tears that were clouding my vision. If I couldn’t remember everything about yesterday so clearly, I would doubt that the man standing before me now was the same monster that spewed venom at me yesterday.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Reid.”

He flinched at my use of his last name. “I want you to tell me what happened.”

“Why?” I rasped out. “Do you want it to hurt more? Why are you doing this to me?”

Spencer took another step towards me, his hands were outstretched. "I don't-"

"Don't fucking touch me." I tried to fill my words with the same venom his words had yesterday when he told me the same thing, but my words came out as a broken plea.

He blinked and dropped his hands to his sides. “I deserve to know why you’re treating me like this.”

A sad sort of laugh came out of my mouth at his words.

Somehow the non-acknowledgment of my pain hurt worse than anything. “Do I mean so little to you that you forgot our conversation yesterday?”

Spencer shook his head, his hair flopping around his ears. “No, I didn’t talk to you yesterday.”

What? “Yes, you did.” My voice shook but my words still tumbled out of my mouth. “You pulled me into the copy room and told me…you told me that our night together was nothing…you told me that I was nothing.”

His brows knit together, his mouth popping open. “What are you talking about? You’re…you’re everything, y/n.”

“Reid, please…I know I’m pathetic, but I can’t take this. I can’t…” My shoulders started to shake. “Please don’t make me feel this again.”

“Pathetic?” he questioned. “What are you talking about? Is this…is this some sort of game? You don’t want to be with me…so you do this? Did Anderson tell you about my mom?”

“What?”

“My mom has schizophrenia. Is that why you’re trying to make me feel crazy?”

My brows knitted together. “I…Nobody told me about your mom. I’m not trying to make you feel crazy. And I wanted to be with you. But you told me you didn’t want to be with me.”

He still denied my words. “No, I haven’t talked to you. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You avoided me all day yesterday. When I finally came to talk to you in the bullpen you walked past me like I wasn't there. Then I went after you." I held up my arm, pushing my sleeve up to show him the finger-shaped bruises. "You dragged me into the copy room. You told me I was pathetic. You mocked me. You told me I was just some girl…some pussy for you to use."

He kept flinching at my words like they were whips leaving lashes all over his body.

“You told me I was nothing. You told me our night together was nothing.”

“No.” He continued to shake his head. “I…I wouldn’t say that. But I especially wouldn’t say that to you. You’re wrong.”

I just shrugged. “Ask Prentiss. She saw me follow you out of the bullpen yesterday. Ask Garcia to pull the security footage. There’s probably a recording of you breaking my heart.”

“No, no, no,” he muttered over and over again.

“I don’t know why you’re pretending you don’t remember, Spencer.”

He didn’t say anything else; he just turned and left my office, slamming the door behind him.

--

JJ was suspicious when I called her from my office phone instead of just walking over to see her, but she didn’t ask any questions about the mysterious illness I told her had hit me. She just told me that she hoped I felt better and to take all the time I needed.

I knew that the team was set to fly out after JJ presented the case at 10 am in the morning, meaning that going back to work tomorrow wouldn’t be too hard. No matter how badly I hurt now, I couldn’t lay down and cry about it.

Part of me was afraid if I laid down, I wouldn’t be able to get back up.

With that in mind, I would give myself today to feel the full force of my heartbreak. I would cry when I wanted to, I’d watch sad movies and make myself cry more, I’d eat junk food that ultimately only made me feel worse. I would feel this pain for one day.

I told myself Spencer Reid didn’t deserve more of my tears than that. I told myself that over and over again until I almost believed it.

Anderson had been texting me all day to check-in, I had even gotten a nice call from Penelope Garcia asking me if I needed anything.

The most unexpected call came at 8 pm that night from a number I didn’t recognize.

“Y/n?” the voice asked. “This is Prentiss.”

Oh. “Oh. Hi, Emily.”

“Listen, I called for two reasons. The first is that I wanted to check in on you, and the second is…the second is a bit more personal.”

Oh. I cleared my throat. “I’m as good as I can be, Emily.”

She sighed. "I figured. Which brings me to my second question. Did something happen between you and Reid?" After a few moments of my silence, Prentiss hurried on. "You don't have to tell me. It's just that…Reid came up to me this afternoon and demanded to know if I had seen you come into the bullpen to talk to him yesterday."

“What did you say?”

“Um, I told him yes. Because I did. What is going on?”

My fingers picked at the edges of the blanket in my lap. “I don’t know. Anderson thinks something is up with him.”

“We all think something is up with him.”

Her confirmation didn’t make me feel any better.

--

I arrived to work the following morning at 9 am, a full thirty minutes later than usual. JJ had stopped by my office to see how I was doing, followed by a visit from Prentiss. Garcia had teetered into the room about 15 minutes after Emily left, giving me a frosted cookie that was bigger than my hand.

“Cookies help,” she had said confidently.  

I hoped she was right.

Anderson popped in last. "Hey, ooh." He skidded to a stop. "You look terrible."

I shot him a withering look. “Thank you so much, Grant.”

“You know what I mean.”

“…That I look terrible?”

He nodded, his lips twitching at the corners. “Anyway, Hotch needs the mileage forms for the SUVs. I can run it over to him.”

My teasing tone vanished. “I’ve got it, Grant.”

I wasn’t sure if that was true, but I had to believe it was. Or at the very least it would be soon.

It took every ounce of will power I had not to let my eyes wander over to his desk when I entered the bullpen. I could almost feel him looking at me. It went against every natural instinct I had to ignore him…but what else could I do?

Hotch wasn’t in his office when I knocked but the door was unlocked. He never minded if we walked in when he was out if we just had something to drop off. I tried to find an open space on his desk to set the forms when I heard the door squeak on its hinges behind me.

I spun around, my startled eyes connecting with a pair of sharp brown eyes.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry, Agent Gideon. I didn’t see you there.”

He gave me a small smile, but that sharp look didn’t leave his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose you would have,” he said simply. “It’s hard to notice anyone else when you’re trying so hard to not notice someone.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Gideon just nodded. “I’m going to tell you something. Now, you can take these words to heart, and I hope you do, or you can take them as the ramblings of…a sentimental old man.”

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “Okay.”

"A lot of people think that the most important thing you can have in a relationship is love," he began, his eyes never wavering from mine. "In my not so humble opinion, they are incorrect. You see, y/l/n, love fades. Love isn't a thing that can stay in one form forever. It's always changing… its fluid."

“Sir, I don’t-“

“You know what the most important thing is?” he asked as if I hadn’t spoken. “Mercy.”

I just blinked at him. “I…I don’t think I understand.”

He just smiled at me, his hands moving into the pockets of his jeans. “Maybe not yet, but I think you will.” Gideon’s gaze broke from mine, looking through the windows of Hotch’s office to settle on Reid. His head was bent over his desk while his fingers ran over the pages in front of him. “He’ll need mercy, y/n. More than anything else.”

Agent Gideon turned back to look at me. “He’ll need it from all of us, but I don’t think he’ll need it from anyone more than you.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say in response. I truly didn’t understand what he was talking about.

With one final smile, he turned and left the office, leaving me with my thoughts.

--

Agent Gideon’s words were still swirling through my mind the following afternoon when I got another odd call from Agent Prentiss.

“Hey, y/l/n,” she began, her tone annoyed. “Listen, have you heard from Reid?”

My entire body stilled. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

“He was supposed to meet us at the plane. Morgan and I are waiting for him but he isn’t answering his cell.”

I hated the worry that wormed its way through my heart at her words. “I’m sorry, Em. I haven’t talked to him.”

She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “It was a long shot. Thanks, y/n.”

For several minutes after she hung up, I just stared at my phone. Don’t, I told myself firmly. He’s not your problem.

Spencer Reid wasn't my problem…but I couldn't just stop caring about him overnight. That's not the sort of person I was.

I kept telling myself I was calling to check on him for me, because I was the sort of person who checked on their friends.

It didn’t make it easier when he didn’t answer my calls either.

--

The need to silence the shrill ringing of my phone pulled me from my sleep the following night. I still hadn't heard from Spencer, but Prentiss had called me this morning to tell me Reid had gone to see one of his friends and "didn't have a signal." Her tone indicated she thought he was full of shit.

My eyes cracked open to look at the caller ID. When I read the name of the person calling me, my fingers frantically pushed “accept.”

“Spencer?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

I sat up in my bed, my eyes looking at the clock on my nightstand. “It’s after 3 am. Did something happen with the case?”

He cleared his throat. “Um, yeah. The unsub is a woman. We tried to catch her tonight…but we can try again tomorrow.”

“You’ll get her.”

The only sound I heard was his uneven breathing. “That’s not why I called.”

My tongue ran over my lips while I pulled the blankets further up my chest like they would be able to protect me in some way. "Why did you call?"

“Do you think people deserve forgiveness?”

“I…I think it depends.”

“On what?” he asked desperately.

“On what they did…on if they’re sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Did you do something, Spencer?”

“I made a mistake.”

Somehow, I knew he wasn’t just talking about what had happened between us. He sounded just like I remembered him sounding when I wrapped my arms around him that night he came to my house.

His voice broke when he spoke again. “I’m so lost, y/n,” he sobbed. “I’m so lost and I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

I fought to control my own emotions when he spoke. No matter what happened my heart still ached at the pain in his voice. “You might be lost, Spencer. But you’re not alone. Your team…your family found you. They brought you home. They’re still here for you. They’ll bring you home again.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, both of us lost in our own dark sea of pain.

“I don’t deserve to ask you to forgive me,” he said at last. “So, I won’t ask. I don’t even…I don’t even remember what I said.”

I think my subconscious mind had been connecting these pieces together for a while because in the darkness of my bedroom at almost 4 am, things finally began to take shape. The darkness that hung over Spencer was finally starting to take form.

“Just focus on the case, Spencer. We can talk when you get home.”

“Wait,” he called out. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

I don’t think I ever will.

--

The clock on my wall said it was just after 7 pm the following night when there was a knock on my door. Frowning, I made my way across the room, pressing my eye to the peephole, slightly surprised at who I saw.

I had figured he would come for me at some point, but I hadn’t expected it to be the very moment he got back into town.

…but it isn’t the very moment, I reminded myself. JJ had texted saying their plane was landing at 5 pm this afternoon.

He didn’t knock again but he didn’t move away from the door either. I think he knew I was there, just out of his reach, debating my options.

Opening yourself up to something that might hurt you is one of the most foolish and brave things a person can do. When someone you cared about broke your trust, how could you put your heart back into those very same hands?

I remembered Gideon’s words from that afternoon before they had left for New Orleans.

Over the past several days I had realized that that day in the copy room it wasn’t actually my Spencer that said those things. Something dark and painful had clawed its way into him and was trying to hollow him out.

That dark thing didn’t deserve my mercy…but I think Spencer did.

With a deep breath, I started to unlock my front door, grateful he couldn’t see that my hands were shaking. He looked tired but a different sort of tired than I was used to seeing. Weariness had crawled underneath his skin and was draining him slowly, but he didn’t look as defeated as he did the last time I saw him.

No matter how many times I had thought about this moment, I still wasn’t sure what to say

“I came…I came to explain.” He said at last.

I was still frozen in place watching him shift uncomfortably. I knew he wanted me to invite him in…but, how could I? Trusting him enough to talk to him was one thing but how could I allow him into the only place I felt safe?

Gideon’s words played through my mind again. Mercy.

Taking a step back from the door, I waved him inside. I moved to sit on the couch, but Spencer just stood in front of me.

"When Tobias abducted me…" he trailed off, balling his hands into fists. "He had dissociative identity disorder. It's much more rare than people think. Whenever it's been observed under clinical settings, the most that has been observed is 2. Tobias had three.

The first was him, the next was his father, and the last was the Archangel, Raphael. Tobias’s father abused him horribly… Charles broke something inside of him, he fractured him. The only way he could survive was to start abusing drugs. He took them intravenously.”

Gideon's words had started to weave the pieces together, but it was actually Spencer's words from our night together that cemented everything in place. “I don’t want you to see what he did to me.”

"He thought he was being kind when he injected me." Spencer crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his tongue against his upper lip. "You hear about addiction; I could tell you the statistics on people who suffer from opioid addiction. But I never in a million years thought it would be me.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until a tear fell from my face and hit the back of my hand.

“I’m not the person who gets addicted to things. I’m not the stereotypical picture of an addict…but that’s what I am, y/n. I’m an addict.” He reached into his front pocket, pulling out a small coin. “This is a newcomer’s chip…from narcotics anonymous. You get it at your very first meeting. I got this an hour ago.”

“Spencer,” I rasped out. “I’m so sorry.”

He came to sit beside me on the couch then, his hand covering one of mine. "I thought I could handle it. I convinced myself it wasn't that bad, but it was. What I did to you was reprehensible, y/n. And I am so sorry." Spencer's voice broke, his shoulders shaking with repressed emotion. "I will be sorry about that day for the rest of my life. I don't deserve any sort of second chance."

I turned completely towards him, throwing my arms around him. “Yes, you do, Spencer,” I whispered into his hair. “You do.”

This night felt so much different than the first night I held him like this while he cried. I didn't know the cause of his pain that night, but it broke my heart nevertheless; now that I knew the pain inside this beautiful man…I think the pain I had been feeling was tearing at my soul.

Addiction doesn’t discriminate. It’s a disease that will sink its hooks into anyone and refuse to let go. Spencer had made a mistake; his actions had gutted me. But…was it really him? Or was it the monster that has hold of him? It was in these thoughts that I finally began to understand the weight of Agent Gideon's words. "He’ll need mercy from everyone…but from no one more than you.”

I wasn’t in love with Spencer…at least not yet, but I did love him. In those moments when loving someone felt impossible mercy was the most important thing you could offer. I had to show him my mercy while he moved through this…because I knew love would come later.

“I’m here for you, Spencer. I want to help you in any way I can.”

He pulled back, his wide brown eyes meeting mine. “I can’t ask you to battle my addiction for me, y/n. I wouldn’t even if I could.” His voice was earnest when he spoke, his hands coming up to cup my face with a touch that seemed so familiar. “I promise that I’m going to try. I’m going to mess up at some point, some moments will be harder than others. I can’t…I can’t be perfect at this. But I promise I will never stop trying.”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Spencer. You’re not worthy because you’re perfect. You’re worthy because you’re…you.”

His eyes were soft when they ran over my face, his hands coming up to cup my jaw again. “I can leave, if you want…I know you’ll need time…I can’t expect-“

I leaned forward to brush my lips against his. “Don’t go,” I whispered. “Just be with me. Be here with me, Spence.”

I'm not sure who moved first. It was like all the pain in my body gave way to such a burning need that it almost consumed me. Our lips barely broke apart when I pulled him from the couch, guiding him to my bedroom; our actions were so similar to what they had been on that first night that felt like a lifetime ago.

But everything was different.

My bedroom was lit only by the dusky orange glow from the setting sun. I didn’t get to question Spencer about anything. His hands moved urgently against my body, ridding me of my shirt and bra. I unbuttoned his shirt, careful not to push it off of his shoulders. My nails scored his chest while his mouth moved down to kiss the column of my throat.

Spencer’s knee was wedged between my thighs when his mouth closed over my nipple. My hands tried to move down to undo his pants but when his teeth tugged at the tip of my breast all I could do was whimper.

“Spencer. Please.”

His eyes opened and lifted to meet mine. He looked nervous for a moment before he started to kiss down my body. I lifted my hips to help him remove my pants. When his fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties, I realized he had never seen me in the light before.

I felt his index finger trace down my slit, spreading me open under his gaze. He swallowed thickly when one of his fingers entered me, pulling a moan from my throat.

“Can I?”

“Yes. Yes.” I wasn’t sure what he was asking, but I would have given him anything in that moment.

I wasn’t ready when I felt his tongue tentatively lick my pussy. My hips bucked off the bed causing him to chuckle.

“Hold still,” he whispered as he spread me wider. He inserted another finger into my heat while his tongue fluttered around my clit.

“I’m trying,” I whined. “Fuck. I thought you said you hadn’t done this before.”

Spencer lifted his head to press a kiss to my inner thigh. “I haven’t,” he replied, his voice needlessly smug. Before I could comment his lips closed around my clit again.

My fingers were tangled in his soft brown hair while my hips rocked against his mouth. “Spencer, I’m close. I want-fuck! I want to cum when you’re inside me.”

He rose up on his knees, his hands moving to his belt. He had looked reluctant to leave his current position, but I needed him now. "You can eat my pussy to your heart's content later."

Spencer’s hand froze, his eyes snapping up to meet mine.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. You just…you said later.” The confusion must have been plain on my face because he clarified, “I can have you later too.”

My arousal was still pulsing in my body but now something else was too. I knew he didn’t mean sex when he said he could have me; Spencer meant he could have me, he could be with me.

With that thought, I urged him up my body so I could press my lips to his again. We were still kissing when I felt the blunt tip of his cock brush against me before he slowly pushed inside of me.

“You…I didn’t know something could feel like this,” he said when his hips settled against mine,

I didn’t either.

I think he must have felt the same frantic need I did. His thrusts were forceful as he drove into me. I was already so close that I could feel myself approaching my peak.

“Spence,” I whimpered out.

“I know, I feel you. You’re right there.” He reached between our bodies and rubbed his thumb across my clit.

My back arched as my orgasm washed over me, my mouth hung open in a silent scream. After a few more thrusts, I felt Spencer find his release too. He whispered my name against my hair while he slowly came down, pressing soft kisses all over any part of my skin he could reach.

--

The frantic mood from before had lifted, but something still felt urgent. Spencer had gotten up a few moments ago to dispose of the condom in the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

He hadn’t removed his clothes again, and something about the energy in the room made me put my clothes back on too.

I was sitting at the end of my bed when he came out of the bathroom a few moments later. He looked resigned and…almost defeated.

“Spence,” I started but he just shook his head.

He came to stand in front of me before he spoke. “I have to…I can’t hide from you.”

I stood up before he could move. “You’re not hiding anything, Spencer. Not anymore.”

He pressed his lips against mine again. I think he understood the gravity of my words and what revealing his body meant. He knew I’d see him; I’d see all of him. But whenever I looked into his eyes when he started to open his shirt, I felt like I saw more of him than I ever had.

Everything he felt was floating through his amber-colored eyes. His hands shook and a few tears leaked out of his eyes when he pulled his shirt from his body.

The bend of his left elbow was covered in bruises in all different phases of healing. It looked like one of his veins might even have blown.

When I brought my eyes back up to his, I found them shut tight.

“Hey,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his middle, careful of his arm. “Spencer, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he breathed out.

I only held him tighter. “It will be. One day it will be.” I let out a shaky breath of my own before I spoke again. “You know I’m going to fall in love with you one day, right?”

His body jerked at my words, a tiny sob leaving his mouth.

“It’s true, Spencer. You have to know that. You’re worthy of love. You’re worthy of my love.”

He pulled back from me, his hands cradling my face while his eyes searched mine. “I’m not. I’m not worthy…but I’m going to try to be.”

The slashes and cracks in my heart didn’t feel so painful when I kissed him again. It wasn’t my job to fix him. It wasn’t his job to fix me.

But I could show him mercy while he fought his battle. He deserved that.

Everyone deserves that.

--

Taglist: @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool @andiebeaword @imjusthereformggcontent @rainsong01 @violentvulgarvolatile @mys2425 @al3xmnd @imfalling-inlove @cielo1984 @shadyladyperfection @kissingvalentino @goofygubler14​ @hopebaker​

[rogueshipagogo]

the time has come. for my big JaneAce Manifesto. i’ve been talking about them a lot for the better part of an entire year on my dead by daylight twitter, but i havent been posting about it Here, or really Anywhere that is easy to access and doesn’t just disappear into the ether after a few weeks. but i really like them and genuinely think they are among the better m/f [not straight. There is a difference] dbd ships, and there’s probably been a Noticeable uptick in content about them since i started uhh requesting it and commissioning it and spreading the word about how epic they are over on That website, so- why not on This website??? buckle up for lots of rambling and big reaches over this games tiny scraps of lore. also sorry if you’re looking at this on mobile, for some reason it keeps getting random formatting issues that literally dont exist in the copy im posting from my laptop so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ its just gonna be kinda ugly

it is simply economical to ship the two hottest characters in any given series. when you ship janeace, you are speedrunning looking at some sexy old people having fun being in love. it’s not rocket science. thread over

no actually. anyways. OK so. this all started bc. a long time ago. i was playing a game as ace where i had a rainbow map and the lens that lets everybody on your team see what you're looking at, right. and i was going around looking for totems and chests and the exit when i realized there was a jane player following me who was pointing at the stuff that was glowing with my map and dancing around all like ‘woah i want that thanks for finding it’. i thought that was rly cute so i moved out of the way to let her open the gates and take down all the totems and have whatever was in the chests whenever she found me. and then the game was over.

But that rly cute interaction just kind of gave me brainworms. afterwards i couldn't stop thinking about how funny it would be to imagine that scenario having dialogue and jane just marching up to ace opening up a chest like ‘hey. Can i have that’ and also how fun and good they would be as a ship if you didn’t look at it like the classic ‘opposites attract’ scenario, and more as if they actually weren't very opposite at all, and were in some ways Very compatible, they just had completely opposite circumstances that made them seem, on the surface, like they were from 2 separate worlds entirely.

like, there’s a handful of janeace content that existed before i got into the dbd fandom, right, and its not Bad?? but it tended to have vibes of ‘this is a stereotypical relationship between a super laid back toxic levels of egotistical manchild and a super uptight prudish nagging woman’, like some sitcom straight people meant to entertain jaded cishet 45 year olds. And i Guess i understand why that’s the obvious trope to apply to the concept of them dating each other. and i Guess i understand why people in the dbd fandom got that impression of them, and decided they Hated shipping them, if it was just going to be nothing but ace being like ‘haha you are so sexy and i am so immature why dont you just be the more responsible one forever’ and jane being like ‘noo stupid man i am so much smarter than you i am le epic girlboss and you are perpetually mentally 25 years old so now i have to be mean to get you to do anything’

but that interpretation is entirely reliant on bad faith takes on Both of their personalities!!

its easy to see jane as a flawless queen of everything without a loosey goosey bone in her body, but that ignores things like her painter cosmetic, where her face and hands are Covered in paint and all her brushes tucked into her hair; or the lines in her biography about her early days as a radio host, where she was fired within months for making too many ad libs and being ‘too frank’; or the fact that her rockabilly cosmetic is from an episode of her show... implying she regularly wears costumes on her show. shes literally from new jersey

its easy to see ace as a lazy asshole who only knows how to manipulate people- but that ignores things like his waiter and fisherman cosmetics, where he’s making an earnest effort to earn money doing honest [enough] work, but simply suffers from low self esteem if he feels inadequate and unprepared, and routinely goes back to being a gambler out of convenience.

i’d also like to take the moment to point out how they Both struggle with mental health issues. i think there’s a tendency in the fandom to gloss over a lot of the issues they write jane as having, making her seem perfect and mature and universally appealing with very few flaws, And a tendency to act like ace’s issues are all there is to him, someone who contributes so little and takes up so much space that it’s hysterical- which does them both a disservice, especially for My intents and purposes of saying wow both of these characters only get by running on alternating manic and depressive episodes. clearly aces entire life is centered around having addictive personality disorder and being in relationships that are toxic for him- in his lore, ace is encouraged to put himself in an extremely dangerous situation by a friend who is amused by watching him embarrass himself, and we get the idea that ace socializes with people entirely on a metric of ‘is this person impressed by how cool i seem when i win’ and ‘is this person just really into watching me lose because its funny and entertaining’, which he might not even be aware of.

clearly jane.... janes entire story is about her childhood trauma. Like i dont want to just have to retype her entire biography and also her tome lore but, in summation, her entire story is about the pressure of the life she had built as a reaction to her childhood trauma and how Even if she hadn’t gotten fognapped, she was likely heading towards a meltdown spiral from taking on too much work, getting too wrapped up in peoples perceptions of her, and becoming obsessed with gaining more influence, to the point of being willing to sell out completely in order to get even a Little bit closer to her audience Really Understanding how much she’s a normal person desperate for people to relate to her pain.

So Now Think About It. they're both among the more charismatic extroverts of the survivors, their livelihoods Both rely on being able to have a good conversation with people and build a really iron clad rapport in a really short amount of time, they both aspire to be sort of fancy and rich and get a lot of attention and clout And, for Both of them, this desire for that sort of life started early in childhood, dreaming about escaping poverty and preconceived notions of who they were. they both have multiple bits of flavortext in game about being naturally optimistic and seeking to share that hopeful attitude with their friends, so i also think jane's method of interacting with people is something that would, like ace's method of interacting with people, not always land.

‘but sunday, she’s an insanely famous self help talk show host!! how could she be Bad at socializing with normal, average, not-famous peons???’ would You want an insanely famous self help talk show host grabbing you by the shoulders just to be like 'dont worry, It gets better :^)' while your leg was caught in a bear trap and you were having your fingers sliced off and your heart ripped out?? and some dudes taking pictures of it?? probably not. People who would be into that are likely in the minority. but you know who Is in that minority???? Ace.

imagine if after Weeks/Months/Years?? of terrifying trials where everyone is getting ripped apart and fangoriously devoured or w/e, jane is Still trying to be helpful in the only way she knows how to her new friends, but they’re all Less than receptive to it. bc you think people like feng min and jake and david, all these tired ass antisocial introverts, want to keep hearing ‘dont worry we can do this’ over and over and over again, every single time this happens??? probably not. at some point they would probably be like ‘wow, jane, that’s great, but im actually? Tired of dying over and over again, and what you’re saying is Not helpful right now’. even her fellow celebrities, like kate and yun-jin and felix, or even just other more sociable and positive types, like meg and claudette and adam, might get really tired of hearing stuff like that as they get shredded up for the 39480459th time.

but it’s the thing that occurs most naturally to jane to do for people when they’re upset. she’s spent Years putting all of her time and money and self worth in being able to do this and watching it make a meaningful impact on people!!! And she’s spent years being validated in her sense of self relying on being that type of parasocial icon for people!!! so how is she going to make it in the fog without getting her heart broken and sent to the void where hopeless survivors go if she cant do the one thing she’s best at??

but then maybe it finally comes down to just her and ace as the last two survivors one night, after getting progressively lonelier and lonelier for what feels like forever, realizing that her Love Language is somewhat inert here, and when she works up the nerve to pull the ‘hey, it’s gonna be fine, we can get out of here’ card on Him??

it finally Works. he smiles back at her and says ‘yeah, youre right!!’ because he is Also a tireless optimist who doesnt believe in bad luck and sees a silver lining to every situation. he’s the guy who is perpetually smiling in order to make sure there’s always at least One person who hasn’t given up hope yet, and knows the value in holding out just long enough to be absolutely sure there’s no possible way to turn things around. he will never pass up the opportunity to look at a bad situation that way- he’s a gambler, the idea of a potential payout for taking that slim of a chance is one of the only things in life he cares about. AND SHE CAN WORK WITH THAT

so the most hilarious thing in the world to me would be if one of the first few times they ever actually speak to each other by the campfire after a trial, everyone is sort of looking around like ohhh god this is gonna be weird, he’s such a little weirdo and she’s so poised and normal

but it Actually isnt weird. for better or for worse, ace is good enough at reading people- and knows well enough just how much power jane has- AND DOESNT WANT TO GET THE SHIT BEAT OUT OF HIM BY A FAMOUS GIRL AGAIN- that he manages to be not a complete loser around her, mostly. she Also has to tap into her ‘talking to normal people’ skills in order to communicate with him initially as well, but even thats just something that would sort of sweeten the deal for her. i’m not under the impression he’d know a whole ton about her before encountering her in the entitys realm, so there’s not even as much pressure in interacting with him as there is with someone who i can easily see being a jane romero show stan before the events of the game, like yun-jin or meg, who she loves and would be friends with, but also still feels a bit obligated to be really put together around, for her images sake. so for her, there’s a bit of relief in making friends with such a comparatively average person, and for him, it’s cool that she even wants to talk to him, and a bit humbling that he can no longer claim to have the most bravado and largest presence out of anyone in the fog.

this isnt to say that they dont have their differences- obviously, she’s a hard worker who wants to come off as entirely self reliant and tireless, and he’s a self professed mooch who wants to just manipulate his way into success without actually applying himself unless it’s easy and fun and makes him look very sexy and cool- but i don’t think thats something that would completely kill their chances of getting along and having a successful relationship. they are adults. they can work it out

in fact its probably for the best that jane has such a well developed sense of self worth, so that when ace fucks up and says something tactless because he’s being a little clown creature, she can swiftly, easily disarm him into taking it back and informing him that he can’t say shit like that, rather than get her feelings hurt or just assume there was nothing to be done about it, like i think a lot of other survivors would do *cough felix cough*. He needs someone who can nip his antics in the bud instead of enabling him. and where anyone else doing that might kind of bug him, in this fantasy universe i have created where i get to dictate how all fictional characters act, it makes sense to me that he would defer to her judgement.

[this is a good a time as any to say I dont fuck with 'ace is unironically sexist' headcanons or whatever, i want him to have moved Past whatever the hell was going on in his tome, as that was Meant to be a painful experience in his past that he’s still hung up over as being one of the worst times of his life, NOT an accurate snapshot of who he Currently is in the game!!! so i dont mean he’s saying and doing Genuinely Problematic things to her or anyone else on a regular basis... he can just be kind of weird and careless]

i like imagining that since she has the status and wealth and influence that he could only Dream of having, its a bit of a ‘whatever she says goes’ situation when she suggests slight changes to his behaviour, within reason. On this note, from the Other side of the fence, jane could eventually have an issue with trying to tailor his personality Too much to her liking- her bio literally says she ‘needed more; she wanted others to follow in her footsteps’, so its easy to imagine there might need to be not just boundaries around reining in his behavior, but boundaries around her tendencies to want to control his behavior in the first place. even their flaws are compatible!!!!!! its nice for me to imagine that there would be plenty of scenarios where jane is the one getting spun out mentally and ace has to be the one to ground her, since at the end of the day, she’s just a normal person caught up in the relentless perfectionism of showbusiness. that their relationship isnt just ‘selfless perfect hot girl fixes stupid washed up scrimblo mans life’, because they Both have valuable things to tell each other and perspectives the other sorely needed. and because honestly??? jane is less content in her life than ace is in his!!! again, on a surface level, it’s easy to see them and think he’s the problem and she’s the problem solver, but its way more complicated than that.

a lot of how i think about them takes place in a post-fog environment- if we’re meant to believe that the survivors in the game will get out eventually, that means we’re invited to consider how they would make it back in the real world. and maybe jane would take this time to say. ‘Well, i can’t really afford mentally to be everyone’s best friend on the tv with a million clothing lines and makeup products any more, now that everyone saw my funeral and all. maybe i should set my sights a little lower and try to just take it one day at a time’. and maybe ace would take this time to say. ‘well that whole experience just taught me a whole lot about what it’s like to care about other people for once. and the idea of being in a casino or bar right now is extremely overwhelming and bad. but What Else am i supposed to do???’ and that’s when they can move in together and she can see what its like to try Less hard and he can see what its like to Try for anything at all even a little bit. it is extremely endearing to me to imagine, like, jane at home painting or writing, and maybe ace has his 2nd or 3rd ever little part time job for underachievers, like being a bartender or waiter, and when he gets home shes there to be like ‘wow you did it im so glad you finally learned to be a relatively productive member of society, i know its your least favorite thing ever but it means a lot to me that you arent fully reliant on all my money also i dont care if you still do gamble shit every once in a while because clearly thats just What Brings You Joy so have fun doing that on your days off still’.

OR!!! flip it turnways: she Does go back to being a tv personality, or writer, maybe talking about what it is she just went through, and needs to come home after the strain of being on tv and dealing with media industry people all day [which was already extremely bad for her, her bio describes her regularly getting migraines after filming] to someone who actually understands the fog and believes her and was there, and spent his day making sure the bed is made and the floor is vacuumed and dinner is ready for her. and you know who can do that??? be a little stay at home himbo wearing expensive pajamas and embroidered slippers, loading the dishwasher while blasting jazz for slutty old men on an expensive sound system in a luxury new york penthouse??? Ace. Again. that’s always what the answer will be here

so we all agree that it’s not epic or poggers to depict utterly useless men riding on successful womens coattails. But. if she makes more money than she knows what to do with, and he actually makes himself useful, Why Not be the sugar mommy rich gf to this dude who has agreed to keep your house running and be your peppy little old man cheerleader in exchange for getting fancy clothes and also lots of hugs and kisses. and also you spent an indeterminate amount of time being tortured to death infinitely in a hell dimension.

I think that’s fine!!!!!!! theres literally no end to the situations in which they can, despite being a high strung girlboss and a manic pixie malewife, get along, and see and value each other for who they are, and how they decide to cope, and what they need, in order to not get utterly lost in the sauce of the weird fucked up mentally and spiritually draining lifestyles they both live. in my honest opinion.

AND THATS WITHOUT EVEN BRINGING UP HOW I THINK THEY’RE BOTH BISEXUAL AND TRANS

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Blind Spot

Spencer Reid x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2640

Warnings: Hair pulling kink! Bucketloads of sexual tension but no actual sex. Gratuitous facts about bird nests. Dorks being oblivious. Lots of fluffy heart-eyed banter. Accusations of intercourse with fictional tree-beasts. 

A/N: I saw a gif that made me want to pull Spencer’s hair. That’s it. I have zero shame. 

For the “friends to lovers” square on my @cmbingo​ card! Proofread by @fangirlxwritesx67​ because she’s the best. 

“You look like you fucked an Ent,” you commented cheerfully, stealing sideways glances at Spencer while you waited for the light to change.  

“Thanks, that’s helpful.” He grimaced, trying to tug another burr out of a snarled curl. 

“Oh my god, you’re just making it worse! I’ll help you when we get back to your place. Leave it, you goober.” 

“Did you just call me a goober?” Spencer asked, trying not to laugh. 

“You’re like the dictionary definition of a goober,” you said fondly. 

“I have three PhDs!”  

“I really wish I’d gotten a video of that tumble, Doctor Goober.” 

Spencer was blushing, grinning down at his lap as he shredded a piece of leaf. It was hard not to stare at him when he smiled like that. 

He’d essentially face-planted into a burr bush earlier, somewhere in the Virginia woods — he’d been so excited about explaining some wonky bit of Star Trek physics theory to you that he just forgot to pay attention to his feet — and he’d floundered out with half a hedge stuck in his hair before picking up exactly where he’d left off. 

In other words, Doctor Spencer Reid was a ridiculous human being. You knew that, objectively. It didn’t stop you from having a massive crush on him. 

Either he was pretending not to notice, to spare your feelings, or he was socially oblivious; you tended to believe the former, considering how well you’d seen him read other people, but you appreciated it. There was a chance you’d make it out of this — if you could just get over it already — with your friendship intact. 

You cleared your throat and told him, “You look like the bastard child of Grandmother Willow and the Wizard of Oz scarecrow.” 

“Even if they were real, the anatomical —” 

“You didn’t mention that when I brought up the Ents. Something you want to tell me about you and Treebeard?” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffed, trying to sound exasperated, but he could barely keep a straight face for a second before he was laughing, that scratchy sunny childish giggle that only came out when he was really relaxed and carefree. 

“Close the window before a bird sees you and decides to take up residence.” 

“How about you watch the road?”

“What, no facts about bird nests?” 

“Is that a rhetorical question?” 

“Nope.” 

“Well in that case… gyrfalcon nests are frequently re-used and passed along for generations. The oldest one that’s been discovered was in Greenland, and it was actually estimated to be approximately 2,500 years old.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes! In fact…” 

You had to remind yourself, yet again, to stop staring. 

Maybe someday you’d get sick of hearing Spencer talk, but you couldn’t really understand the way most of your teammates reacted to his rambling. Even if you didn’t care about what he was saying, there was something amazing about the way his eyes lit up and his hands fluttered around to illustrate his point.

You parked in front of his building and followed him upstairs. His apartment had become comfortingly familiar — ever since you and Spencer bonded over a shared love of sci-fi, you’d taken to driving him home and, if it wasn’t too late, sticking around for an episode or two of Doctor Who.  

He got his ancient little DVD player up and running, and you settled on the couch, fluffing pillows and shoving aside his nest of colorful crocheted blankets, getting cozy. There was something about Spencer’s space that always felt like home; maybe it was the smell of books, or just the general Spencer-ness of the whole place. 

Just being around him had always kinda felt like home, too. Sometimes you forgot you’d only known him for six months. 

He disappeared into his room for a second and came back with a comb. It was cheap plastic, missing a couple teeth, and looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. You looked from him to the comb and back again. 

“That actually explains a lot,” you said, grinning. Spencer rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor in front of you, leaning back against your shins, and after a dismayed glance at his curls, you commented, “We could always just shave it all off.” 

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” he said primly. 

You started with a couple of the less tangled pieces, finger-combing carefully through one soft lock at a time. You half-expected some comment about primates and social grooming, or at least a few facts about the quantum theory behind the TARDIS, but Spencer was uncharacteristically quiet and still, his eyes fixed on the TV. 

You separated out one of the worst knots, and he tilted his head to the side to give you better access. You were being as gentle as possible, but you knew you were hurting him at the first tug — he sucked in a breath, knuckles going white as his fingers clenched on his knees. 

“Sorry, I’m trying,” you sighed. 

With his head tilted like this, you could see the muscle clenching in his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. 

“S’okay,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s not — not your fault.” 

He sat there stiffly as you worked. His hair was silky, where it wasn’t hopelessly knotted, and you were close enough that you could smell whatever clean, sweet shampoo he used. Something about it made you want to hold your breath; it felt like you were too close. Spencer rarely let you inside his little bubble of personal space. 

Maybe that was why he seemed uncomfortable. He was usually so fidgety, tapping out a rhythm or twirling a pen between his long fingers, and it was strange to see him motionless like this. 

You ran your fingers through a de-tangled section, slow and careful, and Spencer shivered, his shoulders trembling for a moment before he went unnaturally still again. 

Spencer blurted out, “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

At the same time, you asked, “Are you cold?” 

You paused for a moment, surprised by the reaction, but after hesitating, Spencer just muttered, “Yeah. Cold.” 

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something. It was too warm, if anything; Spencer had a patchy flush crawling up his neck and over the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. 

“Here you go, goober,” you said, awkwardly cheerful in an attempt to cover your uncertainty as you grabbed an afghan from the couch and draped it around his shoulders. 

“Thanks.” He pulled the blanket down onto his lap without looking at you. “But maybe I should just do this myself.” 

“You’re never gonna get this loose on your own, not without scissors,” you warned, plucking at the knot around the last burr in his hair. “I’ll just, um — I’ll try to be more gentle.” 

“Maybe just go for it,” he said. “Get it over with.” His voice had gone all high-pitched and strained, like he was on the verge of a panic attack. If this was how much he disliked physical contact, no wonder he always avoided hugging you. 

You tried to go quickly, figuring that one quick moment of pain was better than another ten minutes of making Spencer uncomfortable. In your nervousness, you ended up tugging the burr out much more abruptly than you’d intended, and Spencer let out this rough, low, choked-off sound. Before you could apologize, he was jerking away from you, curled in on himself with his shoulders up around his ears like he was worried you were going to hit him, and — 

“Sorry,” he said, voice cracking. 

— what? 

“Spence?” you said tentatively. “What—”

He was still just curled up on the floor in a ball of gangly limbs, but he half-turned to you, twisting around. He wouldn’t make eye contact, though; he was staring intently at the pillow that was on the couch next to you. It felt weird, looking down at him like this, so you slid down onto the floor, hoping it wouldn’t spook him. He shifted back slightly, but at least he didn’t flinch away. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t — this was a bad idea.” 

The profiler in you couldn’t help but notice a few details. He was blushing, for starters. His lower lip was red where he’d been biting it, and — this was the part that surprised you most — his pupils were huge. 

You knew what Spencer looked like when he was panicking, and this wasn’t it. 

“Oh,” you breathed. “Oh.” 

He looked down at his lap, frowning as he played with the loose thread in the cuff of his sweater. 

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I know you don’t feel the same way, I wasn’t trying to — I didn’t realize it would be like that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and—”

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable! I shouldn’t have asked—”

“I don’t feel the same way about what?” 

“I know you’re not attracted to me,” Spencer said, barely audible. 

“You’re… you…what?” 

He looked up, at that, genuinely startled. There was something sweet and vulnerable shining in his eyes, and your heart was racing. You slid a little bit closer, so that your knees were almost touching Spencer’s as you faced each other, cross-legged. 

“I thought you knew.” His hushed, croaky voice broke on the last word. “I thought I was being obvious.” 

You gaped at him for a second before letting out a sharp, hysterical giggle. 

He ducked his head again, hiding behind a curtain of hair, but not before you saw the hurt expression that flashed across his features. 

“No, that’s not—” you blurted out. “Spence. Spencer.” 

“Forget it,” he said sharply, his body going tense like he was about to bolt. “Can we just forget this happened?” 

Before you could think better of it, you reached out and pushed a few curls back behind his ear, and then you grabbed, twisting your fingers in his hair to tug him forward. You cut off the startled noise he made with a clumsy, eager kiss. 

The angle was all wrong, both of you leaning forward awkwardly, but it felt like sparks all down your spine.

You pulled away just far enough to get the words out: “I thought I was being obvious.”  

Then Spencer was surging closer on his hands and knees, crowding into your space, until you had a lapful of rumpled doctor pressing you back against the couch. He cupped your jaw with gentle spidery fingers, gaze locked on your mouth, and leaned in slowly like he was still waiting for you to push him away. 

There was nothing awkward about it this time. If the first kiss was sparks, this was fireworks — it was such a goddamn cliche you wanted to kick yourself for thinking it, but it was true. Your head was spinning. Every pillowy press of his lips and soft slide of his tongue seemed to steal the breath from your lungs. 

By the time you broke apart you were panting, but at least you weren’t the only one. Spencer’s chest heaved as he pulled away. He was still staring at your mouth like he couldn’t help himself. Part of you wanted to kiss him again and maybe never stop, but another part of you was paralyzed, trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. 

You just wanted to put the world on pause so that you could memorize everything: the way he licked his lips, the smell of his laundry detergent, the barely-perceptible movement of his pulse — you’d never seen that before because you’d never been this close to him before. You wanted to hold onto it, even the less-than-perfect details — the soundtrack of buzzy Dalek screeching in the background — the way you were folded together on the floor, all too-long legs and bony elbows, which was going to get uncomfortable fast.  

Spencer seemed to feel the same way. He grazed the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, then followed the curve of your smile out to your temple and traced the shell of your ear with careful fingertips. When he brushed his curled-up fingers along the ridge of your cheekbone, you turned your head and kissed his knuckles.  

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, and you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, holding it in place, feeling the blood and bones shifting under the skin.  

“You really didn’t know?” you whispered. 

He shook his head shyly and gave you one of those incandescent smiles that always made your heart race. “No idea.” 

“I thought you were just ignoring it to spare my feelings,” you confessed. 

“I thought you were doing that.”  

“I thought you were good at your job!” you laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?” 

“I think I have a blind spot, where you’re concerned.” He was blushing again. “But I was so distracted by you that I walked into a bush! How did you not —” 

“I’m the one who stares at you all the time like a creep.” 

“You thought you were being creepy?” he said sheepishly. “As soon as you started touching my hair — oh my god that’s embarrassing.” 

“That’s not the word I would’ve used.” 

You tangled your fingers in his curls, tugging experimentally. His breath hitched. 

Both of you were utterly still for a moment, watching each other, and the tension between you seemed to fill the air like a living thing. You were excruciatingly aware of all the places your bodies were touching.

You considered all the places you could touch. It would be so easy. You could tug him in, kiss him, melt into each other… there were so many possibilities, suddenly, and there was something incredible about that: the electricity, the excitement, the moment of pure potential in the pause between certainty and action. 

Spencer sighed, long and shaky, and you were so close that you could feel the current of exhaled air. 

“I couldn’t think straight,” he murmured, with a twitch of a smile. “That doesn’t happen to me often.” 

“So you didn’t know…” 

You scritched your fingernails down his scalp, marveling at the way he shivered and swayed closer like he was hypnotized. He curled his hand around the side of your neck, thumb slowly stroking the hinge of your jaw. 

“I knew I liked it,” he confessed. “But — within a certain context? Not out of nowhere like that. I didn’t think it would be... like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Intense.”  

“Yeah?” 

“But I think maybe it’s just you.” His eyes had gone all glassy and heavy-lidded, and you could barely breathe. “Maybe you drive me crazy no matter where you’re touching me.” 

“I can think of a few ways to test that hypothesis.” 

You caught a glimpse of his grin, but then he pressed his forehead to yours and his features went blurry, too close for you to focus.

“Never really thought I’d be into dirty talk, but if you’re going to start quoting the scientific method…” 

“Funny, most of the time you never shut up,” you said, giddy and overwhelmed. 

The tip of his nose brushed yours. There was maybe an inch of space between your mouths, and you wanted to close that gap so badly it felt like a physical ache. 

“I mean, if you want me to start rattling off statistics—” 

“Spencer.” You fisted both hands in his hair, tugging sharply, and he shuddered. “Take a hint.” 

“Blind spot, remember?” he whispered, lips brushing yours as they shaped the words, feather-light and maddening. 

“You know, for a genius—” you started, but he kissed you, hungry and sweet like he was making up for lost time, until you’d completely forgotten what you were going to say. 

.

.

There is now a sexy follow-up here! 

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If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

[verymuchimmortalcat]

The Chronicles of Marinette Wayne

For Bio dad Bruce Month Day 22: Library/Books

ao3

@maribat-bdbwm ​

Marinette had first come to live with him when she had been five and had just lost her mother. The only reason she was coming to stay with them had been Dick, who was much more excited at the prospect of a younger sister than Bruce was about another child and a grieving one at that.

When Bruce had first been contacted about having a biological daughter who had just lost her mother, he had thought it would be better to send her to someone like the Kents. Someone who would provide her with a stable family where she could lead a happy life. But then Dick had found out when Bruce had gone to Alfred for advice and had convinced him to bring her to the manor. Had convinced him that letting her go now might affect her in the future, and he wasn’t wrong (not that Bruce had considered how it might affect her since it would definitely look like he hadn’t wanted her, he just wasn’t sure if he was the best candidate) but the life they lead wasn’t one he wanted to drag a five-year-old into. When he had voiced that thought Dick had retorted with, “well, you’re not planning to put her in a cape and let her fight the rogues, are you?”

Of course not, he had no intention of doing that. She was five for heaven’s sake, and so the matter had been decided. She would live with them.

 .oOo.

 Marinette had warmed up to both Dick and Alfred almost instantaneously. Bruce spent what time he was at home hovering around her uncertainly. She spoke to him occasionally but not a lot. He had learnt (from her, he’d done an extensive background check and looked into all the details of her upbringing prior to this) that she liked pink, her favourite food was chocolate chip cookies and that she had a favourite soft toy that she always slept with. But even though she spoke to him she was never as open with him as she was with Dick or Alfred. It took her a week before she came to him willingly instead of him talking to her.

It had been shortly after he had returned from patrol. The door to his room had opened and tear-filled blue eyes stared at him, he could see her clinging on to her soft toy. He got up and walked towards her, she was still lingering in the doorway. Kneeling to reach her height he asks softly, “nightmare?”

She nods, tears still streaming down her face.

He looks at her unsure of what to do.

“Would you like to go back to sleep?” he asks quietly.

She shakes her head vehemently.

He still is unsure of what to do. Acting on a random whim he stands and picks her up. She clings to him and he definitely doesn’t marvel over how she fits perfectly in his arms.

He takes her to the library and picks out The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, sitting on his favourite armchair he seats her on his lap and starts to read to her, “Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy…”

 .oOo.

 Alfred finds the two of them passed out in the armchair the next morning. The crick in his neck and the lecture he gets from Alfred about how an armchair is not the proper place for either of them to sleep are worth it when Marinette comes to him that night with the book in hand asking about, “Mr. Tumus”

“Mr. Tumnus,” he corrects her gently.

She nods in agreement and repeats, “Mr. Tumus.”

 .oOo.

 Him reading to her becomes an event. She drags Dick into it too, whenever he isn’t with his Teen Titans in New York that is. Alfred provides them with milk and cookies and he reads to Marinette and Dick every night before patrol. They stop once she falls asleep and either him or Dick take her up to bed before patrol.

About a year after they start this routine, he returns from patrol to find a crying Marinette in his room. She just cries harder once she sees him. He holds her until she falls asleep resolving to talk to her in the morning.

He takes her to the cave the next morning, after breakfast, with Dick and tells her about Batman and Robin. When they head back to the manor she heads to her room and doesn’t come out before sundown (Alfred took her lunch to her room and had somehow talked her into eating). He spends the whole day worrying about if telling her was the wrong thing to do. She had lost her mother mere months before, she shouldn’t have to worry about her other parent too. She comes down for dinner and after dinner she still drags them to the library. She doesn’t fall asleep like she usually does, instead when he completes a chapter Marinette asks the two of them to wait, runs out and returns, panting, a few minutes later with something colourful in her hand. She then hands it to both him and Dick it’s a thread with beads on it. She hands Dick two of these, one has red, green and yellow beads and the other is purple, black and yellow, and his has blue, purple and black.

She grins up at the two of them and says cheerfully, “lucky charms. Dick’s is like Robin and yours is Batman.”

“And the other one?” Dick asks

“Batgirl,” she exclaims cheerfully.

Bruce as always is amazed at her never-ending optimism, kindness and hopefulness. Dick offers her a sunshine smile of his own, hugs her and says, “Thank you Sunshine.”

Once she lets go of Dick she looks at him with her big blue eyes, and Bruce ruffles her hair and gives her a smile and tells her he’ll carry it with him at all times. She smiles wider (something Bruce wasn’t aware was possible) and says goodnight before skipping back to her room.

 .oOo.

 Barbara convinces Dick to bring Marinette to the library after he gives her the lucky charm. The two of them leave the manor dressed in casual clothes and treat it almost like a mission to go and come back without causing any news scandals.

When they return Marinette’s carrying the entire Chronicles of Narnia series and pestering Dick about visiting Barbara again.

He points out that they already have the Chronicles of Narnia in the manor library, Marinette opens the book to a random page shows it to him and says, “but look this one has pretty pictures.”

He reads from the newly acquired illustrated copies that night.

 .oOo.

 As Dick starts to pull away more and Bruce tries to get him back, the tension in the house is high on good days. They don’t spend as often reading in the library anymore. He still reads to Marinette after nightmares, but Marinette no longer pulls them all to read while they have cookies and milk.

And then Dick leaves. He still visits Marinette, takes her out or Barbara will drop by and take her to the library. But he doesn’t spend any time in the manor other than to speak to Alfred. But there’s no longer a Batman and Robin. Gotham has Batman and Blüdhaven, Nightwing.

Marinette no longer comes to him with her copy of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe after nightmares,

 .oOo.

 When he first brings Jason home, Marinette had decided to spend the day with Dick in Blüdhaven. When Alfred brings her back the next morning, she’s shocked but she decides she’s going to be his friend. She takes him on a tour of the manor. Bruce trails behind the two, unsure of what to do, before he’s called away by an emergency at WE.

When he returns the two of them aren’t in either of their rooms, the several sitting rooms or the media room.

Alfred is the one who finds him during his search for the two and says, “I would check the library Master Bruce. It seems the young Master Jason has a love of literature.”

Sure enough, that’s where he finds the two. On the armchair that he had used that very first night, the both of them being tiny enough to fit in one seat, curled up and reading. Not wanting to disturb the two he steps back quietly. The two of them come as soon as Alfred calls them for dinner, and Jason’s certainly more animated than he had been the day before.

 .oOo.

 Marinette talks Dick into visiting, Bruce is simply glad to see his son back temporarily even if Dick refuses to talk to Bruce. He forms a tentative friendship with Jason. Bruce finds the three of them in the library before he leaves for patrol, Marinette’s reading The Magician’s Nephew out loud while the two of them sit next to her with milk and cookies in hand. His heart warms at the sight, he wishes he could take a picture but he doesn’t want to disturb them. Footage from the security cameras will have to do.

 .oOo.

 When Barbara’s shot, Marinette’s there everyday that Barbara’s fine with visitors. The rest of them accompany her as often as they can. Even as things slowly return to some what normal, Marinette spends nearly half her time with Barbara.

And then Jason dies. Marinette spends more time outside than at the Manor, or so Alfred says. And Bruce, well he isn’t really sure anymore.

He sends Marinette to Paris for her own safety. He’d met and befriended a nice couple during his travels and they had agreed to let his daughter stay with them for a while.

Marinette doesn’t care about his reasons, when she leaves for Paris she takes all her things but leaves the illustrated set of the Chronicles of Narnia that he had bought for her as a birthday gift after she and Dick had first visited Barbara.

 .oOo.

 Shortly after Robin hits the streets once again, Tim comes over to the Batcave in a panic one night. Rambling about an unsigned package that was just books and a slip of paper with a number on it. He had wanted to check it for any possible signs of danger. Bruce had agreed, it was definitely a strange thing and with the lives they lead no one could really tell for sure.

And then Bruce sees the books and tells Tim there’s nothing to worry about. It’s a new set of the Chronicles of Narnia. There’s a charm hanging from one of the books. She’s gotten better at making them since she was five.

He sighs and says, “The number’s safe. Call her, she’ll probably explain better than I can.”

He doesn’t join Tim, Marinette hasn’t spoken to him since she was sent to Paris and he doesn’t know what to say to her now.

 .oOo.

 There’s a supervillain in Paris, someone new, something about rock monsters. He takes Clark and Diana to check it out. He sent Marinette there so she could be safe, not so that she ends up in another city infested with villains.

When he gets there, there are two children. The girl feels really familiar, the way she speaks when she talks to the flying butterfly head is really familiar but before Bruce can worry too much about it the fight is done and the two kids are swarmed by the press. Before they can move from where they are, the girl- Ladybug says something to her partner and swings out. The next thing he knows she’s standing in front of him and the anger is visible on her face, “Get out. Get out of Paris right now.”

“We’re here to hel-” Clark starts to say when she cuts him off.

“Not you, I want Batman out of this city right now,” she repeats glaring at him. He knows those eyes. They’re the eyes he looks at every day in the mirror. The eyes he shares with his daughter.

“Marine-”

She doesn’t let him continue, “Uncle Clark and Aunt Diana can stay for a while if they can keep their emotions in check but they’ll have to leave too. I want you to leave now.”

He can see Clark and Diana reeling and slowly figuring out what’s happening. Ignoring the two of them he asks, “how?”

She laughs, not the tinkling cheerful sound that he had heard in the manor but a bitter sound, and Bruce wishes he could fix this.

“I was given the miraculous and now I’ve promised to protect this city. Why, regretting your decision to send me here?”

Yes. Very much so. But the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, and he watches silently as she turns and leaves.

Bruce can feel the weight of Clark and Diana’s gazes. Shrugging off their questions he heads to the nearest teleporter.

His only child that hadn’t wanted this life had been pushed into it.

 .oOo.

 Tim and Marinette have kept in contact. He’s caught several of their conversations, though he’s never joined one.

It’s been nearly a year since he saw her in Paris. And then Tim’s dad tells him he can’t be Robin and that he can’t contact the hero community anymore. Two days later, Ladybug shows up in Gotham worried out of her mind. Stephanie’s the one who finds her and brings her to the cave. When she first starts talking to him, he’s so relieved to speak to her again that he misses out on a bit but the gist of what she said would be, “did something happen to Tim?”

He can tell she’s annoyed with what happened with Jack Drake. But before she can speak, Nightwing walks into the cave to find a detransformed Marinette. And before Marinette can figure out what’s happening, Dick has engulfed her in a hug and Marinette’s laughing. Bruce smiles as he returns to the Batcomputer, it’s been a really long time since he’s heard her laugh.

 .oOo.

 Marinette stays for the next week. She’d apparently panicked and told everyone she had a family emergency and wouldn’t be back for the week. Bruce was glad that she still considered them family, especially after that disastrous conversation in Paris.

She spends time with Barbara, Stephanie and Cassandra. Apparently, Stephanie and Cass already knw her and have spoken to her a few times. She spends some time with him, speaks more to him than she has in the past two years after he sent her to Paris.

On her last day in Gotham, he finds her and Cass in the library. She’s sitting with Cass on the armchair and she and Cass are reading Prince Caspian. They must’ve been here the whole week if she’s gotten to that far. The idea of reading those books in the wrong order is like sacrilege to Marinette.

She returns to Paris when the week ends, but has now added him to her semi-regularly contacted people.

 .oOo.

 Marinette pulls away again after Stephanie dies. From what Tom and Sabine tell him, she’s spending what time she’s not in school, with Alya. Bruce knows that Alya Cesaire knows that Marinette is Ladybug, realises she’s throwing herself into superheroing. Bruce wishes she’d inherited some of his better habits.

She doesn’t visit again for a while. Not until the attack on Titans Tower, and even then he doesn’t see her. He doesn’t know if anyone did.

But when he’s in the library to check something for a case he realises all of Jason’s favourite books that Marinette had with her were back in place.

He doesn’t mention it to anyone.

 .oOo.

 Darkseid happens. When he returns from the time stream, things are different from how he left them.

The whole family comes to the manor, after he returns. They’re all telling stories over dinner. Stephanie speaks of a little girl who idolises batgirl. Dick carries out an over dramatic reproduction of one of his and Damian’s patrols, while Damian complains about how inaccurate it is. Jason’s laughing at the two of them. Cass and Marinette coax Tim into talking about the whole Mr. Sarcastic mess. Dick looks gleeful as everyone rips into Tim’s momentary lapse in a sense of style, before Tim brings up Dick’s first Nightwing suit as a defence. Barbara points out the lack of pants in the first two robin costumes, and the others laugh (Damian grins) while Dick and Jason splutter in indignance. Marinette (who people tend to forget spent a good chunk of time with Dick when she was younger) describes in an exaggerated manner some of Gabriel’s, he’s missed quite a lot, worst akuma costumes and marvels over how he managed to create them while also being a world-renowned fashion designer.

As all of them continue to talk happily, Bruce slips out of the dining room. They deserve a break, but someone still needs to take care of Gotham.

Gotham has unnaturally less crime today, still takes him time to finish his patrol though. Unnaturally less crime in Gotham is still more crime than what most other cities face.

He heads to the library to grab a book to read before he sleeps. There’s a light on in the far corner of the library. When Bruce heads there he finds a large plate with crumbs on it with a few empty or half-finished glasses of milk next to the plate. His children are scattered around. They’ve pushed back the seats and have mostly spread themselves on the carpet. Marinette curled up between Dick and Jason and still reading from the practically ancient copy of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Jason’s reading one of his classics. Damian’s sitting on Dick’s other side and is animatedly talking about one of his pets while Dick listens to him attentively. Tim and Barbara are going over something on her laptop at the table, and Stephanie and Cass are curled up against each other and talking quietly. Cass is the first to see him and smiles at him and beckons him to join them. Picking a book off the shelf he joins them on the floor.

When Alfred finds them there the next morning, having gotten used to finding them asleep in the library several times over the years, he just sighs and tells them that breakfast is ready and if they’d like hot food, they’d have to get off the floor. All of them scramble up and as they leave the library, he can hear them starting to plot on how to get Alfred to join them the next time.

[moldisgoodforyou]

you didn’t kiss her back

wordcount: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of nsfw content, brooklyn :/

_____

In hindsight, he should have known. 

He should have known when Brooklyn texted him the group invite for dinner in a separate text thread, not the intern groupchat, but he was too busy with work that day to even question it. Just liked the message as his usual form of RSVP. 

He should have known when Brooklyn was ultra-polite to him at work that day, not adding any of her usual flirty comments or going out of her way to stroll by his desk. Instead, he was too caught up in work assignments and trying to figure out how late he could FaceTime Sophie that night without waking her up.

After the workday, Rafe was walking out to his car when Brooklyn jogged after him to catch up. “Hey, Rafe, wait up!” 

He grimaced but turned around - he’d learnt to just deal with her presence over time. “What?”

“Um, my car’s almost out of gas and I don’t think I’ll make it to the restaurant and be able to make it home. Would you be able to give me a ride?” She asked, almost shyly. 

Rafe calculated the drive time in his head. Eight minutes. “Uh...yeah. That’s fine.” He nodded shortly, then nodded his head in the direction of his car. 

Brooklyn gave him a grateful smile, matching his quick pace to the car. “How was work for you today?” 

“Fine.” Once he got in the car he dropped the act, just turning up the radio so they didn’t have to make more small talk. Just being near her made him feel on edge - the same way he often felt around his father. She reached out to touch his arm and he flinched away, making her giggle. “Someone’s tense.” 

“Can you not?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Touchy.” 

“I’m trying to be civil here.” He remarked. 

“Hm.” She let him sit in silence for a solid half minute, then spoke up again. “I saw Sophia posted some picture of her wearing a Cartier ring on her Instagram. Did you pay for that?” Brooklyn pushed, sounding almost nervous. 

Rafe shrugged. “So what if I did?” 

“You never bought me designer.” She glanced at her nails, trying to appear nonchalant. 

He snorted. “You can buy yourself designer things just fine. We both know that.” 

“Not the same.” She mumbled, then opened her mouth only to let out a sigh. “It’s just - never mind.”

He looked over with an annoyed glance, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “What.” 

“Surely your dad doesn’t approve?” 

Rafe tensed and she resisted a smile, knowing she had struck a nerve. Exactly what she wanted. “Since when have I cared about my dad’s approval?” 

He might have gotten away with that with someone else, but Brooklyn could read him well. Too well. She’d seen him deal with his dad’s disappointment only a few times, - Ward was always on his best behavior whenever she was around, the model of a perfect parent. 

Brooklyn laughed at that, shaking her head. “You’ve always cared about his approval, I find it hard to believe that’s changed in just a few months with some girl.” 

“Eight months.” He corrected, his jaw clenched tight. “And you know her name. Don’t be rude.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Sophia or something. I just don’t get it.” 

“It’s Sophie. Still. And good thing there’s nothing you need to get about my relationship.” His knuckles were nearly white around the steering wheel as he pulled into the small parking lot, then glanced around with a frown. “Where’s the other interns? Shouldn’t they be here by now?” 

“Oh.” She raised her eyebrows, surprised. “I just sent the invite to you. You didn’t notice?” 

He hadn’t, of course, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. He parked the car and turned it off, looking over at her with a confused expression. “What?” 

“I didn’t send it in the group message, Rafe, I thought we could go out, um, with just us.” She gave him a small, earnest smile. “Like old times.” 

He grimaced, closing his eyes for a second and taking a breath. “Are you forgetting that you broke up with me?” 

“I mean - Rafe, come on. We worked well together. We could at least be friends.” Her tone took on a pleading edge and she leaned in a little closer, her arm nearly touching his on the center console. 

“You made me feel like shit, Brooklyn.” He told her flatly, frowning. The last thing he wanted to do that day was rehash a conversation with his ex that they’d already had at least three times since breaking up. (The first was more akin to a drunken screaming match that ended in tears for both of them, the second was just bitter insults hurled back and forth, and the third was as short as possible, on the campus quad in between classes.) 

“I just wanted to help you.” She murmured, then suddenly leaned over and kissed him quickly. He was so taken aback that it took him a second to spring back, eyes wide. “Brooklyn! What the hell!” 

She blushed, embarrassed as she started stammering. “I didn’t mean - I wasn’t thinking -” 

“Fuck.” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and shuddered, looking disgusted. “Get out.” 

She sat there for a moment longer, not looking at him. Her voice grew impossibly small and she picked at her cuticles, radiating anxious energy. “I didn’t drive.” 

“I don’t care. Get an Uber or something, get the fuck out.” Rafe was practically fuming as he glared out his window, not wanting to acknowledge her. 

“I - Rafe, I want -”

“Out.” He insisted. 

She nodded quickly and scrambled out of the car, casting a wayward glance back after walking away. Once he was sure she was around the corner, Rafe slammed his fist on the steering wheel. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do more - throw up or go scrub his body clean of any trace of her. Brooklyn’s floral perfume lingered in the car and he felt nauseous, unable to think of anything but Sophie and how she’d react once she found out. 

After he took a few moments to center himself, absolutely livid, he punched the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot, repeatedly swiping his hand over his lips in an attempt to get Brooklyn’s signature cake batter-flavored lip gloss off. (The summer after the breakup, Wheezie had started wearing a vanilla sugar perfume that smelled all too similar - Rafe had a headache for weeks.) He drove to a nearby park and sat out by the water to get away from the overwhelming perfume scent in his car, and his hand was nearly shaking as he hit the app to FaceTime Sophie, nervous as hell. 

She picked up right away, grinning once his face filled her screen. “Hi! It’s good to see you. I can’t talk long, I’m getting ready to go out, but what’s up?” 

“Um...” Rafe briefly debated bringing it up, anxiously pulling at a loose thread on his shorts. “Just checking in. How’s your day been?”

“Oh my god, so...” She launched into a ramble about a cool new project she was working on, and how she got to be with some of her new friends, and how she aced her Spanish test. He listened, a little impatient, as guilt ate at him.

“Soph -” He tried interrupting, knowing if he put it off any longer he’d make himself sick. 

She didn’t notice. “And it’s kind of tricky -”

“Baby, listen.” 

“- But it’ll be really rewarding -”

“Brooklyn kissed me.” He blurted out quickly.

She froze immediately, eyes wide with her lipstick raised halfway to her mouth. “She did what?” 

He bit his cheek hard before replying, his heart pounding. “I’m so sorry, Sophie, I didn’t - I should have known, her stupid dinner invite -” 

“Rafe, shut the fuck up, why are you apologizing? You didn’t kiss her back.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of trust, but he almost flinched from the hard edge to her voice.

He shook his head frantically. “No! No, of course I didn’t. Fuck. She barely even touched my lips before I pulled away.” 

“Fucking hell.” She had to set her phone down as she was practically shaking with anger. “I knew it.” 

“Knew what?” 

“I knew she was going to pull something, that - that -” She seethed, unable to get all her words out. 

“That…?” He tried supplying. 

“That bitch! Oh my god, what the hell? If I were there, I swear I’d - holy fuck. I’ve never wanted to punch someone until now.” She started pacing the room, flexing her fingers into fists. 

Rafe couldn’t hide his tiny smile, raising his eyebrows. “You’re kind of hot when you’re mad.” 

“Focus, Cameron.” She snapped. “Oh my god, she’s so fucking petty. First the Instagram messages, then this -”

“Wait, wait, hold on, what Instagram messages?” He interrupted, frowning. “What are you talking about?” 

“Oh.” She scowled, crossing her arms. “She followed me a couple weeks ago and went through and liked the posts that you’re in, and keeps responding to my stories. Like that group photo I posted the other day at the bar, some of the guys were in it? She literally responded with ‘wow, glad you’re getting some in Spain.’ What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Sophie, you should have told me.” He rubbed his temples, upset but completely unsurprised - Brooklyn had done that same to a friend he had taken to a date party once when they were in one of their many short breakups. “I’ll talk to her, tell her to knock it off -”

“And have her try and kiss you again? No, I don’t think you need to give her any reason to be one on one with you.” She huffed, indignant. “How many days again?” 

He paused to think. “Thirty? Twenty-nine?” 

“Jesus Christ.” She sighed, running her hand over her face. “Any chance you want to come early?” 

He looked apologetic, shaking his head. “Can’t, baby, I’m committed to this internship right up until I see you.” 

“Damnit.” She flopped back onto her bed and rolled over onto her stomach to face the camera again. “Next time you’re at dinner, let me know and I’ll text you a picture of my tits or something.” 

Rafe snorted. “I don’t know if that’s the best approach, but I wouldn’t be opposed to getting more nudes from you.” 

“No, you’re right, she’d probably just tell you I’m slutty or something.” She rolled her eyes, only for him to frown. “You’re not slutty, baby -” 

“I know, I know, whatever. What happened, seriously? Why’s she so hung up on you? I mean, I know why, look at you -” she gestured at the phone, making him laugh, “- but for real. Will you tell me?” 

He nodded, taking a moment before he spoke. “She, um, cheated on me, but I didn’t find out ‘til after she broke it off. Not until the charity gala, actually. She’d say things like, ‘you’re so needy,’ then would get mad at me if I went to hang out with the boys.” Rafe paused, thinking. “She invited herself to the Bahamas, both times. My dad loved her, that should have told me enough.” 

“Oh.” She murmured, frowning. “That’s fucked, Rafe, I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, took me a while to snap out of it.” He half-joked, then his tone turned more sincere. “You should know, I was going to take you to the Bahamas house this spring, actually. But I didn’t want you to think I was showing off or something.” 

“Rafe Cameron, showing off?” She teased, lifting her hand with the Cartier ring and raising her eyebrows. “Never.” 

He immediately blushed, protesting. “That’s different!” 

She grinned. “Is it?” 

“It is. Totally different. I almost bought you the one with diamonds, that’d be showing off.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t.” 

“Yes, I almost did.” He grinned, noticing that she wore the ring on her ring finger instead of her middle finger like he’d originally put it on her. “Sarah talked me out of it, so go complain to her if you wanted that one. She said you’d probably have my head.” 

“Smart girl.” Sophie laughed. 

“Do you always wear it on that finger?” He asked with raised eyebrows. 

Her cheeks tinged pink and she shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but her tone took a defensive edge. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter. It’s just a finger. Why? Does it make you feel weird?” 

“No. Does it make you feel weird?” 

“No.” 

“Good.” 

“Good.” She shot back, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks for a moment. “I have to go, I’m late for meeting my friends now.” 

“Wait, Soph.” He smirked and she narrowed her eyes again, wary of what he was about to say. “What.” 

“Love you.” 

“That’s it?” 

He laughed, grinning. “I’m still not opposed to you sending me pictures of your tits when I’m at dinner.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Do you know how difficult it is to take a good nude? I have to be alone, I have to contort myself in a weird position or use the self timer, then I have to edit the lighting because I have to take them at night -” 

“Alright, alright, I get it. I’m just kidding.” 

“You absolutely were not. I love you. Go appreciate the pictures I’ve already given you.” 

“You gave me three for the entire summer.” He complained, and she rolled her eyes. “That’s a lie, I left you with three and I’ve sent you a couple since then. Goodbye, Cameron, love you, you ungrateful son of a bitch.” 

He grinned. “Wait, Sophie, wait.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re not mad? At me?” 

Sophie paused, furrowing her brow. “Do I have a reason to be mad at you? You’re already forgiven for not telling me, is there something else?” 

“No, no.” He shook his head quickly, voice going quiet. “I just, um. She would have had my head for what happened. I know you’re not her, but I’m just used to that, I guess.” 

She softened, wishing she could hold him. “I trust you, Rafe. I mean it. I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed off at her, but you didn’t do anything.” 

“And you’d tell me if you were?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a little anxious. 

Sophie laughed softly, nodding. “You’d know if I was mad at you, baby, it’s hard to hide.” 

“Right. Okay.” He didn’t seem fully convinced, but nodded anyways. “I’ll let you go, then.” 

“Not mad at you. Good night, my favorite boy.” 

He gave her a small, shy smile. “You promise?” 

“I promise. You’re always my favorite.” She returned a bigger smile. “I’ll text you when I’m home if you need to talk more.” 

“No, no, I’ll be fine.” He waved her off, not wanting to seem too dependent. 

She nodded, blowing him a kiss with a grin. “Night, baby. Sweet dreams.” 

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney

[hawkinsindiana]

i don’t want you to worry

ALMOST PARADISE: PART THREE - CHAPTER ONE OF ELEVEN (?)

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 3.8k

a/n: six months later, here’s part three! i’m not gonna lie to y’all, i have no idea how many chapters there are gonna be or if it’ll get updated regularly, but fuck it. i’ve been sitting on this for a while and figured we could use a bit of levity! thank you for your patience! hope you enjoy! lmao i didn’t feel like making a gif pls forgive me

masterlist

Fog is hovering just above the ground; you can practically feel how thick and wet it is against your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck all stand as a gust of wind flows through the air - the freezing temperature makes you shiver.

The ground is wet, squelching underneath your sneakers as you move forward, still uncertain of where you are; the environment’s been completely coated in the dense fog. When your surroundings finally begin to clear a bit, your heart starts to race in fear once you recognize where you are. 

It’s the junkyard.

“Stay close, yeah?” 

The voice sounds like it’s right inside your ear, but at least he’s here - you’d recognize him anywhere.

Steve’s to your left, bat slung effortlessly over his shoulder, and his presence helps calm your nerves. You won’t have to face this alone. 

You want to thank him before the situation gets any worse, but your mouth won’t cooperate. All you’re able to reply with is a nod. 

Suddenly, the palm of your hand feels heavy with the weight of your weapon; Steve presses on, moving through the space to approach the threat that lurks beyond. A form begins to take shape behind the grey clouds, hunched down on all fours as it stalks towards your position. Your fingers tense as you prepare to fight and adrenaline begins to overtake you, until the silhouette rises onto two legs. It’s not supernatural, it’s human. 

You want to call out to Steve, tell him to fall back because it’s too dangerous but your voice still doesn���t work - you can’t warn him what’s coming. The soles of your shoes dig into the ground as you run to catch up with him, fingers extended out to grab and yank him away. 

But it’s too late. One moment he’s right there in front of you, the next he’s gone, vanished right before your eyes. You blink.

On the ground, Steve’s in the dirt, blood spilling from his face; Billy Hargrove quickly approaches.

And then, it’s just like that night. You’re unable to move, unable to save him as Steve tries to fight back but Billy’s too quick. His crimson colored fists are tearing skin with each impact until the brunette boy on the ground is lifeless, as if all warmth was drained right from him. Billy’s twisted grin never falters as he relishes in your pain, tears streaming down your face until-

You wake with a gasp, body jolting, hands shaking. 

God, it feels so real, like you’re still there; your nose can smell the disgusting metallic scent from the blood, skin still chilled from the temperature, veins still threaded with adrenaline. 

That was only a dream… right?

As soon as that thought is introduced to your worried mind, you throw off the covers before grabbing the nearest hoodie off the bed post. Tugging it over your head, your bare feet skid across the hardwood floor as you rush to the phone in the living room. 

Your fingers are trembling as you press the buttons of the number; you have to know if he’s okay. You have to confirm it was just a dream.

“Fuck, Steve,” You start to mutter to yourself, counting the rings to attempt to steady your breathing, “Come on, pick up, pick up.” 

The longer it takes, the more nervous you become. The darkness that surrounds you starts to close in, and when you squeeze your eyes shut, the image of him bloodied and lying dead in the dirt haunts you. 

“I swear to Christ - Dustin, if that’s you and those bozos again, I’ll come kick your ass myself,” Steve’s voice, tired and very irritated, comes through the speaker.

“Steve! Oh my god-” The back of your throat starts to burn at the feeling of tears welling up; the relief crashes over you in a wave, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“What? Jesus-” He pauses, his tone softens once he hears it’s you, “Why wouldn’t I be okay? It’s nearly-”

Steve stops again; you reckon it’s to glance at the time.

“Shit, sweetheart it’s nearly two in the morning, what’s goin’ on?”

You sigh, finally realizing that you must’ve awoken him, “Fuck I just-”

The phone is gripped tighter in your hands as you speak, “I really just needed to know that you're okay. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry-“

“No, no it’s okay-”

“But I-”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about me,” Steve’s reassurance helps to slow your pounding heart; he’s okay. He’s safe at home. 

There’s nothing to worry about anymore.

You repeat that to yourself multiple times, whispering it to yourself under your breath. At this point, you think that you’d do anything to forget that night. 

Your back slides down the wall as your body grows exhausted from the severe reaction; Steve’s voice continues through the phone, “Did something happen?”

“I had-” You force a deep breath through your lungs, face scrunching in fear at the memory, “I had a really bad dream, Steve.”

Your arm wraps around your knees to pull them into your chest, forehead coming down to meet them and dig into the soft material of your pants, “I woke up and fuck, I was so scared. I was so scared and all I could think to do was call you. And I’m all alone. I’m all by myself tonight and I hate that I can’t be alone anymore. And I haven’t slept through the night in weeks-”

“Weeks? What do you mean weeks? I mean - I knew you weren’t sleeping well right after, but Christ it’s been nearly two months!”

You curse at yourself for rambling, words suddenly escaping your mind as you hesitate to respond. With your silence, Steve huffs; you can imagine the disappointment and worry over his face, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You bite down on your lip before answering, only letting up on the pressure when the taste of blood touches your tongue; you’re ashamed of the answer, “I don’t know… I’m sorry, Steve.”

All you feel is guilt in the moments that follow. Something like this… dreams about him dying in front of your eyes isn’t something that should be kept from him. 

“Hey,” Steve’s soft tone reels you back in, “You call me whenever you have to. I’ll always pick up, okay?”

You exhale as you nod, before remembering that he can’t see your reaction through the phone, “Okay, yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, anytime. Are you okay?” 

You weave the phone cord between your fingers, “I’m better now. Uh, I’ll let you go then.”

“Okay. Try to get some rest, for my sake,” Steve pleads. You twist the cord tighter, “I will.” 

He sighs at your oath, finally able to relax a bit more, “Hey, we don’t have to do anything tonight, if it’s too much. Or if you’re tired… ” 

You hum at his words, head leaning back against the wall. A smile creeps over your lips at his consideration, wishing that you could thank him in person for his words, “No, no let’s do something. It’ll be good for me.” 

He laughs a bit; even with how horrible the quality might be through the receiver, it still makes your stomach flutter with butterflies, “Okay, good. I’ll see you tonight. Get some sleep.”

“I’ll try, Steve.”

After wishing him a good night, you place the phone back onto it’s base. Standing up on wobbly legs, a shaky exhale leaves your lungs when your fingers remove themselves from the smooth plastic. The image of him is still there when you blink.

Fuck - you should’ve told him.

—

Three taps against the window pane startle you awake. Rubbing your eyes as you sit up, you check the time - you were only able to finally fall asleep twenty minutes ago. Anxiety starts to creep over the back of your neck - until you see the culprit. 

“Jesus…” You mutter to yourself. You can’t help the small smile that erupts over your face at the sight of Steve, fingers nervously drumming on the window sill. His expression relaxes a bit once you come over, and you’re already rolling your eyes as you move to pull it open.

“You know that I’m the only one home, right?” 

Steve nods, not following your logic, “Yeah? And?”

“You could’ve just come to the door, Steve.”

The boy in front of you shifts at your words; his retort stutters as he tries to come up with an excuse, “Okay, alright. But you know, I didn’t want to scare you or anything!”

You step back to cross your arms over your chest, “And coming to my window while I sleep seems a whole lot better to you?”

“Alright whatever, Henderson,” He answers quickly, waving off your tone, “Will you just let me in already?”

You gesture for Steve to enter, laughing quietly to yourself as he does. As soon as he’s crawled his way through the opening, you latch and lock the window closed. He huffs, “You have no idea how thrilled I am that your house only has one floor.”

“Did you drive across the neighborhood just to scare me?” You ignore him, pulling the cord on the lamp by your bedside. The light illuminates the worry on his face.

“No, I just-” Steve pauses as he fiddles with his keys, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said. I had to know you were okay.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest once again, “Y-yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Steve’s brow raises at your deflection, “Um, did we not have the same conversation over the phone?”

“We did,” Your answer is laced with a bit of aggression, “You didn’t need to come all the way over here, okay? I’m fine now-”

“But are you?” Steve interrupts. His voice is genuine, soft, and you want to spill everything because he has that look in his eye; you’re not sure you can push him away forever.

“Of course, Steve-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Steve puts more force behind his words - it’s like a demand. He takes a few steps closer, “Please don’t lie to me.”

Hearing Steve plead with you like that makes your heart shatter. It’s killing him to watch you stand before him like this. He’s known you long enough to know when something’s not right, and he’s gotten especially good at reading you over the past few weeks. And by the way your jaw clenches, Steve knows you’re about to crack.

A shaky inhale comes through your lips; you have to tell him something. But how much?

“I just… I don’t want you to worry,” You mutter. Your voice is just above a whisper, although it doesn’t matter; it’s not like there’s anyone home to overhear. You’re scared to admit there’s something wrong. He shouldn’t have to do this for you.

Steve almost laughs. He runs his free hand through his hair, “It’s like, a year too late for that, you know.” 

You sigh, realizing that he’s absolutely right. Of course he should worry, especially with how vague the conversation over the phone was. Letting him in is something that you’ll have to get used to.

Even though you’d been friends for a while, it was always more about him than you. You always wanted to be there for him, if he ever needed anything, how he was doing. It’s something neither of you understood was happening until your relationship became more; it was no one’s fault. 

All of a sudden, Steve realized just how much you’ve done for him - he’s wanted to return the favor. And this… is all new to you; you’re not used to someone checking in. 

“Oh god, you’re right,” You mumble under your breath. Your hands come up to cover your eyes in shame as you continue, “I’m sorry, Steve. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

Witnessing your sudden change in mood, Steve moves towards you; he sets his keys down on your nightstand as he does. He goes to reach for you, pulling your body into his, “Hey hey, it’s okay, it’s fine.”

He wishes he could come up with something better to say. You’ve always been better with words than him. You’re better at a lot of things than him. But he’s trying - he’s trying to be better to be worthy of you.

Your arms wrap tightly around him once Steve’s pressed against you. He smells like freshly washed cotton, like pulling sheets from the dryer when they’re still warm.

It’s all so overwhelming, it makes you want to cry. You feel like you should, but the familiar burn behind your eyes never comes. Instead, you resume speaking.

“I guess I just…” You trail off, wanting to give him a reason - he deserves one.

Your fist knots the fabric of his tee; Steve’s palm slides up over your back, “I’m just not used to leaning on others for help. I’m trying to get used to it.”

“Sometimes it’s okay,” Steve’s reply is muffled by your hair. He ponders what to add, lips pressed into a firm line as he thinks, “Sometimes you gotta do stuff on your own and sometimes you need somebody else. That’s just how life works.”

Your chest heaves as you sigh at the weight of his words, this moment cements a single fact inside your brain - you won’t plan on hiding anything from him.

Well, except for that one thing. You’re still not ready to admit that to him yet. 

You wish that pulling away didn’t mean losing his warmth; but his gentle eyes meeting yours mimics a feeling like it that fills your chest. 

“You can lean on me, you know,” Steve says, and the smile that was already pulling at your lips widens even farther. And then he nudges you - his mouth curls into that stupid smirk of his, “However you want.”

You crack a laugh, accompanied by a roll of your eyes, “Yes, I know. Sometimes I just need a little reminder."

Suddenly, you remember just how lucky you are to have him. How fortunate you are to have him there to brighten your darkest moments, even if he’s sometimes battling his own demons at the same time. 

“Thank you,” You say, bringing your gaze back to meet Steve’s again. He nods slightly, tone genuine and soft as he answers, “Of course. Anytime.”

The pads of your fingers graze over his cheekbone before tucking a strand of brunette hair behind his ear; Steve shivers a bit at the gentle touch before you meet his lips in a kiss.

He still gets a bit nervous each time, only because this feels so much more different than the others. The level of comfort and security he feels when you’re in the room was never there before he met you. Like really met you.

And you - well, you’re still so overwhelmed that you finally, after all that time, get to be with the one you love - you feel like you could jump out of your skin with joy. You’ve treasured every single moment, because it’s never been lost on you how it all could be taken away in an instant.

The brilliant grin you two share after pulling away shakes it all from your mind. Your fingers move to grip his hands in yours; you just like being able to do it, even if it is in the privacy of your own bedroom.

But then that feeling settles in your stomach, the one that doesn’t go away until morning. The dread that something’s going to happen. Steve can sense your growing anxiety - it’s almost like the air surrounding you changes. Leaving you now, something about that doesn’t sit right with him.

“I’ll uh, stay if you want.”

He mentions the idea quietly because, well, you’re not officially together. But to be fair, he hasn’t asked - but neither have you. Even though your hands are still in his, pressing into his skin, Steve finds it important to ask and make sure you’re on the same page.

You can’t lie - the idea of Steve spending the night makes you a little nervous. Although, knowing that you’re safe with each other might just be the push you need to relax. And with that thought, you’re stepping away from him, “Okay. Yeah, sure.”

The doorknob is so cold against your skin as you exit to grab an extra pillow from the closet in the hallway. The darkness of the living room seems to go on forever; it almost feels like something’s creeping up your neck once your back is turned to it.

After quickly shutting the door once you’re back inside, you turn around to see Steve, perched silently on top of your comforter - his presence warms the entire room, bringing life and love into it.

He hasn’t spent that much time in this space; he’s trying to take everything in, because it’s very reflective of you. There are neat piles of VHS tapes and comics on top of the dresser, a closet dominated with dark colors and sneakers, and some of your well worn denim tossed over the desk chair.

But his eye catches on a stack of photographs on the desk’s surface, and he’s halfway across the room before you can interject. You clutch the pillow a little tighter to your chest as Steve flips through them, laughing at one of you and Dustin from a few years ago at Christmas wearing matching pajamas.

He spins to show it to you, “I’m never gonna let him live this down.”

You approach his side when he finds another one of you as a child, playing with a cake battered spatula in your previous house. Baby curls framed your face, and your eyes were wide with adventure and wonder, “Holy shit, look at you!”

“I don’t know why I remember that day so much,” You mutter.

Steve’s silence pushes you to continue, “It was Mom’s birthday, and my grandparents baked her a cake - double chocolate I think. I wasn’t tall enough to reach but I wanted to help so badly. So they sat me on top of the counter and let me mix everything. They even let me tell her that I made it.”

You laugh quietly before the memory turns cold in your mind, and your wistful smile turns to a slight frown, “I haven’t seen them since we moved here.”

Steve isn’t even looking at the picture anymore. He listened to every word that left your mouth; you don’t speak much about the rest of your family. Instead of trying to probe further, he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, a gentle and silent reminder of his support.

This feels strange. Opening up to him like that, making yourself that vulnerable - that’s a level of intimacy you haven’t explored quite yet. At least not with him… or anyone really.

Thankfully, it hasn’t seemed to scare him off. If anything, Steve’s more relaxed. He likes knowing how you feel.

Steve flips through the others while you rest your chin on his shoulder, your eyes intently watch his reaction to each one - you think you could stay in this moment forever.

And then he comes across one - an image of you and the kids on Halloween a few years back all dressed like Jedi. He pauses on it, “When do you think we should tell them?”

A sharp inhale comes through your nostrils at his comment; you hadn’t thought about that.

In all your bliss, you had completely forgotten - no one else knows. Not even your brother.

“Oh God, Steve-” You start, removing yourself from him, “I don’t even know how we would do that.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve replies, turning back to meet your gaze, “We just… tell them. It’s not rocket science.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you answer, clenching the pillow a bit tighter in your grasp, “It’s really not that simple with them, Steve. You know that. And honestly, I still feel like I’m trying to figure out how to do all this.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, knowing just how messy involving the kids could make your relationship, “I’ve kinda liked it just being about us. You know, we’re together because we wanna be, it’s not for anyone else. And trust me, they’ll have so many opinions-”

“So let’s keep it to ourselves then,” Steve interjects, shrugging his shoulders a bit as he answers, “We’ll tell ‘em when we think it’s right, when we’re sure if this is serious or not.”

You hated keeping your feelings for him a secret. You hated that you were never able to tell him, but this is different. The idea sends a rush of excitement through your veins, you can’t deny it.

He smiles a bit and sets the photos down before continuing, “I know it might be too early to tell, but I feel like this could last, you know.”

You feel blood rise into your cheeks when he looks at you like that - irises filled to the brim with admiration. His hands come up to cup your face as you reply, “Me too.”

Steve leans in to drink a slow kiss from your lips, the kind that leaves you breathless when it’s over.

“Good,” He mutters, earning a small grin from you. Steve takes the pillow out of your grasp, “What do you say we try and get a couple hours of sleep in? I guess Dustin wants to go to the arcade before lunch.”

You laugh, pushing your hair back away from your face as you answer, “I will never be able to get used to that, I’m sorry.”

Steve tosses the pillow onto the empty spot on the mattress while you pull back the comforter. The bed dips as you both settle under the covers; Steve’s arm starts to slide over your waist before stopping abruptly, “Is this okay?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

The darkness washes over the room after you pull the cord to the lamp; it doesn’t feel as scary with Steve lying behind you. His touch stops your mind from wandering as it so often does - it can’t concoct anything to torment you with.

That being said, the sight from the earlier nightmare does appear behind your eyelids when you blink.

“It was about you,” You mutter, “The dream.”

It’s spoken before you can stop yourself. You instantly regret it, due to the lack of a reply that follows.

But then Steve tugs you closer, and you feel like you could melt against him. He tucks his nose right underneath the base of your hairline, deeply inhaling as you relax into him.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against your skin; your fingers curl around his as a quiet thank you.

Steve thinks that this is probably what home is supposed to feel like - warm clothes, the scent of your shampoo, a comfortable silence to lull you both to sleep. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more comfortable.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, the pair of you have finally found a bit of peace.

—

taglist: @stevebabey / @mrsukai / @hannarudick / @crazycookiecrumbles / @hellisateenageheather / @alewifex / @l0ve-0f-my-life / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 / @daddystevee / @thecaptainsgingersnap / @let-the-imaginationflow / @asianravenpuff / @im-a-stranger-thing​ / @mikariell95​ / @pilunb​ / @harringtherin​ / @royalestrellas​ / @ultrunning​ / @buggs177 / @poutfull​ / @yoheyyosup​ / @duchessdaisybat​ / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury​ / @beththebubbly​ / @i-bitch-you-bitch​ / @captainstilinskis​ / @juliebean247​ / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender​ / @rexorangecouny​ / @pass-me-jeez-it / @ahoy-scoops-troop / @halefirewarrior​ / @jointhehunt67 / @wallacetdog​ / @ketchuplukehemmo​ / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x​ / @elite4cekalyma​ / @marjoherbo​ / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass​ / @alafolieee​ / @mochminnie​ / @phantomalchemist​ / @dustyblueboo​ / @alonewolfsblog​ / @ggclarissa​ / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​ / @bippityboppitybabe​ / @readinthegarden12​ / @bakugouishusbando

if you wanna be added to the taglist, just lemme know!

[justcourttee]

MariJon, where Valentine's Day is coming up and both of them are trying to figure out how to ask each other out without making it weird and turn to their mutual best friend, Damian. Lots and lots of awkwardness and pining please 😊

This is so cute and so fun to write. I hope you like it!

Damian Wayne: The Love Doctor

Valentine’s Day.

It’s the day that initiates feelings of romance and longing in people across the globe. For couples, it’s a day to spoil each other and gorge on chocolates and fancy dinners. However, for the singles, it’s a day of anxiety and stress hoping that someone returns their feelings or risk sitting dejected for another year alone.

For Jon, it was the latter. This year though, he was determined for it to be different. Thanks to Damian, Jon met Marinette this year. They were always hanging out in one of the League’s hideouts and after several months of begging, Damian finally introduced him. To say it was love at first sight almost felt like an understatement.

So if he felt this way, it should be easy to step forward and hand her the box of chocolates that he had clutched in his hands as he moved to the store’s checkout. Except it wasn’t easy, after all, he had no way of knowing how she felt and Jon wasn’t sure he could handle the idea of Marinette rejecting him.

“-and that’s how I found myself here. How am I supposed to ask her out if I don’t know if she’ll say yes?”

“Yes, that does sound quite perplexing.” Damian flipped the page in his novel, his eyes glued to the words. Jon was positive he wasn’t paying attention, but he had no one else he could go to. Taking a deep breath, Jon darted forward snapping the book from his best friend’s grasp.

The look that Damian gave him would usually be enough to send Jon running leaving the book in his tracks, but he was so worried about asking out Marinette, he honestly had no value for his life at the moment.

“What is it that you think I can do for you, Jon? I myself have never been interested in relationships. They are quite meaningless if there is nothing you can obtain through the partnership.”

Jon scratched the back of his neck as his eyes clung to the ground. Damian was right. He never had a relationship and never seemed to be interested in them so for Jon to ask him advice on how to ask out Marinette, well, it wasn’t his smartest move.

“It’s just-you see-I know that but-”

“Kent, for the love of whatever being may be out there, spit out your sentence.”

“You’re my only friend Damian!”

He hadn’t meant to shout it, the volume even earning a raised eyebrow from Damian’s usually stoic face.

“I’m just-I’m just desperate. I really want this to go over well.”

Damian’s stare sent a shiver down his spine as they stared in silence for a moment and then two. Just when he was sure his friend was about to snap, he did something that surprised him even more.

“Violets.”

“Excuse me?”

Breaking their stare, Damian reached behind him tossing Jon a notebook and pen without a second look.

“You better write this down Kent because I’ll only say it once. Her favorite flowers are violets so that’s where you’re gonna start.”

Jon’s eyes widened as he scrambled to open the first page of the notebook jotting down the words that were spilling out of Damian’s mouth. By the time his friend had sent him away, Jon was almost confident that this plan could work. Maybe, just maybe, he could finally find the courage to ask out Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was barely a day later when Damian Wayne found himself cornered yet again.

He was just trying to finish the last few pages of his book when the blob curled up on the other end of the couch uttered its first noise since it collapsed.

“Damian, can I ask you a question?”

“That’s counterproductive Dupain-Cheng, you already did even though you didn’t hadn’t had my permission.”

Using his book as a shield, he was able to block the incoming pillow assault before it made contact. “I apologize. Was the correct response; what can I do for you my liege?”

This time a shoe flew toward his face, one he narrowly missed.

“Jon. Is he single by chance?”

Damian couldn’t help the smug smile that pulled at his lips.

“What’s it to you whether he’s single or not?”

The red that crept up her neck confirmed his suspicions before her blubbering even began.

“It’s nothing to me! It’s just that Jon never talks about a girlfriend and it’s not because I don’t think he can get a girlfriend, I mean he’s a very attractive guy, but not that I think he’s super attractive, that’s just stating facts that everyone knows and-”

“You’re rambling.”

Closing his book, Damian turned his attention to his red friend, who’s pout brought a smile to his face.

“Damian, I think-I think I want to ask Jon to be my Valentine.”

Damian couldn’t help the snort that escaped earning a groan from Marinette as she buried her face in her hands.

“There were nicer ways to tell me it wasn’t possible you little demon.”

“Hey now, if you start pulling out cruel nicknames like that, I won’t help you.”

Instantly her head popped up, a doubtful expression monopolizing her face.

“Why would you want to help me, huh?”

Reaching down into his bag Damian bit back the sigh as he sacrificed another notebook to his friends.

“Let’s just say, I’m very invested in the outcome of this Valentine’s Day. Now get to writing.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Two days had passed; Valentine’s Day arrived and Damian hated to admit how curious he was to if the two love-struck idiots had followed his advice.

He got his answer as he entered their favorite hangout spot only to find it covered in bouquets.

“Damian Wayne, you have some serious explaining to do.” Damian ducked on instinct as a batarang flew over his head impaling itself on the nearest wall. “If you were setting people up with the stunning Marinette Dupain-Cheng, why wasn’t I at the top of the list?”

“Sorry Steph, I didn’t think she was all that into blondes.”

“Wipe that shit-eating smirk off your face!” Damian moved to the side as Stephanie lunged at him, her fist dusting the side of his shirt. “You know good and well she used to be into blondes!”

“Jon beat you to asking.” With a shrug of his shoulders, he gently pushed her backward watching as she dramatically flung herself into the couch. “Now will you please shut up? Marinette will be here at any moment.”

As if on cue, the whirl of the Zeta tube echoed through the hangout snapping Jon’s attention into place as he fumbled with the gift bag in his hand. The soft click of Marinette’s heels confirmed her presence as Damian slapped his hand over Stephanie’s mouth.

“Oh mon Dieu, what is all this?”

Damian could feel the nerves rolling off of Jon slamming into him. It was almost as if he was begging him to swoop in and explain why the place was covered in her favorite flowers. He really was hopeless.

“Uhm, well, uh, you see, I-uh-I heard that you like violets. Which I thought was strange because your favorite color is pink but then I also heard that they are one of the few flowers you can always find inspiration from and I wanted you to have as much inspiration as you could ever need.”

It was quick like he was trying to spill his every thought in one breath, but at least he got it out of his mouth.

“That was very nice of you Jon. I’m sure I’ll never run out of inspiration now.” Marinette’s chuckle was soft and Damian was sure he could hear the blush from where he and Stephanie remained crouched. “I, uh-well-I got something for you.”

Without waiting for a response, Marinette shoved her gift box into his arms causing Jon to half chuck his gift at her as well. Their nervous laughter was too much, Damian felt like he was going to die of second-hand embarrassment for them. The sound of tearing paper and tissue flying earned enough of a curious glance from the boy.

Their gasps were in sync earning a small smirk from the boy. With the power of observation, he was able to read both of his friends like an open book.

“You made me a leather jacket? Marinette this is so cool! It looks just like Conner’s! How did you know?”

“How did I know? How did you know that I had been eyeballing this thread set? You’re amazing Jon.”

The noise died down and for a moment, Damian was worried they had reverted back to their awkward selves. Just as he was about to turn back for another look, two shadows loomed over his hiding spot.

“Holy shit! You guys are so quiet!” Stephanie fled from her spot, grasping at her chest. Damian allowed himself a second to exhale as well.

“Damiboo,” he cut his eyes at Marinette sending her a warning look, “did you perchance give both of us advice for Valentine’s day?”

“Tsk, I did no such thing.”

As if on cue, they both raised their matching notebooks, matching smirks on their faces.

“Aww, Dami does love us!” Marinette flung her arms over his shoulders, Jon followed close behind.

“Get off of me you delinquents. I only helped you so that you two would go out and let me finish reading my damn book!”

The two of them were a giggling mess as they finally released him, comparing their notes as they moved toward the zeta tubes. Damian watched precariously as his two friends slowly intertwined fingers, their laughter fading with them as the tube closed. Ensuring they would not pop right back in, Damian finally released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

Moving to the couch, Damian fished for his book that he left hidden underneath the cushions. Just twenty more pages. The end felt like it would never come.  Just as he slipped the bookmark out of place, the weight on the couch shifted as Stephanie exhaled loudly.

“If you like playing Love Doctor so much, why don’t you ever set me up with anyone?”

“Perhaps it’s because I don’t hate anyone enough to set them up with you.”

Damian didn’t even bother to dodge the pillow that knocked his book from his hands. With a huff, he pulled out his final notebook making a mental note to have Alfred pick up some more.

“Here.”

The way she looked at him made him feel as though he had grown a second head, but she accepted the notebook, opening it to a fresh page.

“Who do you hate-”

“Don’t talk, just write. I really would like to finish my book today.”

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[legionofpotatoes]

I love your art, it is very detailed in a neat way. Was wondering how you got started making it as a source of income? How did you get your first paid work, I'd love some advice on how to get started, if that's ok

Thank you. Of course it's okay, although I doubt I have enough work experience in art to really delve into this. I only went full freelance this year, and had been juggling art as a side hobby until then. If you're still interested in my somewhat narrow perspective, and are okay with my long-winded rambles, I'll give it a shot:

So to answer your question fully, I'll describe how I started and move into personal advice and learnings later on. As a disclaimer, I am a white cishet dude in my late twenties with a moderate cocktail of mental illnesses, but overall I can pass for a functioning adult so a lot I have to say may come laced with privilege I cannot fully identify.

So uhh I began drawing in around 2012? I think? Maybe halfway through 2011? And I mostly made fanart for things I enjoyed and tried to branch out in communities that felt nourishing to my style and interests (I caught a bug for alt posters and enjoyed mainstream movies so I spent a long time on posterspy early on). There were a handful of opportunities that came from there but I could only accept a couple because of primary workplace commitments. Still, it showed that networking in a focused community was definitely a good place to start; I myself have huge trouble committing to social networks and really staying socially active, but I knew it was an essential ingredient in succeeding so I tried to make myself be involved in challenges and art support trains etc. as much as I could.

In parallel to all that I also ran a few third party online stores (redbubble, teepublic) for disposable income and would sometimes, if rarely, hit around $100-150 a month from those sources combined. It is a sort of thing that requires helper accounts on other social media sites to promote it on, because the stores themselves have a huge volume of content that translates into low organic discoverability. Obviously it was never gonna be the way towards financial independence through art, and with community projects being few and far between, I opened private commissions in around uhhh 2017 I think, focusing on offering a few styles I knew I could do well, and sometimes operating in individual fandoms (it was mostly a bioware thing to be frank). But I had to close them back down after a year or so, again because of work-life conflict and how badly it was burning me out. The reason I kept trying to monetize this hobby is because I honestly hated what I did for my main job and wanted to see a way out in some shape or form in the future.

And then in 2020 I had to quit my main job altogether because of *gestures at pandemic* and deal with a mental breakdown from all the wonderful things it did to us and me specifically. I took a short break and decided to give art a shot full-time, and that was around May this year. I was planning on opening up commissions again (and I still am), but a few sudden opportunities that fell in my lap moved that timetable down and now I'm grateful to even be doing something I am getting adequately paid for.

So, with that somewhat limited perspective, here's what I've learned that I'd tell myself if I was just starting out:

1. Being a fan of something can be a shortcut towards effective networking kickoffs. Which are important evidently. If you love something and enjoy making content for it, join communities, settle into a combination of social media websites that feel right for those interests + your body of work + your inner rhythm, and try to play to content discovery as much as your mental health allows you to. Like I said, I know that I myself am incredibly bad at self-motivating to talk to people, so I found that synergizing common interests into fanart - which I enjoyed making anyway - could be a way to give myself a gentle nudge forward and build those bridges leading to community activities, which then net experience and coverage. Sometimes even freelance projects from official avenues. Again; picking the right spaces for what you're after is key. Companies roam twitter, concept art recruiters scour artstation or linkedin etc, instagram can land you private commissions and collab opportunities, so on and so forth. Find your niche and try to kick up dust. However...

2. I do not believe that any social profile can replace a good portfolio. The thing that made an immediate difference to me this year was building a coherent, simple website with my best work front and center and a contact form on top. Every single opportunity I got came from that form (maybe via twitter or instagram initially, but always sealing the decision after going through the website), so I firmly believe that showcasing your skills and portfolio in a visually arresting and user-friendly way is a big priority. I had some reservations about tackling that task but fortunately I had help from a savvy life partner and we slapped it together via wordpress in less than a day. Twitter/whatever social media is prevalent in your target groups is definitely important to get the right eyes on your shit, yes, but those eyes will then look for a second stop where your work and rates are more clear and concise. Simplicity is key imo, I cannot overstate this. So make a cute, simple portfolio!

3. Your skills and rates will grow and change as you do. Let them. Over the years I built several lasting professional relationships from my obsession over mass effect and kept getting opportunities both from bioware and their partner companies, some small and some a bit bigger. A one-off job earlier this year opened an unexpected door to another much larger commitment, and then the work I did there brought some attention from small businesses looking for commercial commissions. These were all incredibly different projects in terms of scope and budget, and I've been tackling them all on a case-by-case basis and slowly coming into my own irt my needs, rates, and SOW thresholds. It is still a work in progress (and a LOT of literal work as well), and very much a thing I struggle with in publicly marketing, which is why I felt a tad underqualified to answer your question in the first place (obviously I did not let that stop me). But what it means for me now is that I am rapidly developing into whatever my "version" of a functioning freelance artist is, and when the conditions for that guy are met, I need to be able to confidently plant myself and operate from that space despite past precedents. Do not let anyone bully you into downpricing what you yourself perceive as legitimate products of personal growth and development. Speaking of which...

4. The shitty challenge of turning envy into inspiration, and paddling outside your comfort zones in full riot gear. it is hard, but realizing that being a miserable, self-hating artist in my early days got me nothing but more misery back was the first real step I took and what truly blew the hinges off. I was just not pleasant to be around, I would badmouth my work all the time, and it all somehow made sense in my broken mind because the validation I sought was purely external and the way I sought it was through eliciting sympathy via self-victimization (even when I made something objectively nice). It all led fucking nowhere. Except perhaps to my own narcissism that I one day managed to identify and start managing. So I started looking at things that made me seethe with envy and calmly deconstruct and figure out their inner workings instead, do studies, and find nuggets of inspiration or discover new ways to approach rendering or building up specific elements. It was an application of analytical diligence to what I wanted to be a purely emotional, esoteric workflow, but that I deep down knew wasn't. Art is a discipline and a skill, and maybe it isn't a straight line, but you gotta find some line to thread nevertheless. Being self-hating was almost an identity I had to break out of, and despite it still being like, 4-5% there? I realize its cause and effect on me, my work, and those around me, so it is with a conscious choice that I gently set it aside when I work and especially when I learn. It won't always stay quiet, but the effort is the difference. Your doors towards accepting true growth and venturing into uncharted territories, art styles, and networking will really open from there. But there's a huge caveat...

5. Toolsets, accessibility, privilege, and all the good things that enable artistic expression and profitability are not given equal to all. you might do all the mental work I mentioned to be ready to rock and roll and learn and draw your way out of anything, but digital art is a fucking money pit that asks almost too much at times. I don't got a good case study here but identifying and ensuring accessibility to the tools you need to do your best work is, like, super important. The ergonomics can improve as you make money and settle into the job, but the basics have to be made available to you. And some of that might not even be under your direct control. That can be anything from pen tablets to software subscriptions to opportunities in hiring sullied by sexism or what have you. You gotta navigate all that through careful networking and money/time management. I don't do a good job of devoting specific slices of time to work/study, and my primary clutch is iPad software which went from a good deal to a nightmare scenario over the years. So all I can say here is do what I didn't; network, invest in a PC/tablet, and pick a software you'll learn that won't burn a hole in your pocket.

6. Be nice to work with? This one is hard to articulate and has landed my own ass in hot water in my early years because of how socially inept I am, but nothing is more worthwhile than being.. like. a good person to work with. That can be anything like meeting deadlines, or sometimes missing them but eloquently articulating why, being generous in early stages, being communicable and not too wordy in your emails, having a good grasp on abstract artistic concepts and how to describe them in simple terms, having a clear, laid out framework of your working rates in commercial and non-commercial projects and sticking to those guns with grace, understanding when you need to say no and saying it well, the works. Just being nice. Sometimes that might mean going headstrong with something you believe in, or simmering down and sucking up to the big man, all relative and adaptive. Part and parcel of the service provision dance that we all have to do in order to make bank. Know your lines here, obviously, and don't like. work for nazis. or uh.. *shudders* exposure. but be nice and empathetic and communicable and word will travel eventually. Skill may be in abundance these days, but good people are most certainly not, and capitalism has a way of bubbling up scarcity. Grim, but uh, them's the breaks.

I know I'm ultimately telling you to like. Have a body of work, make a portfolio, grow, and network. But that's really how I see it for now. And being nice can be a cherry on top that sets you apart, along with the inherent irreplaceable voice of your artwork. I think I rambled on enough, but if there is something specific you need my help with, even if you want to come off anon and talk in private, please feel free.

[insert-cleverurl]

solaine copies her dsmp meta twitter part one

preface: i wrote this on february 13th and am now archiving it over here on tumblr before i get around posting it to the actual archive (of our own). i'd like to clean it up before i go there, becuase i wrote this at like one am lying in bed and typing on my laptop that was sitting on my stomach. it's a lot of rambling. i go on a lot of tangents. it is not the cleanest nor likely most accurate meta you will ever read.

how characters (children) on the smp learn from history rather than repeat it: a thread

aka: stop liking the other one you fucks i opened the wikia so i actually know what happened now /lh

context here is that i had earlier made a much less coherent thread (not that this one is very coherent) with the caveat that i was going entirely off memory

this thread is mainly going over how tommy + tubbo both emulate and turned away from wilbur + schlatt respectively, and how i think that's going to reflect in ranboo's arc

"as long as i can't be the next jschlatt, you can't be the next wilbur." okay we all know this. it's obvious from this point on that both tubbo and tommy saw or had fears of how they were each developing into scarily familiar people - schlatt, a dictator, and wilbur, a madman.

starting with tommy, the parallels between his exile arc and wilbur's pogtopia arc are immediately, and glaringly, obvious. paranoia, trust issues, "maybe i'm actually the bad guy here", and most notably, intense loneliness. wilbur made it obvious he believed pogtopis's allies would all abandon them in the end (them being he and tommy, though how much he trusted tommy by the end is also up in the air), and he was completely prepared to kill anyone he had to in order to secure pogtopia's victory, despite also preparing himself to be the one to end it. wilbur gave up on l'manberg, at the very end. he believed tyranny was all that would ever reign, so he blew it up.

tommy, in his exile arc, was also despairingly lonely. he hallucinated tubbo, grew attached to dream, etc etc. tommy was very very close to "becoming" wilbur here (god i'm sorry this is so long already and just me summing things up we already know it's to keep my thoughts in order + satisfy my inability to shut up and use too many words)

where wilbur and tommy go their separate ways is when they were given an out. dream gave wilbur tnt + for tommy, he was. you know. gestures vaguely at logstedshire. wilbur took the out - he gave up. he gave in. we know he had moments of clarity (when niki was in danger) and Maybe this was one he could've had too, but he didn't. he took the tnt.

tommy decided enough was enough. so at a crucial moment in time, tommy turned away from being wilbur. he did not repeat history.

onto tubbo; admittedly i know much less about his arc as president so this will be less outlined. tubbo,,,, acted very similarly to schlatt. probably moreso than tommy and wilbur! strange new laws, ignoring his cabinet, execution, generally appearing to lose his care for the world and the opinions of others. i'd argue the thing that separates him from schlatt is the most important part of this thread, because it proves my point: he remembered.

i just want to clarify here: by "proves my point" i mean this is the clsoest we get to an agreement of the ideas i'm putting out here in canon?? ig?? as in like. this is the most on the nose way to say it. similarly in recent days to quackity consistently referring to his treatment of dream as torture, which seems to be a very "I Am Not In Character" move but is definitely meant for us, the viewers, rather than character dream or character quackity themselves. tubbo's is a little less like that but still it's kind of like pointing at the X on a map for us the viewers. ok tangent over

tubbo lived under schlatt's rule as one of those people he treated extremely shittily. he lived under schlatt's rule as that person he executed. and tubbo remembers all that! tubbo remembers how schlatt's rule played out, and he looks at his own uh, less than stellar time in office, and he admits this out loud (to ranboo, according to the wikia. i am getting all of this off the wikia. i did not watch any streams during this arc.) that he can See himself becoming schlatt.

and when quackity tries to execute ranboo for being a traitor, tubbo stops him.

onto dream and ranboo! dream is a special case in that we never get to see his perspective of things and are rather left to play fill in the blank, and this whole arc is special (in terms of this thread) in that it isn't over. so i will be doing a lot of extrapolating here.

dream starts out as a generally ambivalent character who has very few rules that he pretty much never bothers to enforce anyways (i think? i don't remember).

by this i mean, this is all stuff i heard secondhand in recent months and can no longer remember what it actually was because i never went back to check. i'm pretty sure, but just a disclaimer. i don't wanna get hit with an "um, actually

his villain arc starts very very early - two whole seasons before he really became one. in the war, he is the antagonist and he plays up to it! most of the war is from l'manberg's pov (or that's how we look at it now, at least) so obviously he is the Bad Guy here.

ranboo griefed a house like two days into the server. 'nuff said /lh

ranboo + dream are both heavily vilified characters from the get-go - dream's part should be fairly obvious (uh, the everything leading up the exile arc where he actually did villainous things), whereas ranboo's is most notably during the second festival's aftermath. taking the blame for blowing up the community house, wanting to "pick people not sides" (he wants all his friends to be happy - sounds familiar, right?), etc etc, and now he's with techno and phil, the former of which is Definitely considered a villain for working with dream

now many many parallels are being drawn between he and dream, especially with the whole enderwalking thing. in the aftermath of everything happening, he chooses to stay out of all conflict, until Something Happens and forces his hand. (the egg!) he wants peace for everyone, which again, sounds very familiar, right?

(slight tangent: yes, the griefing was forcing dream's hand. it's nigh impossible to construe it as anything other than a political attack - the vice president of l'manberg griefing the home of the greater dream smp's king? dream looks weak + open to attack if he lets it slide)

this was a bad way to put it but the spirit of it gets across i think. fuck character limit on twitter

that catches us up on all current lore. where do i think dream and ranboo are going to split? dream has been alone in his decision-making basically since the very first war. not once has he (successfully, we don't know if he tried) gone to fall back on his friends' support and ask for their help in making these hard decisions (of which there are many). he severs his final connections ("i don't care about anything on this server") and cements his place in history as a monster.

i think it is very likely that we are getting a ranboo "friendship and relying on other people" arc here. there are other ways they could go with it, obviously, but given his current arctic anarchist ties and what appears to be other friendships developing. hmm! i'm interested. this part is entirely speculation/extrapolation. point being. the kids on the smp do, in fact, learn from history. they still make mistakes sometimes, but past a certain point, they're always different mistakes. they learn, and they almost always get happier endings for it

i don't know if it's a coincidence that it's the three lore-relevant kids who are the ones doing this. i don't think it is, because this is a very well-written and clever story. the younger generation is the one learning and fixing past mistakes and leaving the world better off for it. that's very neat! i like it a lot. also now that purpled's becoming lore-relevant, goddamnit if i don't want to see next season being his "learning from history" arc. punz vs purpled, maybe? that'd be neat. who knows. ok i think im finally done lol ty for reading :)

caveat I forgot to add last night: obviously ranboo and dream start out in very different positions, moreso than both tommy and tubbo. but at the end of the day, all three of them are their own people who just happen to take after other people in some ways :)

again, ty for reading! here's the original thread. i'd like to add that this is probably out of date and i may come back to it some day but who knows. maybe this will just be a relic of before Now (may 25)