#but ANYWAY i AM absolutely bitter

[sergle]

also I’m glad some other ppl have been feeling it too- but lately I have just so been like. not feelin it, with stuff that is obviously meant to have an Air of sort of body positivity, if you could call it that, but is really just hot garbage when you look closely at it.  I know we have some frighteningly low standards for what we consider praiseworthy in this topic, but I’m tired LMAO I only want actual body positivity, not just meaningless platitudes. tiktoks about how you don’t need to feel bad about your body and victoria’s secret models aren’t realistically proportioned or sized, but all the people dancing in the video or thin. or quotes from a fatphobic dude about how alluring it to go on a date with an (unspokenly thin) person who orders a large meal and finishes it all without seeming self conscious. and it’s like. is this the kind of stuff that I’m supposed to Yass at? 

[iooiu]

sister of four younger brothers = violence at every corner

[stars-n-spice]

everyday I thank the Force that Tech's love interest is a black woman. god bless

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D

[keylimejuice]

my head is a spinning wheel of

‘eliphas tried to do what he believed was good and genuinely didn’t know he was harming his people and his own creation by pursuing said good and he doesn’t exactly have free will cuz he’s controlled by the astralians like how astral is controlled by eliphas so like can he really be completely blamed for his actions’

and

‘eliphas is an absolute twat and i hope an anvil crushes him like in cartoons’

[fox-mulder-gets-pegged]

So like does anyone wanna hear about my au where after Barb dies in the Upside Down, she's resurrected as a part demogorgon creature to serve Vecna as his personal attack dog (until the party comes along and help her break free)?

[lirulii]

No but one of my biggest gripes with Hum Aapke Hain Koun is that Pooja straight up DIES, they have a funeral scene for her, and then the entire family unit is like. Oh no!! Anyway. Rajesh marry her *sister* of all people 

[marklikely]

barbarian fans have rapidly become the actual most insufferable people in the horror community

[astrxealis]

venat makes me the saddest

[zmediaoutlet]

Writing: how not to >>> elaborate? 👀

I guess I will very briefly, if only to say this: I feel like people who primarily read fanfiction written by teenagers (even if very well-meaning teenagers) should NOT be offering writing advice to anyone who wants their writing to be... good. What we've been referring to as AO3 House Style is absolutely not the kind of writing that I want to read, ever, and so while it is (unfortunately for me) extremely popular, I'd be happy if it burned to the ground.

[elytrafemme]

not being angry is the worst feeling in the entire world 

[voids-cave]

Man. I'm glad I have Bishop as a character, they were a character that I used to beat the shit out of myself for what I considered my "bad traits", a complete extreme of this side I didn't wanna touch even with a stick.

But then I did. And, it's just...wild? I guess, I never thought I would even come close to redeeming this character, or making him any more sympathetic than what I established as the base. And it ended up happening anyways.

Through out the writing of their character I put myself the rule of never, ever change his core of being...because I wanted to make them irredeemable, by them never wanting to truly change, they'll never be redeemed but, I was wrong.

Redeeming him wasn't about changing his core, about making him more human-like, making him love and feel like other people do, completely overhauling his way of thinking. It was just... accepting it, and that doesn't mean you're doomed to be a bad person and hurt people just because of how, what you are.

I still have a long way to go to fully accepting those parts of myself, as well as seeing it on other ppl, but this character has given me a perspective I honestly didn't even know I needed, or even know it was a possibility for me.

[alm0staliv3]

this last week has been the absolute Worst for me mentally and also made me feel like I'm despicable as a person and don't deserve anything nice and I'm not even that glad it's over for multiple reasons

[elezenhandholder]

re-reading your favorite unfinished almost 100k fic for the 5th time is self-care actually

[unethical-gender]

The thing with the sniffer is that everyone's going to vote for it and then be upset when it's what was actually promised and not what fans hype it up to be. It's going to be the same as the allay is and the same as the moobloom would have been

[nereidprinc3ss]

omg i'm obsessed with the idea of spencer and a university student and i looooved the one you wrote with reader struggling with finals (i relate so much </3) i'm not sure if you write requests or not (if not, then i'm sorry and please ignore this hahaha) but i would love to see more of their dynamic? maybe spencer for once arrives earlier from a case and goes to pick up reader from university as a surprise? i don't really know but i would love to see more 💗 thank you and i hope you have a good day!

AHHHH omg you have NO IDEA how excited I was to open my inbox and see a request!! i am absolutely obsessed w spencer x uni student too

i kind of took this and ran w it so its a little angsty and random LOLOL but here is (drumroll)

spencer picking up reader after you fail an exam (sorry lol) and you are NOT in a good mood but he loves you so its fine

Tears, partly from the bitter wind and partly from shame, blur your phone screen as you exit the lecture hall. Another missed call from Spencer. It’s the third one today—you've been ignoring them in an attempt to remain focused on the final that you just bombed. Part of you now wants to keep ignoring them out of sheer embarrassment. How can you admit to your super-genius boyfriend that you are a bona fide academic failure? Still, you don’t want him wondering about you while he should be working. Your numb fingers fumble with the phone as you try to call him back without running into anybody on your walk back to student housing. 

It doesn’t reach the second ring before he’s picking up. 

“Hey,” he sighs. “I was starting to worry.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy,” you exhale, cutting through some trees as you approach your building. “What’s up? How’s the case?” 

“Well... that’s actually what I’ve been calling about. We wrapped up this morning.” 

“What? But last night you said it would be at least three more days.” 

“Rare instance of me being wrong, I guess.” 

“So when are you flying back?” you ask, not wanting to get your hopes up. You know sometimes his team stays behind to help with processing a case. He doesn’t reply for a moment. “Spencer?” 

“I’m... thirteen minutes away from your school. Twelve.” 

Your brain short-circuits as you process his words, the cold metal of the door handle biting into your fingers as you stop dead in your tracks. 

“You--are you driving here right now?” 

“Yes,” he begins, sounding embarrassed, “I kept calling because I wanted to ask first, but I know you had your last final this morning and you were going to come over when I got back anyway so I thought you might want to come stay with me for a few extra days. You can say no, obviously—” 

Some of the icy despair melts in your chest. 

“Of course, I want to.” 

“Good,” he exhales a laugh. “It would have been awkward if you said no. Can you have a bag packed by the time I get there?” 

You’re speedwalking through the lobby now, hitting the up button for the elevator more times than is necessarily effective. 

“Drive faster.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

By the time you blindly shove enough clothing in a bag, text your roommate to let her know you’ll be gone for the rest of the week, and make it back outside, Spencer’s familiar vintage car is already pulling up to the curb. He doesn’t even bother cutting the engine—just puts it in park and gets out, rounding the vehicle as you close the distance between one another. His smile is brilliant, and though you don’t feel particularly deserving of it, it’s for you. 

“Hi,” you breathe shakily as he loops his arms around your waist. 

“Hi, pretty,” he says, already leaning down to kiss you. It’s soft and sweet over too quickly, but then he’s gently pulling you into him. You drop your bag and bury your face in his jacket, trying to right yourself before you go into an emotional tailspin. 

As usual, he smells like lavender, clove, resinous amber. It makes your head spin. Right away you feel yourself relaxing; feel your guard slipping, like it always does when he’s around. 

“I missed you.” The words are quiet to begin with, muffled further by the fabric of his coat, but you know he’ll hear you. 

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “Everything okay?” 

Why are you always surprised when a man who works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI accurately analyzes your behavior? 

“Just tired. Can we go home?” You pull back enough to look up at him, meeting his fond—and just a little concerned—gaze, averting your eyes before he has time to discern your... omission of truth. 

“Yeah, angel. Of course we can.” 

He opens the passenger side door for you, making sure you’re settled before tossing your bag in the back seat and circling around the back of the car. 

“Is that coffee?” You say as soon as he slides into the driver’s seat. His eyes dart down to the tumbler in the center cupholder as he buckles. 

“It’s from the jet. You won’t like it.” 

Despite his warning you reach over to grab it, taking a small sip as he puts the car into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. You make a sour face. Spencer glances over. 

“I told you it was bad.” 

You yawn, putting it back in the cupholder. “It was worth a shot.” 

Jazz music plays quietly from the speakers and the heat is blasting, but you’re too busy mentally rehashing question 37 to find it relaxing. 

“You didn’t get enough sleep last night,” he states. Not a question. Outside, the brick buildings of your campus roll by. You wonder if all the students rushing about on the sidewalks and side streets failed any of their finals.  

“Couldn’t,” you mumble flatly, picking at your nails.  

There’s a moment’s pause, and you’re imagining all the things you could have done differently. You’ve never failed a final before. If you’d just studied a little bit harder—if you’d stayed in instead of going out last weekend, if you weren’t so— 

“I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t think you’re going to like it,” Spencer says. 

“Mhm,” you hum, too afraid to speak because your eyes are already stinging again. Honestly, you’re surprised you made it this far without him getting the truth out of you. He offers his hand across the console as you slink down in your seat, and you take it, allowing him to run his thumb over yours in soothing lines. 

“How do you think your final went?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, the bare branches of the trees outside blurring as you stare unseeingly. 

“Not good. Like, I definitely failed, not good. I'm an idiot.” 

“You absolutely are not an idiot.” 

“You didn’t see me taking the test, Spencer. I literally just sat there staring at it for ten minutes before I even answered one question. It was pathetic.” 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” 

The question takes you by surprise. Your frown deepens. 

“What? I don’t—that’s not—" 

“Just answer the question. Did you sleep at all last night?” 

“Yes!” 

“Don't lie to me.” 

“Fuck you! I slept for like two hours and had coffee this morning!”  

He squeezes your hand. 

“That’s why you failed.” 

The first tear traces its path down your cheek, composure overwhelmed by the confrontation. 

“I hate when you use your stupid interrogation tactics on me,” you say, voice wobbling. And then the crying begins in earnest. 

“I know, baby.” 

His hand moves to rub your back when you let go to cover your face. Torrential evidence of your frustration and utter exhaustion well over, slipping through your fingers despite your best efforts to stop them from coming at all. Having an emotional breakdown in the passenger seat of his car is far from how you’d wanted to greet Spencer’s surprise arrival, but you’re too worn out to mask your emotions—especially when he is so adept at drawing them to the surface. 

A moment passes like that before you take a shuddering breath, raising your head slightly and wiping your cheeks with your sleeves in vain. 

“I should have been able to do it. I just—it was like I was reading the questions and I knew that I should know the answers, but I couldn’t remember anything.” 

“You’re exhausted. Sleep deprivation has an immediate, devastating effect on cognitive functioning levels. My recall and processing speed start to fail when I’m tired, too. It has nothing to do with how smart you are.” 

It makes sense—but it doesn’t make you feel much better. You wanted to ace this exam. Of course, Spencer wouldn’t understand because school was as easy as breathing for him. He barely had to try to get three doctorates. It’s possible, you suppose, that dating a genius has put an academic chip on your shoulder—maybe you’ve set impossibly high standards for yourself.  

After a few minutes the crying finally ebbs, if only because you’re running into supply and demand problems with your tear ducts. You rub your weepy eyes on your shoulder, leaning against the cold window and watching DC go by. 

“You know, the final isn’t as important as you think it is. You’ll still pass the class.” 

“It’s symbolic,” you mumble, breath fogging up the glass. Spencer hums, still rubbing your back. 

“I know. I know it matters to you, but I don’t want you to think one bad grade is a reflection of who you are. Do you understand why it doesn’t make sense to measure something as abstract as intelligence by a metric as one dimensional as a standardized test?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

You shift in your seat, wiping your face with your sleeve and prompting Spencer to take your other hand once more. 

“Can your FBI friend hack the university database and give me an A?” you ask after a moment, sniffling. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Pretty please?” 

“Nope.” 

“It’s like you don’t even love me,” you mutter, angling yourself away from him.  

He pulls your hand toward him and presses a kiss to the back of it. 

“I love you so much that I don’t want you to get expelled for academic dishonesty.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll probably just drop out.” 

You both know you’re just being overdramatic, but Spencer has a tendency to be sweet even when you don’t deserve it. 

“I’ll love you no matter what you do.” 

You blush, unable to come up with a sufficient reply. His eyes slide to you briefly and he smirks, clearly enjoying his ability to fluster you, and by extension, get you to shut up. 

“Eyes on the road, genius,” you grumble. But for the first time today you’re fighting a smile instead of tears.