#i need a minute to process my own post

[brian-kinney-apologist]

"love makes you stupid" is about louis who decides to chose his companion of the day over a child he cursed into the darkness out of his own selfishness; it's about claudia who despite experiencing the cruelty of different vampires firsthand time and time again decides to stay with her newfound beloved nearby the coven who she knows is ruthless to anyone who breaks their self-imposed rules; it's about armand who decides it's okay to get rid of the child of his new lover because "can you imagine me without the burden of her?" and he does the idea a little too much and wants to believe it'll work out in the long run; it's about lestat who knows that you shouldn't turn children into vampires but his husband who just left him, now is begging him to give him one, and he succumbs because he hopes that this will save their marriage even though deep down he knows it won't

[queer-omens-in-the-archives]

Immense willingness to write VS absolutely shot visual/word processing that makes it hard to read: battle to the death right now

[dahldahlbills]

ok the stone ocean finale did not need to do That

[dilfosaur]

well i haven't spilled my guts on tumblr since i was in college but it's the platform that's felt The Most Mine thru the years, so

let's talk!

i've had a huge chip on my shoulder that i wanted off before the year ends. very bad professional experience to follow

so firstly to get ahead of the speculating, i'm not naming names or anything. some of you will puzzle out who i'm talking about, but please don't bother anyone especially not on my behalf. i've worked hard to distance myself from them the past few months. shit happens, especially when you're a dumb bitch (that's me!)

but also this person was someone i considered a close friend and it makes me uneasy to possibly direct backlash at them. "then why post about it" bc i did intermittent work for them for over a year. this is just about that. so hear me out

basically it started off fine. i initially did some commission work for good pay, then was invited to become more involved with their team. unfortunately as i became more involved with their operation it became more disorganized over time. projects started then forgotten, constantly shifting schedules, lapsing communication between roles, confusing financials, and often inconsistent if not late payments. during mid 2023 i was doing colorist work, sometimes on a one day turnaround (all while also preparing drawfee's summer merch launch). the payroll wasn't set up correctly so i wasn't paid for that work for over a year (more on that later), tho to be fair that was largely my own fault at first as i just didnt realize the payments didn't go thru lol

i always consider myself decently capable of separating friendship and coworker-ship; i run a company with 4 wonderful friends, going strong for almost 5 years. that didn't really work out in this case. by early this year our friendship was on the rocks; work issues fed into personal issues and vice versa. so as the rest of this shit plays out, we had just had our first "big fight" which i felt very bad about and added to all the upcoming tension

a huge point of friction was the fact that i really wanted to work with them to make a music video for one of their songs. i've always wanted a chance to make a music video, was confident in a concept i came up with, and even did some concept art for the idea. everyone insisted they loved the concept and that we should do it, but we kept pushing it back for various reasons. it ended up becoming a huge sticking point for my frustrations, which i tried to express productively. TLDR, we eventually got around to discussing it seriously around april.

i planned to ask for $4000 with negotiable add-on for the whole project, which was my Friend Discount price. i was offered a contract for $1000 flat rate, as they insisted that was the only budget they had for it.

don't ask me why i signed it lol. i didn't even counter offer

there was some girlmath to it: i wanted an extra 1k for a student scholarship i provide every spring and well, there it was. but if i had to guess, i saw it as something i just couldn't back down from any more. i caused these folks- my friends- a lot of problems bc i dug my heels in so deep to chase this project, so fuck it we ball

i had about 4 months to solo a 3 minute music video. they wanted it done in august so they could release it before summer ended, bc "it was a summer song". to be fair i was asked if i needed them to pay for anything extra like assistants (which i would have to find and manage) but i was so immediately overwhelmed that i didn't wanna slow down to wait on that process lol. there was very minimal communication other than brief progress check-ins every few weeks. i did everything for that project myself: the original concept, character designs, storyboards, layouts, backgrounds. i even did the editing/compositing for the final cut of the MV. the only favor i did myself was limiting the amount of it that was actually animated to simple loops and motions. hardly my best work but it was work still done

i did it all in between my full time job. i ended up having to take nearly a month away from most of my drawfee duties (with the support of the others) to make the august deadline. i only ever asked for a 3 day extension (notice given about a week in advance, around the same time i was given the final song file lol). i finished the music video at 6am on the final deadline and recorded drawfee the next day on 2 hours of sleep

but it was done, coolies. the team was very happy with the final product. honestly, without getting into it, those were a very emotionally taxing 4 months. on the professional side, i regretted agreeing to the project and especially for the dogshit rate they offered. i felt like a hypocrite- as someone who always wanted to advocate for younger artists demanding their worth in a world that's getting increasingly hostile toward creatives, i failed myself

so when i met with the manager to discuss the release plan, i told them to do whatever worked best for them as i only had one request: i wanted my credit removed from the project

tbh... like... lmao this dramatic bitch right!! but really, i decided that bad practices only breed worse business. friends or not, it was unprofessional of me to accept such a low paying job so i just didn't want my name used in association. everything felt so muddled to me and i was just really tired at this point

the manager was very understanding and then offered that i could be paid more. they said that their team "was surprised" i accepted their low rate and they would be happy to up the amount. this confused me as the initial budget seemed pretty set and at no point between april and august was i offered a better rate. i knew these guys weren't made of money. so, i declined. i didn't want to put anyone out of their means over work that was already done and agreed upon. but more importantly, i was over the whole thing and didn't want to prolong the project with a contract renegotiation. i just insisted my name be removed

they decided to use a pseudonym (which i was fine with) so they could create a story about a character who made the MV (this sounds really convoluted but i don't know how better to put it without getting specific, sorry). that way if people asked about the credit, they could speak comfortably about it without signaling that something went wrong behind the scenes. ok, kind of a silly narrative imo but whatevs. and maybe this is where i finally went truly wrong but. yolo i guess

i gave the name "D. Smithee", D as in dilfosaur and Smithee as in Alan Smithee. look it up for fun film trivia ig! was it passive aggressive of me to reference that in this context? yeah, honestly. but i thought it was kinda funny and really not that deep. if it was a problem, i have other real, non-cheeky pseudonyms i regularly use. the manager accepted it and all i had to do was wait for them to post the video and i could leave the whole experience behind me

a week later i received a message from the manager that my pseudonym had been denied by the rest of the team bc one of them got the reference. fair enough lol. however, they decided that rather than ask for a different name, the were going to make one up for me that they liked and would "fit the [story]", without asking me

and that! is when i finally snapped!

i was so tired of giving them concessions at this point and having a credit made up for me without any input from me felt genuinely violating and unethical. i started to Panic bc of how stressed i was, and asked for my overdue payments (aka the $500 still owed on the MV, and the colorist rate from a year prior that was never paid even tho i reported it in january) to be scheduled ASAP as i was leaving the work discord immediately

i finally told them off for exploiting me throughout the months while i kept trying to just be nice and finish my contact cleanly. in return i was told that it was unfair to say that as i agreed to everything- i accepted their cheap rate and denied further payment so that was all settled, and it was ok to change my credit without my consent bc i "said they could do whatever with the release". i called bullshit, ended the convo as kindly as i could, and cried lol. they agreed to ditch the pseudonym and just give no credit. that night was the last i heard from anyone on that team

and the real kicker?

august came and went. then september, october... and they never released the music video

and i don't know why, because i was never contacted about it. i've been removed from the picture entirely i guess. 4 months and boatloads of stress. just. up in smoke. i don't know what i expected honestly

it's hard to not take everything that happened personally and as done in bad faith. i really do, honestly. i've had plenty of shitty deals in my almost 10 year art career, but it hits different from people you saw as friends. but to the point of "why not keep it private", i have never felt so disrespected as a professional as i did this past year. i can toy with money and credits and other formalities all i want, but my work- my ideas, my labor, my effort- is still so important to me. i felt like the biggest idiot for doing so much work, pouring so much of myself into a piece for someone's use, for what has amounted to nothing

but more importantly i hated myself for undervaluing my work, even if initially i thought this person was a trusted friend. money is not really an issue for me- drawfee is my main job and i am fine and comfortable. it's so important to pay artists appropriately but i often undersell my own work bc i value the collaboration and passion between creatives more than the reward. i think a lot of artists tend to feel the same, and it often makes us easy to take advantage of. it's so difficult to find the balance between passion and making a fair living, and i think there's some shame within ourselves when artists choose to prioritize that passion

i wanted to finally get all this off my chest bc i was ashamed of every choice i made. things like this happen all the time i'm sure and hiding these mistakes only make it easier for it to happen to other people

tldr always value your work and protect your passion from people who just see it as a product. and don't give cheeky pseudonyms i guess lol

(and again pls don't bother anyone involved about this. a lot of chaos has left my life as i moved past all this, and this is me closing a door without opening new ones hopefully lol)

this shit was truly

so ass.

but i'm moving past it now

but on a nicer note. outside of all of this nonsense, i made lots of good memories this year. i'm truly so grateful to the many wonderful people in my life who keep me going even when i fuck up big time!

and thank you to all of you strangers who, despite everything, give me the time of day. especially if you read this whole thing. you're a real one :')

happy new year!

[arolesbianism]

You see oni is great because it's full of the lamest nonbinary people you've ever met except they're also all just some guy except they're also all massive freaks and also there's more of these freaks that are binary gendered it's just lame freaks all the way down

[mwphisto]

LaDs Men and the nicknames they love

Pairings include: Xavier x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Sylus x Reader | Caleb x Reader

Warning, this post contains: very light smut, nothing super detailed but definitely suggestive! Also fluff! Read at your own risk!

A/N: all moving banners in the post are by @cafekitsune + please be kind, as these are just my opinion / nicknames I have for them in game and in writings I’ve done. I had fun with this one! I def have more to write so you’ll be seeing more of me soon, thank you for the support!

Xavier

🐰Baby

Xavier isn’t sure what it is about the nickname. It’s so popular, so widely used, almost cliche. Some couples even find it cringy, and for him? It’s pretty damn modern. Maybe that’s why he loves it so much. Something about the way you sound when you call him baby, the tone of your voice, the caress of your fingers. That soft and sleepy “good morning, baby.” Sends his heart into a frenzy. It sparks kiss, then two, then three, and suddenly you’re making out and he’s shoving down his sweats to get inside of you.

“Keep calling me that, please. Need you to keep calling me your baby… I love it so much… fuck!”

🐰Xavi

Simple, sweet, playful. The first time you uttered the shortened version of his name, blood rushed to Xavier’s face. It wasn’t expect it, and for some reason it gave him cuteness aggression. He felt the need to tug you close, suffocate you with his hugs and kisses and maybe slip a nibble or two in there. However, the nickname could be used as a weapon against him. You’ve become prone to using it when he’s mad or jealous. “C’mon, Xavi! He was just giving me bread.” Yeah sure, just bread. That’s the first step, next is getting into your bed. Still, there is nothing he loves more than that nickname.

“Xavi, he’s just giving me bread!” His tone is higher, mocking you as he pounds you into the mattress. Xavi being the only name you can utter as he fucks you utterly senseless.

🐰Bunny

A classic. He just… he’s so… you know? How can you not? He’s your little bunny boy, your sweet, totally innocent bunny boy. You usually call him bunny through text, sending him selfies with the bunny plushie he won you in the claw machine (seems he had a new enemy). Bunny has also become a dual nickname, he’ll call you bunny right back whenever you’re excited or… riled up. It just suits him, suits you, makes perfect sense. “we also tend to fuck like bunnies.” A prompt slap to his bare shoulder sent him into a giggling fit.

“Tell—ha—tell me I’m wrong, my lil bunny…”

Rafayel

🐚 Bub or Bubba

This nickname just came so naturally once you and Rafayel had officially began dating. It just slipped out one day and Rafayel didn’t point it out — simply because he didn’t think you noticed. Then, it happened again, and again, and again. The variation between bub and bubba and sometimes both came out within the span of a minute. Eventually he teased you about it, but you claimed you couldn’t help yourself because he was just too cute. “If you can call me cutie, I can call you bubba.” Rafayel wasn’t complaining though.

“My sweet girl.” A gentle coo in your ear as he hugged you tighter from behind, lips ghosting the shell of your ear as his hips grind forward. “Let your bubba take care of you.”

🐚 Guppy

Rafayel had a huge love hate relationship with this chosen nickname. Initially he had gotten a little defensive, pouting his lips and puffing his cheeks and accidentally reinforcing your love for the nickname in the process. Now? He actually had to admit he thought it was pretty cute. Especially when you’d waltz into his studio, arms wrapping around his neck as you peck his cheek. “Is this your latest piece, guppy? It looks beautiful already!” The nickname was sweet, so sweet it made his cheeks warm every time you used it.

“You like this, huh guppy?” He was going to lose it, tugging against the silk restraints with a frustrated whine. “C-course…” but you fixed him in place with a cool stare “I mean… yes!”

🐚 Raffie

It came out while play fighting one night and Rafayel made you repeat it three times before bursting into a fit of giggles. He’d never heard anyone make his name cute before, so it was only right that his cutie was the one to do it. Though, there was also the argument that he had never let anyone get as close to him as you were. So, in a sense, the shortened and cute-ified version of his name was yours for the taking. It always had been, he was certain of it. “Raffie, what are we gonna do today? Wanna walk on the beach?” Or “Raffie, you’re wiggling too much I’m trying to sleep” no matter the context, Rafayel loved hearing the little nickname from you.

“R-Raffie! Feels so… good please don’t stop!” Your hips jerk against his lips, a fist full of his hair in your fingers: still, the nickname slipped past your lips. You weren’t far gone yet.”

Zayne

❄️ My Love

Just like all of your nicknames for him, none of them really shone through until after the surgeon and you made things official. So, it should be no surprise that Zayne’s face turned a shade of crimson the first time you said it. “My love, where did you put my reusable cup? I need it for training tomorrow.” Poor thing, he short circuited for a good two minutes before finally telling you where the cup had been moved to. Once he was used to it? Zayne started using the nickname back at you. “My love” became a common phrase.

“My love, I’ve missed you—“ a kiss “—so damn—“ another kiss “much…!” You were all over each other, two weeks apart due to surgeries and missions really caught up to you both.

❄️ Sweetheart

You picked it up from the man himself. Every time Zayne called you sweetheart, you found yourself calling it back. Turns out you were both creatures of habit. Whatever one did, eventually the other would pick up. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Don’t stay too late, those files can always wait for the next shift.” Your voice filled this ear, a gentle sigh leaving Zayne’s lips as tired eyes scanned over his computer screen. “Don’t worry, I’ll be mindful of the time. I just have to do one more round and I’ll be on my way home. Don’t wait up for me.” The sweet nickname was the mood boost Zayne needed to finish his shift.

“Hi, sweetheart.” It was groggy, a kiss on your brow was all you needed to know your lover was home. “Hi, my love.” You shivered at the cool sensation of his hands slipping under the covers, roaming your skin in search of some much needed warmth.

❄️ Zaynie

A nickname that you had used on him since childhood, and yet it never failed to make his heart beat just a little faster. As cute as it was, it carried a level of intimacy and domestic nature that made Zayne smile. “Zaynie! It’s your day off, what do you want to do?” And — astra help him — he could think of serval things he wanted to do that didn’t so much as involve leaving his bed. You were just too cute for his heart to handle, so sweet and beautiful and— well it is his day off after all.

“How about this, my love… does this work?” Your mind is reeling, a quite plea if “zaynie…” leaving your lips out of habit.

Sylus

🍷Handsome

Sylus could have fainted the first time you called him handsome. You had done it so nonchalantly, so genuinely too, for the first time the leader of Onychinus didn’t know what to do with himself. You noticed, of course, the little hitch in his breath and the widening of his eyes. And you didn’t say a word, just tucked it in the back of your mind for later. Eventually he got used to you calling him handsome, but it didn’t stop the flutter in his chest when you did. “Morning, handsome. Are we going to go for a walk?” Sure, a walk works, but he can think of way better things to do to… warm up.

“S-so handsome, my ha-handsome boy—“ Sylus groaned, hips swiveling against yours. “Still praising me? What a good girl…”

🍷My Beloved

He thinks you got the nickname from him, considering he’s called you it a handful of times himself. So, it becomes a shared nickname for eachother, and Sylus finds himself grinning like a fool whenever he hears you calling him. “Are you ready to go, my beloved?” Your hand is extended towards him, you’re both dressed to the nines, and he swears the butterflies in his chest are about to break through his damn rib cage. “Course I am, beautiful.” With a shaky little breath, his fingers intertwined with your own. Now? It was time to get the job done… hopefully he could focus for that long—

“Couldn’t help yourself, beloved?” This wasn’t exactly your first time getting pressed up against a wall by your lover while on a mission. And it certainly wouldn’t be your last… “you know I’m insatiable.”

🍷Sy

It was so effortless falling from your lips that Sylus barely noticed it the first few times you had used it. It wasn't until the twins had begun to chuckle that Sylus picked up on the key detail his brain had been glossing over. "So domestic, boss!" to which the two of them were banished from the kitchen. All you could do was laugh, a dopey grin on your face as your lover approached you with mock disdain. "Using a nickname in front of those two... what a dangerous game you're playing, kitten." You could only continue your giggling, even as he picked you up and placed you on the marble countertop. "Naughty naughty..."

"S-sy! Sylus! Shit- slow down!" But he could feel you thrusting your hips backwards to meet his erratic thrusts. "You're so indecisive -ha- kitten."

Caleb

🍏 Honey

Caleb had been cheeky back when you pretended to be his girlfriend, using the pet name as frequently as he could to really sell the act. But, somewhere along the way after things became official, you had begun to use the term genuinely. "Hi honey." Here and "honey, where did you put the laundry detergent?" there and suddenly he was doing it too. It made him feel warm and fuzzy every time you uttered the phrase, and he didn’t dare tease you about it in fear that you’d stop using it all together. He could be your honey any time.

“You like that, honey? Like when I do this?” His lips are all over your chest, nipping and sucking and licking. “Bet you do, you’re as sweet as honey… how about I give you some of my honey too?”

🍏 Lover Boy

It had started as a joke, you even changed his name in your phone to the silly little name. Then? It was something that stuck. He’d say something to you with hearts in his eyes and you couldn’t help but chuckle, a fond smile on your face as you whisper “okay, lover boy, whatever you say.” Other times, you’d come home from work with a tired expression on your face and sleepily mutter it. And fuck did it drive Caleb wild. Sometimes he’d even use it against you, just to see your face fall apart as he pressed his body against yours, whispering the beloved nickname in your ear.

“This is what you want your lover boy to do, huh? Fuck this pretty pussy stupid with his cock? Yeah, good girl, I bet.”

🍏 Kay (pronounced like a shortened version of his name)

You’ve used the nickname since childhood, a shortened version of his name that he’s become damn near trained to respond to. “C’mon, Kay, please?” Anytime you’d want him to cook for you, or do your share of chores, or when you needed help with your homework. The list goes on and on, but Kay was such a special term to him. He loved how sweet and natural it felt coming from your mouth. Even if you were whining a majority of the time you used it.

“Kay! C’mon! Harder!” You’re flushed and drooling, nails biting into his shoulders as you plead with him to fuck you just a little rougher.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

The adults are talking

Damian couldn't understand why Bruce and Dick were so obsessed all of a sudden.

They were obsessed.

with you.

If it wasn't for your little tantrum making you storm out of the house, no one would've noticed you leaving.

And he knew Jason and Tim thought the same.

The day you were forced here Dick had insisted that they'd talk to you.

The first day you came, Dick interrupted him taking care of Batcow to tell him to invite you to hang out.

During movie night, it was obvious your mind was somewhere else.

He just didn't understand why they had to interact with you, you were okay with just living with Miguel, why were you forced to be with them?

He decided to investigate further.

He made his way to the kitchen, passing by the hallway.

He noticed the newly placed pictures of you.

They were very clearly from your and your friend's social media, he recognized them from when he stalked stumbled upon you and your friend's socials.

In one photo in which Miguel was next to you, he was edited out, leaving an awkward space next to you.

As he got closer to the kitchen, he could hear you and Dick arguing.

He looked over the corner of the doorway in order to not get caught by either of you.

Your spidey senses went slightly off at that, but you ignored it, assuming it was coming from Dick.

Dick held the guitar, which was coated in stickers "Who's is this?"

You glared at him and put your hands on your hips "It's my friend's."

Dick raised an eyebrow at that "why did he even come here yesterday?"

"nunya." you tried reaching for the guitar, only for him to put it in the air, making it impossible for you to grab it

"c'mon birdie, I know you can do better than that!" Dick teased, swaying the guitar back and forth

"Don't call me that." you jumped to try and reach it and accidentally hit the counter, which made a stack of books hit the vase, domino-style.

Which in turn made a vase start to fall.

Stupid spidey-luck.

Before Damian could process it, the vase hit him on the head and shattered.

"watch it!" Damian exclaimed.

You and dick turned your heads to look at him.

You watched as Dick opened his mouth to speak, and quickly took your chance.

You kicked the back of his knees, which made him fall, and grabbed the guitar swiftly.

"bitch." you walked away, holding the guitar triumphantly

Dick sat down in shock for a moment before checking up on Damian.

"Are you alright?" Dick helped Damian up from the floor.

Damian dusted himself off "I'm fine."

Dick kept talking to him, but his voice faded out as Damian got an idea.

if he couldn't tell why Dick and Bruce were obsessed with you, he'll go straight to the source.

Damian burst into your room.

You were blasting music while journaling.

It was then he took a look at your clothes.

You were wearing an outfit he distinctly remembers you not owning.

You were wearing a red sweater, one that showed up in one of your friend's social media posts.

After a minute or two of awkward silence, you finally spoke up. "do you need anything?"

"you hurt me. Apologize." he crossed his arms in a sort of way that reminded you of Bruce

"alright. I'm sorry. Happy?" you stared at him blankly

"I'll forgive you if we socialize together." he had a poker face on, but you could tell he was slightly nervous.

You closed your journal "All alright, I'll hang out with you."

Damian looked confused like he didn't expect you to agree so fast

"I'm bored anyways, might as well. Where do you wanna go?" you got up from your bed and leaned against the wall, staring at Damian.

"Well, if you insist on this, we could go out to shop," Damian smirked

You stretched and started making your way towards your closet "All alright, just give me like 30 minutes to get ready.

"He made his way out your door.

You took a good 10 minutes choosing an outfit before deciding on one you wore once when you went to Peni's birthday, along with a friendship bracelet she made you.

You got started on your hair and makeup, not caring about the time you were taking.

You knew Damian was very punctual about time, but you didn't care.

As you were mid-way through, the door banged open and Damian barged in.

"hurry up." he glared at you

"hold on, I'm almost done." you lied

He grew impatient and started looking around your room. You couldn't fully blame him; it's a household full of detectives, obviously, they were all nosey.

He looked at one of your walls, which had a lot of pictures of you and your friends.

In one of them, you were carrying a sleeping girl. She looked around his age and was wearing a sweater of yours. Her black short hair was braided, like how yours was in the picture.

In another frame, you and all your friends were at a birthday party. He assumed it was yours, the way you had a party hat on and everyone was around you.

In some pictures you weren't even in them.

There was a couple where they were centered around a blonde-haired girl and a boy with the biggest doe eyes.

In one picture, you were all playing in a band someplace where Bruce would never let you step foot in.

"Those are my friends," you spoke, still doing your hair "I feel like you'd get along with them."

"TT as if." he scoffed, moving onto a jewelry box on the side of your vanity.

He opened it and saw a lot of themed jewelry, mostly based on spider people.

Some weren't themed, like a pair of earrings he was now holding in his hands.

You spoke up, still sitting at the vanity "Oh Can you pass me those? I feel like it's gonna complete my outfit."

He walked up to you and handed you the earrings and watched as you put them on.

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

A bunch of crochet plushes on your bed.

They were themed, yet again.

You saw him staring at them"They were based on some people I know. If you want I can ask Gwen to make you one?"

Damian looked at you, slightly confused "Why would I need a plush? That is highly immature. especially since-"

You cut him off. "if this is about them being spider people I could ask her to make a robin plush."

Damian nodded at you, in a way that was so serious it made you chuckle.

Damian was growing impatient. You were taking a long time to get ready.

He walked up to you "Are you done?" he was cartoonishly thumping the floor with his foot like a certain cartoon rabbit.

"Almost, I swear!" you grabbed the perfume on your vanity and sprayed yourself.

Damian was standing next to where you were sitting, and you took that as a sign to put some of your perfume on him.

As soon as you did, he started having a coughing fit.

"what was that?!" he kept coughing and trying to wave the smell away.

You tilted your head in confusion "I thought you wanted some?"

"why would I want some of your perfume?!" his coughing fit slowed down, he was obviously dramatizing it

"oh c'mon, it wasn't that serious!" you got up and grabbed your keys.

You started making your way out your door before remembering you didn't have your purse, which had your phone and wallet.

"Dami," you said in a sing-songy voice "could you grab my purse? It's on my nightstand."

He made sure you didn't see his smile at the nickname as he made his way to your nightstand and took note of the picture frame next to your bed.

It was of all your friends + you huddled up together. You all had a birthday hat on and you had a sash that said "birthday girl".

He knew it was probably from the same birthday he saw in another picture frame earlier.

He grabbed your bag and handed it to you, relieved he was finally gonna make his way to the mall with you.

You guys made your way to the parking garage with all the cars anyone could ask for.

You picked a car, one of which you bought yourself and picked out with Miguel.

It was your favorite color.

"All alright Damian, I'll grab the car seat for you." you joked and tried to look as serious as possible

"wait what?" he watched as you went into the trunk and grabbed a princess car seat fit for a toddler.

You bought it a while ago for car rides with Mayday.

"Alright, get on." you pat the car seat, indicating for Damian to get on.

Damian pouted "I'm much too old for that"

"Are you sure? The car seat says it works until the kid is 8, you're 7 so it's fine." you tried to hide your smirk

Damian glared at you, obviously annoyed. "I am not 7! I'm 14!"

"right....." it was getting harder for you to not laugh

"I'm serious!" his voice cracked midway through the sentence, making you burst out laughing.

His face turned a little red "It's not funny!"

"You're right, I'm sorry." you were trying to calm yourself down, only to laugh out loud really loud again.

Damian tried to suppress his laughter as well, only to let out a chuckle.

"get in loser, we're going shopping." you sat down in the driver's seat and he sat down in the passenger seat.

It was silent for a moment...until you looked at Damian and started laughing for no reason.

Damian looked around confused "What's so funny?"

You tried to calm yourself down and failed "I don't know!"

You only stopped when Alfred heard what sounded to him like a hyena laughing, and went to check out the garage.

As soon as he heard the laughter coming from the car, he made his way to your windows.

As soon as you noticed him, you stopped laughing.

"master damian and mistress Y/N, where are you going?"

You glared at him, annoyed. "out to do errands."

"May I tag along? I too have errands to run. I have to-" You cut him off by pulling up the window and turning on your music.

You could see Alfred trying to talk to you, but you just put on your sunglasses and drove out.

Damian was shocked, he couldn't believe you would do that.

You blasted your music and sang and danced along, to him it felt like a scene straight out of a girly 2000s movie.

He noticed how your keys had an Araña-themed keychain.

The fuzzy dice on the driver's mirror.

The bedazzled steering wheel.

There was some trash on the floor of the passenger seat.

He could see that in the backseats there was a coloring book and random stray crayons.

The car door next to him had a bunch of stickers everywhere.

In the back seat, there was half a broken drumstick.

There was a broken guitar string somehow tied up in a bow and left on the other seat.

There were random traces of paint everywhere.

"why is it so dirty in here?" he looked at you, slightly concerned about how you were driving so well despite putting on lipgloss at the same time.

"I wouldn't call it dirty, it's just chaos. Controlled chaos." you put away your lipgloss and kept driving "Put in a new CD, I'm bored of this album."

He reached into the glove compartment and immediately noticed a ton of snacks falling out of the compartment.

"oh yeah, just ignore that. I keep those just in case," you said

"In case of what?" Damian asked, still somewhat shocked at the amount of snacks and drinks that somehow fit in there

"in case anyone wants some. If you want you can have some. There are some vegan options in there, I think." you pulled out a mascara tube and started doing your lashes.

Damian then pulled out a bag of veggie chips and started eating them.

"well? are you going to get the CD or not?" you questioned, nudging him playfully.

"I can't see them." he pointed out

You waved your hand at him "You have to dig in deep, you'll find it somewhere."

He hesitated before digging and trying to look for it.

Inside he found:

A portable DVD player, a bunch of DVDs, at least 16 business cards from random small businesses, 7 types of nail polish, 2 iPods, an iPad, 4 random band shirts, a deflated soccer ball, an empty wallet, 6 different chargers (4 of which were broken beyond repair), 5 lipglosses, 2 friendship bracelets, and finally some CDs.

"how does all of this fit in this tiny compartment?" he looked at you, concerned yet again.

"hammerspace." you said, casually

Damian looked at you blankly "What?"

"don't even worry about it." you went back to driving.

He pulled out a random one and handed it to you.

"oh, awesome! I love this album!" you placed it in the CD player.

"Why do you even use CDs? I'm sure Father could get you a new car with a working music player." Damian said, putting everything back in the glove compartment.

"I like it better like this. This car has memories and I've owned some of those cd's since I was in elementary. I just think they're neat!" you took a sip of a random drink you found in your car.

Damian raised an eyebrow at that. He didn't remember you bringing that into the car.

"I found this random water bottle here. It's either me or Margos, and it's probably 4 weeks old," you said, as if you read his mind.

you took another sip. "on second thought, this is probably Gwens."

Everything was a mess.

Yet he felt so at home.

When you guys finally got to the mall, you got to work on your errands.

You grabbed your crumpled-up paper shopping list "Alright, first we need to go to a craft store."

"Why do we need to go to a craft store?" he asked, still eating the veggie chips from earlier

"Because," you grabbed a shopping cart "I need to grab a couple of things."

As you guys made it to the crafts store, you got an idea.

"Damian," you pointed to the cart "get in the cart."

"What?" he raised an eyebrow

"get in." you smiled

"Are you serious? I can't do that!" he argued

You put your hands on your hips "I don't care. Get in the cart."

"I will not! This is foolish behavior!" he stomped

You ignored him and picked him up like a cat and placed him in the cart.

You ignored his protests and kept shopping.

After a minute or two he calmed down.

You went to the art aisle and didn't know what supplies to get Miles.

"it was a good thing I brought you, I know basically nothing about what types of markers there are." You handed Damian two options.

"well don't know, I don't use those types of materials." he handed them back

"shit. Well, I'll just get all of them." you put one of each type of marker and strolled away, cart in hand.

You made your way to the sticker aisle and immediately put a ton of stickers in the cart as well.

"Why do you need so many?" Damian asked, picking up one of the sticker packs which was Vocaloid-themed.

"Because you can never have too many stickers!" you put more in the cart and strolled away again.

By the time you got to the checkout aisle, all the things you bought made you look like one of the people from the math problems.

The cashier looked at you a bit crazy but stopped when he saw you pull out a black card.

As soon as you both made your way out the door, you dragged Damian towards a music store.

You picked out some more CDs for you and some albums for your friends.

a Babymetal album for Peni, a Frank Ocean one for Miles, the Ramones one for Hobie, Daisy and the Scouts for Gwen, and a Sza album for Margo.

You dragged Damian to other stores, most of which he hated.

To cheer him up, you decided to take him to a store you knew most 14-year-old boys liked.

A comic book store.

"Damian look at these!" you handed him an invincible comic

"TT. they're just books." he put it back in its place.

You scoffed and kept looking at the comics

"Oh my gosh! They have a limited edition Gwenpool comic! I've been looking for this everywhere!" you held it up in the air dramatically

You could tell he was pretending to be unamused. He kept looking around.You placed your Gwenpool comic in the cart

"Is this an X-Men comic? I've seen Miles read them, he says they're good."

You saw Damian perk up immediately and grab it out of your hands.

Usually, you'd be upset at his bad manners, but he looked at the comic with such childlike wonder he looked 7 years old again.

Sure, back when both of you were younger he'd threaten you and go out of his way to ignore you, but who didn't?You felt a weird sort of nostalgia.

You shook that thought away and kept looking at the comics.

By the time you guys left the bookstore, you guys had a lifetime supply of manga and comics.

"Okay, we should head back to the manor."

"it's still early? It's not even lunchtime?"

"you need your naptime, you keep yawning"

"I am not," he said, suppressing a yawn

You held his hand while making your way to the car, a force of habit from holding Peni's.

He stared at your hands" Why are you holding my hand?"

You chuckled, letting go "Sorry, force of habit."

He ignored how he missed that small sign of affection.

You both put your things in the trunk. You guys ran out of space and had to put some things in the backseat.

You guys sat down and you played your music.

After a couple of moments, Damian fell asleep.

When you guys finally got to the manor, Damian was half asleep, pretending to be fully asleep.

You smiled and started grabbing all the bags.

You picked him up and carried him out of the passenger seat princess-style and made your way to his room, ignoring Alfred trying to ask about your day.

You ran into Alfred the cat, remembering how you completely forgot he existed.

The last time you saw him, you were around 14 and Damian taught him to avoid you.

Despite how many times you'd try to pet the cat, it'd run away.

You continued to place Damian in his bed and tuck him in.

You kissed him on the forehead, accidentally leaving a lipgloss stain.

You started placing down the bags full of the things he bought, not realizing you accidentally left one of your bags in his room.

You walked out of his room, not noticing his small smile.

Now he understood why dick and Bruce liked you.

You were in your room putting your things away.

You were also putting the things you bought for your friends into gift bags.

It took a while for you to notice you were missing your Gwenpool comics and the manga you bought for Peni.

By the time you noticed, Damian barged into your room yet again.

"you forgot something." he handed you the bag, it had the things you were looking for.

"oh thank you!" you skimmed through the comic, taking in the new book smell.

He hopped onto your bed and looked at one of the plushes on your bed.

It was different from the other ones, which were all different variations of spider people, this one was a red robot.

It sort of reminded him of the robots from Evangelion.

He rolled around in your bed for a bit before sitting up.

He was bored.

You spoke up, finishing up folding your laundry "We should do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Oh my gosh! We should go picnicking!"

"what."

"we can cook and bake! I'm kinda hungry anyways."

"..fine."

You guys made your way to the kitchen, you grabbed your cookbook.

It was badly covered in glitter and decorated like a burn book.

As soon as you placed it down on the counter, Damian looked at you confused.

"what is it?" you asked, opening the book.

"why is it covered in glitter?"

"can a girl not be filled with joy and whimsy?"

"fair enough."

"I have an idea! We both make dishes and share them at the park."

"okay?"

Damian then started making his meal, and you made one of your own.

After an hour or two, you both had everything prepared.

You made a few drinks and meals for you and Damian. You also packed some chips just incase he didn't want the food you made.

You both got in your car and left for the park

You lay on the blanket, admiring the bright blue sky.

You pointed to a random cloud "that cloud kind of looks like a butt."

"You're childish." he laid down next to you.

"what do you think it looks like then?" you asked

"...I think it looks like a cat." he pointed out

You laughed "There's no way you see that."

A moment of silence passed through and Damian thought back to the moment with you and Alfred.

Lately, you have been acting strangely rude to him.

"Why don't you like Pennyworth?"

"what do you mean?" you asked, sitting up

"what has he done for you to treat him like that?" he sat up as well

You wanted to tell him.

You wanted to tell him about all those nights you spent sobbing to him asking why no one loved you.

You wanted to tell him about how he'd always defend the people that hurt you.

You wanted to tell him about how you could tell that he only pitied you, and didn't care.

You wanted to tell him about how you knew since the beginning he never cared about you.

You wanted to tell him about Julia, Alfred's daughter, and how he abandoned her.

You decided to stay quiet about those things.

You guys had just now started to get along, it'd be strange of you to randomly dump all your problems onto him.

"I just have a bad feeling about him," you replied

"That's all? No support to that claim or anything?"

"I mean, I am a spider-person, most of us have great intuition."

"you do?"

"yeah!"

It went silent and you decided to change the topic. You didn't wanna keep talking about Alfred

"Well, we should start eating now, right?" you asked, pulling out some Dal you had prepared earlier.

Damian pulled out some dolma he had also made.

You took a bite out of the food you prepared "This Dal is so bomb. Look, try it!"

"no. I have no idea what you could done to that food," he said, backing away from the food as if it was going to bite him

"oh, c'mon! its not that bad. look, I'll eat some so you know it's good." you took another bite of it, basically melting at the taste.

"here comes the choo choo train. Choo choo" You brought a piece to his mouth

"stop this madness at once!" he snatched the piece out of your hand and looked at it.

He hesitated before taking a bite.

"TT. This is acceptable, I suppose."

You smiled and picked him up, "he's alive! he's alive! The food didn't kill him!" Everyone around you started staring at you.

Damian tried to shut up your yelling by putting a hand over your mouth and failed.

You let him down and started laughing.

"You're embarrassing me!" he said, trying to cover up his reddened face.

After a moment of comfortable silence, he spoke up "I'm shocked you can cook."

You gasped dramatically and flopped onto the ground, holding your heart as if you were dying "You're so mean."

Damian took another bite of his dolma "Where did you learn to cook that?"

"Pav and his auntie showed me, it took a lot of trial and error but now I basically know it like the back of my hand." you sat up and took a bite of his food.

He glared at you, but you knew it had a playful undertone.

"I think I burned down his kitchen at least twice. I love his auntie." you took a sip of your drink, which was a horchata.

He looked at your drink "What's that?"

"This is horchata, I learned it from Miguel. He taught me, it's pretty good, have a sip." you handed him your drink

He hesitated a little less than last time

".. I suppose it's fine."

"Prince Damian liking my cooking? It's a miracle!" you clapped and he hit you on the shoulder, making you fall dramatically yet again.

While you both were talking, a brunette little boy came up to you both.

He looked no older than 5, and he had tears in his big black eyes.

He came up to you "Hi, I am Elijah, and I can't find my mommy. She said not to talk to strangers but I don't know what to do!"

He started bawling his eyes out, and in an attempt to calm him down, you handed him a juice box.

"Look, we'll help you find your mom, okay?" you stood up and picked up Ellijah on your hip.

Elijah was starting to calm down.

That was until Damian glared at Elijah, making him cry even harder.

You glared back at Damian, knowing that this was gonna make it harder to find his mom.

You had to make him stop crying, stat.

So, you did the only thing you knew worked for you. The things your friends did when you cried.

"..do you want a piggyback ride?"

That shut up Ellijah really quickly.

After the piggyback ride, you put him down and decided to keep chatting with Elijah.

Damian spaced out both of you talking in order to not get too mad that your time together was being interrupted.

That was until Elijah insulted Damian.

"he's a butthead!" he pointed at Damian

"if you don’t shut it, I’m going to give you a new set of holes to breathe out of." Damian said glaring at Elijah again.

"Damian," you said sternly, bringing Elijah closer to you just in case.

After half an hour his mom finally came."oh I'm so glad I found him!" his mom said, hugging Ellijah close

"Mommy!" Elijah hugged her back, making you smile.

"oh I have to pay you back!" the woman spoke, pulling out a wad of cash from her wallet

"no thank you, ma'am, I'm fine I swear," you said, refusing

"no, I insist!" she tried handing it to you, only for you to push it away.

You backed off a little "It's completely free! he's a sweet guy!"

The woman finally gave up "Do you babysit?"

"Sometimes, yeah! Do you need my business card?" you started pulling one out of your purse

You guys fell into conversation, and Damian was growing impatient.

After another 30 minutes, you both packed up everything and went home.

The car ride was silent, unlike the other times when it was filled with laughter, chatting, and music.

Once you both got to the manor, you spoke up "What was that about?!"

Damian flinched at your sudden anger "What was what about?"

"Why did you threaten a 5-year-old?" you looked him in the eyes

He crossed his arms "he insulted me."

"he called you a buttface." You pointed out

"I stand by my point," Damian said

You put your hands on your hips "Why did you get so mad over a kid? he doesn't even know his numbers!"

"I don't see your point," Damian argued

"youre insuffuerable! I get why everyone calls you a demon." you grew angrier by the second.

"You an annoyance!" Damian stomped"why are you so stubborn, Peni?!" you yelled.

You both froze at the mention of her name.

You awkwardly made your way to your room, avoiding Damian's eyes.

You didn't notice how despite his angry face, there was a tint of sadness in his eyes.

you were in your room, processing what happened after a nice everything shower.

you were doing your skincare when you got a call from Noir.

"hey doll, do you mind taking care of peni for a bit?"

"of course! did anything happen?" you said, putting the call on speaker

"no, its just that peni's been asking to hang out with you for quite a while. plus, it'd be less worrying to go out on patrol and not be scared for her." in the backround, you could make out the sound of peni getting her things ready

"No problem, peni's an angel! what time will you be getting here?"

"is 15 minutes fine?"

"of course! is it a sleepover or just like a hangout?"

"sleepover."

"alright, ill see you both later."

you spent the next 15 minutes putting on your pjs and getting everything ready.

you prepared snacks and a movie night.

you were so ready for her to come over!

15 minutes had gone by when you heard the doorbell ring.

you ran through the dark, haunted looking walls.you pushed back Dick, who was also trying to get to the door.

"I'll get it!" you basically slammed yourself against the door.

you quickly recovered and opened the door.

"Noir!" you noticed how peni wasnt next to him like she usually was "wheres peni?"

"shes getting her stuff from the car."

"thats fine, come in!" you invited him in

"thanks."

alfred and noir made conversation, and you didnt notice damian basically stalking you all

you saw through the window that peni was on her way in. you jumped from your seat on the floor you will never be worthy enough for the family couch and opened the door for her.you spun peni into a hug

"Hi angel!"

Peni laughed, smiling at how tightly ypu were hugging her.

you didnt notice damian sneaking into your room.

As soon as he got there, he ran to your plushies.

Uour stupid plushies.

He pulled out his katana and started ripping them.

He had no idea why he'd done it, he just wanted to.

He made sure to focus on the Miguel plush, he was so mad that man took you away from them.

by the time you got back to your room with Peni not that far behind, you froze looking at the plusihies.

Damian didnt look guilty.

You dragged him away from the plushies, and dodging his kicks and punches as much as you could you scolded Damian "Why would you do that?"

he stayed silent, avoiding your eyes.

you slammed the door on his face and made your way to the plushies.

you held the now mangled miguel plush in your hands, and tried to not let out any tears.

Peni picked up your Miles plushie, which was now missing an eye and got an idea:

"I can probably fix this up, if youd like?"

"Actually?"

"Yeah! noir taught me how to sew a while ago."

She started fixing them and you finished setting up everything, still angry at Damian.

Why would he do this? He was the one who started all of this.everything started off great with him, what happened?

the more you thought of it, the more angry you got.

Meanwhile, Damian was in his room processing what he had done.

He didnt know why he did it exactly.

Could it be the jealousy?

Seeing you treat others that arent related to you like family?

Seeing you treat the little boy like the baby brother you never had?

Seeing you hold Peni and Peni not resisting?seeing how happy you were with her?

He's never felt so humiliated being kicked out of your room while companies over!

He had to apologize before peni could replace him before you hated him like you hated Alfred.

He made his way to your room and heard you and peni talking.

"She said i walk like a bitch, what does that even mean?!" a high pitched voice spoke, damian assumed came from the younger girl.

"Shes so annoying. i dont even know her and she sounds stupid." you said

"She is!" the high pitched voice spoke

Damian barged in.

He saw you painting peni's nails, and a movie playing in the background.

It was legally blonde, a movie he once caught Jason watching in his apartment.

an awkward silence passed by

You looked up at him "do you need something?"

"yes." he spoke up

"..well what is it?"

"i insist she leaves." Damian pointed to Peni

you quickly hid her behind you "She is not leaving."

"Y/n-" peni tried to interject, only to be cut off by you.

"Listen, damian, she isnt leaving. whatever you have to say, you can say it to my face."

"..Fine."he took a deep breath "i apologize." he muttered, ever so quietly.

"what was that?" you said, squatting down a bit to get to his level

"I apologize!" he put his head down in embarrassment

"Was that so hard?" You put you hands on your hipsyou took a deep breath "Okay, its whatever."

you continued "Im also sorry for getting so mad at you. and for calling you by Peni's name."

"You did what now?" Peni said, suprised.

"It's a long story." you started kicking damian out of your room.

The last thing he saw in your room was the now stitched up plushies.

As soon as he got out, you started talking to peni.

"Peni, please be careful around him."

Peni looked at you, confused "What do you mean?"

You opened a nail polish "He threatened a literal 5 year old."

Peni looked at you, bewildered "what?"

it was 3 in the morning when Peni got thirsty.

She knew that most likely, every one of your family members would be on patrol.

She started making her way out your room, making sure you didnt wake up.

Even though you were a heavy sleeper, she didnt wanna wake you up.

She knew her way around the manor, you've prevously hosted small get togethers with the spider-gang without anyone noticing.

As soon as she got to the kitchen, she noticed how damian was there.

She knew you had told her to be careful around him.

She tried sneaking around him, only for him to sneak up on her.

"Boo." Peni jumped at Damian scaring her.

"You scared me."

As she was about to yell at him, she felt something brush past her leg.

a little black and white cat.

"Awww, what a cutie!" She picked him up.

Damian was about to protest, knowing that alfred the cat usually would attack when picked up.

It caught him off guard how calm the cat was.

She put her hand out to him "I'm Peni."

He shook her hand "I know. Im Damian."

"He usually doesnt tolerate newcomers." He spoke

"Well, he can probably sense how i have a cat." Peni pet Alfred.

Damian's eyes lit up at her words "You do?"

"Yep! noir has a cat named Ding Ding, she's so sweet." Peni's eyes also lit up at being able to talk about it.

They both started talking about little cat facts, sitting on the kitchen floor.

They only stopped when they heard a certan voice.

"Can you guys shut up? It's literally 3 am." you rubbed your eyes, half asleep.

"Y-yeah, we'll be quiet, sorry." Peni prayed youd forget the warning you gave her to be careful around Damian.

You turned around to go back to bed, only to walk back when you remembered.

You started lightly scolding Peni about not hearing your warning, with Damian trying not to laugh.

Peni glared at Damian and spoke up "listen, im fully unharmed, see?"

You realised you were overreacting and took a deep breath. "youre right, im sorry. i just got all worried."

you quickly bear hugged her "Im so sorry angel, I wont do this again!"

"Y/n!" Peni laughed as quietly as she could.

"C'mon guys, lets head to bed." You picked them both up by the scruff of the neck, suprising Damian

"Put me down at once! Stop this nonsense!" He tried thrashing around.

He looked at Peni to see if she was doing the same thing, only to see her acting like this was normal between them.

You dropped Damian off at his room and brought peni to yours.

Damian ended up sneaking into your room an hour later

oh my god this is ass lmfao

if it feels rushed thats cause it was i was loosing motavation to finish this

im sososo sorry for the mistakes its like 3 am rn

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[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[sugarplumfairy777]

𓂃⋆.˚ ۫ ꣑ৎ a short n’ sweet guide on how to induce the void state ft. hachi

—————————————————————————

meet hachi a young girl who one day stumbles on how to induce pure consciousness. this is her journey:

day 1:

hachi spends her first day scrolling through some of her favorite bloggers posts; a little bit after she scrolls through “#void state” and “#pure consciousness” after a few minutes she comes across a post that reminds her of her power and how she can induce the void state like literally R I G H T N O W now hachi is ready and excited to induce pure consciousness, so she lays down and goes through a flow of instructions and BOOM she is now and her most natural and pure form, which some know as pure consciousness, the void state, I am state, or whatever you wanna call it. now if you thought the following while reading hachi’s journey, you do not understand what it means to be god.

-if you thought that hachi’s journey sounds too fake or too unrealistic because she induced her purest form on the first day of finding out about it, you do not understand.

- if you feel bad now that your journey is longer than hachi’s you do not understand, it doesn’t matter if it’s been two weeks since you’ve been on your journey or if it’s been 4+ years it does not matter at all.

-if you thought of ANY limitations or had any doubt or thoughts of how you can still fail or even uttered “b-b-but that doesn’t make sense, that’s not pos—” yeah, uhm I’ll stop you there before you accidentally make a fool of yourself.

what are you talking about, “impossible” “unrealistic” “too hard” nothing is any of those words for you; a god. like seriously stop making my point fly across your head, YOU ARE GOD. period.

now for the curious people who are wondering, “what did hachi do to induce the void state so fast????”:

step 1: recognize your truth

𓂃⋆ the first step is realizing the most important truth: you are god. you are not a body, not a mind, not tied to any rules or limits. you are pure consciousness—infinite, powerful, limitless. there is no separation between you and the universe because you are the universe. everything flows from you. the void state isn’t something outside of you—it’s within you, always has been.

step 2: it’s already yours

𓂃⋆ the void isn’t something you need to “enter.” there’s no effort, no struggle. it’s instant. you are already there because you are it. time doesn’t exist in the void; it dissolves the moment you recognize your infinite nature. don’t overthink it. you don’t have to do anything special. the void is your natural state—limitless potential, pure being. just by knowing this, you’re already connected to it.

step 3: let go of limitations

𓂃⋆ close your eyes if you want, but know it’s not even necessary. all limits, all beliefs, all stories are illusions. they don’t define you. in this moment, drop everything that tells you who you are “supposed to be.” you are beyond all of that. realize the simplicity of it: there’s no need to fight or overcome anything. just let it go. you’re already infinite.

step 4: feel the stillness

𓂃⋆ once you let go of everything, there’s only stillness. this stillness is you. it’s not the absence of movement—it’s the presence of infinite potential. in this space, there’s no need to question, doubt, or analyze. you don’t need to “try” to reach the void, because you’re already embodying it. the moment you stop chasing it, you realize you were already there.

step 5: exist as pure consciousness

𓂃⋆ in the void, you are pure consciousness, untouched by the world, unshaped by time or space. you are everything and nothing at once. feel this—you are the creator of all, and yet, you are perfectly still. this state is simple, yet profound. you don’t have to do anything to maintain it. just be aware of your own infinite nature.

that’s it. the void state is effortless because you are it. there’s no process, no waiting, only instant realization that you are god, and everything is within your power. hachi did nothing but know her powerful and boom— she manifested her dream closet, her dream body, her dream boyfriend and her dream life in general. if she & so many others can—then so can you 🩷 it’s nothing that deep :p

note: the steps are not required duh anything and everything you do whilst holding the intention of inducing the void state is correct and guaranteed you are god so stop doubting. https://www.tumblr.com/sugarplumfairy777/772229618617991168/failure-doubt-limitations

[drchucktingle]

my masks

hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.

im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great. 

lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is. 

unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.

the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.

ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield

anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum

when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned. 

later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.

HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.

anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’. 

when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.

one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’

so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?

my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)

from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept. 

the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.

eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.

lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.

this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.

the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.

a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual. 

fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist

[n7punk]

Tumblr Backup Options: None of them do everything

Cheeky but true. I'll go through what's good and bad about each option though so you can decide which balances out for you.

Covered: native export, WordPress (kinda), TumblThree, tumblr-utils (kinda)

Native Export

If you go to "https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/yourblogname", at the bottom of the page is an export option

Once you hit the button to start the request, it will start processing. Feel free to log off, this is going to to take a few hours. You don't need to keep it open. ~22k posts took roughly a day for me. If you have a small number of posts and get stuck, you're probably broken.

When it's done processing, you can hit that download backup button and then wait some more as you wait for the zip file to download. Mine failed the first time after like twenty minutes, and then I had to start over. I think it took 1-2 hour(s) and I'm almost certain that was on Tumblr and not my internet. And that was the zip file! So make sure your computer can be on for a while before getting this started.

So what do you get?

A media folder, conversations folder, and posts folder

Media folder: Every single photo, gif, and video that has ever been on your blog or in your DMs. There is no context data attached (except for dm images which do say which conversation they're from at least), but they seem to be in chronological order because they seem to be titled by the post's ID (the string of numbers in the address bar after "/post/"). They look like "100868498227", "100868498228_0", "100868498228_1"

When you see something end with "_0" and up that means the photos are in the same post, so _0 represents the first image in the post, _1 represents the second, etc (at least, I think).

Conversations folder: HTML export files of every DM history you have on your blog. These are actually pretty well formatted, see example here.

Posts folder: html subfolder and posts_index.html file

posts_index.html: File listing every single post on your blog by post ID on its own line with no other context. Example of a line: "Post: 780053389730037760". The ID number will link to the post in the html folder

html subfolder: contains a submissions subfolder and stripped html file versions of every post on your blog. See below first what the post looks like on Tumblr, and second what the post looks like in the html folder

The way you seem to be intended to use this is to open the file index, select a post ID, and be jumped to where that post is saved as an html file, but I don't know why you would bother when the index doesn't provide any information about the posts inside it. The posts all have extremely minimal formatting. See a reblog chain below.

Notice I said ALL posts on your blog. Photo posts without a caption will just have a broken image icon and then the date and tags. Theoretically, it might be that if you unzip the entire export folder that allows it to automatically link to the image saved in your media folder. I have no fucking idea, unzipping the folder was estimated to take two hours so I didn't do it. Let me know if you do though so I can update this post!

The submissions folder is such a rabbithole I made a post just on it but long story short it's asks you haven't replied to

What do I see as the main reasons to opt for this option? 1) you don't want to download any programs or files from the internet just to backup your blog, 2) your blog is relatively small, so digging through the ID files isn't a big deal, 3) you mostly just want to download either the images (which will be browsable via thumbnail previews in the media folder if you unzip it) or conversation history, which are fairly well formatted, 4) you don't need to update your export often/ever, because you'd have to request it from the start and download the entire thing all over again, 5) you want to be able to read your text posts clearly and don't care about preserving the full formatting, and/or 6) you don't plan to reupload this information elsewhere (say on... a WordPress blog)

WordPress Automatic Ex/Import

Move your post's from Matt's right hand to his left! WordPress (another product of Automattic) has a native Tumblr importer found under your WP Admin dashboard for your site under Tools > Import > Tumblr.

How does this work? No idea! I hit import 2 days ago and it has done nothing. Maybe I'm stuck, maybe it's permanently broken. It says to contact support if it's been over 24 hours but they don't make that easy. I disconnected from Tumblr (you can only port over a blog you have the login of) and reconnected and it still said it was importing. I don't think it's ever going to do anything.

Presumably it's supposed to 1:1 import every post on your blog onto the WordPress site, which will result in a whole lot of stolen art because there's no way to select just your original posts. Also, you'd need enough storage on your webhost to house all the posts (this honestly might be my problem, but I was planning to delete all the non-original posts once it imported.... anything and backfill what it didn't get to). The one thing I'll say about this option is that it's the only one I've seen so far that exports drafts and queues as well.

I mean, if it exported anything. If this ever does anything I'll update this post, but either my blog is too large or this tool isn't totally functional anymore.

TumblThree

(previously TumblTwo, etc)

TumblThree is an all-in-one program requiring no extra downloads beyond the main Zip, and was last updated fairly recently at the time of this post. In order to run it, unzip it into one folder and run the main .exe. It has a full UI interface with lots of very descriptive helper text to help you select the right options for you without looking at the wiki. I think it's user-friendly for non-tech people.

There are a lot of options in TumblThree to change what output it gives you, but I'm going to start with the largely universal parts first:

Everything from one blog will be exported to one folder, no subfolders or sorting. As a result, the output is very messy and difficult to wade through, but post metadata and the photos are named in the same way so you can scroll, see an image preview, and then click on the metadata txt for that post and read the caption.

Depending on your settings, you can export all photos, videos, text posts, etc as their own files or exclude them from the export entirely. For the different types of media posts, you can independently select if you what to download just the media, just the metadata for it (everything that surrounds the post when you see it on Tumblr, such as the caption, OP, tags, etc), or both.

Master txt file: For every type of media metadata you export, a correspondingly named txt file will be created (images.txt, answers.txt, etc) that contains the text/metadata of every post of that type in one txt file. This is also the default behavior for exporting text posts.

Note: for text posts (which includes asks/answers), it only creates a master txt file if you do not select "Save texts as individual files", in which case it will only save each text as an individual txt file and not make a master file.

The formatting on these files is so brutal I won't even give examples, but they're unreadable. Being a .txt file, there is no native formatting, so it exports in html formatting.

Example: instead of a post that says "I want to go swimming", it exports: "I want to go < b >swimming< / b >" (minus the spaces around the b) as the post body, which is a big part of what makes it unreadable, because there are a lot of hyperlinks in all the header information listed below.

Each post in the master txt exports with: Post ID, date, post URL, slug, reblog key (no idea what that is), reblog URL, reblog name, title, [the text/caption itself], and tags.

Theoretically this means you could ctrl+f "cybertrucks" in the master txt file and then browse all your posts making fun of Tesla owners by tabbing through the returns. This is not possible with any of the previous options, and only is possible because it's all in one file, as ridiculous as it is, which is why getting that master file is so important.

For the trick to get both the individual text posts and master text.txt & answers.txt file, as well as my recommended settings and details on how updating backups works, see the read more at the end of this post.

The images.txt includes all the information listed above, but with the following additions: photo url (NOTE: this is the url on Tumblr, not a link to where it is in your folder), photo set URLs, photo caption, and "downloaded files" (NOTE: this is the name of the file it has downloaded)

The video.txt is similar to the above

The use case for this would be similar to what I described for text posts above: search keywords from captions, tags, etc and when you find what you think is what you want, copy the name from "downloaded files" and search your folder to find the actual image

I really hated TumblThree's output the first time I looked at it and then I realized the single file is the only way to make browsing tags workable, because otherwise you would have to have a folder for every tag, and posts with multiple tags would have to be duplicated between them. I'm not pressed on finding a txt to HTML converter right now but it could be an option in the future if you wanted to make things more readable.

Okay, let's get into the non-universal stuff you can customize in settings, because it's like, everything:

File names: We've already established you can search with the downloaded file name for images, but what will that be? Whatever you fucking want. Post date, reblogger name, post ID, post title, original file name, you can make it any and all of these in any order you want! You can have actually useful file names! Personally I like %e_%p_%q_%i_%x which exports as DateTime_PostTitle_BlogOriginName_PostID_IteratingNumber (note: you need some kind of unique iterator to be valid so two files don't have the same name, such as multiple photos from one post). Look how much searchable information that gives me, in chronological order! It decreases your need for the master txt file.

Tip I wish I thought of before doing my massive export: make one of the unique headers from the master txt file part of the exported file name so it's easy to search for it after identifying it in the master file.

Files scanned: this is the only method I've found that lets you back everything up, remember what it backed up, and then lets you add any new posts since that date without having to download the whole thing again. That's a game changer, but see the read more below for limitations.

You also have the option to rescan the entire thing if you want.

Post type: T3 (I'm abbreviating it now) also lets you export just your original posts, just reblogs, etc - again, giving you the most control of any options. It also lets you export replies. I, uh, would not do this because if you have any popular post on your blog it might have hundreds, or thousands of replies but hey, you can do it!

You also have the option to only download posts with a certain tag.

Blog options: You can export literally any blog you have the URL of. In fact, if you copy a blog URL while it's open, it will automatically add that blog to its UI and create an empty folder for it. It makes it easy, no private key required. I do have mixed feelings about the concept of exporting someone else's blog... but I'm also planning to do it to some of Crew-ra's blogs so... my digital horde must grow.

You can also queue blogs up and leave it to run through a lot of them. It is a lot faster than Tumblr's native export, I started this import well after I started typing this post and it took a few hours, probably not all that much longer than just downloading Tumblr's export took (and that's while running it alongside other data copy operations because I'm backing up a lot of stuff right now).

I do recommend doing a test export with a sideblog, I was able to use wild-bitchofthenorthwoods as a test import since it only has one post and it has media, so it was super quick.

(I do want to note, I think the number of downloadable items starts out matching the number of posts on your blog without scanning them until you start the export - but if you choose to export everything as its own file, you're going to end up with way more than that because a post with three images would be multiple files)

Things T3 cannot export:

Since in its simplest form it's just accessing the public upload of your blog, it cannot export your drafts, queue, or conversations

It cannot export posts as HTML files, and thus cannot export them with readable formatting natively

What do I see as the main reasons to opt for this option? 1) you don't care about exporting your DMs/conversations, 2) you want the ability to export only certain kinds of posts (original, photos, using a tag, etc), 3) you want to control the titles of the exported files 4) you don't mind wading through massive folders, 5) you want the ability to search tags (using the txt files), 6) you want the ability to update your export without starting over from the beginning, 7) you either don't want to reupload this information somewhere else, or you want to upload it somewhere that supports automatic HTML conversion (for instance, you can switch a Tumblr post from a rich text format to HTML, same with AO3, so you can put it in as HTML and then hit post to see it turn into a rich format. This techically makes T3 the most versatile/useful export option if you're planning to do anything with it other than browse your own files).

tumblr-utils

Full disclosure: haven't tried this one. But others have! tumblr-utils is a no-UI, python-based backup software. This means in order to use it you have to type commands into the terminal. If you don't know what I just said, don't use this one.

If you do, you'll need to separately download python and youtube-dl just to get this one running. You'll also need to give it your personal Tumblr API key and feed it commands deciphered from the wiki page I linked. Here are two different guides people have written on how to use it. Output:

Obviously I'm guessing based on the documentation, but one thing that is nice is this tool allows you to save each post in its own folder. Presumably each post is multiple files like we saw with T3, so this would make it easy to group them, but it also means you'd have to look in every single folder to find anything.

It seems to break posts up into timestamp folders by month, again, helping with management to narrow down where you have to search

It allows you to save only certain kinds of posts at a time like T3

It allows you to backup posts only from a certain time period (so if you keep a little .txt note of the last time you backed up, you can easily add only the new posts into your backup without having to start over from the beginning)

It allows you to only save posts under a certain tag like T3

It allows you to save only original posts

It's the only one I've found that lets you back up your liked posts

What do I see as the main reasons to opt for this option? 1) you don't care about exporting your DMs/conversations, 2) you want the ability to export only certain kinds of posts (original, photos, using a tag, etc), (okay now we get to the points that aren't also covered by T3), 3) you want posts to export already broken into folders, whether by post or by month, 4) you want to back up your likes, 5) you don't care what file names look like, 6) you're comfortable with the command line/coding and don't need a UI.

Summary:

None of these options are ideal for reuploading your files anywhere (except WordPress), but I do think TumblThree is the best of the options because of the written HTML formatting in the txt files being useful for websites that support automatic conversion (or require HTML input).

For starting another blog, WordPress wins. If it works. I'm trying to be generous here.

For searchability, T3 wins again.

For versatility... yeah you know it's T3, but tumblr-utils has a lot of the same features, too!

For sentimentality (aka conversations), it has to be the native export. There literally is not any other option.

For queues and drafts, the only theoretical option is WordPress. If it works.

For likes, the only option is tumblr-utils.

Every option does something the others don't, so theoretically to cover everything, you have to do all four options. Actually I would say do the native export if you don't have a lot of posts and aren't a freak like me, check it out, and if it doesn't work (I know it's finnicky) or you don't like the export, go with TumblThree. This also means you'll at least have your conversations even if you don't end up using the native export any other way.

And I wish it could go without saying, but don't repost people's shit, y'all. I'm backing up everything for my records only and it will never be shared with anyone else, or even browsed as long as using Tumblr instead is an option.

TumblThree adding to old backup quirks, recommended settings, & master file backup solution:

Adding to backup quirks:

From my tests, when you scan a blog you've already backed up to just add new posts to it, it does not update the master file, so if you want to update it, you'll have to do the steps I list at the end of this post. It might be possible it does update if you force rescan, but I highly doubt it.

If you scan a blog you previously backed up under more restrictive settings - say you only backed up original text posts as one file before and now you've selected to back up absolutely everything - it will only download up until the time you last backed up that blog. It will not blow past where you last downloaded to download all the photos and videos it didn't get before just because they're selected now. This is great for doing after using the master file solution I'm showing below, but if you do need to download everything after doing a more restrictive scan, you can once again follow the first few steps below to do so.

Recommended settings:

This will obviously vary by what you're trying to do, but one or two things weren't immediately obvious to me and I did say I think this was the best solution for less technical users, so I want give my personal recommendations. Settings can obviously be found under the settings button at the bottom of the screen (you may need to use the scrollbar on the UI for, which is separate from the scrollbar on the blogs panel), but when you click on a blog, when you click "Details" in the right sidebar, you can also see your most important settings at a glance and adjust them to whatever you want them to be "per blog". I believe TumblThree remembers what you last used for the blog and applies the things in settings only to new/other blogs.

The thing that is going to vary the most is how many different types of posts you want to back up (text, video, reblogs included, etc), so I'll leave that up to you. If you're going to export a media type, though, I generally recommend exporting the metadata too.

I already gave my preferred file names above and again that's going to be something that varies a lot by people. Hover over the "Filename template" box and it will give you all the options in the legend you can combine via underscores.

Leave "Skip .gif files" off unless you're hurting for hard drive space. This removes all the gifs from your download, and the reason this is provided as a separate setting is because gifs have relatively massive files (at least compared to a text file)

I'll be honest I haven't seen a difference between turning on and off "Group photo sets". Because of the way file names work, most conventions will naturally lead to photos from the same post all being in a row.

"Save texts as individual files": if you only want texts to be saved as their master text.txt and answers.txt files, uncheck this. If you want the individual files I highly recommend you also download the master file for searching purposes, in which case my recommendation is this:

1) Select to export texts only, leaving off all media options, and uncheck the "Save texts as individual files" option. 2) Export the blog. This will only result in two files, answers.txt and texts.txt. 3) Move these files elsewhere on the computer to save them. 4) With T3 closed, delete the folder for the blog and the blog's Indexes (see instructions at the end of this post for finding these). 5) Reopen T3, which shouldn't remember it ever saw the blog and create a new folder for it. Turn on the "Save texts as individual files", as well as any other media posts you want to download. 6) Export the entire blog again. 7) Move the texts.txt and answers.txt file back into the blog's folder.

I leave all other options on the Details tab off, except for:

"Force rescan" scans past the point it last backed up and searches the whole blog again. If you have a big blog, this is going to burn time. This is needed for the number of downloaded items in the panel to be accurate but I don't know why you would care or turn this on unless it lets you skip steps 3-4 above, but my blog is too big to burn through testing that, so if you try it, let me know and I'll update this post!

Master file backup solution:

See my 7 steps from above to skip having to do this, but if you accidentally do things out of order and then realize you still need the master files for texts post after backing everything else up, here's how you get it with minimal pain:

T3 will make an "Index" folder in both the main folder for the program where the exe is located and the destination folder where you have your blogs backing up (note: these were two very different places for me, if you just have it back up to the automatic Blogs folder within T3's folder, it might not create a second Index folder).

To make T3 "forget" what it has backed up previously so it goes through to the beginning and makes a master file that includes everything, all you have to do is remove the Index file(s) for the blog while it's closed so it doesn't remember it anymore. I backed my index up in another folder.

Check off for it to only download text posts, and then uncheck the "Save texts in individual files" option. This will cause it to only create the master answers.txt and texts.txt file on the rescan.

The combination of only going for one post type and only downloading one file for it means this rescan is relatively fast. When you look at your Blogs folder, you'll find a new folder has been created for your blog name (in my case, there was "n7punk" and "n7punk_2) and your output is in the new folder. I just moved it over to the original folder.

At this point you can restore the indexes, though I've only gotten it to half recognize them. I can get it to recognize my original n7punk folder so everything can stay there, but the total downloaded items is stuck at what it was when I did just the text posts. I don't really care, it was mainly the folder thing I wanted to fix. If you have lag between your last full backup and your master-only backup, this might cause some issues? I don't know because I made sure there wasn't lag, so I recommend doing another backup to add any missing items before doing this method.

You can also use this technique if you want to download only your original posts and then download everything else to a second folder. Adjust the setting to only download original posts, download the whole blog, close T3 and delete the indexes, rename the folder to whatever you want ("n7punk_original", etc), and then reopen T3 and set it to download everything and run it again from the start.

[skrunklemuffin]

This is my brother’s DCA AU, Honk I’m on a StarRail!

My brother isn’t into DCA or fan fiction in general, but I talk to him about the DCA a lot. I told him about the unique-ness of this fandom, that there seems to be an AU for everything. He listed off a bunch of things he thought would be odd or specific and I was able to name a bunch of stories based off of the prompts he came up with. Then, he hit me with:

“Is there a Thomas the Tank engine AU?”

I thought about it for a while, and I hadn’t seen one.

So he made this image in like 2 minutes:

We joked about it some and I told him he needed to give his AU a name. We went back and forth a bit because the DCA AU names always seemed so official to me, so it was important that he got his AU name right. He threw out "Honk I’m on a StarRail" and I lost it. I think I laughed for a solid 2 minutes. He argued that it was stupid but I thought it was perfect!

I thought the idea had ended there but once I went to bed he started working on official image for his AU. He sent this 3 hours later:

The rest of this post is the process and general things that happened while he was working on this image.

He used font that resembles the Honkai StarRail font, then edited it to be closer to the official thing:

For reference this is the logo:

He made his own Eclipse OC!

Then he started on Sun and Moon. He made a simple train model to get the proportions and angle right:

The whole time he is sending me updates and I'm filling him in on lore and what he should add.

Credit for image I sent him: https://www.tumblr.com/piowasthere/760517135721168896/wtf-is-suns-eye-color

He even came up with the Y/N's nickname when I was having a bad day.

We of course had to add moons hat

We almost forgot about the ribbons, but we got there in the end. They were hard to place because...train.

Overall, 10/10 experience! I'm glad I get to show other people his hard work.

If anyone wants to ask questions I'll open my ask box. He is also willing to talk about the process, but that all will still go through this account, so ask away!

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 aftercare after angry intimacy

Request: hi author, can you please do a svt ot13 aftercare - after an angry sex

A/N: Some members' parts might be longer than others, but just to make it clear—there’s no discrimination here. I love all of them equally. The reason some sections are longer is because I don’t know what else to add. What I’ve written already is enough to be self-explanatory. If it’s a little detailed in one part, it’s because that's just how it flows. No need to overthink it ❤️

Content: Comfort, soft moments, emotional care, introspection, post-intimacy dynamics, mentions of emotional and physical vulnerability, heavy focus on aftercare and emotional reassurance.

Seungcheol: Immediately shifts gears after you guys are done, into his soft, nurturing mode post-anger. He’s wiping you down with a towel, muttering apologies in his head for anything that might have been too much. He would carry you to the bathroom or the bathtub and gently wash you off, making sure you're comfortable and calm. After that, he'd get you into clean, soft clothes, and probably wipe the bed down or clean up any mess that was made. His hands are steady, like he’s pouring all the reassurance into every touch. He’d probably stay close, holding you tight, letting his own breathing sync with yours. The way his thumb brushes over your arm? Ugh, he’s so annoyingly good at this. Soft energy, as always. He’d stay close all night, possibly holding you until you fall asleep.

Jeonghan: Jeonghan might initially want space, but only because he’s processing everything himself (also cause it was an angry sex). Once he’s calm, though, he’s the type to gently pull you into his arms and ask if you’re okay. There would be moments of silence as he just holds you, allowing the emotional tension to fade. He would likely be the one to just lay down with you after. He'd hold you close and let you catch your breath. He might softly stroke your hair or whisper comforting things to you, reassuring you that whatever happened was just a momentary issue, and he wants to move forward with you. He WILL check if you’re okay every two minutes. He’s slipping you water and snacks, like, so casually, but you know he’s doing it on purpose. He’s annoyingly intuitive, noticing the smallest details, making sure you’re comfortable before finally letting himself relax. The duality of his angel-ness (I made that up) and possessiveness is so on brand for him—he knows he has you exactly where he wants you but doesn’t overdo it.

Joshua: Joshua is a perfectionist when it comes to aftercare. He would probably be the one to speak in a soft voice and apologize first. He’ll tuck the blanket perfectly around you, adjust the lighting, and even check if the music is playing softly in the background. Joshua would be the kind to run you a warm bath to help you relax after. He’d gently wash you, making sure every movement is tender, as he might feel guilty if things went too far. He’d help you out of the bath afterward, drying you off carefully before wrapping you in a soft towel. He would likely wipe the bed or clean up the area and get you water, ensuring you're comfortable. He’s attentive but understated, ensuring you’re not overwhelmed. It’s so Joshua to think of the little things, like making sure your hair isn’t stuck to your face or that the temperature is just right. He’s calm, composed, and ridiculously thoughtful—like, how are you supposed to recover emotionally when he’s this sweet? Do let me know.

Jun: Our hui, oh my god. He’d turn into the softest human alive. Just like Jeonghan, jun would probably be the type to lay with you afterward, gently rubbing your back or running his fingers through your hair. If you felt sore, he might offer to massage your shoulders or legs, focusing on relaxing you and whispering sweet nothings in his head (but you can tell). He would softly hold you, making sure your body language shows that you're comfortable with him again. “We good?” He’d want to see your smile again, and if you needed it, he’d hold you until you relaxed. His touch is so natural, like he’s still trying to ground himself after all the tension. And let’s be honest, he’s probably grinning to himself because he loves how this closeness feels—it’s so very him.

Hoshi: Hoshi would immediately regret all the things he did from earlier and go full-on cuddly mode. He’s clinging to you like a koala, mumbling (mentally) about how cute you are when you were under him. He’s definitely the type to apologize a hundred times in his head while simultaneously trying to make you laugh with random gestures. You’re both probably tangled in a heap of limbs, with him periodically stealing glances to make sure you’re still smiling. He’s too much, but like, in the best way because he'll definitely help you up. He’d be the one to light a scented candle to create a soothing atmosphere or adjust the lighting to make the environment more peaceful.

Wonwoo: Wonwoo would be the calmest after an emotional moment like angry sex. He is quiet but so thorough. He’s bringing water, wiping you down, and making sure you’re covered with a blanket—all while pretending it’s no big deal. But the way his eyes linger on you? Sir, please. He’s lowkey overthinking everything, wondering if he should have handled earlier differently, but he won’t let it show. His calm energy is oddly reassuring, and honestly, it’s almost unfair how effortlessly comforting he is. Like, how is he so good at being quiet and caring at the same time? If you needed to talk, he would be an excellent listener, but if you just wanted silence, he would respect that as well.

Woozi: He might take time to cool down, but once everything has settled, he would make sure you’re okay. His form of aftercare might not involve overly affectionate gestures, but he’d assure you that he’s sorry. Woozi is so practical yet so awkwardly sweet during aftercare. He’s double-checking that you’re okay and probably overcompensating with small gestures, like offering you water three times in a row. He doesn’t say much, but his actions are loud enough—carefully folding the blanket over you or adjusting the pillows just right. There’s this faint softness that he’d never admit to. The duality of him being meticulous yet so clearly in his feels? Stoppppp.

Dokyeom: My Kyeom would be the literal embodiment of sunshine after a storm. He’s all soft smiles and warm hugs, holding you like he’s trying to melt away any lingering tension. He’s probably humming to himself while running his fingers through your hair, and it’s so annoyingly soothing. DK would go above and beyond in making sure everything is neat and cozy afterward. He’d clean up the area carefully and may even change the sheets to make sure everything feels fresh and comfortable. If you’re still a little tense, he might get you a massage—focusing on your shoulders or back, giving a gentle, soothing rub to help with any sore spots. He’s also the type to make little jokes in his head to lighten the mood, just to see you smile again. His energy is infectious, and honestly, it’s hard not to feel cared for with him around. If you need space, he’d give it, but he would still be checking on you constantly to make sure you feel safe.

Mingyu: Mingyu is so predictable but in the most heart-melting way. He’s fussing over you, asking (mentally) if you’re okay every five seconds even if he doesn’t say it out loud. He’d probably bring you essential oils and maybe snacks or drinks, just in case you’re hungry or thirsty. And the way he holds you afterward? Like he’s afraid to let go. He might even give you a back rub or massage to help you relax. He would try his best to fix the mood and make you feel at ease again, both physically and emotionally. Honestly, his puppy self even in tender moments is so on-brand—he’s trying so hard to be smooth but ends up being ridiculously endearing instead.

Minghao: After the angry sex, he would want to soothe you in silence at first. Hao is in his zen master mode post-intimacy, so he's fully focused on grounding both of you. He’s wiping you down gently, his touch feather-light, and probably murmuring silent affirmations in his mind. He’d likely hold you, running his fingers gently over your skin, offering physical reassurance. If you wanted to talk, he would listen carefully, trying to understand how you felt. There’s this quietness to how he moves, like he’s still processing everything but doesn’t want you to feel anything but safe. And let’s be real, he’s probably smirking to himself because he knows you’re not getting up anytime soon lmao.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan would be the most apologetic after angry sex. He’d probably shower you with affection, offering kisses, hugs, and a million words of apology. He would definitely clean up after the moment, and get a towel and wipe you down, making sure you’re clean and comfortable. Seungkwan might even help you wash up in the shower, making sure everything feels fresh. He’d make sure the space is tidy and organized, changing the sheets if needed. He might also give you a hand massage or rub your shoulders gently if you're feeling tight after everything. He’d check if you need anything to eat or drink to make sure you’re fully taken care of. He's aftercare is so good and also so him. He’s pampering you like it’s his mission, making sure you’re hydrated, comfortable, and feeling very loved. He’d probably overthink everything—like, did he hold you too tight earlier? Was he too intense? But he’d mask it all with his usual flair, keeping things light. And the way he just knows how to make you feel better? Please, someone stop him from being this perfect.

Vernon: Vernon would be the type to pull you close and make sure you're emotionally okay after angry sex. He might not talk much at first, just offering his presence. After the emotional tension has calmed, Vernon would probably hold you quietly, stroking your hair or your back. “I didn’t mean to make things worse... I just want to be close to you again.” He’d let you take the lead in terms of what you need, but he would always be there, quietly supportive. He’d stay close, his hand resting on yours, grounding himself in the process. And the way he just silently radiates comfort without overdoing it? Unreal.

Dino: Dino is so eager to make sure you’re okay it’s almost too cute. He’s mentally running through a checklist of things to do—water, blanket, soft kisses on your forehead, cuddles, bathing together. There’s this youthful energy to how he cares for you, like he’s still marveling at how much he loves you. And if he senses even a hint of discomfort? He’s fixing it immediately. If you’re feeling a little sore, he could bring over a heating pad or warm compress to soothe your muscles. He’d also check that the room feels nice and calm, ensuring the lighting and temperature are just right for you.

[grotesquevi]

Please pleasepleasoelsplaspsPLEAZEEEPLEASE do Ellie masturbating for the first time and like experimenting with herself PLEASE I BEGGGGGDHEJDHDU

18+ mdni, smoll-drabble? kind of perv!ellie idc i'm just living

waittt holdup my brain is processing this cause of-fucking-course collage!ellie would take so much time into actually cum. all jokes aside, she tries to be polite, to not worry the girl’s she sleeps with cause deadass? it can take her whole forty-five minutes, an hour even as she tries to reach a solid peak.

who mentioned first? was it you the one who suggested she should be stop looking for pleasure in others when you were sure she can reach it for herself? ellie has always listened to her roommate, so she put your advice to the test that very same night cause shit, she’s sure there’s something wrong with her, needs to test and see it for herself. plays type o negative in the speakers, lights up a candle that smells like candy since she read some shit online about settling the mood, smells and her five senses coming together.

and when she starts touching herself? there’s something missing, like, a whole part missing when ellie’s fingers slip past her pj’s and she’s using two fingers to move it right over her clit: she knows herself, what’s missing? the visual part. she’s good at imagining sure, but she’s not that level of a pro, cannot make up something that good to get herself that turned on, that wet so she can fuck herself into oblivion.

porn? no thank you, she wanted something else, tangible, there. so when she’s pulling her phone out to open up her instagram account, her fingers type on their own and it’s your profile the one who she taps in, lurking in your posts until she comes across the one you published in bikini after a hot summer afternoon in the lake. it’s black, simple, it got a damn charm in the hip attached to the thin fucking thread there holding the lower part of your bikini and suddenly she’s touching herself.

starts slow — teases her entrance using a couple of fingers to realize she’s actually soaked, focus on herself for once, on what she’s feeling, on the curves of your body there posing for the camera. if she zooms in she’d see the sweat that makes your skin glisten, the messy makeup cause you’ve been swimming to escape from the hot sun in the sky.

so ellie’s clearly buried in her own version of the seven circles of hell. face hot, she’s riding her own hand when her hips seek for some more friction: she knows what your skin feels like under her touch, what you smell like, even your laugh when she has made you giggle multiple times already, you live with her and oh god- a finger slips inside her warmth and its pathetic as she swipes through a set of at least, 7 or 8 photos. different angles, cheeky smiles, you know your game. you know what works.

takes way less than expected, makes her loud, whiny as she ruts against her own fingers. she’s touched like shit before it seems, so she starts masturbating daily to her favorite content: you.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

QUINN WORRIED ABOUT YOU AFTER AN ACCIDENT 😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬

This one broke my heart to write. I'm sorry it took me longer than expected to finish.

CW | Car accident descriptions and injuries.

It had all happened so quickly; the literal blink of an eye. 

You had the right of way but the driver in the other car never saw you. One minute you were excited for that evening's plans, and the next you were drifting between consciousness and not. The sounds of everything had been so loud that your ears were ringing to the point of near deafness. Both the driver's side and rear of the vehicle were crunched and crumpled inwards; all of the airbags had deployed throughout the interior. The whiplash from being hit had jerked your head so violently to the side there had been enough force to give you a concussion and the seatbelt would fracture your collarbone; your right foot and ankle were broken due to so much impact against the gas pedal they had snapped; your right knee would hit so violently against the center console it would tear your MCL. 

All in a matter of seconds. 

You were headed to the arena to watch the Canucks play at home. Now, you were headed to the hospital in an ambulance. Worst of it all, Quinn wouldn't know until the game was over that anything had happened to you. Once he got to the arena, he was off his phone until post-game and you, yourself, wouldn't want such news given to him mid-game anyway. However, right now, you weren't conscious enough to even have that worry. 

The game would result in a Canucks win over the Oilers but that high-note to the night would come to a devastating end when one of the team's athletic trainers would break the news to Quinn. Pulled into the hall, following his post-game media interviews, Quinn would find himself unsure of how to process what he had been told. The trainer monitored his star player, taking in every subtle emotional que he'd show, but it was mostly just blank stares and shaky hands. 

"Are you alright?" The trainer asked. "Can we do anything for you?"

"Uh...no-- no, I uh..." Quinn stuttered. He had processed what he had been told, but to make comment on it was proving impossible. "I've gotta...I need to--"

Noticing Quinn was trying to say he needed to go, the trainer filled in the blanks. "Let us know if there's anything you need, alright? Be safe getting there."

Quinn nodded before turning towards the dressing room. He'd nearly trip over his own feet in the process, catching himself on the wall behind him. Back inside the players room, Quinn said nothing to no one, kept his eyes down and tried to hurry yet everything he picked up he fumbled. 

A few of the guys would notice their captain's change in demeanor but just watched on, because no sooner was Quinn in the room, he was out, and running and wouldn't stop until he was in his car. 

He'd remain in a complete daze the whole drive to the hospital. Traffic was still congested around the arena and Quinn tapped nervously on the steering wheel, silently pleading for things to get moving. 

"Ah, come on, come on, come on!" He said exasperated, his palms sweaty with anxiety. 

Eventually, he'd fly into the parking lot, and make a break for the automatic doors of the hospital. 

"May I help you?" Asked the woman behind the desk. 

"My girlfriend was involved in a wreck this afternoon. I don't know her room number."

The woman eyed Quinn curiously. His hair was still wet with sweat, forehead still marked red from his helmet, and he was wearing the same clothes he wore beneath his gear. There simply hadn't been time to worry about changing. By now, the wreck had been near five hours ago, but he couldn't help when he had arrived or the state he was in. He gave your name and she scrolled through the directory to give him your room number.

"Second floor of the Pattinson building," she said, rattling off directions of how to get to the ICU building. Quinn retained some, but not all, of the twist and turns he needed to take and would have to get assistance in finally getting to you. Outside your recovery room, your mother sat talking to one of the nurses in charge. She'd nearly interrupt the nurse to get up and embrace Quinn without a second thought.

"Oh my god, Quinn! I'm so glad you made it!"

"How is she doing? What happened?" His voice cracked and was shaky.

"I don't know! She told me she was headed to the arena, then I got word that she had been in an accident. It's not good, Quinn. I mean, she's okay, but it was a really bad wreck. They had to cut the car apart to get her out!"

"I need to see her, may I?"

"She's awake now, yes." The nurse replied, Quinn having turned to her for the permission. 

"Do you mind?" He asked your mother, and she gave her well-wishes with tears in her eyes. He'd give her another hug before quietly entering your room following her blessing. 

"Quinn?" You said, your voice hoarse from the intubation tube and not above a whisper. 

"Oh...baby," he choked out, not getting far into the room before his feet stopped moving. You looked so broken, laying there connected to all manner of machine and he hadn't begun to prepare himself before walking through the door. 

Your vision was blurry from the concussion, but you knew his outline regardless of the double vision. Had you felt better, you would have lifted your arms to him, but every limb felt like it weighted one hundred pounds each. Instead, they'd remain by your side when he finally managed to approach you. 

"Sweetheart, I'm-- I'm so--," he couldn't speak through the tears. He put his head against yours on the pillow, nuzzling against your temple as gently as he could. His weeping completely took away his ability to speak an audible word. As best as you could, you'd turn your face toward his, although minimal due to the neck brace. 

You couldn't handle hearing him cry like that, in fact, you had never seen Quinn cry until now. His fingers didn't know where to go, not knowing if where he placed them to touch you would cause you pain so instead, they clawed into the mattress and sheets.

"Quinny?" You whimpered, struggling, being unable to reach out for him.

"I'm-- I'm here, I'm here," he managed, his lips grazing your cheekbone. Your skin was bruised and red from the airbags, and every time you took a breath it hurt. Your eyes finally locked on to one another's with Quinn finding it so hard to see you like this, and him being powerless to do anything for you. "I'm sorry I-- I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. Baby, I'm-- so sorry."

"It's not your fault. I'm just glad you're here now," you strained. Your throat felt like you hadn't had a drink in a week, but you had to talk to him. 

His cheeks were flushed red and streaked with tears that continued to fall without end. All you wanted to do was reach up and wipe them away but lifting your arm was slow and he would stop you halfway through. 

"No, no, baby, it's-- I'm okay," he shushed, gently coaxing you to return your arm back to where it had been. "Just-- just stay still, sweetheart."

Closing your eyes, you bit your bottom lip to try to keep from crying yourself. Your ribs hurt and crying would absolutely be too much to handle. 

"I love you so much-- so, so much," he confessed, brushing some hair from your forehead. "I'm so sorry this happened to you! I wish I-- I wish I could have been-- there for you." He struggled again to speak, a hand pressed to his mouth to somehow stifle the emotions that were getting the better of him. 

"I love you, Quinn."

"I don't want to imagine being without you, Y|N--! I'm so glad you're-- I'm so glad you're alright." He was struggling to take a breath now, gasping for small little breaths between breaks in his words. If only you could have embraced him. 

"I'll be okay," you reassured, your eyes getting watery. 

"No, no, please don't cry sweetheart," Quinn pleaded, seeing you tear up. "It's okay-- It's-- You're going to be okay. I'm going to take care of you, I promise."

Your mind was in a haze from pain meds and the trauma, but you remembered tonight's game would mark the beginning of a 3-game road trip for Quinn's team. "You're going to be gone."

"I could probably request leave," he said, struggling to regain his composure. 

"I don't want you to do that. They need you." Talking was getting harder and harder for you do, but as long as he was there, you'd keep talking to him.

"Baby, you need me more!"

Your eyes pleaded for him to understand where you were coming from. "I don't know how long I'm going to be in here, Quinny. I just want to go home!"

"Shh, shh, baby, don't cry. Try to relax, please! This is the safest place for you right now. Trust me-- I wish you were home, too. I wish this had never happened." Quinn's eyes were so red as he frowned looking at you, smoothing your hair to calm you. No amount of his kind words or gentle touches were going to help you right now, not as long as you had to lay in that hospital bed and he had to leave you there. Soon, there was a knock at the door.

"I'm sorry, but we're nearing the end of visiting hours," the nurse said regrettably, seeing the state you were both in. "They resume tomorrow morning at 8am."

"I'll come see you in the morning before we fly out, okay?" He reassured you, a soft kiss placed on your forehead. "I promise."

You'd give him the faintest nod you could as silent tears marked your cheeks. "I love you."

"I love you so much more, sweetheart."

- - - 

Quinn couldn't stay long the next morning. Your care had taken longer than was originally anticipated and he was forced to remain in the hallway until the nursing staff had finished what they needed to. When he was allowed in, he spent the entire time stroking your skin, almost like he had forgotten what you felt like beneath his fingers. He had missed your warmth in his bed, waking up beside you in the morning, and the sound of your voice in his apartment. Even though you had to spend long spans of time apart throughout the season, this hit so much differently. You were hurt, not yet out of the woods, and he couldn't be with you. Now he had to leave you for over a week and still remain focused on his job as if nothing had happened. 

"Here, I brought you something," he said, trying to give you a reassuring smile. "That hoodie you always steal from me."

Struggling, you gripped it beneath your fingers as he laid it across your chest. You could tell he had sprayed it with that Dior cologne you had bought him for Christmas. "It smells like you. Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome," he smiled, kissing your bruised cheek. "Hopefully it gets you through till I get back."

"I don't want you to go," you whined, for good reason. 

His smile faded quickly in a frown, fingers brushing hair away from your face, "I don't either. I talked to your mom this morning. She said if they released you before I got back, she's stay with you in the apartment. She said it would be too hard to take you back to their house because of all of the stairs."

You were thankful Quinn and your mother had such a good relationship. They meant the world to you, both of them, and it was going to take both of them to get you back on your feet. 

Eventually, he had to leave, so to make it to the airport on time and it hurt worse to watch him go today than it had last night. You knew it was because you wouldn't be seeing him tomorrow. 

"I'll call you every night, okay? Your mom said they recovered your purse from your car and she's going to bring it to you today."

"Oh, okay," you mumbled, your heart hurting from him starting his goodbyes. "Thank you."

He kissed you one more time, for as long as he could before finally having to be on his way. 

"Please, be careful," you urged, your fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie. "I love you, Quinn."

"I love you, too, sweetheart. And I will. I'll be extra careful, promise." 

- - - 

The ten or so days Quinn was away passed by so slowly. The video calls with him had been a blessing although anytime you had to say goodbye it had ripped open those emotional wounds all over again. Your mother had brought you home two days ago and it had been nice to be back in the bed you shared with him, now if only he was there with you. Currently, you were laying near the middle of the bed, tucked in with your foot propped up with a pillow. You had just had a light lunch and taken the pharmacy worth of pills that had been prescribed for your recovery. Soon, you'd be drifting off for a nap at around the same time Quinn would be returning home. 

"I just got her asleep," your mom said after welcoming him. 

"How's she doing?"

She looked down, her lips pursed. "It's been a slow go of it, if I'm being honest. That concussion turned out to be a lot more severe than they had originally thought which has made her sleep schedule a nightmare. She cries all the time, she doesn't want to eat, and the pain has given her an attitude at times. I know a lot of it is because she misses you. I know my daughter, Quinn."

He let a soft sigh escape his lips. He couldn't blame you for how you were feeling, he had just hoped to have better news to come home to. 

"All of her meds and doctors instructions are on the counter. She won't need to take anything until dinner, aside from the pain pills. I'll warn you: she doesn't like to take them. She doesn't like how they make her feel, and she only really takes them if the pain gets unbearable."

"Okay, thank you. I appreciate everything you've done."

"Thank you, hon, truly. I'm happy she has you."

Once your mother left, Quinn locked the door, turned all the lights off and made his way to the bedroom. Quietly, he pushed open the door and leaned against the doorframe. Initially he smiled, but the longer he looked, the longer he was reminded of everything that had happened and the reason you were bed ridden. The neck brace was no more, but the bruises still remained, and the boot on your right foot and ankle. Your breathing was shallow when he walked over towards you, that's when he caught sight of you still clinging to that hoodie he had brought you like a security blanket. Carefully, he'd climb into bed and lay down facing you. His hand found your free one; his fingers trailing across your skin hoping to gently coax you from the faint sleep he hoped you had drifted off to. 

"Sweetheart, can you hear me?" He whispered, placing a kiss to your shoulder. "I'm home, baby." 

You managed a whimper, a sleepy kind of affirmation that you had heard something that had stirred you, but your eyes remained closed.

"Baby, it's me," he said again, this time his lips against your cheek. 

After a few more seconds of his fingers against your body your eyes would blink open, a smile instantly appearing. 

"Oh, Quinny!" you mumbled, lazily. "How long have you been home?"

"Just a little bit, I've been watching over you, but I got selfish. I wanted you to know I was here."

Lifting your hand, you reached for his face. His curls were in full force today, soft and something you had missed playing with. Something so simple as hearing him breathing you had missed. Quinn was finally home, and for a while this time. 

"How are you feeling?" He asked, scooting closer to you. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you more," you quickly replied. "I feel like I'm probably expected to. Everything hurts, I can't move without pain, breathing still sucks. I had a coughing fit yesterday and I thought I was going to die."

"Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry. I was hoping you'd be feeling better."

"I'll get better now that you're home. I just wanted you to be here."

Quinn smiled, "Me, too, babe. Me too, but now we're both finally home. Everything is okay now."

You nodded as your eyelids felt heavy again. He'd give you another kiss, making sure you had everything you needed. 

"I'm okay," you said, "I'm just tired."

"Then sleep, baby, you need it. I'll be right here, okay? I'm all yours. Anything you need, anything you want, just let me know and I'll get it for you. It's my turn to take care of you."

Quinn would drift off to sleep with you, your fingers interlocked as you slumbered. Although it was unfortunate you were still severely hurt, this was the only place he wanted to be. He wouldn't let you out of his sight for anything. He doted on you like a princess, making sure you wanted for absolutely nothing. 

He was everything you could ever wish for. 

[504py]

A day in a life with Ivan. [ONESHOT]

Warnings below the cut 。。。

⚠️ NSFW, yandere content, alcoholism, reader got tradwifed, stockholm syndrome, domestic violence, Ivan is very blatantly sadistic, size difference, dacryphilia, vague breeding kink, no use of Y/N, forced feminization(?), gender neutral reader.

hey yawll!! i drew this since i wanted to play more with the painting style and color palette i did in my last post, but since i hit 800 followers recently, i decided to write something to go along with it too!

thank you guys so so much for putting up with my bs and enjoying the slop i create LOL. hopefully this will be enough to thank you all and to satiate you guys till i come back from hibernation again 🩵🙏

also!! while this is a gender neutral reader, ivan still refers to you as a housewife. this is pretty much an extension of the headcanon post i did on him.

MAN I NEED TO RECONNECT WITH NATURE AFTER THIS 😭😭😭

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

The average heart rate of a rabbit is a hundred and eighty beats per minute. Much, much faster than a human's at only a hundred, the little hearts of rabbits pump virile blood into their vulnerable bodies in order to outrun the cursed life of a prey animal they have no choice but to live.

Living with Ivan feels the exact same way. You, a human, were reduced to nothing but a prey animal whose only line of defense was either freeze or flight. Ivan prefers the freeze response. Tries to squeeze it out of you as much as he can.

The morning begins normally. You wake up next to his large, minimally clothed body, while you're bundled up as much as physically possible. You don't understand how he's so comfortable in the cold, but you've learned not to liken him to humans. You gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. It takes a while for Ivan to wake up, he's a heavy sleeper, but when his violet eyes finally open and dilate at the sight of you, the first thing he does is smile and pull you in to trap you in a strong bear hug. Don't struggle, he'll just tighten his grip. Then he kisses your cheek, and just holds you there without saying anything. He'll grumble a little when you tell him you have to leave bed to make breakfast, but he eventually will let you go.

It's a little sick how your current living situation makes chores the best part of your day, given how it allows the most proximity between you and Ivan. Cooking in the early morning is your favorite, since it takes Ivan a long time to recover from his hibernation. Thinking about what to cook is a bit of a meditative process as well, allows you to think thoroughly about anything other than your way of life and the man keeping you here.

Today, you decided to make something simple and similar to something you ate growing up. Luckily, Ivan is not a picky eater, even though he rather obviously prefers Slavic food. He'll eat whatever you make happily, but he'll be in even better spirits if you make something familiar to him.

You do not cook in silence. Silence has quickly become one of your biggest pet peeves since your captivity, and you do anything to drown it out. This damn empty mansion, the way Ivan is so terrible with his words and chooses instead to crush you with his actions, the bleak snowy landscape that greets you if you dare try and find any solace outside of this cage and your captor– It's enough to drive anyone insane. So, you pass the days by drowning out your thoughts with music and movies.

Ivan doesn't allow you a cellphone, or anything remotely modern at all. His home has a terrifying dedication to being so analog, you'd think you'd been transported to the 90's if not for the TV with a few streaming services on it, the only modern piece of technology he allows. He likes to collect cameras, radios, and old phones. Ivan's menagerie of antique goods is so expansive that it earned itself its own room. It's almost like a small museum, and you're very glad he allows you to look at and touch them as you pleased– with care, of course. He can actually be rather charming when he acts as your "museum guide" in this room. One of the few times you find yourself thinking anything remotely positive about him.

Ivan's voice is soft, it always is, but when he talks about these things he's so passionate about and so engrossed in, it takes on a bit more of a stern, confident tone that is easier for you to listen to. And when he's looking at the objects he's explaining, you can admire his side profile more openly. He's caught you multiple times (he has surprisingly sharp senses), and you're met with a flustered smile instead of the usual so-sweet-to-the-point-it-looks-fake type of smile.

"What are you looking at?" He'd ask, his voice quieting back down to that syrupy tone.

"Just you." You'd reply, which makes him pause in surprise for a second, before it earns a soft giggle from the towering man.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Vanya." The nickname makes him melt. "You just looked pretty."

The smile falls from his face, and his cheeks redden even more than you thought possible, before his grin returns tenfold. He laughs and looks away.

The memory of such interactions make you feel like buttering up to the man instead of rejecting him so much, then you realize you're just describing stockholm syndrome. As crazy as it is, it feels like, at this point, it'd be better to let it happen than to be aware and hateful every day you live here.

As if your thoughts had alerted him, you hear Ivan's deceptively soft footsteps descend the stairs. He doesn't say anything, and just makes his way to the kitchen to watch you.

He's dressed in more clothing now, a dark blue sweater and gray sweatpants. His neck is left bare around you. When you first met him, his clothing that purposefully covers his neck always went unnoticed by you, because such clothes fit him so well, like they were always meant to be there. It was only after your capture, when he took off his scarf and you saw the bandages around his pale neck did you start to question it.

You've never outright asked him, you worry the subject is too volatile. He just... decided to stop hiding it one day. It was after a shower when you first saw it, the ligature marks around his neck and a few faded pink scars on the front of his adam's apple. Ivan noticed you staring, and you've never seen him look so small and insecure before.

"Is it bad?"

"No." You shake your head. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

And that was that.

You finish plating up two dishes, one with a significantly heftier portion than yours considering how much he eats. You quickly place the chopping board and all the pans you used in the sink to wash later, and you bring the dishes to the table.

Ivan yawns, rubs at his eyes, and without much event, just picks up a knife and a fork and starts eating. You do the same only after fetching some tea from the samovar.

Breakfast is always quiet besides the background noise of whatever media you chose to play.

"Mm. Ёжик в тумaне?"

"Yeah. I like this one."

"A little somber, isn't it?"

"The hedgehog is cute. I relate to it a little bit."

Ivan takes his eyes off of the television to look at you, and ponders what you said a little more. He doesn't say anything, and continues eating.

"What will you be doing today?" You ask, in case you needed to iron some clothing or prepare extra food for guests.

He hums in thought for a moment. "I'll be going out in the evening to drink with the other nations."

"What will you be wearing?"

"What I usually do."

You nod, "I'll have it ready soon."

"What about you?" He asks.

"Hmm... I'll wash the dishes, then iron and press your clothing. After that, I'll think of what to cook for lunch while cleaning the house, and I'll prepare a meal for you before you leave. Then while you're away, I'll clean up some more and prepare dinner. And if I have some time, I'll sit and watch some more movies."

Ivan hums in satisfaction. He enjoys how strict to routine your lives were. Familiarity and stability are what he desires most, and he believes you're the only one who can grant him that wish.

"Perfect." He smiles, petting the crown of your head with a large, broad hand.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You adjust the dusty pink scarf around his thick neck after finishing wrapping the scars on his throat with bandages. You do it neatly and comfortably, as opposed to how Ivan does, quickly and efficiently, learned from decades of routine, yet it's still so much more uncomfortable compared to when you do it.

"How is it?" You ask. Ivan replies by taking your smaller hands in his and leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You do it perfectly, любовь моя." He sighs, before pouting slightly. "I wish I could just stay home."

"You'll be alright, Vanya. Alcohol is like water to you anyways."

He snickers and rolls his eyes. "That just means it'll be boring for me, then."

"Just try to have fun and relax. I'll be safe and quiet here."

A mousy smile appears on his pink lips. You've said exactly what he wants to hear. "Alright. I'll just get it over with." He presses one last kiss to the top of your hair before leaving.

"Don't cause any trouble!" Ivan sings, before exiting the living room and closing the door behind him. You get a glimpse of the blindingly white outside world, and a gust of stinging cold air brushes against your skin like a warning.

You let out a taut breath, finally feeling like you're able to breathe without his crushing presence. You dust off your hands, from nothing in particular, before going off to do just as you said to him earlier. It bothers you how much he still affects you without even being around.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The sky is dark, and all that is heard is the droning of soft music and the burbling of something boiling on the stove. Its tranquility is broken by the door opening with more aggression than usual.

"Vanya?" You call out, hoping the sweet usage of his nickname would quell whatever spawned this roughness within him.

All you hear is something vaguely resembling a groan and a sigh, and his heavy, thudding footsteps. Your heart starts to race a little.

"Is something wrong, Vanya?" You ask meekly, approaching him with caution. He reeks of alcohol, and his movements seem all sluggish. Jesus, how much did Russia of all people need to drink in order to get this wasted?

"I'm alright." He huffs, taking off his gloves and his coat with slight difficulty. You step in closer to help him undress, taking off his scarf. You don't miss how he tenses up, so you freeze and meet his constantly intense stare to gauge his expression. His eyelids are low, pupils contracted, eyes darker than usual, and cheeks flushed like they always are. He seems to be pouting a bit. He doesn't do much else, so you continue, stripping him of his large overcoat. All he's left in now is a black sweater and thick brown slacks.

"I've made dinner. You can just sit wherever you want and I'll bring it to you–"

Ivan leans in so quickly, you couldn't even register it in order to dodge or deflect his kiss in time. This time, it lands on your lips. He doesn't do this usually at all, unless he was planning something. The blood drains from your face when his large hand finds the back of your neck, and holds it stiff, preventing any chance of backing out.

His skin and the inside of his mouth are impossibly warm, and the bitter, sterile taste of vodka is the only damn thing invading your senses. You grip the fabric of his knitted sweater, it makes him part from your lips to pant like a dog and take said piece of clothing off, now left in a dark gray shirt.

"V-Va– You taste like alcohol–"

"Get drunk off of me." He whispers, before grabbing the sides of your arms and kissing you tongue first, lapping at your lips, and at this point, you learned better than to deny him. With all the mental fortitude you could muster, you rigidly part your lips. Despite all your efforts to be as pliant as possible to try and guarantee your safety, you can't help the shiver of revulsion when his tongue invades your mouth like a parasite and rubs against yours.

It feels like time slows down, you can feel the milliseconds before your instincts kick in, and each millisecond feels like a year of dread. Unable to stop raw instinct, you bite down.

Your heart stops when you hear him grunt, and feel his grip around your arms tighten before he shoves you away. He gasps, cursing under his breath in his mother tongue before setting his sights back on you.

Doe-eyed and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, you begin to plead.

"N-No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Vanya, please–"

He approaches, kicks the back of your knees, before you are grabbed by the scruff of your shirt. The collar of your blouse is yanked back and presses the fabric tightly against your throat as he drags you to the front door. You're coughing and struggling to regain your footing, and the moment you can breathe, you beg.

"Please! Nonono– Vanya please don't do this I'll be good–" The words tumble out like unorganized clutter using the one short breath you were able to catch.

With one more harsh tug, you fall to your knees again, and the door opens. The sight of the snow immediately triggers something within you, and you begin sobbing.

Ivan takes a peak at you, seemingly taking pity.

"Only for a few minutes."

You shake your head in a frenzy, not believing a word he says. Even if he was saying the truth, you'd much rather continue to humiliate yourself over being outside for even a few seconds. What if he forgets about you? What if that door never opens again? What if you die a miserable death, separated from your survival by just a few inches of wood?

That's why, the moment he throws you out, you scramble to your feet and shove that damned door open before he can fully close it. You know you're in deeper shit when you hear the door slam against him, and the deep yelp that follows it. You run for your life into the confines of his house.

You quickly make way to one of the bathrooms, the only rooms in the house you're still able to lock from the inside. You knew even that meant nothing, since you're sure Ivan could and would break them down without a second thought. Yet, it was still your best shot.

You lock the bathroom door and sit on the flooring right next to it. You try to calm down your heartrate and your heaving so you could try and listen in on whatever was going on outside this room.

Eerie silence is what greets you. You hate it, hate it so much. Shuddering, you hold your breath and strain your ears just a little more.

And that's when you hear it.

Soft footsteps.

You have to bite back a scream from how much raw fear that little sound sends shooting through your nervous system. Makes your skin crawl so bad that it almost hurts.

Ivan's clearly not in any rush, but FUCK did you wish he'd just get it over with and sprint right at you. You're sure he knows where you are, he just likes to freak you out, you can tell. That sweet smile he always puts on is nothing short of sadistic, constantly has this look in his eyes, some kinda weird sparkle that tells you he enjoys watching you struggle beneath him. Knowing you'll be face to face with those very eyes shortly makes your ribs squeeze around your quaking lungs and heart.

The footsteps approach. You brace yourself for a rough kick to the door or a pipe slamming through it.

Instead, he knocks. This was wrong, what was happening? Oh, god, this was so much worse.

"I won't ask again."

Scrambling to the door, not even sparing any time to actually stand up, you open it. You wince when you strain your neck to look up and see the damage done to him by your outburst. A nasty, bloody bruise on the bridge of his tall nose and that same crimson liquid streaming down his nostril. Your chest shakes like a dying sparrow's.

"I-I'm sorry. Please."

And he smiles.

Ivan is actually, genuinely, extremely pleased right now. He's wanted this all along, for you to fear the outside world so much you'd do anything in the world to stay here, right by his side. He doesn't give a single shit about the injuries you've caused him now and in the past, he's strong, he can take it, and he'll always forgive you over and over again. Of course, it makes him annoyed, because what good housewife would beat their husband like that? But he understands that your circumstances aren't exactly normal, so he'll endure it with irritation. At the rate he's breaking you in, though, you'll soon be as pliant and obedient as he expects you to be. Perhaps you'll even start to love him back. Just the thought of it raises goosebumps on his porcelain skin and makes his hands tremble in excitement.

You don't understand why he's giggling right now.

He sighs your name, and crouches down to meet your stare. You flinch as a droplet of blood hits the tiles. Ivan's grin only widens when your shaking hands reach for his face and try to wipe the blood away.

"O-Oh, Ivan," You whine uselessly, getting up on boneless legs to grab the first-aid kit. He watches with bright, amused eyes. He knows you won't try anything anymore. He's confident in your compliance to him.

As carefully as you can, you wipe off the blood with paper towels, crying harder when it smears instead of going away completely like you'd hoped. It felt like your mistakes were going to be impossible to fix.

Ivan's cheery gaze never falters. Maybe this is the happiest you've ever seen him, despite the blood streaming into the gaps of his teeth and forming a grotesque image. Dusty eyelashes frame his smiley crescent moon eyes, cheeks ruddy as little alcohol-stained puffs of air pollute the cold atmosphere. You jolt when he chuckles throatily.

"What's wrong?" His voice is as sickly sweet as it always is.

"Y-You're mad– I made you mad. I'm sorry." You choke on your own words, trying your best not to drop the bottle of disinfectant in your weak hand.

"What did you do?"

"I–" You hiccup, "I d-didn't– I didn't listen to you. I wasn't good."

Unable to hide his pleasure, he laughs and leans in to give you a chaste, bloody kiss.

"It will be okay. I love you."

You're glad your crying masks the gag reflex that almost makes itself apparent when you know what you have to say next. You steel your nerves and dryly swallow the taste of Ivan's blood.

"I love– I love you too."

He gives you a pleased, closed-mouth smile, and presses a kiss to the top of your head before taking the bottle of disinfectant from you. He begins to tend to his own wounds.

"This does not mean I forgive you, though."

Just as you felt your whole world crashing down around you, Ivan saves you.

He breathes out a laugh, "No, I won't throw you outside again. It's much better staying inside with me, yes?"

You nod in a frenzy. "Yes! Y-Yes, much better. Please don't."

"Well," Ivan prefaces, disinfecting the cut on his nose before placing a bandaid on it. He turns his head to the side and spits out the blood left in his mouth. "You will have to tend to this wound. Kiss it better." And before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his tongue lolls out, brandishing the red bite mark from earlier.

Disgust registers for only a second.

Like an automaton made solely to serve, you lean forward, grasp onto his biceps, and press a needy, desperate kiss to his drooling tongue. He laughs while you lap at his tongue like a wounded dog, warm, alcoholic breaths brushing against your face.

After relishing in the feeling of your worship for a little longer, he gently pushes you to the ground and crawls over your jittery body, placing a hand against the small of your back to hold you up and closer to him, with the other gripping the outside of your thigh.

"You will not bite me this time?"

Nodding fearfully, praying the conviction in your eyes will be enough to warrant his forgiveness, you wrap your arms around his neck.

Sighing happily, he presses his cold lips against yours, taking the lead happily as he moans into the kiss. The sound was more out of the satisfaction of establishing his dominance rather than the actual physical pleasure.

Ivan doesn't usually indulge in sexual fantasies or acts, which surprises you considering how touchy the man is. His mind usually favors daydreams of a stable, domestic life with you. Ivan prioritizes establishing your relationship over anything else, so he doesn't really find the time to lull over menial things like sex. Marriage is one thing, but your total submission is another.

Then again, this doesn't mean that he fully doesn't have any carnal desires when it comes to you. It's you, for christ's sake. When his fantasies of dominance come into play, it seems only obvious that sometimes his thoughts wander into the bedroom.

Ivan fantasizes a lot about having you desire him as much as he does you. He wants you to need him like air. Wants to have you mewling his name and clinging to him like your life depended on it, which would quite literally be the case right now. Wants to see your pretty, pretty tears reserved only for him. Wants to see you fall apart in his arms over and over again while comforting you so meanly and kissing your crying face.

Ivan tries his best to not let these thoughts make themselves apparent, but fuck, do you make it so hard sometimes. How could any man not be affected by the sight of their adorable little housewife in an apron? Takes so much for him to not just grab you by your hair and bend you over the counter. Whenever you cry for whatever reason, he almost feels guilty over how instantly horny it makes him. Almost feels guilty when all he can think about is licking those tears off of your face and making himself the cause of them. God, he wants to play the role of a nice doting husband so bad, but he can't help but feel you up and breathe down your neck when you try on the dresses and lingerie he buys for you. He can't help grabbing your waist and pressing his erection against your ass– not on purpose, he just wanted to be close to you.

While aggressive in his approach, Ivan never forces any sexual acts that you refuse. Even if he's left high and breathing heavy, he still wants to be someone you don't completely hate. Be a good husband, be a good husband. He always chants to himself. All his prayers proved fruitful when he quite literally cried tears of joy during your first time together.

Ivan doesn't know what was different that day, he didn't expect anything, just to make out and have you reject him after a bit, but you just... kept going, until he was ramming into you, hands tight around your sweaty waist and fucking into you like you were just a fleshlight. He's never seen himself like this, moaning and gasping like a girl and feeling so fucking good that all that he wanted– all that he could think of was breeding you like a bull and how beautiful your family would be. God, the memory of you struggling, doing your best to take his thick cock and crying so cutely just trying to bottom out is engraved into the grooves of his brain. It makes his stomach feel all warm whenever he thinks of it. He wants to carve it under his eyelids so he can see it every time he blinks.

Ivan laughs a lot during sex, call him creepy, it's genuinely because he is just so damn happy that he can't hide it. Why should he hide it from you? He wants to show you just how much he loves you and how good you make him feel. You make him feel so damn happy and complete that all he could do was chant IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou– while whimpering, giggling, his tears dripping onto your face.

Maybe he'll get lucky again.

Without parting, Ivan carefully lowers your back to the tiled floor, straddling your body and snaking his long fingers under your blouse, resting them against your heated abdomen. He smiles into the kiss when you jolt away, tickled by how frigid they are.

The ends of his feathered gray hair tickles your wet face, your body shivering at all the different sensations attacking you simultaneously. The cold tiles, his freezing hands, his hot tongue, the faint taste of blood, the warm drool seeping out the side of your mouth, his arid breathing, the smell of alcohol–

Your hands, still by the back of his neck, reach up to ever-so-slightly tug at his hair to signal you needed a breather. Ivan makes a small noise of surprise, before pulling away.

He looks absolutely dazed, lips shiny with remnants of a spit trail, and lavender eyes heavy and glazed over with a feral lust. His breathing is labored, muscular chest rising and falling as he intently watches every minute expression your face makes. Despite the blatant lack of nudity, this might be the most erotic sight you've ever seen. Fuck, why does he have to look so good when you're supposed to hate him?

Right now, you were so exhausted you couldn't even remember what reason you'd have to hate him, despite there being enough that you could spend the rest of your life listing all of them down.

And just when you try to refuse by backing up, your thigh brushes against his boner and he lets out the most heated, breathy, shivery moan you've ever heard. The vocalization sounded like it was tailor-made to tantalize you, to tempt you into biting the fruit. And you know what? You were a sinner anyways.

"Bed– B-Bedroom."

A toothy grin appears on Ivan's face, and he exhales a breathy laugh. He looks absolutely delighted, and starved.

Without a second thought, he picks you up, and carries you to the closest one.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The next morning begins normally. Your body is sore, and covered in bite marks. That was one of the best sleeps you've had in recent memory. Ivan seems to think so, too, with his arms cradling your torso and a hand resting over your lower abdomen. The ache reminds you about what happened yesterday, you can still feel him in there somehow.

You woke up a little later in the morning compared to usual. Since you're still a little too exhausted to get up and begin cooking, you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet howling of the wind outside. You wonder when was the last time you heard any birds chirping.

Thinking of the outside world brings you a bit of dread, don't really like doing it. But when your life is so isolated and so alone, misery can become a form of entertainment.

The more and more days go by, the more and more do you forget what your life was like before meeting the Russian. The longer you live with Ivan, the more does it feel that he was just always there, and that your life before meeting him was a falsified memory. You're not even sure how much time has passed since, it's always snowing outside, every day feels the same.

That's the one thing you remember from before this life, the feeling of warmth. You're not sure you remember the feeling of it, really, but you're well aware of the absence it leaves behind. Maybe when spring finally comes around, you can open that door, and...

Eyebrows furrowing as a migraine starts to set in, you shake your head weakly. You didn't like thinking about the outside.

Turning over to face Ivan, you gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. He eventually stirs from his sleep, hugs you, and you do not struggle.

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