#i’ve always been self conscious of my writing idk why

[cinnamonsly]

ok guys…. i did it…… go read it if you want to😭

still don’t rly know how Ao3 works so apologies in advance for formatting or tagging issues!!! but uhhh. yeah. runs away and hides

[xoxitgirl]

˚⊹₊ ⋆ updated manifestation routine ₊˚｡

2024 it-girl manifesto

hi all! so my last manifestation routine I feel like I missed a lot + have a new mindset now so I’m going to break it down in a better way lol. a lot of my mindset has been developed through esoteric philosophy, teachings of neville goddard, and edward art.

the foundation—

so this is what i base my thought process on, everything is mental. this is literally the first principle I learned of esoteric philosophy—mentalism. the mind has effects over all; mentally, spiritually, and physically. for anything to be/exist it has to come from the mind, this is also considered the “law of self” or the “law of one.” since our minds literally can’t comprehend what is imagined to be experienced vs what we’ve actually lived through, we can literally change ANYTHING through consciously shifting our awareness. some things may be viewed as “harder” or “more difficult” but in essence its the same exact process every time. and I only mean like conscious manifestation and not like past events/trauma.

rule one: find what works for you and practice consistency.

rule two: if you have it in your mind, it is already yours. feel it, touch it, smell it, embrace it. use your senses.

rule three: what is inside of you is outside of you—let it reflect without desperation, fear, or pressure.

intention comes first

if you lead with no direction where will you go? being able to understand what it is you want is a necessity to me when it comes to manifestation. I like to think of it as a mini ritual; writing or deciding your intention and then diving into the mindset revamp and everything else in store.

journaling, journaling, and more journaling

I journal literally everything in every style—meaning; when I start journaling I write short paragraphs expressing gratitude for my current manifestations. for more in depth desires, I will write pages about the experience of getting my desire, the feelings I felt, the people involved, the setting, etc. similar to gratitude letters, I just write gratitude vaunts. when I’m not vaunting I’m setting goals. goals can easily help us understand what we want and what we can do in the meantime to feel like we have it. I also journal sporadically, I read through all the things i’ve manifested through a couple months—for some reason this works insanely well for me.

state akin to sleep

SATS or state akin to sleep is basically being completely relaxed/in a drowsy state and envisioning your desire so its like you’re falling asleep in the wish fulfilled. this is useful because when you’re in this state, your mind is more accepting and receptive of your desires. neville breaks this idea down in depth but in short, there will be less opposition because you experience having your desire in this state and as I love saying; as above so below. as you continue this method the mental and physical planes will align.

subliminals + affirmation tapes

I always binge listen to subs for around a week to a month and then stop for at least 2 weeks minimum. idk why i just don’t like repetitive tasks but this way of sporadic listening has always helped me manifest better because I allow my manifestation to come to me. especially if it’s something I think is more of a material manifestation like a new car—I made a car sub and stopped listening after like 3 months of constant listening and my dad told me to clean out my car for my dream car.. like let it come to you babes.

detaching!!!

in my mind detaching is equally as important as intention. if you’re obsessing over something its more likely you’ll focus on the lack in the 3d instead of the abundance you have in the 4d. I force myself to not worry about my sp, put my phone down when I’m worried ab sales, and just relax because what is mine will always be mine. ways to detach… going on walks, drawing, focusing on hobbies, working out, yoga, listening to music, hanging out with friends or family, going for a drive, literally anything that brings you back to center and allows you to stop thinking excessively about your desire.

affirming 24/7

im always asking and telling myself how I would think as my most desirable self. when i’m worried about the weather, my designs, if my dates will go the way i want, or if my packages will arrive on time I affirm immediately, “the weather is always so amazing. I love driving in my area’s calm, nice weather. everybody always loves my designs, why wouldn’t they? I’m literally one of the most famous designers in the world. I always have picturesque fairytale like dates with my SP because he loves me and wouldn’t let me settle for less tff” and like its been mentioned before, we have thousandss of thought a day so a negative thought literally cant hurt you or your manifestation but affirming can be extremely helpful for those with anxiety or intrusive thoughts imo.

manifestation lists

i write a list of everything I’ve manifested every month to remind myself of my power. at times ill even throw in a few things that I am wanting at the moment to remind myself it’s already mine. every time I manifest consciously I scroll through the list just as like a confidence booster I guess.

visualizing + vision boards

im constantly visualizing what I want in my present. literally money in my hands, my new computer in front of me—visualize, visualize, visualize. thats definitely a really big part of my routine, also making vision boards and having them on my phone, on my walls, etc. using apps to make it more convenient like vsco, pinterest, notion.

sigils

making sigils helps me kinda detach too! this is definitely not a necessity, I only remake my sigils every year or when I feel uneasy about something. over time i’ve noticed that with ones i’ve used for safety/peace, I have to actively choose which energy to embody. nobody will come into my space causing me to be in a stressful mood unless I allow it—imo it helps a lot with conscious creation.

challenges + rules

I make a lot of challenges that I do privately and every time I stop/revert to thinking about the 3d I have to restart. I always give myself repercussions for feeding into a lack mindset because why would I do that when I live a life of abundance? im not like hard on myself or anything its just about maintaining the idea until it saturates. I also use like 10-20 manifestation rules that I have and follow on a daily basis, I would also recommend making your own list of rules because if you don’t have a standard to follow its harder to stay focused. some of mine are—

ᥫ᭡ everything I desire manifests the second I desire it.

ᥫ᭡ I manifest anything I want instantly.

ᥫ᭡ only my desired thoughts manifest.

ᥫ᭡ nothing can stop me from getting what I want.

ᥫ᭡ the 3D changes instantly for me.

ᥫ᭡ I have such potent undeniable incredible power.

ᥫ᭡ I always manifest what I want on the spot.

as above so below, as within so without.

itgirl ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[darlingpoppet]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Thanks Jo and also to @onionjuggler for tagging me, sorry for answering so late </3 (wait since I got tagged twice should I go ahead and self-rec 5 more fics after this or is that too self-indulgent even for me??) Ah well :)

I’m not really sure what order to put these in, so I’ll just list them chronologically!

Pressed Flowers (Shingeki no Kyojin, Eruri, T)

This was the first fic I managed to get over the finish line after years of having no idea how to build a bridge to the creative writing island in my brain, and thanks to the momentum created by this one I’ve been publishing new fics regularly ever since. In a weird way this still feels like my best written fic because you know that phenomenon when you’re in the weeds developing a skill and at times you feel like you’re getting worse, in a “the more you learn, the less you know” kind of way? This was the fic where I felt the least self-conscious about my abilities so I was able to just express all the ideas I wanted to convey without thinking too hard about any of it, and idk sometimes that can be an asset to the final product (the word flow probably needs improvement though lol.) But also I’m just fond of the perfect, peaceful moment I was able to create for Eruri here.

Upon A Lazy Bed (TSOA, Patrochilles, M)

Whenever I get into a new piece of media or a new ship I really just like to stew in it for a few months, because in a way whatever you post first will be a treatise of sorts on how you view the thing… and yeah so anyway this is what I came up with after snorting pure uncut Patrochilles for the first six months of shipping it (even if Once More ending up beating it to the finish line so I guess that’s the real Patrochilles treatise, lol.) I like this one because I was able to try something new, especially because the narrative voice of TSOA was still in my head at the time so it was a fun challenge to replicate it to some degree (this is still my only 1st person pov fic to date.) I felt myself leveling up as a writer as I was working on it too, which is always a cool feeling.

Where The Dead Forget (Hades, Patrochilles, M-E)

This fic is still ongoing and even what I’ve published so far is just the iceberg tip belying all the effort and ink spilled for it for almost two years now, but I guess that’s why it’s my baby haha. Usually when I post a fic, a huge motivating factor for me is I want to hopefully add something new with my perspective and/or otherwise give myself everything I want in a story. With WTDF however my primary goal from the beginning has been taking a popular fandom trope and just simply trying to stretch my wings with long-form storytelling (because of course as expected, it has only gotten more complex and bigger in scope lol.) I think sometimes I undersell it by saying this story isn’t that original and doesn’t have any hot takes, but tbh as time has passed I’ve started to gain a perspective and an angle for it, and it has already helped launch a lot of really interesting conversations with other Patrochilles fans, so that in itself more than justifies its existence for me! The best part of a serial fic is having others going on the ride with you so I’ll always be extending the invitation to have more come along until of course I finally finish it in 2069 :)

Closest To My Heart (Hades, PZA, E)

There’s probably an undercurrent of melancholy running through a lot of my stories, considering the source materials I like working with, but this was probably the first time I got to make a story outright unsettling. I think I’ve often talked this one up as my favorite to write as well as my favorite as a finished piece so I’m almost not sure what else I can say about it but there’s just something about PZA that lights up my brain like a Christmas tree, it gives me so many wild ideas and makes me want to keep exploring these highly intense emotional states. And I love that this one was born out of those unhinged fandom group chat conversations where it’s just riffing on pure collective id until someone goes “fuck it, I’m writing this!” (And that someone in this case was me lol.)

See No ****, Hear No **** (Hades, Patrochilles, E)

I think I’m lucky that most of my own writing I personally like have also been crowd pleasers (or idk who knows maybe the reception is indeed a big factor in my estimation of quality because the in the end the “popular=good” drug is a hard habit to break, lol.) But this is definitely one I can point to and say the audience here is probably much more limited and I still think it rules :) I had a lot of fun with the concept of creating essentially two different stories out of the exact same scene because different sensory deprivations affected how each character experienced it. And also I wrote it as a gift, meaning there was that much extra love put into it! I may do a lot of serious academic reading & research about classical texts for Patrochilles but at the end of the day I was raised in the dark fandom, molded by it, and sometimes that means you just gotta turn your blorbos into holes no matter how many millennia of highfalutin academic tradition exists behind them uwu I will say though this fic probably has THE highest kudos to bookmark ratio of all my fics so I tend to think Squidward DOES like krabby patties but no worries, y’all keep your secrets ;)

Honorable Mention: I think I’m with @baejax-the-great who said your favorite story is always the one you’re currently working on, which for me means my upcoming modern au pza fic, Liminal Spaces (aka the pza dreamers au). But since it’s still unfinished and unpublished, I can’t properly recommend it, lol. Who knows how I’ll feel about it by the time it’s done but I’m having a lot of fun writing it so I hope y’all will enjoy it too <3

[valsansretovr]

Hiya! It's the Gaulnon from your friend's/mutual's askbox, the same one that sent in the ask calling Gaul a peculiar woman with murder in her eyes, i hope you don't mind me hopping onto YOUR askbox as well? Not many tbosas/thg blogs ever talk about her so not many places one can go for discussion surrounding her, lmao.

Either way, apparently, her appearance in the movie suggests self experimentation? I don't remember who said it, or where, but i remember reading about her on articles online that said it was a conscious decision to make her have eyes like that for that reason(she is also always wearing gloves and high neckpieces to hide that too, apparently?)

Which, in itself, begs the question as to... how? And why her eye specifically? Did she mess around with herself and the eye was affected as a result? Did she purposefully drop something on it? Can she see well with it, and if not, how affected has her vision become? Are the lack of eyebrows a related incident or a different one? (Funniest case scenario, she just shaves them off for fun). Many questions that i need the team to answer... Anyways, have a good day! ^^

Funny you say that gaulnon bc I have been thinking abt this exactly!!!!!!!!!!

Ok so first of all. Disclaimer: I kind of resent the fact that the film went on to use physical difference as a visual cue for. evil? Like what is this. the 1200s? Come on man…….

However what I have been thinking abt in the fic I’m writing and will never finish probably rip is that she has genetic mosaicism? This is pure speculation and basically something I made up lol but the heterochromia and the streak of white hair at the top of the head is characteristic of something called piebaldism? And thematically (the themes. In my head) this makes a lot of sense bc genetic mosaicism is what happens when the dominant / recessive pattern of genetic inheritance breaks down and like somehow the characteristics that are produced by this breakdown are not an either / or. they’re somehow both. This is something I figured out yesterday so Uhm. Idk if this is what ur talking abt I’m just excited

I’ve been thinking a lot abt how the political philosophy of Hobbes and Locke sort of anticipates Darwinism and social Darwinism in particular. If the whole world is at war, then can the characteristics that make one a ‘victor’ be considered inherently superior to other characteristics? Is the world truly just ‘supplant or be supplanted’? And is war good bc it ensures the survival of the fittest? Like to me that feels like a very logical continuation to the thinking abt the social contract etc that we see in tbosas and in my head. gaul is like I love how science backs up my worldview bc even genes are at war with each other ehehehe meanwhile she’s literally living with the physical manifestation of genes. not actually working that way ? She is very tunnel visioned I fear.

I do like the idea that she leans into that slightly uncanny aura tho. she is doing performance art. Vibing. In her evil lab doing whatever the fuck. Being a hag.

Thank you for this ask 🩷🩷 I love talking abt volumnia most thematically relevant girl of all times and I think abt the phrase ‘a peculiar woman with murder in her eyes’ at least once daily. With those words you’ve made her irresistible to me unfortunately

[owmylasagna-blog]

You know, despite Nazz being the most bland and forgettable of the kids, I also think she's (ironically) the most versatile at the same time. She might be both a tomboy and a girly girl, she fits in two trios (sometimes she's hanging out with Kevin and Rolf, sometimes she's hanging out with Sarah and Jimmy- something that hardly applies to the other characters), she has a fair share of interests (sports, studying law, fashion, music, math according to her report card) and actually a good jokes and gags (she eats A LOT, she's poor in music, and according to ''Mission-Ed Possible'' she's also bad in cooking). There so much directions they could took with her... and she's the only nice girl on the show.

I guess since most of the writers were men, they preferred or were more comfortable writing for male characters most of time (or they just assumed most of the target public/audience were boys, like usually happened in that time).

Yeah I actually like Nazz as a character and of all the kids on the show she is absolutely the most pleasant one to be around! Unfortunately given the high octane slapstick, exaggerated personalities, and overall humor of the show she sort of gets lost. Nazz functions to fit some role in service of the plot rather than plots being driven by some key aspect of her personality or interests. Which as a side character makes some sense but I feel like each of the side characters get their moments to shine! When we get a Nazz focused episode it’s really more about how all the boys feel about her. Nazz’s desires, motives, history, and perspective aren’t super fleshed out which is my main critique.

For a show about the awkwardness of puberty she is astoundingly well adjusted. I always assumed she was slightly older than the Eds so maybe 13-14? She’s inexplicably very mature. I kind of wish we got a sense of why that was the case! Like, we know Edd is the responsible one in his respective trio because he has to an extremely independent kid at home (and has mad anxiety). I don’t know what drives Nazz to be thoughtful, kind, and relatively more mature. Does anyone else? In the series bible she is described as “most mature of the kids, or so she thinks” and man do I want to know more what that means! Like maybe she should have been shown being more self conscious about wanting to seem older/ more mature than her age. It doesn’t get explored really!

And then there is just the reality of being a middle schooler! Scott Underwood posted a drawing of Nazz where she has leg hair and I’m kind of mad nothing like that got incorporated in the show!! That sort of character design choice gets relegated to the Kanker sisters (obsessed with that photo of Lee shaving her legs in the fucking kitchen sink, what an icon).

It’s why I find the interface of the Kankers and Nazz so interesting - I risk sounding like a broken record but I’ve been saying the same shit for like 10 years now. And while the Kankers aren’t necessarily the most well rounded either they ARE much more interesting to me because the crew wasn’t afraid to make them unlikable or gross or tackle their pubescent growing pains or their messed up love/hate relationship to men.

Idk this is just my take! I could be missing some things, so I’m curious how other folks feel about Nazz!

[mymarifae]

hey it’s the writing anon from a while ago ^_^ read your thread on akito and kashika and i’d like to say THANK YOU for recognizing that kashika doesn’t have to be read so literally when looking at akito as a character 😭

it is genuinely a little jarring to see people go “oh he canonically wants to die hahaha” and leave it at that when he’s really been on a path of healthy growth for a while as of burn my soul … please!! he’s found a way out of the mindset of survival and desperation, he’s grown to love what he’s doing without so much of the fear of being left behind and his storied “future” is more within his grasp than ever, because he’s let his partners in and is more willing to lean on them, growing alongside them

i’m not saying we should disregard what he’s gone through in the past but i’ve also noticed it’s a bit of a trend within people interpreting akito to attribute his past actions to his current self— like i STILL see people bring his actions in main story and use that as their baseline for how he is as a character when it’s…. just not that true anymore. yes he’s kind of an asshole but he’s also learned that he has a place within vbs and that he loves his groupmates and they love him :(

anyway thank you :) your thread was a very good read!

omg hi again !!

yes it really seems like a good chunk of the prsk fandom struggles with like... acknowledging character development. i'm not entirely sure what it is, but it's insane to see how many people treat these characters like they're static figures. it's one thing to revisit past events and explore avenues colopale didn't take, and build upon the things they neglected (or just re-build entirely where they fucked up). it's another to look at everything akito is doing Now and respond to it with "he's about to overwork himself and go into another long spiral isn't he. oh look he got a line in beyond the way with the word 'die' in it he must still be suicidal and struggling with his inferiority complex oh no 😱" LIKE

akito has come so, so, SO far. his development means the world to me !!!! it has been so amazing to see this scared, self-conscious, bitter, traumatized kid grow into someone who is Confident and Passionate and Excited and Bright. he's grown!! he's learned!! we see him reaffirm multiple times in other events that he's not going to go down the same path he did in SBD - other characters will see him still practicing or about to go for a run or whatever and check in on him and he always tells them he knows better now. because he does! he's not just saying that !!!!

it took him some time to adjust, but he knows vivid bad squad has his back. kotaro has his back. ken-san has his back. ena has his back. hell even arata and tsukasa fucking tenma have his back. he knows he has a support system now ! these are people who want him by their side, and no they're not going to leave him when he stumbles and falls behind; they'll simply pull him back up and they'll just keep moving forward. Together.

and citing kashika as confirmation that he's (still) suicidal is crazy because that's not what the song is about? it's about him reflecting on his past and all the shitty things he went through that caused him to develop that bitter inferiority complex he struggled with for so long. and how he's starting to feel ready to move on from it all. even from haruryo's perspective, in which all the lines about wanting to die are literal, kashika is still a very, very, very positive song !! it's still about moving forward and allowing your love of music (or [insert personal Love of choice here]) to help you through dark times. it's not a song about wanting to kill yourself; it's a song about wanting to live.

idk this all is just super important to me because i am all about stories about growth and healing and recovery. and it's frustrating to glance at the prsk fandom and see people squandering these beautiful stories for... i don't even know what or why 😭

[thatkdpoh]

Introduction i think?

Ok so I’ve been like really excited to do this I don’t know why but this is I think controversy? I don’t know how controversy works but this is how it happened.

I am 12 yrs old, My height is 5,1 and holy shit wanna kms but I am 130 pounds. This will flucate and idk how to spell it but it’s like a line with a dot in the front or end and it goes left to right so I flucate to 130 to 140 I hate that.

How I know about ED/Backstory/rant (cringy ik sorry :c :

I was always a fat kid and I’ve hated it, I understand that I didn’t care about my weight but when I was like what 8 to 9 whenever my dad would say cow to me in taqvaylit I don’t know how to write it but I know something’s like amcic or tizizwith or afkroune which is cat, bee and turtle in that order. I would feel self conscious and sometimes cry to because I’m very sensitive which is like cringy i know lol. My heaviest had to been this year like 140 pounds but I think it was water weight and shit. Anyways my mom tried to get me to fast and she would force me or smth maybe not force but like tried to get me to lose weight. She’d say it directly and it would always make me feel bad but like I understand being 130 for like 8 yrs or 9 to 12 is very heavy and embarrassing considering I always saw kids would be more skinner than me I’d feel very bad. Until recently like last year in 6th grade I was reading fanfics of a human au of TMNT i didnt know what ED’s were so when it showed up the word bulimia I thought it meant bullshit but it didn’t sound right so I searched it up and saw the symptoms that’s when I also learned about anorexia and pica etc. When I saw the symptoms I started copying them now this is the part that I think is controversy I copied the symptoms which I know was bad but I was fucking lazy and still am couldn’t do a workout for the life of me or restrict food, I was used to eating a lot and when I saw the symptoms I copied them and they worked!! I loved it and then the minute I knew how to starve myself, I actually don’t know how to continue with that but I didn’t know how much of a deeper hole I got into but I really loved it and still do EMBARRASING. I did do exercise I did like 100 sit ups a day which did nothing but it did make my body ache and stopped, 5th grade was the worst out of all my grades for now but 6th might be second but it wasn’t that bad just a lot of crying and seeing how fat I am made me cry that’s it. Now if I don’t starve at all or try too I would feel like shit. In 6th grade I also saw that purging was a symptom so I made myself throw up but only if I ate way to fucking much and I’m so bloated it hurts and I can’t take the pressure so I throw up just to take off a little pressure and go back but then I’d feel sick which sucked :C. When Ramandan came though I was A BEAST not an actual beast but like it was my oppertuinity to fast without anyone questioning because I live in a studio apartment with 5 other people that are my family >_<. Obviously with my blabber mouth which I hate told everything to my mom but I think she thinks that I’m ok now :D. Any way I’d only eat 5 tablespoons of soup every night and I was very tired and I lost 6 pounds!! Which isn’t a lot but I made it to 124 pounds!! But then I gained it all back in summer break, cried, tried to fast for 3 days but fainted on the 36 hour?? I’m not sure because when I stopped the fast because my mom told me to eat and spoiler alert I cried cause I have little bitchitas if u know Kubz scouts u know. I paused at the 38 hour so like 36 is my highest to fast which is embarrassing again. ANYWAY NOW IM IN 7TH GRADE STUGGLIJG EITH THIS THINGY :]] I sound like those I guess I deserve it heh thing but like no I’m not seriously I just wanted to be silly. Anyway I’m gonna try that ABC diet which I think seems kind of mid to hard but I think fitnesspal would help me with it <33

BYE EVERYONE HAVE A GREAT DAY OR NIGHT HAVE A GREAT THANKSGIVING SND MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!! :33

[celestie0]

🪷 I have been summoned. ℑ 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲.

These guys will never give up on the horny agenda will they 😭 it's been months wallahi I still remember the last time you got asks like these and like..okay I get it everyone gets horny occasionally but there's several stories that will cater to your needs of the moment. Hell just search up the tags #(insert character) smut and you'll get that shit.

I don't think the anon meant it in a pushy way but seriously on your end I can't even imagine the pressure it must put on you. Like imagine tens of people sending you stuff like this, then on top of that the cunts who send hateful, catty asks over STORIES and HEADCANONS. I'm actually so sorry dude. Forget about touching grass these people need a shot of chlorophyll injected straight to their bloodstream.

I think so much of this brain rot is because as a reader the effort isn't that significant on our end. 15-20 mins of reading and maybe a like or comment if necessary and that's all. As the writer on the other hand? So many hours spent in just coming with ideas, even more hours trying to articulate said ideas and make it coherent and fun to read, even more hours editing that stuff. Whew bitch. I remember why I gave up on my blog now 😭 but back to the point it's a major imbalance of effort and time put into the work from the parties. And after a point these people start feeling like they are owed their own specific fantasies and needs and it's just..girl I get it it's a self insert y/n fic but dj your kitty and go back to sleep instead of pestering an already tired and anxious writer.

You're god's strongest soldier Elliebear we love you. You and all the writers who put so much love and effort into your work only to get stuff like this in return.

HIIIII lilypad anon omg hope you’re doing well <33 also every time i read one of your asks i’m always reminded of how fucking funny you are 😂 the chlorophyll line sent me to the moon bahhaha. tysm for always coming to my support n rescue 🥺💕

AAA yea ikk like the fuckin kickoff smut asks too like bruh. i understand that i get new followers periodically that haven’t seen my posts addressing my issue w these types of asks, but like?? is it not also just basic decency? lol. i’ve been reading fanfics since i was like 12 y/o and i’ve never sent an author a rude asf ask or pushy comment like that…i can’t always keep giving these ppl the benefit of the doubt.

yea i mean i felt really awful when i responded to that ask about an hour after all my anger subsided lolol, because i can acknowledge that it’s not just the anger towards that particular anon, but also just a combination of all the asks i’ve gotten that just want smut. like, i’m ALREADY self conscious about writing smut, and i’m ALREADY self conscious about the lack of smut in my fics. these asks just make those feelings of anxiety increase ten-fold, and then i become too paralyzed to write anything.

yes i 100% agree w you, there’s definitely an imbalance of effort and i think the way you put it is perfect lol i could never put that thought into words the way you did haha. although it’s ultimately my decision to write and i’d never pressure ppl to interact w my work, i think because there is inherently such an imbalance of effort, some entitled readers suddenly think that they are OWED my time and OWED their hyperspecific fantasies to be included in my fics.

idk i’m like kinda getting carried away here i’m also pms’ing so bad i think that’s why this whole situation is messing me up more than usual 😂 but anywho thanks so much for supporitng me lilypad bb :(( i’m so grateful to have you as a reader. and yes! i’ve seen similar situations w my writer moots as well, so all the love extends to them too. i think writers really need to stand up for ourselves more often so these ppl fuckin learn n don’t do the same shit w other authors or in other fandoms

much love <3 ellie 🐸

[j2zara]

Um. It’s late so this can go here. Y’all have the nuclear launch codes to my psyche anyway but I do feel kinda bad bc everyone is pretty vulnerable abt what they like meanwhile I feel like I’ve always been kinda gunshy and hide what I really like behind using Psuedo Vanilla Detect Magic Sex Trick as a shield. Anyway, I think I’m just embarrassed (why???) to outright say like yeah intox kink really works for me n I’d much rather just cave to writing that and have them all hooking up while drunk than do my tamer option which was have Ellie sleep it off before they get down to it. Idk why I’m. Embarrassed bc like first off I know ppl are receptive toward that in the circle of perverts so why am I being so cagey abt it. And. Idk if it’s like. Bc of my typical pattern when I write. Of. ohhhh sure I write Porter as an evil manipulative guy fucking over like 4 different versions of Jace but I know when I do Porter. he’s also a little bit of a softy and I’m like. Oh. Is this a skeez move. And the answer is probs yes? But also? Is it so wrong for Porter to suck. And maybe I feel trepidatious bc obviously I feel a little precious about Ellie specifically. I’ve written every Jace at a pretty low point but I feel like this might be the lowest and. I genuinely think I’m overthinking this. She’s still present I swear and maybe this is a bit unfair bc I totally yanked j3 around for Biggest Lie anyway. I think I’m just self conscious to be revealing info abt myself that’s not like. Just the typical kinda light praise/degradation or mind sex stuff I usually write

[tiptapricot]

Happy 1000 followers! That's definitely a number worth celebrating :D. Here are some asks for your Ask Game; don't worry about answering them all, these are just some questions I thought of, free free to answer whichever ones you want to. :3

What got you into writing?

Is there any books or piece of media that inspired your style of writing, or did it develop in some other way?

What character(s) do you enjoy writing the most and why?

Are there any character(s) or fandom(s) you love that you'd love to write for but never have?

Are there any hobbies or interests you have that you find leak into and/or influence your stories?

When did you embrace the ways of the apricot? (That is to say, when and why did you commit to the bit and start creating your marvellous collection of apricot icons?).

Hope you're doing well :). Enjoy your fame, my friend! 🧡🧡🧡

I will answer 🔥 ☠️ ALL OF THEM 🎸🔥 *sick riff*

What got you into writing?

I don’t really remember a specific point of Getting Into It, because (and this def plays a part) my dad is a writer! He’s written for some video games and has some short stories published, so I grew up with him reading me books and writing his own manuscripts/engaging us in that way. He never like Guided me into writing but it was always a natural presence and I was exposed to a lot of stories early on.

We did nanowrimo in elementary school, and I also made comics when I was younger that were my own narratives and things, and I did a few small stories for other classes along the way, but when I started Really doing it more intentionally was when I got into fic writing. Which… what got me into that was I think like… danganronpa self insert things? That’s my ultimate lost fic. I wrote it in the notes app in middle school and it was super long and then I hated it and deleted it all and I’m SO MAD ABOUT IT because IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY TO LOOK BACK ON NOW! It was kind of just a natural progression though I guess? When I started reading fic more and being online more and getting into more media, I wanted to create for it since I’d already been doing that sort of thing (most comics I did were inspired by superhero shows I watched or DND games I played) so I stated posting. And then I did more original stories for school and started making ocs and it just sorta settled into being part of what I do.

Is there any books or piece of media that inspired your style of writing, or did it develop in some other way?

None consciously? And I can’t really trace my style to anything in specific, but there’s def got to be some input from the books I grew up on. Stuff like series of unfortunate events, larklight, the leviathan trilogy, the keys to the kingdom series, the Roman mysteries series, the Lockwood and co series, Harry Potter to an extent, etc. all were things that I was exposed to growing up. I don’t think I’ve really picked up the quippy narration a lot of those have, but I know they shaped some ideas of description and imagery I do now, at least in inspo. But I guess on a whole it just sort of developed naturally? I really don’t have a very conscious writing process half the time 😭

What character(s) do you enjoy writing the most and why?

At the moment and also in general I like characters that have strong voices. They make the prose pop for me, make it easy to find fun descriptions and forms of speech. Bill and Ted and Steven Grant definitely come to mind immediately as like. When I get to write them stuff just goes fast because I know how they’d talk and narrate and react and it feels like something very solid to shape and work with. So accents? I guess? But on a larger sense of just characters I Like Writing… MK system are all very fun and I really enjoy getting to explore their dynamics and reactions. If I ever get my hands on Din Djarin for a fic (finally) I think I’ll have a good time with him, but idk. I think it’s very dependent on the interests I’m into at the time, as those will be the characters I’m the most excited to engage with and create for, so it varies!

Are there any character(s) or fandom(s) you love that you'd love to write for but never have?

THE ZETA PROJECTTTT!!! AND ALSO MORE OF LEGION 2006 ANDDD THE DCAU ANDDDD MORE LUKE N DIN N ORIGINAL TRILOGY CAST AND THE DAREDEVIL NETFLIX CAST AND MISS FISHERS MURDER MYSTERIES AND TIGER AND BUNNY AND— Ahem. Yes there are and they torment me every day wanting to get to create for them but having finite brain space and time space makes writing everything all the time… a bit hard. I kind of want to do a like niche interest power hour week or somth where I take fandoms I haven’t written for and make a small piece for them—WOLF 359 ALSO GOOD GOD!!!!!!!! But I don’t know when that will be.

Are there any hobbies or interests you have that you find leak into and/or influence your stories?

Not generally, but whenever I’m writing a character as having an interest in something or really liking something in depth it often has to be something I’m also into for me to be able to do research on it. This can mean I sometimes have to find middle grounds between what a character might find fascinating and what I find fascinating, so sometimes my interests are directly or indirectly in stories. Lost media I know has made it in a few times, and so has sci fi and superheroes and action figures. I don’t really have a whole ton of hobbies that are easy to slot in or draw from on a large scale otherwise, as niche toy collecting, a love for stickers and earrings and clown paraphernalia, and performing arts are only applicable under certain circumstances.

INTERESTS is a whole diff thing. My monster/inhuman character love, my love for certain genres or aesthetics, etc. influences ALLLLL of my OCs and a lot of my fics. Stuff that focuses on loving the strange, or the inanimate, or the weird crossover between the two is in a lot of my work (and will be in more haha) but definitely colors the types of stories I want to do, and the original content I end up making outside of fic.

When did you embrace the ways of the apricot? (That is to say, when and why did you commit to the bit and start creating your marvellous collection of apricot icons?).

THIS ACTUALLY HAS DOCUMENTABLE HISTORY!! Ok so.

The username Tiptapricot was what I came up with when I made my Minecraft account in elementary school. I liked apricots and peaches and plums and stuff (still do) so that was part of it, but I was also into semi-tap dancing (AKA being a young kid with some cheap tap shoes from somewhere and doing performances) so tip-tap and apricot combined and… there we were. It became my standard name on sites when I had to make accounts (bar like animal jam I think because it was maybe made earlier), since it was never taken and it was unique enough to slot in.

I guess as I was maybe making an Instagram account or going into highschool or just… for some reason, my sister @dimidarling wanted to make me a cute icon and, based off my username, drew me a little apricot with a face for one! This created what I now call… Prototip on July 14th, 2019

This icon was very cute and I loved it a lot, but it wasn’t quite the vibe I was wanting for myself, so I ended up getting a PNG of an apricot, slapping it on a blue background from looking up “light blue” on Google, and drawing a little face on it. That became the Default Base Tip as is seen in my icon most places, in December of 2019

FUN FACT you will never unsee after I say it: I think at some point I resized or re-edited the image or something, and I wanted to carry over the original face I had drawn on it, so I ended up cutting it out and pasting it over a face I didn’t like as much, and on the left side of Tip’s face (our right) u can see this tinyyy little black mark showing the edge of the main face cut out because I didn’t get it perfectly covered or aligned. I’m sorry in advance.

ANYWAY! So base Tip was made. I don’t remember the following order of events, but still being in my kpop phase in late 2019 I got Twitter briefly and made a Tiptapricot account there. And having an apricot with a face I thought: wouldn’t it be so funny if I was a gimmick account that pretended to be a real life apricot tweeting? So I did that for like a little bit. And then I went: wouldn’t it make the bit even better if this apricot was appropriately apricot aged? And long story short I changed my age to be a year old, then realized that would probably be bad legally, but when changing it back to my actual birthday, Twitter freaked out and banned me for messing around with my age and not being old enough when I made an account (even though I was at the time) so I got booted off Twitter. (And I’m glad about that can you imagine if I had settled in there instead oh lord) But the seed for apricot jokes was planted!

From there it happened somewhat naturally as a way to either make reaction images for friends online without sending my face, or to change my icon to play along with a funny joke. I made edits for friends in the DC fandom and for jokes we had running about each other going to jail or like “I’m gonna beat you up” or whatever, and joined along with a growing bit of giving me Tip related names, it became something I Did.

Now my Tip folder is 200 images strong and my mascot/sona/little guy is somth I actually care a lot about and have a lot of fondness for as a way to express goofy stuff and emotions in a way that’s simple to draw and feels rly truly me.

And there you have it :-D The Ti(nfodum)p

Ty for the questions Charlie, they were super fun to answer!!

(IDs in ALT)

1000 follower celebration

[athetos]

Something I feel really self-conscious about is my usage of screens/technology and I know technology is such a broad term basically everything is technology but it frustrates me and makes me a feel a bit ashamed even though that’s a stupid way to feel. Even when I go on walks or just go out in general I almost always have music playing. When I play bass I usually read tabs or sheet music on my laptop. When I draw I use my tablet connected to my laptop. When I write I use my laptop. I love video games. I’ve been reading a lot of short stories lately that are only really easily found online. Like it just seems like I always have to be on my phone or laptop in some shape or form and it irritates me. And idk why it does, since it’s not really coming at a major detriment. I hang out with friends irl regularly, I exercise and have a physically demanding job, I’m honestly the healthiest and best I’ve felt in my body in maybe ever! And even if I wasn’t healthy like, I still shouldn’t be ashamed over it, right? I would never mock someone else for using their phone or computer too much, outside of joking about how some people need to go outside (though that’s less a “you’re online too much” and more of a “you need to do something other than argue on social media with strangers” thing). So I don’t know why I can’t extend that same courtesy and non-judgment to myself. It’s something that bothers me sometimes but I’m trying to be better about it.

[vio1315]

I write my in depth thoughts about my brain for 18 paragraphs:

Okay, so... The other day I was thinking about the casual thought I’ve always had that I probably just live each day more or less understimulated. I was sort of aware that daredevils etc tend to have something like that which is what can lead to thrill seeking, so I never thought a lot about it. Like maybe it had autism link, idk. But I realized ‘hm, that’s actually kind of a specific thing to experience’ so was googling around This one thing that I found, which idk if it comes out of any research or just pure personal observation But it’s been stuck in my mind a bit Basically was putting ‘boredom’ as having 3 potential causes (if chronic?)

Keeping self from accessing emotions

Keeping self from having wants/desires (as a whole)

Understimulated, nothing new

And I pretty much fit all three in a sort of overwhelming way. The main issue being idk how to live without these things. So I’m going to go into excessive detail about it.

I think my biggest issue is the shut in thing, of course. I think a lot of the symptoms I have would be greatly reduced if not for that, and I’m planning to do what I can to help with it once it’s warmer out.

However, a lot of this started long before I was a shut in too, and it absolutely lines up with these things. That’s why I’m somewhat okay if this is just an observation vs super substantiated. It is like..... I have literally built the core of who I am around these things wjdnsjdjx

To me, the idea of doing literally anything that causes someone even momentary discomfort was always sort of unbearable. And the fact this little blurb mentioned that communicating your needs etc was important just

Hate that.

Don’t know if I can do that

The idea that existence necessitates inconveniencing and agitating others is something I really can’t handle.

To some degree I can handle if someone is annoyed with just who I am or whatever, because that’s all very passive

But if I say something that causes them to feel negatively, then I’ve just committed something quite bad. I know since I was probably like 4, I had this intense desire not to burden anyone I can’t really remember anything that lead me to conclusions about it, just that I remember having amnesia at the time Waking up and thinking ‘I can’t remember anything that came before today’

I doubt anything that bad happened, but I kind of spiral about things, so I imagine I probably overheard something and just who knows

But unconfirmed, it’s just my best guess

From this desire has essentially grown the fact I really refuse to communicate preferences about things. If something bothers me, I really don’t like to talk about it, particularly with offending parties

If I tell someone they did something that bothered me, they’ll feel bad or something, maybe even become self conscious

And for what? Something I can theoretically get over? Or even for something that shouldn’t bother me? If I do those things, I’m the offending party I hadn’t really realized it before now, but I guess ultimately I kind of just removed my ability to want many things

People often ask my preference on things and I just literally can’t generate one most the time

Thinking about communicating these kinds of things is actually impossible feeling. I’m not a very sympathetic person or anything, I feel guilt so rarely I often have trouble thinking of any time within recent years I did

Yet even so, I am /so/ very adverse to hurting anyone in these kinds of ways I think it has seemed like sin for a long time for me but beyond that, I don’t like the idea of changing how people act either. The unintended consequences will come back around and make it worse for me ultimately Which also I guess is not dissimilar to how I worsened cutting out my emotions.

While of course I always would reprimand myself for wanting things that involved someone else needing to change as like selfish and all that

And that they were 100% fine in what they were doing, and that wanting anything else was abhorrent of me

It’s also like Wanting was one thing, but emotions that came out of that were even more evil So if you’re told ‘no’ for something and feel sad about it: that’s evil. That's wrong. They have a right to say no and therefore being sad about it is infringing on them, is lacking gratitude, and shows selfishness etc. If they knew you were sad you’d be guilting them which is also evil because then they have to feel bad also

So generally in my youth I trained myself out of these kinds of responses through self bullying and such. I haven’t resorted to that since hs probably But even up to recently, I realize I kind of came to hate things like ‘hope’. Eagerness and excitement. I’ve always driven myself to accept what I get and try to never ask for more. So acceptance of circumstances is generally second nature to me now. Be content in all circumstances. Which is to say, the idea that something could improve causes me considerable pain. Because it won’t improve. As far as things involving other people go, they simply never have improved. So holding onto the idea that they could just hurts a lot more than accepting this is the way things are.

Honestly getting excited for anything is just waiting for punishment. There is nobody in my life who is particularly reliable Not in the ways that do anything but disappoint where ‘excitement’ is concerned anyways. I know I very often have thought ‘that’s what you get for being excited’ when inevitably things fail to happen. As far as my memory goes, the ratio is quite literally 100% on the things I get excited for not happening Now we know this is faulty because I have emotional amnesia, so if it was ever fulfilled, I wouldn’t remember it. It’s only because I think verbally about disappointment that it is able to be remembered

Even so, I don’t love how often it happens even with mostly cutting out feelings like ‘excitement’ from most of my life by now

But you literally can’t tell people this. Nobody is really to blame for intentionally causing harm, so what? Cause pain by saying it sucked? I don’t see it as good. It can’t change anything, it can only make things worse. I realize by now my view of myself is essentially that of a liability. Can’t cause good in others, but can absolutely cause harm. I was in the pit again on the topic not that long ago, but God again saved me from committing to self isolation further

I still don’t fully know what good I’ll be to anybody, but God communicated to keep trying, so I guess He might still do something through me, so why not

This does not however fill me with motivation to communicate wants with people. This does not fill me with motivation to be vulnerable. Because there is no risk reward about it. There is a 0% chance of reward. It is all pain. Essentially what I would stand to gain if I ever healed my emotional weirdness is that maybe I could like things again, or form opinions about preference better It essentially isn’t a great deal in my mind. Trade out general contentment to be hurt repeatedly (and go to sin out of that) I can’t really do much about my environment either. Conflicting needs suck.

My parents are going like blind and deaf, so there’s nothing for it, but it’s like All the lights outside of my room are now painful to be around for very long. Everything got painted white so it also reflects way harder (and in general is ugly). Fridge now has blinding lights in it so I can’t see the top shelf All the devices are so loud and generally unpleasant noises

The shut in stuff has made me more sensitive to the sounds of survival like breathing and eating and so on, so that I can’t really stand being in the same room as people very often

And I can hear so much from across the house and I do what I can to drown it out, but I’m sure these measures are offensive

The temperature is always bad and uncomfortable I wait for summer just so I can sit outside basically all day because it’s a lot more livable vs inside

Food stuff keeps leaning to a lot of things that disgust me compared to before. It’s like I still consider my living situation very fortunate and stuff, and a lot of generosity has been extended to me

But it’s something that impacts every day and I have to monitor everything. I can’t be in the same room with people. If not for the sounds then for the lights, I have to carefully listen around to see if people are in the other rooms before I can plan out what I might do People tend to find it all funny.

It isn’t funny

I don’t like how people dismiss me now I don’t like how people don’t believe me now I’ve idly complained about some things, but am I going to make issues out of these things? No. It’s not my house. These things make it so other people can function. I can’t actually change peoples views of me, I can only make them see me as a nuisance, a killjoy, weak

The things that are known like me having to check silverware for several minutes to find something I’m willing to eat with are just things to view me as less for

Why would I talk about it If I tell people that things bother me, I become someone dangerous. I become a risk. Maybe even worse is becoming a novelty

Being bothered by things, to me, seems immoral I’ve put in a lot of work to never be bothered

And the thing I never admit to is that yes. It does apply to everyone. A good 70% of the standards I have for myself I do have for others too. But I can’t be mad at people for not getting it right, so generally I have instead considered that this puts more responsibility on me: someone who can actually handle things

This is of course not fair to people, but like.... it is what it is. And obviously, other people having so much more emotional needs and so many more problems and trauma and grief and (nobody is ever okay) means that I am even further a liability. I can’t afford to have problems or talk about issues (caused by them) because I will put someone over the edge and never know it.

But don’t worry, I also can’t help anyone.

And don’t worry there’s no hope anyways.

Nothing. Changes. For. The. Better.

Acceptance is the only way, except I’m the only one who can come to terms with any of it. Nobody else will or can. So how am I meant to tell anybody anything. How can I afford to let myself feel anything when there’s really never going to be a safe outlet for that. I’m still unclear, but I think probably most of this is something like OCD but idk how to view anything much diff

And the understimulated thing: obviously being shut in. Easy. I don’t challenge myself much in general though, so I should probably do that at least

Anyways, I always say stuff like this on tumblr because I literally am not going to unload this toxic waste anywhere else. And I’ve already had forms of it sitting in my mind for like 15 years anyways. It will go out into the world Somewhere, so here is good. I think probably it would be right that dealing with these 3 things would be ideal to be able to feel stuff normally again but honestly The cost is steep I don’t really want to

I don’t really know if I can afford to

For sure none of it makes me like ~a better person~ I think most people would interpret this as me being worse if they read it through. It is nothing that new to me. I don’t fully get how other people go their whole lives thinking so diff honestly. I’d say good for them because in theory they will experience the fullness of life then, but honestly they seem a lot worse off

Church was interesting to me in that during the sermon, it was mentioned how we tend to try and do everything on our own power without relying on God etc

And for sure, I have that in the weight I put on my errors

It isn’t as though God doesn’t work through these things as well

It isn’t as though I really can be perfect

Of course if I think about praying directly on matters like this, it’s actually terrifying I don’t really trust my interpretation of the world to be so correct that I could determine this line of thinking was bad. I’d be wrong somehow. I’d be asking for something bad when this was actually the right thing. So mostly sticking to things like guidance and wisdom requests because God knows the answer (Surely everything always has just the 1) /s

[writingwithcolor]

What Does Our "Motivations” PSA Mean?

@luminalalumini said:

I've been on your blog a lot and it has a lot of really insightful information, but I notice a theme with some of your answers where you ask the writer reaching out what their 'motivation for making a character a certain [race/religion/ethnicity/nationality] is' and it's discouraging to see, because it seems like you're automatically assigning the writer some sort of ulterior motive that must be sniffed out and identified before the writer can get any tips or guidance for their question. Can't the 'motive' simply be having/wanting to have diversity in one's work? Must there be an 'ulterior motive'? I can understand that there's a lot of stigma and stereotypes and bad influence that might lead to someone trynna add marginalized groups into their stories for wrong reasons, but people that have those bad intentions certainly won't be asking for advice on how to write good representation in the first place. Idk its just been something that seemed really discouraging to me to reach out myself, knowing i'll automatically be assigned ulterior motives that i don't have and will probably have to justify why i want to add diversity to my story as if i'm comitting some sort of crime. I don't expect you guys to change your blog or respond to this or even care all that much, I'm probably just ranting into a void. I'm just curious if theres any reason to this that I haven't realized exists I suppose. I don't want y'all to take this the wrong way because I do actually love and enjoy your blog's advice in spite of my dumb griping. Cheers :))

We assume this is in reference to the following PSA:

PSA to all of our users - Motivation Matters: This lack of clarity w/r to intent has been a general issue with many recent questions. Please remember that if you don’t explain your motivations and what you intend to communicate to your audience with your plot choices, character attributes, world-building etc., we cannot effectively advise you beyond the information you provide. We Are Not Mind Readers. If, when drafting these questions, you realize you can’t explain your motivations, that is likely a hint that you need to think more on the rationales for your narrative decisions. My recommendation is to read our archives and articles on similar topics for inspiration while you think. I will be attaching this PSA to all asks with similar issues until the volume of such questions declines. 

We have answered this in three parts.

1. Of Paved Roads and Good Intentions

Allow me to give you a personal story, in solidarity towards your feelings:

When I began writing in South Asia as an outsider, specifically in the Kashmir and Lahore areas, I was doing it out of respect for the cultures I had grown up around. I did kathak dance, I grew up on immigrant-cooked North Indian food, my babysitters were Indian. I loved Mughal society, and every detail of learning about it just made me want more. The minute you told me fantasy could be outside of Europe, I hopped into the Mughal world with two feet. I was 13. I am now 28.

And had you asked me, as a teenager, what my motives were in giving my characters’ love interests blue or green eyes, one of them blond hair, my MC having red-tinted brown hair that was very emphasized, and a whole bunch of paler skinned people, I would have told you my motives were “to represent the diversity of the region.” 

I’m sure readers of the blog will spot the really, really toxic and colourist tropes present in my choices. If you’re new here, then the summary is: giving brown people “unique” coloured eyes and hair that lines up with Eurocentric beauty standards is an orientalist trope that needs to be interrogated in your writing. And favouring pale skinned people is colourist, full stop.

Did that make me a bad person with super sneaky ulterior motives who wanted to write bad representation? No.

It made me an ignorant kid from the mostly-white suburbs who grew up with media that said brown people had to “look unique” (read: look as European as possible) to be considered valuable.

And this is where it is important to remember that motives can be pure as you want, but you were still taught all of the terrible stuff that is present in society. Which means you’re going to perpetuate it unless you stop and actually question what is under your conscious motive, and work to unlearn it. Work that will never be complete.

I know it sounds scary and judgemental (and it’s one of the reasons we allow people to ask to be anonymous, for people who are afraid). Honestly, I would’ve reacted much the same as a younger writer, had you told me I was perpetuating bad things. I was trying to do good and my motives were pure, after all! But after a few years, I realized that I had fallen short, and I had a lot more to learn in order for my motives to match my impact. Part of our job at WWC is to attempt to close that gap.

We aren’t giving judgement, when we ask questions about why you want to do certain things. We are asking you to look at the structural underpinnings of your mind and question why those traits felt natural together, and, more specifically, why those traits felt natural to give to a protagonist or other major character.

I still have blond, blue-eyed characters with sandy coloured skin. I still have green-eyed characters. Because teenage me was right, that is part of the region. But by interrogating my motive, I was able to devalue those traits within the narrative, and I stopped making those traits shorthand for “this is the person you should root for.” 

It opened up room for me to be messier with my characters of colour, even the ones who my teenage self would have deemed “extra special.” Because the European-associated traits (pale hair, not-brown-eyes) stopped being special. After years of questioning, they started lining up with my motive of just being part of the diversity of the region.

Motive is important, both in the conscious and the subconscious. It’s not a judgement and it’s not assumed to be evil. It’s simply assumed to be unquestioned, so we ask that you question it and really examine your own biases.

~Mod Lesya

2. Motivations Aren't Always "Ulterior"

You can have a positive motivation or a neutral one or a negative one. Just wanting to have diversity only means your characters aren't all white and straight and cis and able-bodied -- it doesn't explain why you decided to make this specific character specifically bi and specifically Jewish (it me). Yes, sometimes it might be completely random! But it also might be "well, my crush is Costa Rican, so I gave the love interest the same background", or "I set it in X City where the predominant marginalized ethnicity is Y, so they are Y". Neither of these count as ulterior motives. But let's say for a second that you did accidentally catch yourself doing an "ulterior." Isn't that the point of the blog, to help you find those spots and clean them up?

Try thinking of it as “finding things that need adjusting” rather than “things that are bad” and it might get less scary to realize that we all do them, subconsciously. Representation that could use some work is often the product of subconscious bias, not deliberate misrepresentation, so there's every possibility that someone who wants to improve and do better didn't do it perfectly the first time. 

--Shira

3. Dress-Making as a Metaphor

I want to echo Lesya’s sentiments here but also provide a more logistical perspective. If you check the rubber stamp guide here and the “Motivation matters” PSA above, you’ll notice that concerns with respect to asker motivation are for the purposes of providing the most relevant answer possible.

It is a lot like if someone walks into a dressmaker’s shop and asks for a blue dress/ suit (Back when getting custom-made clothes was more of a thing) . The seamstress/ tailor is likely to ask a wide variety of questions:

What material do you want the outfit to be made of?

Where do you plan to wear it?

What do you want to highlight?

How do you want to feel when you wear it?

Let’s say our theoretical customer is in England during the 1920s. A tartan walking dress/ flannel suit for the winter is not the same as a periwinkle, beaded, organza ensemble/ navy pinstripe for formal dress in the summer. When we ask for motivations, we are often asking for exactly that: the specific reasons for your inquiry so we may pinpoint the most pertinent information.

The consistent problem for many of the askers who receive the PSA is they haven’t even done the level of research necessary to know what they want to ask of us. It would be like if our English customer in the 1920s responded, “IDK, some kind of blue thing.” Even worse,  WWC doesn’t have the luxury of the back-and-forth between a dressmaker and their clientele. If our asker doesn’t communicate all the information they need in mind at the time of submission, we can only say, “Well, I’m not sure if this is right, but here’s something. I hope it works, but if you had told us more, we could have done a more thorough job.”

Answering questions without context is hard, and asking for motivations, by which I mean the narratives, themes, character arcs and other literary devices that you are looking to incorporate, is the best way for us to help you, while also helping you to determine if your understanding of the problem will benefit from outside input. Because these asks are published with the goal of helping individuals with similar questions, the PSA also serves to prompt other users.

I note that asking questions is a skill, and we all start by asking the most basic questions (Not stupid questions, because to quote a dear professor, “There are no stupid questions.”). Unfortunately, WWC is not suited for the most basic questions. To this effect, we have a very helpful FAQ and archive as a starting point. Once you have used our website to answer the more basic questions, you are more ready to approach writing with diversity and decide when we can actually be of service. This is why we are so adamant that people read the FAQ. Yes, it helps us, but it also is there to save you time and spare you the ambiguity of not even knowing where to start.

The anxiety in your ask conveys to me a fear of being judged for asking questions. That fear is not something we can help you with, other than to wholeheartedly reassure you that we do not spend our unpaid, free time answering these questions in order to assume motives we can’t confirm or sit in judgment of our users who, as you say, are just trying to do better.

Yes, I am often frustrated when an asker’s question makes it clear they haven’t read the FAQ or archives. I’ve also been upset when uncivil commenters have indicated that my efforts and contributions are not worth their consideration. However, even the most tactless question has never made me think, “Ooh this person is such a naughty racist. Let me laugh at them for being a naughty racist. Let me shame them for being a naughty racist. Mwahaha.”

What kind of sad person has time for that?*

Racism is structural. It takes time to unlearn, especially if you’re in an environment that doesn’t facilitate that process to begin with. Our first priority is to help while also preserving our own boundaries and well-being. Though I am well aware of the levels of toxic gas-lighting and virtue signaling that can be found in various corners of online writing communities in the name of “progressivism*”, WWC is not that kind of space. This space is for discussions held in good faith: for us to understand each other better, rather than for one of us to “win” and another to “lose.”

Just as we have good faith that you are doing your best, we ask that you have faith that we are trying to do our best by you and the BIPOC communities we represent.

- Marika.

*If you are in any writing or social media circles that feed these anxieties or demonstrate these behaviors, I advise you to curtail your time with them and focus on your own growth. You will find, over time, that it is easier to think clearly when you are worrying less about trying to appease people who set the bar of approval so high just for the enjoyment of watching you jump. “Internet hygiene”, as I like to call it, begins with you and the boundaries you set with those you interact with online.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

[absolutelyfizzing]

ending credits

bucky x reader

description - Bucky and Y/N are pulled apart by their jobs, even though they both know that they would never love anyone else as much.

warnings - angst, f!pronouns, idk I think its mostly just general sadness and devastation so enjoy that one

word count - 1100

a/n - the second of the now series I guess of song fics? this one really took me out, I need to have a good cry otherwise the rest of my writing till the end of time will just be upsetting.

MASTERLIST

song based on the prompt - right person, wrong time-

by sophimay.uk on tik tok! Go check out her profile, she writes amazing songs and she, of course, has full credit for the lyrics in italics.

today i felt too tired to move

so i lay still and floated on the tube

a lady with a baby

offered me a tissue

two different kinds yet I couldn't choose

and its cause of you

my aching heart

simply wont move

next to me yet worlds apart

feels like I've met my ending credits at the start

You could imagine a life with him. You could picture the future you had both talked about. You would have 2 kids and have a formal family dinner every Friday night. He would drive you to work when he was home and you would live close enough to your friends that you would have company while he was on a mission. He was the love of your life. You were sure you would never love anyone as much as him.

He would hold your hand in crowded places because he knew it made you less anxious. If someone was looking at you wrong and you were uncomfortable he would simply stand between you like a wall of protection. He took you out on his motorcycle but he stayed on uncrowded roads because he was worried something might happen to you. He taught you to fight just in case anything ever happened to you, even though he knew he would die before he let anything hurt you.

You would hold onto his metal arm when he was self-conscious about it, which you could always tell. You would brush out his hair and let him fall asleep with his head in your lap. You would make sure that he ate a good meal when he was home and that he got a good night's sleep while he had a chance. You liked to make him coffee in the mornings while he made breakfast and you would both stand with your arms around each other in silence while the pancakes cooked.

Then he was assigned a mission.

And you got offered that job.

Your life seemed to be trying to rip you apart. You would literally end up on opposite sides of the globe and you both knew that long-distance would only further tear you apart. It wasn't fair to either of you when you would have to move on. Bucky didn't know when he would be home. He didn't know if he would come home. You were moving to the job you had dreamed about your whole life. Bucky had been the one to convince you to apply. You both knew this was a possibility.

Why, then, was it something that was tearing you both to shreds?

That last night you spent together you had both cried. Bucky tried to hide it for a while but he knew it was pointless. You were supposed to be each other's forever and now that wasn't the plan. He prayed with everything he had that he would come home soon. That he could come back to you before you moved on. You were weighing how much the job was worth to you. Bucky would have been upset if he knew you were even thinking about it but you debated whether you could leave him over a job. Even if it was a huge aspiration.

Bucky had sat against the headboard of your shared bed and you straddled his legs. Your face was buried in his chest as he stroked your hair. He could feel your breath sharing and he knew that his shirt was damp from the tears you were shedding. His face was wet with tears as well. Your fists were gripping onto his shirt tightly and Buck wished he could stay like this forever. That he wasn't going to leave in 8 hours. He had to leave at sunrise. He didn't sleep a wink. Neither did you.

You spent the entire time against each other as you talked about the future as if he wasn't leaving. He talked about the new diner he found in town that he was going to take you to. Sam's sister was getting married and you guys were invited to the wedding. There was a cat at the shelter that Bucky had seen and they were going to get.  You talked about the rest of your lives as you hoped it would eventually come true. But that isn't how life works. Bucky took a deep shaky breath when he saw the sun coming over the horizon. He thought he had cried himself dry but apparently, that wasn't the case. He felt more tears come and he knew you were crying again as well.

He got up and got ready like he was just leaving for work. Like he would be back in 2 days from his mission with Sam and he would tell you all about it when he got back. You helped him get ready and made him breakfast. Neither of you acknowledged either of your swollen eyes or your shaky voices. When he got to the door, you leaned up to kiss him like usual. But he pulled you as close as he could and he locked you in a kiss that tried to convey everything he was feeling. He pulled back and pressed his lips to the top of your head while his hand cradled your neck. He wanted to kill whatever god was doing this to him.

"I love you." He looked at you so intensely that you lost your breath.

"I love you more." You whispered back.

"I'll see you when I get back." He promised like he was just going to be gone for a few days. You wished so desperately that that was true.

Then he left. He walked out of the door and went away. You moved to your new job. Each of you thought of the other every night but never reached out. Bucky was cut off on his current mission but you also knew that if you stayed in contact, neither of you would ever get over each other.

So you would try.

You would go on dates and try to find someone that compared to him. Bucky would pour himself into his work and try not to let whatever darkness was inside him grow with his grief.

You wondered how you had managed to meet the rest of your life too early.

[shorkbrian]

Anxious

Prelude - It took me three evenings to write this (EW that’s the longest I've ever taken) and it’s RLLY long (almost 10k) so be warned. The style is mean’t to be jumbled, grammatically incorrect, and awful, rushed, and incoherent. My day-to-day life process is like this but worse lol and I wanted to capture just the feeling of bad that exists. Have fun.

(Ps Kirishima is the subtlest of creeps here. Def a stalker, but good at lying, and reader is too gullible.)

Pairing - Yandere Kirishima X GN Reader

Warnings - anxiety, panic attack, non con, NSFW, idk the usual.

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/1qFMIjTe9esCDiytqUY19t?si=RrkIvlXMReyT6CYKEh6xdw

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Oh god, is that Pro-Hero Red Riot?

Your hands tremble as you lift your drink to your lips, take a shaky sip.

It feels too hot in here, is it hot? You scream internally.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Red Riot, your favorite Pro-Hero in the entire world, was currently standing in line at Starbucks, looking up at the menu with his big, dumb, handsome face. He was wearing his hero costume - meaning he was on-duty, abs out and mask on.

As usual, you had ordered your regular drink, immediately sat down (always the blue armchair by the window, the one with the little table next to it).  Normally you ignored each little tinkling of the bell above the door, the sound signaling another person entering the coffee shop. You just wanted to nurse your drink and look at stupid memes on your phone, try to gas yourself up for the day ahead, convince yourself that you would be able to get through whatever life decides to throw at you.

A particularly violent shake of the bell had your head snapping up, the loud noise startling you. 

And holy fuck.

Red Riot.

Your cheeks were burning as you lowered your eyes to your phone, knowing that the big man was moving up in line, then ordering, then probably moving to wait near the drink pickup.

Looking up was out of the question - you didn’t want to ogle the Hero and make him feel uncomfortable, or for him to catch sight of your stupid blushing. 

You almost dropped your drink the next time you raised it to your lips, your hands were so sweaty. 

And of course that little slip-up had your heart beating ever faster, embarrassed that you had almost made a mess all over yourself, self conscious that someone had seen, oh god, what if people were looking at you, thought you were dumb and couldn’t even drink correctly? Oh god.

You set your drink back onto the little table at your side. A quick glance upward (to check the clock, that’s where your eyes went) and you could see Red Riot out of the corner of your eye, smiling as he took a picture with a fan as they both waited for their respective drinks.

Wouldn’t that be cool, to get a picture with him? But oh, that would mean you’d have to stand up, stumble over awkwardly towards him. Could you leave your drink on the side table? Would your seat be taken before you got back?

The hero would probably be able to spot you from a mile away, see how weirdly you walk, how your body looked. The thought made you cringe; he was so muscled and fit and in-shape, he’d probably think you were fat, or maybe weak? He’d be disgusted, wouldn’t he.

If you managed to get close enough to ask him if he wouldn’t mind taking a picture with you, he’d have to hear your voice crack, see how you shook like a tiny chihuahua from nervousness, see how sweaty and flushed you were from the embarrassment of being alive, of being seen.

God, you hated yourself.

You could never approach the Pro-hero and ask for a picture. He’d see how revolting, how weird and nervous and pathetic you were.

Plus, you’d already talked to the barista to get your coffee, had walked to the coffeeshop all by yourself and committed yourself to the horrifying ordeal of being known and seen by society. You’d done enough today to make your anxiety skyrocket, your hands were already shaking so bad, it’s a miracle you hadn’t dropped your drink or your phone or done something stupid and embarrassing to call attention to yourself.

“Red Riot!” Your eyes flickered up at the barista shouting, saw Red Riot smile and compliment the barista as they handed over his drink, something large and brightly colored and sporting an ungodly amount of whipped cream on top.

Red Riot left the Starbucks, the bell above the door jingling just as violently as it had when he had entered - the man was enthusiastic about seemingly everything, even opening and closing a door.

That’s actually one of the reasons he was your favorite. Red Riot was so confident and self assured, beaming with positivity and kindness. It was clear to see that he loved his job, that he loved life. Of course, you had seen him have bad days - in a few of the interviews after big rescues or horrific fights, his smile seemed to waver a bit, his eyes getting misty as the casualties were mentioned.

But that just showed he was human. Sensitive.

You grabbed your drink again, grimaced as nausea washed over you in a gentle wave. You were such a nervous wreck. But Red Riot had left - the only people here now were the employees and the people waiting in line. You just prayed none of them would pay attention or take notice of you.

----

He was here again.

Holy fuck, he was here again!

This time you weren’t as nervous (a mild feeling of excitement could be felt), you could actually drink out of your Starbucks cup without shaking like a leaf.

The redheaded hero had gotten his drink already, once again something large and colorful and probably loaded with sugar.  But instead of leaving immediately, he moved to sit down and holy fuck - holy fuck he was walking right past you.

You didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to draw attention to yourself by moving - humans will subconsciously look towards movement, you knew that. But he walked further, you saw him sit down by the corner window, settling into the seat comfortably. He was wearing his hero outfit again, abs rippling as he leaned back, and out of the corner of your eye you could see him fiddling with his mask before taking it off and chucking onto the table in front of him.

Ah, so he was probably on a break.

Averting your eyes back to your phone, you tried to ignore his presence.  He was a human being, just like yourself, who deserved and probably appreciated his privacy. God knows, if you were in his shoes, you wouldn’t want fans to even think about you, much less look at you.

Minutes passed, maybe twenty? Thirty? But you had finished your drink. Now it was time to will yourself to your feet, to breathe, in, out. You were going to walk over to the trashcan, throw your drink cup away, and leave to walk back home.

Oh, but you were nervous.

You always felt nervous - this was a common occurrence, and each time you came here (you visited this Starbucks maybe twice a week)  there was always this fight with your anxiety.

People would look at you as soon as you stood up. Did you walk weird? Your body had weird proportions, people would be mocking you inside their heads as you walked. Your outfit wasn’t trendy, it didn’t fit your body right, you looked odd and out-of-place - that’s probably what people thought as soon as their eyes landed on you.

You’d get judged for your drink cup - the size, because people would probably think it was too big for somebody with your body. Or maybe too small? Would people think you don’t take care of yourself? 

Oh god, what if it slipped out of your hand as you were walking over? Even with it being empty, the noise of the cup hitting the floor would draw everyone’s eyes to you. They’d watch as you scramble to pick it up, and they’d probably think how clumsy and awkward and incompetent you were. 

And what if the trashcan was full? Would you carry your empty cup home with you? That would look weird, someone carrying an empty cup down the street. I mean, who does that? Well, you’d seen other people do it, watched them carry their drink until they reached a trashcan, and then throw it away. But what if there weren’t any public trashcans nearby? You’d look so odd, fumbling along trying so hard to walk normally, to not draw attention to yourself, to blend in with everyone.

Should you turn around to see if there was another trashcan in the Starbucks? Oh, but that might look stupid. The employees had seen you so often, you’d look like a fool for not knowing if there was another trashcan.

Ugh, and your walk. You have to focus on straightening your shoulders, keeping your back straight, moving your arms - just a little, not too much. Taking even steps, not walking with a heavy foot or making any stomping or scuffing sounds. 

There was so much to focus on, too much. And now you had been sitting here for five minutes, knuckles white as you gripped your empty drink cup. You looked like a moron.

You could do this.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Remind yourself that people didn’t care, didn’t pay attention to all of the lame little things that you did. You anxiety was misplaced, you worried about things too much, and everything was fine.

You were okay, you could do this.

And so you stood, walked to the trashcan by the door (oh thank god, it was empty), and threw your cup away.  

You heard Red Riot saying bye to the employees, his cheery, upbeat voice as he laughed at something one of them said. Oh, had something been said about you? Were the employees and Red Riot laughing about what a disaster you were? 

No, you were just being nervous, that was your anxiety talking. Red Riot wasn’t that kind of person, and the employees weren’t either. You knew this. 

The door jingled as you opened it, and you heard footsteps behind you so you moved to the side after you had gone through, holding the door open for whoever was behind you.

“Thanks cutie!”

Red Riot was fixing his mask as he strolled past, and your head snapped up, flushing fiercely as you met his gaze. You smiled awkwardly, throwing up a feeble thumbs-up. 

Oh god, why did you do that?

Red Riot smiled back at you, giving his own exuberant thumbs-up. Well, at least he was doing it too. That made your anxiety quiet down a bit, emboldened by your favorite Pro-Hero.

You watched his broad back as he walked away, muscles flexing with each step. He really was a beautiful man, both inside and out.

----

The next time you went to Starbucks, you reached the door right as someone else did (even though you saw them walking towards the door, even though you slowed down your pace so they would reach the door first and would go inside so you wouldn’t have to do that awkward dance of who-gets-the-door and who-goes-inside-first).

But they pierced through the awkwardness, yanked the door open for you and stepped to the side and motioned for you to go in first.

It was Red Riot.

He was wearing casual clothes today, ripped jeans and a dark hoodie, but you’d recognize that spike red hair anywhere, those gleaming shark teeth too.

You nodded your thanks quickly, hurrying through the door so he wouldn’t have to stand there for long. Immediately you headed for the bathroom, not wanting to have the Pro-Hero standing in line behind you. He was intimidating, but in the nicest way possible. You were just afraid there was something about you that he would think to be weird, or odd, or out-of-place. 

Better to just avoid the situation altogether. 

When you finished your business (you were a nervous pee-er), you ordered your drink, deciding to be bold this time and try something different from your usual choice.  It was the little things, the small little bits of life that made you anxious - those were the things that you tried to overcome. I mean, life’s all about the small victories, right? And hopefully if you built up enough small victories, you could have a really big victory someday, like telling your favorite barista that you liked her hair, or picking a different seat to sit in, or trying to make a friend with another customers as you waited in line.

But for today, the small victory was stepping outside of your comfort zone just a little bit, getting something new that you weren’t used to.

You ordered, waited patiently for your drink to be made, and then turned to go settle down in your blue armchair by the window.

And Red Riot was sitting in your seat.

Fuck.

Your hands were suddenly sweaty, and you felt the familiar pang of an upset tummy. You were so tired of being nervous, of freaking out every single time there was a small change that you weren’t aware of, or if something happened that you couldn’t control.

There was an armchair opposite the one you always chose - also blue, but not as comfortable and certainly not with a good view out the window. It directly faced your usual spot, but in all your time coming here, no one had ever sat in it. A first you had just figured it was uncomfortable, but as you came here more and more, you figured that the nook was probably for couples rather than individual coffee drinkers. 

The time you visited was a bit odd, eight PM, a few hours before closing. But it was the least crowded at this time, and the sun was barely setting, and it was the perfect time for you to be unbothered and by yourself.

But there was Red Riot, invading your (unofficial) space.

But it was okay, you could just sit somewhere else.

It felt weird, sliding onto one of the chairs at a small table. You were so used to your usual, safe routine that this threw you off. You were shaking so bad that you missed your mouth on your first try of sipping at the straw. What an idiot. 

You had to try again, holding the straw this time, before you could actually taste the drink.

Selfishly, you wished Red Riot had chosen a different chair.  But he was entitled to sit anywhere he liked, and it was obvious he enjoyed this particular Starbucks. Judging by the familiarity with the employees, he was becoming a regular like yourself.  You only came once or twice a week, but he probably got his drink fix more often than you did.

Hopefully he didn’t think you were stalking him.

Oh god, what if he thought you were stalking him? How would you show that you weren’t stalking him? Come on a different day? At a different time? But you were here first, this was your routine, and that was your chair!

But man, you really didn’t want to make the Pro-Hero uncomfortable - he’d probably had a few crazy fans who had stalked him before.

Sighing, you sipped slowly at your drink, pulling out your phone to look at memes and text a few to your friends. You could still go about your routine, even if you were sitting in a different spot.

----

You ran into him at the grocery store.

It was in the produce aisle, where you were trying to decide between red apples or green, weighing the pros-and-cons of each decision in your head. You probably looked like an idiot, standing in front of the apples and doing nothing but staring at them, but you needed to ignore that right now.

“Yo, Starbucks buddy!”

The shout rang out across the produce section, and you flinched, suddenly drawn out of your apple-selection process. 

It was late, almost ten PM, who and why was shouting in the grocery store??

You weren’t one to turn and stare, but you were curious, and surely whoever shouted like that wouldn’t mind a few questioning looks thrown their way. 

And so you glanced over your shoulder, expecting to see a bunch of teenage boys greeting each other, or maybe a man saying hi to his friend.

Red Riot was excitedly waving at you.

Your brain blanked. Immediately, you turned your head, trying to see if there was someone else he was waving at. But there was no one around you - hell, there wasn’t even anyone else in the produce section except for you and the hero. 

So he had to be waving at you.

Turning your whole body this time, you gave an awkward imitation of his wave, and let out a soft, croaky “Hey…” as the big man walked closer. 

He had a big dumb smile on his big dumb face, and as he reached you, it grew even wider.

“Starbucks buddy! I didn’t mean to make you flinch, my bad. I know I can get a little loud sometimes, haha.” He stopped right in front of you, a grocery basket filled to the brim with meat and a few vegetables clutched on one of his large hands. God, he was so strong, you would be struggling to carry such a heavy basket, and here he was lugging it around like it had nothing but a loaf of bread in it. Red Riot could probably squish your skull to a pulp with just his hand, goddamn he was big.

You shrugged at his words, desperately willing your brain to work and to think of something smart and eloquent and good-to-say. “It’s uh, it’s-it’s fine. I’m just y’know, one of those nervous people, y’know?”

Wow. 

Good job brain.

But the Pro-Hero smiled gently, putting his basket down on the ground. 

“Yeah, I kinda figured.”

Wait, what?

“I’ve seen you a couple times at Starbucks, the one on Grant and 1st. You always seem… well, nervous whenever I see you. At first I just thought it was because I was there, cause y’know, people have different reactions to seeing heros out in public.” 

Your eyes were big, you felt your face erupt in an embarrassed fire, and your hands were fucking sweaty. Why couldn’t you have been born like, a blade of grass? A tree?  Some non-sentient object that didn’t have to worry about thoughts or talking or how other people perceived it?

Red Riot continued, “But I’ve seen you a couple of other times; once on the subway, a few times at that park on the north side of town, haha, you really get around, dont’cha?” 

Ah yes, now would be a good time for something to happen, like a plane to crash into the building and kill both of you instantly. Or some emergency that required his immediate attention, one that was so big and urgent that he would forget about you instantly.

His red eyes were drawn to your leg, which you were subconsciously wiggling like a toddler. His eyes softened, and his voice lowered an octave. “You always seem a bit… anxious.  And I know that feeling, believe it or not. I used to be really insecure and nervous when I was younger-“

Oh, great. Now he was just calling attention to the fact that you were acting like a fucking child, that you were a fully-grown adult that couldn’t handle being out in the world because it was too nerve-wracking. Were you really that easy to read? 

“-but I had some awesome people to help me through it. My moms were always really supportive, and they took such great care of me. It was rough for a little bit, but I learned how to be confident and how to strut my stuff and it’s helped me to help others. It’s sorta why I became a hero, actually.”

You smiled again, nodding. That made sense - each and every hero had a reason for why they wanted to help the general public, and of course Red Riot’s reason would be pure and inspiring.

“But uh, anyways! I just saw you shopping and thought I’d say hi to my Starbucks buddy. I was hoping you’d come and sit by me the other day, when I sat in the place you usually sit? But I understand that it’s sorta intimidating to approach a hero, even one in civilian clothing.”

Shoot, so he’d wanted you to sit by him that day? And here you were thinking that he had unintentionally commandeered your seat and was just trying to be left alone. God, you were so stupid. 

“Oh, I’m-I’m sorry!” You stuttered out, face hotter than the actual sun. “I didn’t realize! I figured you always have people trying to get an autograph or a picture and you probably just want privacy, and I thought that maybe you just wanted to sit there and hadn’t gotten a chance to because I always sit there, which honestly that’s such a selfish thing for me to do - I should probably try to vary the places I sit so I don’t like-“

“Ah, don’t worry about it! You’re fine, okay? Trust me.” Red Riot patted your shoulder (yup, he could definite squeeze your head like a grape), before leaning down to grab his basket off the floor.

“Oh, well uhm, t-thank you, Mr. Red Riot” You resisted the urge to bow.

“Oh!” The man exclaimed, looking slightly surprised, “Call me Kirishima, none of that “Red Riot” stuff, alright?”

Confusion overtook you. “Uh, that’s only for your friends, civilians should respect the heros and call them by their chosen names.” At least, that’s what you had always been told.

But Red Riot just grinned. “Well, what’s your name?”

With a slight shake in your voice, you told him.

“I know your name now, so I officially deem the two of us as friends!” With his free hand, he patted you on the shoulder again. You shivered, and Red Ri-Kirishima seemed to notice.

“You alright (Y/N)? Didn’t hit you too hard, did I?”

“No, no… I’m just… kinda weird about touch I guess.” That was an understatement. You were so incredibly sensitive, every light touch felt searing, hugs always were too much sensation, you shuddered even thinking about cuddling - you were just too sensitive to touch.

Red-Kirishima stepped back, holding his hand up apologetically. “Oops, my bad. I kinda noticed that about you too, I should’ve remembered.”

At your questioning glance, the man hurried to continue. “Well, y’know, I saw that couple bump into you on the subway, and you looked like you were gonna cry. And then, like, at Starbucks you make an effort to not touch the barista’s hands when they give you your change.”

Great, so that was another thing you were obvious and weird about. Just great. You felt embarrassed that Kirishima had noticed that about you so easily, but you guessed being observant was part of his job. 

“Well, I’m gonna go check out now, unless you need help with your groceries?” The man motioned to your barely-filled basket, and you shook your head.

“No, it’s-it’s okay. I can handle this, but thank you.”

Kirishima gave you a thumbs up. “Alright, sounds good. Although, are you planning on walking home?”

You shook your head yes, prepared to receive the “its not safe” talk.  You knew it wasn’t safe, but it was just a few blocks, and you had made the walk to your apartment a million times, plus, you couldn’t afford to pay for an uber or a cab.

“It’s pretty dark out there, mind if I walk you home? I’m a hero and all, I promise I’m not going to try and steal your wallet.”

And there it was.  For someone as nervous as yourself, walking alone in the dark really was no issue. Maybe it’s cause you weren’t afraid of someone trying to hurt you. You looked poor, you were ugly as fuck, and it was only a couple of blocks.

‘It’s okay Mr. R-Kirishima, I don’t mind. I’ll probably be here for a bit longer, don’t worry about me.”

He probably had other things to tend to, and even if he didn’t, you weren’t important enough to make a Pro-Hero go out of his way to walk you home. You were such an inconvenience already, it would just make you feel worse about yourself. And would you have to make small talk as the two of you walked? 

Would he try and insist upon carrying your groceries? Would he want to walk up to your apartment floor with you? Or would he say goodbye in the lobby? Once again, best to just avoid the situation altogether. 

Plus, you knew the hero was just trying to be polite. He probably didn’t actually want to walk you home.

Kirishima tried to offer again, but you turned him down, shaking your head, self-consciously drawing your shoulders up. You probably looked so stupid, like a scared little dog that had gotten yelled at. But it was a nervous reaction, and it felt better than just trying to stand there like a block.

Kirishima smiled gently, told you to have a safe night, and then left to go check out.

You turned back to the apples, trying to focus back on which color you should get, stuck between red, or green.

----

The next time you visited Starbucks, your regular spot was once again empty. It was almost a relief, seeing that you wouldn’t have to figure out if Kirishima wanted to talk today or not, if he wanted you to sit by him, or if he was just trying to make small talk back at the grocery store.

So you settled in, warm hot chocolate in hand as you looked out the window, watched cars whiz by on the street, rain puttering down softly.

And then Kirishima was bursting through the door, sending the door bell jingling in a frenzy, rain patterned heavily over his jean jacket, His eyes immediately found you, and his face lit up in a smile.

“(Y/N)!!!!”

You gave a little wave, watching as Kirishima smiled cheerily at you, before quickly ordering a drink. Immediately, the muscled redhead came to sit down in the armchair opposite you, panting a little bit.

“Wooo, I had to run here, started raining on me!”

“I can tell.” You let out a small laugh, noticing how his spiky hair was drooping from getting rained on. 

“Glad to see you got home okay the other night.” The male blurted, leaning forward so he could strip off his jacket.

You paused. “What do you mean?”

He flashed you a grin, throwing his jacket over the back of the chair. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

Ah, he had a point.

His name was called, and Kirishima jumped up and went to pick up his drink before plopping back down in the armchair with a sigh.

“So, (Y/N), you ever been to the ocean before? All this water, the streets might be an ocean by the time we leave.”

Kirishima proceeded to launch into a story about the time he went to the ocean with his buddy Bakugou, how they had swam with turtles and even got to see a whale.

You were glad he was doing all the talking, letting you sit back and listen while you sipped at your hot cocoa. There was no pressure for you to talk, no pressure for you to try and fumble for the right words. And it was nice, seeing the big hero be so excited and animated, gesturing with his hands and almost spilling his drink all over himself.

As you listened to him talk, you settled back further into the armchair contentedly. He was a nice person to be around, you could see yourself being friends with him, if he didn’t mind.

——

And friends you did become.

It wasn’t long before the two of you exchanged numbers - Kirishima had wanted to send you a picture of a dog he had seen the other day while he was out patrolling.

The two of you texted memes to each other, cute pictures of animals, and even though your anxiety was loud and demanding and convinced you that you were bothering the man, Kirishima always assured you that was never the case.

He always seemed to be able to tell when you were feeling anxious, when nervousness settled deep in your bones and refused to leave. You slowly began to notice that with Kirishima, your anxiety was quieter. It was easy to let the exuberant man to take the lead, for him to make decisions, whether to walk up and ask to pet the cute dog or not. It was freeing in a way, letting your new friend take your anxiety and make it be quiet. 

After all, no one gave you a second glance, now that you were trailing behind Pro-Hero Red Riot. 

Kirishima was such a character, goofy, cheerful, and always sporting a sunny disposition. His casual fashion consisted of the most god-awful color combinations and mixed patterns. It wasn’t uncommon for the man to bounce towards you in greeting, wearing neon green crocs, dark blue overalls that were plaid, and a head-ache inducing black-and-white psychedelic shirt. Somehow he made it all work, and didn’t look odd or out of place.

You admired him, truly. You wished you could have his confidence, his attitude and bouncy personality. If you had confidence like that, you could probably do anything. As it stood right now, you could barely approach someone on the street and ask to pet their dog.

It had been so embarrassing, walking with Kirishima down the street and listening to him talk between gulps of a bright pink slushy. You spotted a woman walking a dog on the other side of the street, a big dog, fluffy and sweet-looking and happily walking along it’s owner, stopping to sniff at each plant that grew in the cracks of the sidewalk.

“Cute, I wish I could pet that dog.” You interrupted Kiri’s story, gazing wistfully at the dog. 

Kirishima paused, swiveling his head to see what dog you were talking about. Once he did, his eyes lit up, and he grabbed your hand. “Lets go pet it then!” But when he tried to pull you forward, you balked, pulling your wrist backward. 

“I-I can’t, it’s….. I don’t know, It’s fine, I’ll stay here.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow, studying you as he took another slow sip of his slushy. You had your own slushy, a significantly smaller size than the beefy Pro-Hero’s own giant cup.  

“(Y/N), it’s okay - I’ll do all the talking, ‘kay?”

He could tell that the thought of talking to the owner, asking to pet their dog, was making you nervous. What if they said no? What if they thought you were being rude? Would the dog not like you? Would the owner think you looked funny? What if they were hurrying somewhere?

But if Kirishima did all the talking….. maybe you could manage trailing behind him, only emerging from his shadow if the owner said yes to petting their dog. 

You gave the big man a weak smile, nodding gingerly before getting yanked forward, Kirishima already speed-walking towards the lady.

He asked, the lady said yes - you got to pet the absolute cutest dog ever. It was heaven. 

You were grateful for Kirishima - shyly told him as much. If you were by yourself, you would have noticed the cute dog, but done nothing about it, just wished you had the courage to approach and ask if you could pet it.

But with Kiri? He made anything possible.

----

You were worried you were annoying him.

There was no evidence, but still, wouldn’t it be annoying to have an anxious little shadow?  One that shook and stuttered and could barely go to the grocery store without freaking out and having a panic attack? Your fears and feelings weren’t entirely unfounded, I mean,  there were millions upon millions of possible outcomes of any one action. Unfortunately, your brain liked to focus only on the negative options.

But Kirishima never got tired, never got frustrated with you. He didn’t mind ordering for the both of you when you got snacks at a fast-food place during long afternoons. He didn’t mind taking up extra space with his personality, being loud and brash and drawing attention to himself when you felt like everyone was watching you, waiting for you to make a stupid mistake. 

Kiri seemed to like walking you home, helped you check your windows and in the closet and under the bed (not for people, but what if there was some eldritch monster that lurked just out of sight?). He never made fun of you for your feelings or fears, just gently listened and then tried to help you deal with them.

He even got you to be somewhat comfortable with making silly little mistakes in public. One time the man tripped on thin air, spilling warm coffee all over you and himself. Immediately he burst out laughing at his own clumsiness, apologizing between giggles as he heaved himself off the floor and went to go grab napkins.

If you had spilled a drink on him and yourself, you would’ve been asking Siri where the nearest cliff was. But you realized, the same way that you weren’t worried, and how it wasn’t that big of a problem that your shirt was now soaked with sweet coffee and sticking to your skin, Kirishima probably wouldn’t care if you spilled anything on him.

After all, it was an honest mistake.

The big man was helping you to learn how to be more comfortable in the world. But still, the creeping suspicion that he was just being kind to you out of sheer politeness was forefront in your mind. 

So you came up with a question, practiced asking it in the mirror, took several days to build up your confidence to ask Kirishima.

“Do you actually want to be friends with me?”

And sure, that might be a forward question. But you valued honesty, had told him so a few times when he asked you to rate his outfit on a scale from 1-10 (usually it was a solid 10 - his personality making the outfit shine) you tried not to lie to others, and expected the same courtesy from them.

The two of you were in the park, resting on one of the benches after walking around and looking at the different plants (one of your favorite activities, no matter how lame). And now was as good a time as ever, so you popped the question, barely stuttering once.

Kirishima was silent for a bit, and you were almost afraid of looking up at him. The truth would come out now - how he just saw a pathetic little civilian and felt so much pity for them that he decided to be their friend. You were just a burden to him, how could you ever be anything else?

When you dared to look up at the big redhead, the intensity in his gaze had you leaning towards the side nervously, away from the strength of all his attention focused on you.

“(Y/N)…. becoming friends with you was - it’s been the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.” His voice held such sincerity, his face open and honest. You recoiled from the statement, uncomfortable with the compliment. That had to be a lie, he was just saying that to make you feel better. You were so pathetic and weak that other people had to pretend that you were better than you actually were to avoid hurting your feelings. You wished you never existed. Why did you even ask him that question in the first place? There was no way that someone as nice as Kirishima would actually tell you how worthless and pitiful you were.

Large hands grabbed your own, and you jumped. Kirishima’s hands were warm, scarred and calloused, yet soft in their grip as they gently squeezed your own hands. You tried not to flinch at the contact. 

“I know that you don’t believe me, but you should. You know-“ One of his hands went to run through his hair, tousling through it’s straight, un-gelled style, before returning to your hand. “-I was pretty lonely before I met you. Like, I had my squad - Bakugou and Mina and Denki and Sero…. But it just….. There was something missing.”

Kirishima leaned close to you, your sides pressing together, his red eyes trying to catch your own. You were too shy, had to look off to the side.

“There was someone missing. And when I saw you, it felt…. Everything just clicked. I was missing you.”

You could feel his breath fanning against the side of your flaming hot face. It was uncomfortable. He was lying, he had to be. He was just trying to help you be confident in yourself, so he wouldn’t have to baby you and hold your hand and help you do simple things like ordering food or going for walks and not worrying about what people thought of you.

He was just being nice.

For some reason, you felt your throat clog up, felt the spicy sting of tears building up. Why did you feel like crying? You weren’t exactly in tune with any of your other emotions, only paid attention if it was anxiety or fear.  

A thumb rubbed over your knuckles soothingly (it burned), and the next thing you knew you were being enveloped in a bear hug, Kirishima’s arms crushing you into his chest, his pecs pressing against your face. 

Goddamn, he was built as fuck.

You tried to keep still, not squirm away from his touch like a child. You were an adult, you could handle a little bit of discomfort over being touched.

Kiri sighed. “I like being around you (Y/N). You don’t judge me for my mistakes, you accept them - you accept me. You uh, you make me happy dude, like, really happy.”

You chuckled a little bit at the redheads use of the word “dude”. Only a meathead could turn a sappy moment on it’s head by using the word “dude”. Still, you liked the way Kirishima talked, from the excited chatter when he was talking about something he liked, to the slow, comforting honey when he was being sincere and intimate, like now.

At the same time, your heart felt tight, waiting for the inevitable but that was sure to come. For the redhead to explain that he enjoyed your company but he was just being polite to a nervous civilian who couldn’t fend for themselves. You fun to hang out with but it was only because you made him look better, cooler and manlier because he was nice to someone as pathetic as you.

The but never came. You waited and waited, but Kirishima just kept the slow rhythm of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, kept your face pressed into his chest and an arm wrapped around your body. You didn’t know what to do. 

Should you pull back? Your throat felt tight again. Kirishima was lying to you, he had to be. There wasn’t any way that someone would actually enjoy you as a person.

You pulled back from the warmth of his body, pulled your hand away from his. “I don’t….. I want honesty Kirishima. Please? Lies hurt more than the truth, please. I’m not a good person, I’m pathetic and nervous and shy, and I’m too loud sometimes, and my body looks weird, and I’m ugly and disgusting, and-“

“(Y/N), stop.” His voice thundered, cutting you off. Immediately, you fell silent, chest tightening, gaze falling to your lap. He was right. He didn’t need to hear all your insecurities, they were already clear to see. You were such a drag on his life, he probably hated having to deal with you, having to see you.

“Kiri, I’m not uhm-“ Your voice was wavering. “-I’m not feeling so great, I think I’m gonna head home.”

As you stood, so did the redhead. “Please don’t feel obligated to walk me home, I know it’s way out of your way.” He probably hated every second of it, probably insisted just to be polite. Even now, Kirishima was beginning to protest, grabbing at your hand. You pulled back, eyes fixed on the ground.

“Kiri, please.” You whispered, tears threatening to fall. You hated yourself. You hated yourself so much, your chest hurt, your ears felt full, everything felt too heavy and bad - there weren’t even any words to explain it. You just wanted to go home and cry, sob into a pillow.

Kirishima stayed put, probably watching you walk away from the park. God, you hoped he wasn’t, you walked so weirdly. Why couldn’t you just disappear?

——

You tried your best to disappear. 

You did the bare minimum, turning in assignments an hour before they were due, half-assing them. You hardly ventured out of your room, only to grab water or to use the bathroom.

Neighbors kept knocking on your door, probably the couple in the apartment opposite you, asking for a cup of sugar so they could make cookies, or wanting to tell you that your mail downstairs was getting full. But being the person you were, you were far too nervous to go answer the door. You were probably annoying people. It would just be better for the world if you weren’t in it, wouldn’t it?

Kirishima kept trying to text you, call you (Even though he knew you couldn’t pick up - calls terrified you), trying to coax you to go on a walk with him, to come get coffee or a slushie with him when he finished working. You brushed him off with lame excuses, telling him you were sick, backtracking when he said he was coming over with soup and movies. You didn’t feel well enough for company. 

Still, the man kept texting you several times a day, then only a few times, and now it was down to just once a day. In one corner of your mind, it hurt. The rest of your mind knew that it was for the best, knew that his life was going to be better because you weren’t going to be there bothering him. 

His texts consisted of simple messages now, ones you felt bad not responding to, but if you did respond, you hated yourself for the rest of the day. You sucked.

“(Y/N), look at this dog!” *IMAGE ATTACHED*

Cute.

“Yo, you wanna come get something to drink at our place? They have a deal on coffee today!”

Sorry Kiri, I’m not feeling too good today. You should go get a drink though, have fun!

“I saw some people rollerskating in the park, we should try that!”

Yeah.

“Would you wanna go for a walk sometime?”

I don’t think so, I’m pretty busy right now. You should go and get sunshine though, you deserve it!

“We need to go to our Starbucks soon, I need COFFEE haha”

(:

“Gonna ever come see where I work? I can show you my office, it’s super cool!”

“(Y/N), you doing okay?”

“I miss you.”

----

You woke up to the sound of your neighbors (or maybe the complex manager?) knocking on your door.  Anxiety filled you, palms immediately becoming clammy, so you fumbled around your bed, searching for your earbuds. Maybe if you could listen to music, you could calm down? Sometimes that worked, sometimes not. It really depended on how worked up you were.

Luckily you found them, quickly stuffing them in your ears as you queued music up on your phone. The knocking faded out as music filled your ears, but your anxiety still persisted. You curled up onto your side, hugging a pillow to your chest, almost on the verge of tears from nothing more than a few knocks at your door. You were such a burden to society.

It took a minute, but your heart stopped racing, palms stopped sweating, and you fell back asleep. You were so tired of being awake.

----

You awoke a second time to hands carding gently through your hair. It felt weird for a brief second, but you just ignored the feeling - until you remembered that you lived alone, and the front door was supposed to be locked. 

Squeaking in panic, you shot up, eyes wide, scrambling back into the corner of your bed, clutching the blanket to your chest. 

Kirishima blinked at you, hand still hovering over where your he’d had previously been. He was sitting on the edge of your bed, shoes off, bare feet on the floor.

Your eyes were still wide with fear, chest heaving with panic, but you managed to rip out your earbuds. “Kirishima? How-how did you get in?!? What are you….” You trailed off, tugging your blanket closer around your body as you realized that you were in your pajamas. They weren’t provocative, nor exposed any skin, but they drowned your form, were probably stained and most likely dirty, and you definitely looked awful. But back to the issue at hand, how did Kiri get in your apartment?

The man in question gave a dorky little wave, lips quirking up ever so slightly. 

“(Y/N), hey! I haven’t seen you in so long!” He paused for a second, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. “I missed you… I was kinda worried.”

“But how are you- I mean…. inside?” You stuttered, completely flustered.

“Oh, I talked to the complex manager, said I was a family member who was really worried about you. Showed him how you haven’t been answering my texts…. I was really worried (Y/N). You were giving such weird replies to my texts, and then you stopped answering completely, and no one answered the door whenever I knocked.”

Wait, that was him knocking? All those times?

You were going to jump out the window. 

“Kiri… I didn’t mean to worry you, I just… You shouldn’t be worried about me.”

“Why not? I care about you, I… I wanted to see you.”

It was time to be honest, say the things that were painful to say. The truths that hurt your heart, but needed to be said. Otherwise, Kirishima just wouldn’t get it.

“Kiri, I’m not-I’m not worth your worry. I don’t deserve it. I’m a nervous, depressed wreck, who can’t even open a door or answer the phone. You’re-you’re being nice to me cause you’re a good person. I don’t think I should be… well, like, around you. I just-I bring you down, and you have to do stuff for me and reassure me and I’m such a burden. Please just, I don’t know, please just don’t give me any more attention. I’m so stupid and gross and you should be friends with someone who isn’t….. isn’t like me.”

You finished your rant, almost breathless, choked up, feeling ready to cry.

Silence reigned between the two of you, everything quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the rhythmic clicking of your fan.

It was uncomfortable. But you’d said your piece. It’d be weird if you said anything else, right? Should you say something else? Was he going to hate you for wasting his time? Holy crap, Kirishima is gonna hate you for wasting his time, for not telling him that at the beginning, when he first got to know you.

“(Y/N)-“ The sound of Kirishima’s soft, low voice made your head snap up, up to his face. He was looking at you, red eyes dark and large and filled with… pity? Sadness? “-I don’t even know how to tell you how wrong you are about that.”

The blanket shrouding your body was quickly pulled away, Kirishima discarding it to the side so he could shuffle closer to you, wrap you in one of his signature death-grip hugs. You were quickly pulled into his arms, the large man hunched over you as he squeezed you tight. It didn’t feel good. You wished he would remember that you didn’t like to be touched.

“I was pretty sure of my feelings before… well, before you asked if I wanted to be friends with you. And truthfully, I wasn’t exactly honest with you.” Your heart gave the tiniest squeeze. You knew he had been lying to you, but yeah, it did kinda hurt to hear him admit it. 

“I kinda wanna be more than friends with you, actually.”

His hold on your body loosened, pulling back so he could look at your face. Your ugly, about-to-cry, gross face. You tried to turn away, pull out of his grip and find your blanket and crawl underneath it and stay there until you died. There was no way he was coming onto you - you weren’t good enough for him. He was Kirishima, Red Riot, pro hero, sunshine of the world, manliest and strongest guy out there.

And you were just….

You.

Kirishima didn’t let you move away. He grabbed your arms, pulled you up a bit so you were at his level. “I’m serious about this. I know you don’t believe me, all that anxiety and nervousness trying to lie to you, but….” A quick glance at his face showed the redhead to be blushing. “I’ve wanted to be more than friends from the moment I first saw you.”

Exasperated, almost angry at this point (he was lying), you scoffed, wiggling in his grip to signal that you wanted to let go. 

“Kiri, I held a door open for you, it was nothing special. I’m ugly and lame and I panic over the slightest things, stop lying to me and saying that I’m someone worth your time.” Surprised, Kirishima loosened his grasp on your arms, and you moved away from him to sit on the edge of the bed. “I could never be worth your time.”

Was silence becoming a trend between the two of you? Apparently, because Kirishima didn’t say anything, just crawled over and sat down next to you. The big man was hardly ever silent, always talking about this, that, or the other. You were just a pro at messing things up, weren’t you?

A moment longer of sitting awkwardly in silence. You couldn’t take it anymore, you wanted to be able to cry about your shameful existence in peace, without having to entertain Kiri’s pity and lies.

“Can you….. Can you-you go…. Please?” You whispered, hugging your arms around your body. Oh yeah, you had forgotten you were in your gross, oversized pajamas. Just another thing for you to feel bad about.

Kirishima didn’t move.

Afraid he hadn’t heard you, you turned bright red, what an idiot - you can’t even speak loud enough to be heard. You stuttered as you started to repeat your request, but Kirishima cut you off.

“Why can’t you see?” He turned to you. “You’re the most lovely thing, I want to be around you all the time. Why can’t you see that you’re the most wonderful person in the world?”

Horrified, you reeled back. He was just pushing more lies. You felt so uncomfortable, you hated this, you wanted him to stop. “That’s-that’s just some fantasy Kiri…. I’m awful. Please, just go-“

“No.”

No? His voice sounded different, harsh and filled with authority. You looked at your feet, settled against the bare floor. You just wanted to sleep, and sleep, and never have to wake up. Why did being a human have to be so hard? 

Might as well let the big redhead say his piece, make you feel worse about yourself. Then you could shove him out the door and spend the next week sobbing yourself sick.You felt bad, you couldn’t even explain your own emotions, put a name to this feeling that was painful and clawed at your chest like it was trying to rip you apart.

“You aren’t understanding me (Y/N). That’s no fantasy of mine - that’s reality.” A large hand grabbed your chin softly, turning your face towards Kiri’s. “Whenever I come up with a fantasy that involves you, I end up fucking my fist ’til I go raw.” 

The admission made you stutter, and you hadn’t thought it was possible for you to blush harder, but here you were - twelve shades redder than the reddest tomato. 

Kiri didn’t give you a chance to breathe. “I missed you so much, you don’t even realize. I could compliment you until I go blue in the face, but you’re so shy and nervous and adorable, you’d never, ever believe me.”

Well, that much was true. At least he knew you well.

“So instead, I’m just gonna show you how much you mean to me.”

Soft lips met your own, a hand fisting into your hair and twisting your head back to make kissing you easier for Kiri. You couldn’t even think, barely had presence of mind to push at the solid man, hitting his chest. You felt ugly, and gross, and stupid and weak, was this some sort of prank? This had to be some sort of prank. There’s no way Kirishima could actually be attracted to you.

Your mind was drawn to the present when a sharp blossom of pain emanated from your lip. Kiri pulled back, a single drop of blood running down his chin as he stared at you, your foreheads almost touching.

“Don’t get in your head, I want you here. Don’t think, just feel.” 

You wanted to say something, to open your mouth and ask him again to leave. He shouldn’t be kissing you, he should be kissing someone prettier, stronger, someone who had their life together. 

You wanted to protest, but you were being pushed onto your back on the bed, Kiri’s large, calloused hands grabbing at your limbs and bodily moving you however he saw fit despite your squirming.

“Kir-stop-stop touching! Don’t, please, I’m-I’m so gross-“

His lips were on yours again, swallowing your cries as he moved the two of you around on the small bed until you were splayed out underneath him. He was moving so quickly, with such confidence and self-assuredness that you couldn’t keep up. His hands were starting to squeeze at your waist, his thighs bracketing your own as the big man got comfortable over you, leaning down to avoid breaking the deep, passionate kiss.

Your lungs were burning.

You had to pull your face to the side, pushing at Kiri’s shoulders as you did so, making panicked noises as you tried (and failed) to take in air through your nose. How the hell was Kiri holding his breath this long? 

The man finally got the hint, letting you pull away from him, gasping for air. You felt dizzy, his hands were still squeezing and stroking over your waist, it was too much. As you tried to get your breathing under control, you glanced up at your friend, red-faced, on the verge of tears. Why was he doing this? You were so gross, ugly, nothing when compared to how fit and muscular and handsome Kirishima was.

HIs eyes were dark, chin smeared red from the blood earlier - you bet your chin looked the same. His chest rose and fell rapidly, seemingly also out of breath, but the moment your eyes met his, the man was descending again, this time to press hot kisses all over your face, on your jaw, behind your ears.

“Don’t, oh, please don’t. Kiri-why are you-? Stop-“ You gasped, the sensations of his lips trailing across your skin too much for you to handle. A kiss to the column of your throat had you jolting, trying to sit up, not knowing what you were doing but trying to get away. It was too much.

“Lay back.” Kiri’s deep voice rumbled. “Let me make you feel good. You’ll forget about the anxiety, okay? Just focus on me.”

You didn’t want to focus on him. But at the same time, the situation was so overwhelming, you didn’t know what to do except let him push you back down with a hand on your chest. 

Before you could process what happened, your clothes were off, his clothes gone as well. You wanted to shriek; cry and cover yourself and tell Kirishima to leave, but everything was happening too fast, and your body couldn’t keep up. 

You felt floaty, buzzy, like you were in a weird dream, ears stopped up full of cotton. 

Wet fingers prodded at your entrance. Oh, were they Kiri’s? When had they gotten wet? The fingers retracted, and you watched Kirishima gather the saliva in his mouth before spitting onto his hand. 

Ah.

The fingers were back, one pushing into you, the pressure too deep, too tight, too harsh. You knew in the back of your mind that you probably looked so stupid, gasping and shivering and shaking, but you couldn’t control it.

One finger turned into two, then three, then four, and then they were gone, something much bigger trying to split you open.

You felt sick.

You couldn’t move.

Kirishima was kissing your face again, his touch burning, making your skin feel tingly and painful and rough everywhere he touched. It hurt. He was saying something, but your ears were buzzing, everything felt fuzzy and weird, and you didn’t know where to look, what to do, except lie there and let the man continue.

He was soft, gentle. But no amount of easy touches or reassuring words were getting through to you, just the overwhelming sensation of being too full, nausea thick in your stomach, throat closing up. The room tasted like blood.

The pressure wasn’t going away, just building and building and building as Kirishima thrust into you, until eventually a twinge of pleasure slipped into your system alongside the discomfort of being filled. 

It felt weird… nice? You couldn’t tell anymore.

There was only sweat, slick, slapping noises, rough hands running over your skin, words being said. You couldn’t grasp anything. 

You felt full, empty, all at the same time. 

The pleasure built, higher and higher and higher until it burst into little sharp fragments that ran through your veins, zinging into your wrists, sparking through your tummy.

And then there was warmth inside you, and the part of you still lucid recognized that Kirishima had just cum inside your body.

You couldn’t get enough air into your lungs.

----

Kirishima was laying beside you, making shushing sounds, stroking your hair, pulling the blanket up around the two of you.  The pressure between your legs was gone, as was the stinging pleasure that had spilled all over your body. You couldn’t feel, everything was still too much, too loud and bright and rough and warm.

Kirishima was still stroking your hair as you finally calmed down, hyperventilating coming to a stop, shaking still there, but not as violent as it had been. 

“-so strong, and your laugh always makes me happy. I love you, and I know you love me back. It’s gonna take some time for us to work past all this nervous stuff, but I’m not give up. I’ll always be here for you, you know that?”

He was rambling, occasionally pressing soft kisses to your neck, along your collarbone - innocent, reassuring. You closed your eyes. 

“You need someone to be there for you, I know. You get so anxious, and you bottle up your feelings, and I know you get so scared of saying or doing the wrong thing and you just freeze or panic.” He continued. “You won’t ever have to worry about that with me. We worked around it today, yeah? You just relax, and let me lead. I’m never gonna steer you wrong (Y/N).”

You felt cold.