#messenger bag pattern

[littlealienproducts]

Amelia Messenger Crossbody Bag Quilted Purse - Pattern and Tutorial by SprideDesign

[wandixx]

What they don't tell you when you start crocheting is that you have the power now and it's really easy to misuse. You think you'll control it, control yourself but in fact soon it'll control you. And there is no way for you to back out by then

It'll start small, it'll start with things that have purpose. Then you'll start making small projects on a whim, you'll think "actually, why shouldn't I make a cute little sachet with moon, I already have yarn" and you'll do it because, really, why not.

Then one they you'll be hit with a need to make something big or complicated or otherwise time consuming and it want leave you alone until you do it

And it won't care that you don't have time. Studying is optional. Sleep is optional. Eating is optional if your family doesn't nag you.

Beware

[tigerlily562]

shoutout to the messenger bag i made several years ago that was 3 pieces of big fabric and then 2 scraps to hold the chain on 🙏 you taught me lessons

[back2daydreams]

Crochet Star Messenger Bag

I've been seeing this bag all over Pinterest for a while so I decided to make it for my friend's birthday.

This is less of a pattern and more of a tutorial but it took me a while to figure it out so I thought I'd post it anyway.

For the front I made four of these star granny squares, I tried a few tutorials for them and this video was by far the best explanation. https://pin.it/B1Oj6JEaH

I joined them in sets of two with a slip stitch and did one row of single crochet and one of half doubles around the rectangle.

I then built up the height of the bag with 10 rows of hdc

On the back I did one row of back loop only hdc before another 14 rows of hdc to allow for the flap closure. (If your 11 row has you facing the wrong side use back loops only and if you're facing the right side use front loops only)

I then did one row of sc starting on the the side on the 11th row and ending on the other side of the same row, skipping 5 sts in the middle of the front of the bag for the button hole (chain 5 , skip 5, sc in following st) I did another row of hdc to finish it off.

For the side panel I just did 10 hdc and built up the rows until i had the length I needed. I joined them with a darning needle and yarn on both sides.

I wanted a strap that wouldn't stretch too much and decided to try the thermal stitch that everyone raved about, but I found it really isn't much better than sc or any other stitch, I'm not sure if I did it wrong or what but I link the tutorial anyway, maybe you'll have better luck!

I attached the straps to the inside of the bag, using a darning needle and stitching a good inch and a half of the strap to the bag to make sure it was strange enough to hold up the bag no matter what's in it.

I decided to line mine to make it last longer but this step is definitely optional. I just tracked the bag onto two pieces of black fabric, cut a long strip similar to the side panel (making sure to leave room for seam allowance) and machine stitched them together,

before hemming the top edge and blanket stitching it to the inside of the bag, I found tacking stitching first really helpful to keep the line straight.

I added a button to the front and voila!

[rosetylerism]

my coworker gave me a sewing machine with a bunch of threads, fabrics and patterns… oh i have plans. i dont know what they are yet but i have plans

[reidmarieprentiss]

Quickie?

Summary: Reader wants to sneak in a quickie before the BAU takes off again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x FBI fem!reader

Category: fluff, suggestive (16+)

Warnings/Includes: suggestive content, secret relationship, reader works at FBI but not BAU

Word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is much more positive than the last post :)

main masterlist

You and Spencer have been secretly seeing each other for a few months now. Since you work in a different department, you don’t get to see him as often as you’d like, and you never have the chance to join him on cases. 

The moment you see the news that the BAU is heading out on another case, your heart sinks just a little. You understand that Spencer’s job is demanding—he’s always chasing criminals across the country, putting his mind to work in ways that save lives. But it doesn’t make it any easier when he’s gone for days at a time, leaving you to miss him in silence.

With a quiet sigh, you pull out your phone and type out a message:

Meet me upstairs before you go?

You don’t have to say where. You both know. The fifth-floor office—empty, forgotten, your little sanctuary within the walls of the FBI. It had started as a joke, just a place to escape prying eyes when work got overwhelming, but over time, it had turned into something more. A safe space for the two of you.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Give me five minutes.

You don’t hesitate, pushing away from your desk and making your way to the stairs instead of the elevator. The anticipation sits heavy in your chest, a mixture of excitement and something almost desperate.

By the time you push open the office door, Spencer is already there, leaning against the desk, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours.

“You’re fast,” you say, closing the door behind you.

“I wasn’t going to waste any time,” he murmurs, already reaching for you. His hands find your wrists, pulling you closer as he stays seated on the desk. His touch is warm and grounding, even through the layers of clothing.

Your fingers drift up to the collar of his cardigan, playing with the fabric as you let yourself relax in his presence. “I hate that you have to go.”

“I know.” He sighs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I hate it too. But I’ll call you as soon as I land.”

You nod, though it doesn’t really make it easier. “I just wish we had more time.”

His hand moves to your waist and tightens ever so slightly. “Me too.” There’s a pause, a hesitation in his expression, before he adds, “I think about you all the time when I’m gone.”

Your heart stutters at his confession, a warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah?”

Spencer huffs out a soft, shy laugh. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but smile, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his face. “Then you better come back to me in one piece.”

You lean in, pressing a sweet kiss to Spencer’s lips—soft, slow, something that feels like a promise. When you pull away, he stays close, murmuring against your mouth, “Always.”

Something about Spencer’s breath ghosting across your lips sends a shiver down your spine. The soft pink hue creeping down his neck is so endearing that it stokes a fire deep in your stomach, pooling heat beneath your skin. You lean in for another kiss, slow and deliberate, savoring the way he melts beneath your touch. One hand threads gently through his hair, fingers curling lightly at the roots, while the other traces delicate patterns against his chest, nails just barely scratching over the fabric between you.

Spencer gets lost for a moment, his mind short-circuiting as he tries to process the reality of you—of your lips on his, of your hands in his hair, of the way you look at him like he’s something to be devoured. It still feels surreal, like a dream he’s half-convinced he’ll wake up from because someone as beautiful as you want him like this doesn’t seem possible.

But then reality crashes back in—the fluorescent hum of the office lights, the distant chatter from the floors below, the ever-present risk of someone walking in. His fingers tighten briefly against your waist before he forces himself to gently push against your shoulders.

“Wait…wait,” he murmurs, his voice breathless and uneven as he tries to collect himself. “We can’t do this here.”

Your lips are already trailing along his neck, warm and teasing, and the way you hum against his skin makes his resolve waver.

“Do what?” you tease, your voice laced with mischief as you press another slow, deliberate kiss just beneath his jaw.

Spencer exhales sharply, his head tipping back slightly before he forces himself to lean away, his cheeks flushed as he fumbles for words. “Um… this.”

Your fingers curl at the nape of his neck, holding him close, your voice dipping into something dangerously sweet.

“What are we doing, baby?” you whisper, letting the words linger between you, daring him to say it.

Spencer’s breath stutters as he struggles to find the right words, his hands hovering uselessly over your hips as if he can't decide whether to pull you closer or push you away. His face is already flushed, the color creeping down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

“I—I’m… Y/N, I’m going to… uh, get—” He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries and fails to look anywhere but at you. Finally, he forces the word out in a near whisper as if saying it any louder might make it worse. “Hard.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips as you tilt your head slightly, fingers still tracing lazy patterns along his chest. His honesty is endearing, his nervousness downright intoxicating, and the way his voice wavers only makes the fire in your stomach burn hotter.

“Oh,” you murmur, feigning innocence as your hand moves just the slightest bit lower. “Is that a problem?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment, exhaling sharply through his nose like he's gathering every ounce of self-control he has left.

“Yes,” he says, though it sounds more like a plea than a protest. “We’re at work.”

“And?” you press, leaning in just enough to let your lips ghost over his jaw.

He shudders, his grip on your waist tightening. “And… I can’t walk out of here like that.”

“Who says you’ll have to leave here hard?” you murmur, your voice dripping with mischief, your fingers still dancing lightly over his chest.

Spencer’s breath hitches, his body stiff as your words' weight settles over him. His pupils dilate, and for a brief second, you see the internal war flashing across his face—temptation battling with logic, desire against reason.

“Y/N…” His voice is barely above a whisper, shaky and uneven, like he’s already losing control. His fingers dig into your waist as if anchoring himself, but it’s no use—you can feel him unraveling beneath your touch.

Still, he shakes his head, his resolve clinging to the last fragile thread of professionalism he has left. “No, we can’t—not here.”

But his voice lacks conviction, and the way he’s looking at you, lips parted, breath shallow, tells you he wants nothing more than to give in.

You pout, tilting your head as your fingers trace slow, lazy circles against his chest. “Not here?” you echo, feigning disappointment. “That’s a shame… I was really looking forward to helping you with your little problem.”

Spencer exhales sharply through his nose, gripping your hips a little tighter like he's trying to physically keep himself in check. “It’s not—” He swallows, glancing toward the closed door like he’s calculating the risk. “It’s not a little problem.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips as you press closer, feeling the way his breath stutters at the contact. “Oh?” you tease, letting your hand trail just a little lower—not too much, just enough to make him squirm. “Is it a big problem, then?”

Spencer groans, tilting his head back in exasperation. “Y/N…” he warns, though his grip on you doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens.

You press a quick, teasing kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling the way his pulse hammers beneath your lips. “I just think it’s kind of unfair,” you say innocently. “You’re about to leave for who knows how long, and I won’t even get to see you. The least I could do is make sure you’re… comfortable before you go.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as if trying to gather every ounce of restraint he has left. “You are not making this easy.”

You hum, dragging your nails lightly over the fabric of his shirt. “You told me you didn’t want it to be hard.”

His breath catches, and he glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it—just frustration laced with something darker, something wanting. “You cannot say things like that.”

“Why not?” You bat your eyelashes at him. “You’re the one who admitted to getting hard at work.”

Spencer groans, dropping his forehead against your shoulder like he’s conceding defeat. “You’re evil.”

You giggle, threading your fingers through his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp. “But you like it.”

He huffs out a breath against your neck, warm and shaky. “Unfortunately.”

You grin, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of his face before pulling back just enough to look at him properly. “Relax, baby,” you whisper, smoothing your hands over his chest. “I wouldn’t actually do anything here.” You lean in, your lips brushing against his in the softest tease of a kiss. “I just like making you squirm.”

Spencer exhales a laugh, shaking his head, but you can see how his eyes have darkened and how his fingers are still gripping your waist. “Yeah,” he mutters, his voice lower than before. “I noticed.”

You smirk, pressing one last playful kiss to his lips before pulling away completely, smoothing out your shirt like nothing had happened. “Well,” you say cheerfully, stepping back toward the door. “Have fun on your case.”

Spencer stares at you like he’s still recovering as if he’s not entirely sure if he should be frustrated or turned on. Probably both.

“You’re evil,” he repeats, though the way he’s looking at you says he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[gf2bellamy]

Hiiii! I love your fics! How does your brain work is one mystery! I have a request - you know how in 1.17 A Real Rain where they had a case in NYC and Reid says his he has never been there and how in the ep he doesn't know how to use chopsticks, I was think a sunshine!bau!reader x spencer!reid where she gives him a tour around the city and teachers him how to use chopsticks. They can have an established relationship or friends in love or anything, up to you! Thank you Anna love you lotsss!!!

tour — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , they eat lots of food , its honestly just pure fluff a/n: i had so much fun writing this but pls keep in mind that i've never been to new york so if i got something wrong i'm vv sorry ! <3

“Okay, time to start the tour!” you announced, clapping your hands together as you and Spencer stepped out of the hotel lobby and into the crisp morning air of New York City.

Spencer adjusted the strap of his messenger bag, his eyes wide as he took in the towering skyline. You couldn’t help but grin at the way his head tilted back slightly.

 God, he’s adorable. 

“You’ve really never been to New York before?” you asked, nudging his shoulder with yours. 

He blinked, shaking his head. “I’ve read about it. Does that count?” 

“Absolutely not,” you declared, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers through his. “Reading about New York and experiencing New York are two entirely different things. And lucky for you, you’ve got the best tour guide in the city.” 

Spencer smiled down at you, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Where are we starting?” 

You squeezed his hand and tugged him forward, weaving effortlessly through the crowd. “With the classics,” you said, your voice bubbling with excitement. 

Spencer let you lead, his long legs easily keeping pace with your eager strides. He watched the way your eyes lit up as you pointed out little details—the faded graffiti on a brick wall, the smell of fresh pretzels from a street vendor. 

“First stop,” you announced, stopping in front of a small, unassuming bagel shop tucked between a deli and a thrift store. The scent of freshly baked dough and roasted coffee beans spilled out onto the sidewalk, and Spencer inhaled deeply, his stomach giving a quiet growl. 

“We’re starting with a classic New York bagel,” you said, grinning up at him. “And—” you leaned in conspiratorially, “—they have amazing coffee. Trust me.” 

Spencer’s lips quirked. “I do trust you,” he said softly. “But statistically, New Yorkers overestimate the quality of their coffee by at least—” 

You pressed a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “Hush, Dr. Reid. Just let me prove you wrong.” 

He laughed, the sound warm, and you felt your chest swell with affection. 

Inside, the shop was cozy and crowded. You ordered for both of you—an everything bagel with scallion cream cheese for him, a cinnamon raisin with honey walnut for yourself—and two large coffees.

“You remembered how I take my coffee,” he noted, accepting the cup from you. 

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’ve seen you drink approximately three hundred cups of coffee in the time I’ve known you. It’s not exactly a hard pattern to recognize.” 

He smirked. “Fair point.” 

You found a tiny table by the window, your knees bumping against his under the cramped space. Spencer took a careful bite of his bagel, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. 

“Okay,” he admitted after swallowing. “This is significantly better than airport bagels.” 

You grinned triumphantly. “Told you.” 

He took another bite, humming in approval. “The texture is perfect—chewy but not dense, with just the right amount of—” 

You reached over, swiping a dollop of cream cheese from the corner of his mouth with your thumb before he could finish his analysis. Spencer froze, his cheeks flushing slightly. 

“You had a little something,” you teased. 

He cleared his throat. “Right. Thank you.” 

You sipped your latte, watching him over the rim of your cup. “So,” you said, tapping your fingers against the table. “After this, I thought we would check out a bookstore, its right around the corner and its perfect for you trust me.”

The moment you mentioned a bookstore, Spencer's entire demeanor shifted. His hazel eyes lit up, and he practically inhaled the last bite of his bagel in his haste.You couldn't help but giggle at the way he nearly choked in his enthusiasm, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk as he tried to chew and declare "I'm ready!" simultaneously. 

"Easy there, speed reader," you laughed, standing and offering your hand. He took it eagerly, his long fingers wrapping around yours.

The walk to the bookstore was challenging.

Spencer kept surging ahead like an overeager puppy, his natural long strides carrying him three steps forward before you'd have to gently tug him back toward the correct crosswalk or sidewalk. 

"You're worse than a kid on Christmas morning," you teased as you finally reached the store with its hand-painted sign.

Then Spencer saw the shelves. 

His mouth fell open in pure wonder, his grip slackening in yours as he took in the towering bookcases that seemed to go on forever, the stacks of novels teetering on every available surface.

You didn't need to look at him to know what he was thinking.

"Go on," you murmured, squeezing his hand once before releasing it. 

Spencer didn't need telling twice. He pressed a quick, grateful kiss to your cheek that left your skin tingling, then disappeared into the literary maze.

You wandered through the bookstore, trailing your fingers along spines.

Nearly 30 minutes later, you turned a corner to find Spencer balancing a stack of books in his arms, his hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it in excitement.

"They have the most amazing first editions," he breathed, his voice hushed. His hazel eyes practically glowed in the dim light. "This 1937 printing of 'The Hobbit' has the original color plates, and this copy of 'Frankenstein' is from 1823, and-" 

His words tumbled out in an excited rush, hands carefully shifting to show you each treasure. You watched, utterly enchanted, as he explained the significance of each book.

"Should I ask how much all these are going to cost us?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully. 

Spencer's excited ramble stuttered to a halt. He blinked down at his armful of books, then back at you, suddenly looking adorably guilty. "...I might have gotten carried away." 

You reached up to smooth a wayward curl behind his ear, your fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. "Good thing I love seeing you happy," you murmured. 

The soft, grateful smile he gave you was worth every penny those first editions would cost. 

As you emerged from the bookstore, Spencer was practically glowing with happiness, his arms full with three bags.

 "Time for one of NYC's most famous places," you announced, slipping your hand around his bicep since his fingers were too occupied with book bags to hold yours. You'd offered to swing by the hotel first to drop off his purchases, but he'd refused - as if parting with his new books for even a moment might make them disappear. 

 Spencer tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "Yes?" 

You grinned, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Times Square. The crossroads of the world." 

His face immediately lit up with recognition, and before you could take another step, he launched into an animated explanation: "Did you know Times Square was originally called Longacre Square until 1904 when the New York Times moved their headquarters there? And the first electrified advertisement appeared in—" 

You listened with fond amusement as his words tumbled out in that rapid-fire way they did when he was excited.

As you rounded the corner, Spencer's lecture cut off abruptly. His steps faltered as the full sensory overload of Times Square hit him - the neon lights, the towering digital billboards flashing advertisements and Broadway snippets. His eyes darted from one spectacle to another, his mind clearly working overtime to process it all. 

"Look at that," he murmured, nodding to a massive screen displaying a clip from a Broadway musical. "That staging technique is fascinating." 

"We can go see it if you want," you offered, already mentally calculating how to get tickets. 

But Spencer was already distracted by something new, his head tilting back to take in a skyscraper's animated LED facade. You let him absorb the moment, content to watch his wonderment. 

Then you spotted it - the iconic "I Love New York" store. 

"Oh my god," you gasped, tightening your grip on his arm. "We're buying you a mug." 

Spencer opened his mouth, likely to protest that he didn't need more souvenirs, but you were already steering him through the crowded sidewalk and into the store before he could form a coherent argument. 

The shop was full of t-shirts, keychains, snow globes, and of course, rows upon rows of mugs. You beelined for the display, immediately grabbing one with the classic logo in bold black letters. 

 "You need this," you declared, holding it up for his inspection. "Every genius needs a good coffee mug for all those late-night reading sessions." 

Spencer's protest died on his lips as he saw your enthusiastic expression. He sighed in mock resignation, but the way his eyes crinkled at the corners betrayed his amusement. "I suppose it would be terrible to visit New York and not get at least one cliché souvenir." 

You stood on your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "That's the spirit. Now help me find the cheesiest one they have - I think I saw a glitter version back there." 

As Spencer laughed and allowed himself to be pulled deeper into the store.

Once you bought multiple mugs , you wandered down quieter streets, your energy finally waning after hours of exploration. You leaned your cheek against Spencer's arm with a dramatic sigh.

"I'm hungry," you admitted, the words muffled slightly against his sleeve. 

Spencer looked down at you. The bags of books swung gently from his other hand as he adjusted his stance to better support your weight. "I'm sure you already have a place in mind," he said.

You pulled back just enough to grin up at him. "You know me so well." 

Without hesitation, you guided him toward a cozy little restaurant tucked between two taller buildings. The delicious aroma of soy sauce and ginger wafted through the open door. 

"We," you announced as you stepped inside, "are teaching you how to use chopsticks." 

Spencer opened his mouth—probably to protest that he could learn just fine from a book—but the hostess was already leading you to a corner table draped in soft yellow light.

Soon enough, you found yourself unable to contain your laughter as Spencer attempted to maneuver the chopsticks. His brow furrowed in intense concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips. The chopsticks slipped again, sending the food tumbling back onto his plate with a quiet plop. 

"You're enjoying this too much," he accused as he caught your poorly-hidden grin. "I thought you were going to help me," he added when the chopsticks clattered into the bowl of miso soup for the third time. 

"Sorry, sorry," you giggled, finally pushing back your chair, as you moved to sit beside him on the padded bench, your thigh pressing warmly against his. 

You reached over to rearrange his fingers, your skin brushing against his in a way that made his stomach flutter. "Like this," you murmured, guiding his grip. "Thumb here, middle finger there... and you have to hold the bottom one completely still." 

Spencer's hands were warm beneath yours, his long fingers trembling slightly as he tried to follow your instructions. You could see the exact moment when it clicked for him.

"Ah," he breathed as he successfully lifted a piece of cucumber roll. The triumph in his voice was utterly endearing. "It's all about the fulcrum point." 

You rested your chin in your hand, unable to wipe the smile from your face as you watched him carefully, proudly, eat his first successful bite.

"See?" you said softly. "I knew you could do it." 

Spencer bumped his knee against yours under the table, a silent thank you that spoke volumes. Then, he used his newly-acquired skill to place a piece of salmon directly onto your plate.

Two hours later, you collapsed onto the hotel bed with a groan as you threw an arm across your face. 

"I can't feel my feet," you mumbled into the crook of your elbow. 

Spencer carefully set down his precious book bags—their contents now safely deposited on the dresser—before joining you on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, causing you to slide toward him until your head naturally found its place in his lap. His fingers immediately carding through your hair.

"Me neither, to be honest," Spencer admitted with a chuckle, his free hand already pulling out the first book from his bag.

You closed your eyes, letting the motion of Spencer's fingers in your hair lull you into relaxation.

"I got us tickets for that Broadway show you saw on the billboard," you murmured into the quiet. 

The pages stopped mid-turn. 

"What? How? When?" Spencer's voice held equal parts surprise and delight, his fingers pausing their movements in your hair. 

You cracked one eye open to see him looking down at you, his hazel eyes wide.

"When you were staring at that one picture in the Met Museum for like fifteen minutes," you said, a smug smile tugging at your lips. "The one with the fruit basket that you insisted had 'hidden symbolism.'" 

Spencer's mouth opened and closed several times before he managed, "That was Caravaggio's 'Basket of Fruit,' and the decaying—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Wait, no, that's not the point. You really got tickets?" 

You reached up to boop his nose, enjoying the way it scrunched in response. "Front row center. Tonight at eight." 

For a moment, Spencer just stared at you, his expression softening into something unbearably fond. Then, he bent down and kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. 

"You," he murmured against your hairline, "are incredible." 

You hummed contentedly, closing your eyes again as he returned to his book, though you could feel his fingers trembling slightly with excitement in your hair.

The Broadway show had been spectacular—more than you'd dreamed. His hand unconsciously reaching for yours in the dark when the romantic duet began. You'd laced your fingers together, his palm warm against yours.

Afterwards, you wandered back towards the hotel, ice cream cones dripping down your fingers while swinging bags of freshly baked cookies and still-warm donuts between you. Spencer kept bumping your shoulder every few steps—partly to avoid the jostling crowds, mostly because he wanted to be close to you. 

Back at the hotel room, you changed quickly—you into Spencer's favorite sweater (the one that swallowed you whole, the cuffs falling past your fingertips), him into worn cotton pajama pants that made him look unfairly cozy.

You settled onto the bed, tucking your legs beneath you, while Spencer leaned against the headboard, already halfway through a donut.

"This is perfect," he murmured around a mouthful, his voice thick with sugar and something soft. You nodded, your own cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk's with chocolate chip cookies.

"I hope you liked my tour," you finally managed after swallowing, grinning at him.

Spencer set his donut down —a telltale sign he was about to say something heartfelt. He reached forward, his fingers brushing a crumb from your cheek before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a second too long. 

"I loved it." His thumb traced the curve of your ear absentmindedly. "Thank you." 

Then, quieter, his gaze dropping to where your fingers twisted in the sheets: "Do you think we can spend another day here?" Before you could answer, he rushed to add, "I'd like to go back to that bookstore," his ears flushing that adorable pink you loved. 

You tilted your head, unable to resist teasing. "Were the thirteen books you bought not enough?" 

Spencer hesitated, his nose scrunching. "No?" he said, the word lifting at the end like a question, and you couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up.

"Of course we can stay," you grinned, nudging the cookie box aside before gently bumping your knee against his. His smile was worth every changed travel plan in the world. 

"Besides," you added, peeking up at him through your lashes, "I saw how you looked at that first edition Poe. We're not leaving until it's yours." 

Spencer's smile could have powered Times Square. 

[springtyme]

Hi love! I'm not feeling good and have been kinda down so I was wondering if you could write a sweet spencer x fem reader where she's usually the tough one but she goes through a loss and he finds her crying alone in the dark in the office and just comforts her

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 ♡

Thank you for the request, hun <3 I'm so sorry to hear that you are feeling down. I hope some Spencer comfort might help a little <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader || Masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: It is not unusual for Spencer to stay late at the office. What is unusual, however, is finding you crying in the conference room.

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: Hurt/comfort. Grief and mourning. Loss of a family member. Spencer being the sweetest. Mutual pining.

The dim glow of the office lights flicker softly in the nearly empty room, casting long shadows that dance against the walls. It is late, far past the hour when most of the BAU team had called it a night. The constant hum and buzz that usually fills the air of the bullpen has faded into a profound silence, leaving only the delicate, rhythmic sound of paper rustling everytime Spencer turns a page of the pile of reports in front of him. 

It is not unusual that he stays late to finish his work; in fact, it has become somewhat of a routine, maybe not the most healthy one, but he cherishes the quiet of the after-hours; it is a time when he can think without the distractions of the day, his thought pattern getting the opportunity to fully unfold with uninterrupted clarity. 

He stretches his long limbs, feeling the fatigue settle into his bones as he takes a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of stale coffee, and the lingering smell of old paper.

As he leans back in his chair, his gaze lands on the clock on the wall, its clock hands ticking steadily, the sound echoing in the emptiness. It’s late, and he knows he should call it a night, but there’s a stubborn part of him that clings to the work. He eyes the stack of reports one more time, each file holding the remnants of cases that had left their mark on him—cases that never truly leave him, echoing in his mind long after the team has moved on.

The clock ticks monotonously, each passing second weighing heavily upon him. Pushing away from the desk, he stands up, stretching again to relieve the tension that has built in his shoulders. He should really call it a night. He begins packing up his things, methodically sliding reports into a neat pile and shutting down his computer. The soft whirring of the cooling fan fades into silence as the screen goes dark, mirroring the dim ambiance of the office. He tosses his pen into the collection of writing utensils, a small victory for tidiness amidst the chaos of his thoughts.   

With a deep sigh, he slings his messenger bag over one shoulder, the slight squeak of the rubber soles of his sneakers on the polished floor the only sound in the quiet office as he leaves the bullpen. The silence envelops him, the weight of solitude pressing in from all sides as he walks through the dark, empty building.  As he makes his way past the break room, he considers stopping for one last cup of coffee before his drive home, even though he fully knows that what his body doesn’t need right now is more caffeine. What he needs is sleep, and a reprieve from the steady hum of his thoughts. But his change for a somewhat decent sleep this night has long passed.

But his internal debate about the pros and cons of indulging in his coffee craving comes to a full stop as he walks past the conference room. The door is slightly ajar, and a faint light spills out into the dark hallway, accompanied with a faint sound—a soft, muffled whimper. 

Spencer’s heart tightens in his chest at the sound as he instinctively makes his way toward the door. Pushing it open cautiously, he peeks inside, his breath catching in his throat at the scene before him. The sight that greets him tugs painfully at his heart—it’s you, sitting on the cold floor of the conference room, shoulders shaking with hushed sobs, your usually strong demeanor momentarily shattered to pieces.

You, the one who always has the right answer, the sharpest wit, and a comforting strength that seems to radiate outwards, are curled up in the corner, your back against the wall, knees drawn up to your chest and your face half hidden in your hands, tears silently tracing paths down your cheek. The usually composed agent, known for your bravery and unbreakable spirit, now lost and broken. It pierce through him like a knife.

He remembers how you had arrived at the BAU two years ago with a fierce determination, melding graceful resilience with an unyielding strength that never fails to inspire those around you. Whether confronting hard truths or providing support to your teammates, you are always a pillar of strength—invincible in the face of adversity. It was something Spencer couldn’t help but deeply admire, and as he has gotten to know you over the last two years, he finds himself constantly drawn to and captivated by that strength as well as your kindness. 

He approaches cautiously, his heart twisting with a painful empathy. The sight of you right now is such a stark contrast to the strong, independent woman he’s come to know, and despite his slightly reserved nature and the hesitant fear of intruding, he feels a strong surge of protectiveness as he watches you now. 

He says your name softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him to give you a semblance of privacy. “Hey…” His voice is gentle, barely above a whisper, infused with a mix of concern and warmth. He takes a step closer, his heart aching as he watches you react to his voice—your head snaps up, wide eyes red-rimmed and swollen, a stark contrast to your usual bright gaze. 

For a short moment you’re just frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, your gaze searching his face, grappling with a mixture of surprise and vulnerability. It’s a moment poised on the knife's edge, and Spencer holds his breath, afraid to disrupt the fragile atmosphere.

Then you blink rapidly, and wipe hastily at your cheeks, trying to regain your composure and to erase any trace of your tears, but the effort only makes it worse, as if the floodgates threaten to open wide once more—the walls have come crashing down, and he can see the vulnerability you usually keep so well-hidden.

He takes another cautious step closer, the distance between you suddenly feeling impossibly vast, despite the small space of the room. “Can I sit?” he asks gently, indicating the floor beside you. You nod slightly, and he settles onto the cool surface, instinctively mirroring your posture. The silence drapes between you like a thin veil, both comforting and heavy. He doesn’t rush you; there is an unspoken understanding that you need this space to gather your thoughts.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally offers, his voice softening into a whisper as he looks into your eyes, searching for an answer, however small. Your gaze drifts, focusing on the ground between you, words trapped beneath the weight of your sorrow.

“I—” you start, but the words crumple like dried leaves in your throat, too fragile to escape. You take a sharp breath, the air trembling slightly as it fills your lungs. The vulnerability in your eyes pulls at him, deepening the ache in his chest, and he feels an overwhelming urge to reach out—to comfort you, to tell you that it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. “I lost someone,” you finally manage to whisper, your voice trembling with the depth of your pain. The admission hangs in the air, heavy and tangible, as Spencer processes your words, his heart sinking in solidarity. 

“My aunt—she was the one who raised me after…” You pause, your voice quivering, unable to continue. “She was my everything.”

Spencer’s brow furrows, understanding flooding his features. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs softly.  “That must be so hard.”

You nod slowly, tears spilling once more, but they feel different now. They aren’t just tears of sorrow; they’re also tears of release. “I thought I was strong enough to handle it, but… I don’t know,” you choke out, words mixing with your quiet sobs. You wipe at your cheeks, but it only seems to make it worse. “I thought I could be there for everyone else, but now… I feel so lost.”

Spencer glances down, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He knows all too well that grief can shape-shift the toughest person into someone fragile, and he admires your bravery more than he can express. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” he offers gently. “It’s okay to feel lost. Grief… it isn’t something that can be carried alone. It’s… it’s a process.”

You look at him. Spencer feels the weight of your gaze, your eyes searching his with a mix of relief and uncertainty. His heart swells with a desire to be there for you, to provide whatever comfort he can in this moment of vulnerability. Something about your anguish makes him want to wrap you in his arms and shield you from the pain. Spencer shifts closer, an instinctive act of solidarity. “Can I?” he asks, hesitating as he gently rests a hand on your back, his touch light but reassuring. Without any hesitation, you lean into him. 

Spencer feels the warmth of your presence as you lean against him, the soft weight of your body a tangible confirmation that you’re letting him in—allowing him to share in your pain, and comfort you. He is not the most used to physical contact like this, but he can’t help but think it is nice at this moment, even though it feels like a pretty selfish thought right now. He just feels an overwhelming sense of purpose wash over him.  

As you lean into him, Spencer feels an incredible gravity, both weighty and reliving as you let yourself breakdown in his arms. The scent of your hair, hair, something soft and familiar, fills his senses, grounding him in this moment. For a while, there is only the sound of your quiet sobs. He simply sits with you, holding you, letting you grieve and waits till you are ready to speak again. He can feel the shudders of your breath against his side as your sobs slowly begin to cease. 

You let out a shaky breath, a sound that lingers between vulnerability and relief. “I don’t know how to navigate this… I feel like I’m drowning,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, yet so filled with longing for understanding. “I just feel so lost.”

Spencer nods slowly, letting your words settle between you. “You’re not alone in this,” he reassures you softly, leaning slightly closer. “It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel lost.” He pauses, looking into your eyes with sincerity. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for anyone, least of all for me. I feel lost all the time.”

“How do you get through it?” you question, your voice quavering with a sense of seeking. Your vulnerability is evident, and Spencer takes a moment, considering your question as he searches for the right words. 

“I let myself be sad,” he finally replies softly, his voice almost a whisper, as if sharing a secret. It’s not a profound revelation, but it’s the truth. 

“I guess I’m just so used to being the anchor for everyone else, you know?” you whisper, lifting your chin slightly to meet his gaze. “And I miss her, Spence. I miss her so much. She was my anchor.”

Spencer feels the weight of your words press heavily against his heart, he holds you a little tighter again. Your pain resonates within him. Silence envelops you both, as you take a deep breath, letting your conversation and stillness of the room resonate around you.

“What was she like? Your aunt?” Spencer’s voice finally breaks the silence. 

“She was… everything,” you say. “Always the one with a joke to lighten the mood, a listening ear no matter how busy life got. Even when things were tough, she always managed to find a silver lining. And she was so strong, and so smart. She was the toughest, most resilient, yet the most gentle and kindest person I’ve ever known.” Your voice has restored some of its usual strength and spark as you talk about her.

“She sounds just like you,” Spencer says softly, a small, encouraging smile tugging at his lips.

You glance up at him, the corner of your mouth faintly lifting too. “She always said that strength isn’t just about being tough—it’s about knowing when to lean on others,” you express, your voice steadier now as memories of your aunt, filled with warmth and love, wash over you. “I wish I’d listened more when she said that.”

Spencer nods thoughtfully, absorbing your words as they hang in the air. The soft light spills around you, illuminating the moment as you share this piece of yourself—your pain and love for someone who shaped who you are. 

A bittersweet yet comfortable silence falls between you. Spencer shifts, adjusting his position, still holding you, as if creating an invisible barrier against the darkness outside the room that feels so vast and all-consuming.

You lean against him a little more, finding solace in his presence. “Thank you,” you softly say. 

“For what?”

“For being you, for being here. You mean a lot to me, you know…” 

Spencer can’t help but feel a warmth enveloping his chest at your words; he wishes he could always be that presence of comfort in your life. “You mean a lot to me too,” he adds, vulnerability threading through his otherwise composed demeanor. “And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Your gaze meets his again, and in the depths of your eyes—filled with remnants of pain mixed with newfound understanding—he sees the cracks beginning to heal. “Thank you, Spence.”

The two of you sit in that intimate silence for a while longer, until finally, he checks the clock again. “It’s late.”

You nod.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Spencer offers softly. 

You take a second to contemplate his offer, Spencer can guess your considerations about his offer, the logistics of you not having your car to drive to work tomorrow, but Spencer doesn’t mind getting up earlier tomorrow to swing by your place and drive together. Eventually, you nod again, this time with a sense of quiet gratitude radiating from you.

 “That would be nice.” You agree, your voice still soft, but steadier than before. A weak, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him and Spencer feels how a rush of warmth bloom in his chest.

Thank you for reading <3 Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated

[polarisbear]

more dweebs (Very detailed image description below.)

a drawing of grian, ethoslab, tangotek, and smallishbeans. grian is in his season 10 fishing skin and the rest are in different outfits referencing their base themes.

grian is in his fishing skin looking very tired with his fishing rod swung over his shoulder and an ear pierced with a brassy fish hook. he’s a cod hybrid with fin-ears and a stubby tail. behind him blue snail is munching on some leaves.

etho is posing with a neck sheepishly behind his neck and the other resting on his bag. he’s in the postal uniform polo with a green, canadian maple-themed yukata loosely worn and slipping off his shoulder. he has fingerless gloves on under. he is wearing dark red pleated pants and light green heeled crocs. he has a black and red messenger bag with a trellis motif. etho is an arctic fox hybrid with brown legs and streaks through his hair. doodles below show what his paws look like under the crocs and one shows him posing with a note saying “ties up sleeves.” above him another note reads “streaks bc his winter coat is shedding.”

tango is posing confidently with a wrench. he is in the postal uniform polo, with chunky brown and orange gloves and boots, topped off with red, pinstriped overalls. one strap is not around his shoulder, and on the belt around the overalls they carry a small bag, a screwdriver, and a vial of redstone. he has on brown goggles with blue lenses. tango has fire for hair and pointed ears. above him there’s a doodle of the messenger bag that’s secured on his back. it shows how the orange straps tuck over the whole outfit and lead to a dark red and pinstripe blue bag with cog detailing.

joel is giving an indignant pose like he’s complaining. he is wearing a black undershirt that fades out into his light green claws, a pink kimono with only one sleeve of cherry blossom patterns, and a dark grey vest and cherry blossom-patterned obi tie it off. the vest has a cherry blossom crest on the back. joel also has on dark pink pants with a cherry blossom motif on the bottom and on his left arm there’s a bracer with a screen built in. crawling all over the undershirt there are cybernetic patterns connecting joel’s skin through to the undershirt. joel is a tanuki, hence why he has a leaf on his head. around joel are doodles showing the crest on the back of his vest and the pattern on the sleeve.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

how did you get started with leatherwork? I've wanted to get into it since I was a kid but it seems intimidating

A good chunk of leatherwork is small, repeated actions. And the basic stitch - the saddle stitch- is super simple. The most difficult skills, imo, are learning how to keep and use a sharp knife.

The tools are a little bit of an investment, but you can do a *lot* with just a box cutter, mallet, single hole punch, cutting board & mat, needle, and thread. Everything else just makes your work neater (edge slicker, stitching groove, beveler, etc.)

If you live somewhere near a Tandy Leather, I highly recommend going to a beginner class. You can learn the basics, then figure out what sort of projects you want to do. (What I did.)

If all you have is the internet, Tony See has great patterns and videos. A laptop sleeve makes a great first project. (Don't start with a wallet -- you have to do a lot of thinning - called skivving - to keep the bulk down.) Be sure to watch his technique videos where he teaches the saddle stitch and other basic skills.

It's a lot of fun, you can slowly expand your toolset as you learn, and it doesn't take much practice, imo, before you can start making useful objects, like bags and cases.

[invis-o-william]

Dannymay 2025 - Day 24: Necromancy

The full moon’s light shone down on the shadowy cloaked figures as they gathered in the Old Hill Burial Ground. It had only taken a moment for the leader to pick the lock placed upon the cemetery’s gate, allowing the group to congregate towards an unusually new-looking monument placed among the older stones. It was simple, a tall obelisk hewn of white marble surrounded by beds of chrysanthemums and greenery. A deeply carved inscription was visible on the obelisk’s pedestal.

PHANTOM

HERO OF AMITY PARK

MONUMENT IN HIS HONOR ERECTED HERE 2007

“Are you sure it will work?” One of the figures whispered as the group surrounded the obelisk. “His body isn’t actually here after all.”

“The monument is a connection to Him, it will serve our purpose well enough,” the leader of the group said, throwing back the hood on his long robe to reveal his face. “Now, the hour is right, and the moon is full. Who brought the chalk?”

“I did!” A shorter cloaked woman waved a box of sidewalk chalk. “What colors should we use? I think my kids used up all the purples and blues.”

“Obviously His preferred colors are green, black, and white,” another member scoffed. “To use any others tonight would be sacrilege.”

The woman shrank back at the criticism, mumbling out quick agreements while digging in the box for the necessary colored chalk.

The leader sighed at the chatter and motioned for the other members to begin preparations for their ritual. The woman with the box of chalk handed out the appropriate colors to some.  Other members revealed satchels and messenger bags from beneath their robes, and from them started placing candles and crystals in geometric patterns around the entire monument, chrysanthemums and all.

It took only a few minutes for the preparation to be finished. Odd shapes, letters, and symbols littered the obelisk now, all circled around the inscribed word ‘Phantom’, and a few dozen candles now littered the grass, interspersed with chunks of quartz.

“Finally,” the leader intoned, his voice pitched low to make it sound deeper, “The preparations are set. Let us summon our Lord to be made whole once more!” A rousing cheer was given by the followers as they huddled close to the circle and began to chant in (butchered) Latin.

.   .   .

Danny was just settling into bed after a long night of fighting ghosts and cramming for his math test when he felt something shift in the air around him. He sat up in bed, feeling uneasy, and felt something tug at his core. It wasn’t much, just a small pull, but it caught his attention and he absently rubbed a hand over the spot. Then, there was a larger one. It felt like someone had cast a fishing line into his chest and pulled. With a flash of light, he realized that without intending to, he had transformed, and the feeling continued.

He sighed with annoyance. ‘If this is another slumber party summoning I swear…’ he thought as he flew through his window and followed the pull to its origins.

Danny followed the pull to the cemetery where the monument the city had built for him sat. Vlad had thought it would be funny when the town raised funds for a statue, to have the tribute to his enemy built in a cemetery, but Danny didn’t care. Usually, he liked to visit, maybe take a few of the flowers left as an offering for him and relax. He supposed it was a ghost thing, wanting to visit your ‘headstone’ as it were, but it brought him peace. This though? He wasn’t sure what this culty looking group was doing to his monument, but it sure as hell felt like desecration.

“What are you guys doing?” He asked, floating well enough outside the circle of candles, just in case.

The members of the group looked up at the hero, and began to chatter in excitement.

“Lord Phantom!”

“He’s really here!”

“I told you these were his favorite colors!”

The cacophony of voices were soon drowned out by the booming voice of their leader.

“Lord Phantom, Guardian of the Gates of Death, Protector of the Realm of Mortals, I bid you welcome from your devoted followers.”

Danny reeled back slightly. ‘Devoted followers?’ He was starting to wish he really had been summoned by a slumber party instead.

“What the heck are you doing out here?” Annoyance was starting to enter his tone now, though the group didn’t seem to notice.

“Why, we are here to reunite you with mortal form! To give you flesh once more so that you may assert yourself as the rightful ruler of the mortal realm, Lord Phantom!” The other cult members began to cheer with the man in excitement, but Danny cut them off quickly.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He waved one hand while pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re telling me that you’re trying to reanimate my corpse?” Annoyance was now absent from his voice, disgust replacing it quickly. Some of the cultists noticed and shifted awkwardly where they stood.

“Yes…my Lord?” The leader’s falsely deep voice was gone, his confidence replaced with slight apprehension. 

“You guys do know that necromancy is illegal in Amity Park, right? Also you’re definitely defacing public property right now. That's like, a double crime or something.”

The group was silent for a moment, unsure what to do.

“I can’t go back to jail!” One yelled, before breaking free from the huddle and sprinting towards the exit, robe flapping in the wind. The others quickly took the hint, and all began running off towards nearby parking lots, leaving Danny by himself.

“Is this…sidewalk chalk?” He wondered aloud as he rubbed one of the markings off his monument. He had the feeling he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, he didn’t want to leave this mess for the poor groundskeeper after all.

[fluffyglass]

Bugsnax Designs - Beta 1.2.3 Patch Notes (details under cut)

Replaced Oddfellow's backpack with a messenger bag

Added small details to Oddfellow's ID

Added dark lower lip to Oddfellow

Beffica's hair simplified

Beffica's cheek tufts made curly to match the rest of her fur

Beffica's face pattern altered

Beffica's hair tie simplified

Gramble's hair simplified

Lineart added to Gramble's eyebags

Darker hair added to Wiggle's pompadour

Wiggle's cheek tufts simplified

Wiggle's arms altered; her arms now feature long fur "gloves"

Wiggle made very very slightly more orange

Cromdo's shoulder fur changed to flow downwards rather than upwards

Chandlo's lower paws joined with legs

Chandlo's paws have had lime accents added

Snorpy's hair shapes changed; rather than smooth locs, his hair has been made fluffy to match with Floofty. Also it looks stupid and I like that.

Snorpy's lower paws made yellow, and upper paws have had yellow accents added

Snorpy's lower paws separated into their own shape

Long fur removed from Snorpy's arms

Shelda completely redrawn;

- Main vine removed from crown, now only consisting of flowers and leaves - Peace necklace made much smaller - Vines added around head, shoulders and torso - White paint added around face - Darker brown fur color added - Small "bracelets" of leaves added to wrists

Eggabell's belt strap made thinner

Lizbert completely redrawn;

- Face restructured; eyes made larger and have had color changed to gold, nose made smaller, chipped tooth made less severe - Scarf color changed - Overall build restructured; made shorter and stockier - Dark fur tuft added to chest - Fur pattern on body altered - Lower paws joined with legs - Light grey accents removed from upper paws

As always, everyone swagged up immensely 😊

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾

02. I’m not a pervert! 💌

Lights out in an “empty” gym – luck chose to bless you today.

You’ve never been inside the indoor gyms – never found a reason to – but the school must have spent a fortune on the interior design. It’s impossible not to admire it.

The sun’s gaze peaks through the arched, glass roof, acting as the building’s only light source. Accented panels run along the walls in a well-ordained pattern. Pennant flags that alternate between the colors of the sky and the sand hang above the pool, occasionally fluttering back and forth in the air.

You can’t miss the pool, separated into chalk, thin lanes – and a stranger treading his way underneath, moving as if he belongs in the water – mastering its element and breaking the rules of gravity.

Every motion is weightless, following a rhythm with each stroke. No splash is wasted. His body propels forward until he reaches the finish line, victorious, despite the lack of competition.

Swimmers often describe the wave of water as freeing. You wonder if he felt the same.

“Can I help you?” The stranger asks, illustrating his paper-white teeth, not fazed by your prying eyes.

He emerges from the pool, breath labored, and chest – well-built, exemplifying his athlete status as water drips to the floor.

He steps closer and you draw the constellations of freckles falling along his cheeks–how they steal the sparkle of his eyes, threatening to lose anyone who looks deep within.

Focus.

You clear your throat, “By any chance, have you seen a brown vintage messenger bag? A friend left it.”

He squints his eyes and swerves his head from left to right before taking off his swimming cap. Wet ginger hair reveals itself as he brushes a hand through it, “I think I saw one near the stands.”

“Thank you. I’ll look for it.”

He nods before heading towards the locker rooms. A part of you is glad that the gym isn’t packed with training athletes. But the other half feels an unpleasant lump down your throat. The awkwardness of being caught gawking at his performance has you praying to leave immediately.

Fortunately, you spot Kaveh’s bag from the stands. Its weight indicates the laptop is inside.

Finally.

“HELP! WHAT THE FUCK!”

A high-pitched-horror-like scream followed by a string of curses echo inside the men’s locker room as the double doors blew wide open and the ginger sprints behind you — his eyes bulging out of his sockets, breath agape, and face from crimson to ash as if a ghost had tapped his shoulders and waved hello.

What the hell.

“Do you need help?” You offer.

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” He chuckles awkwardly. He opens his mouth to say something else, but no words form – only exaggerated hand gestures pointing at the empty locker room.

You don’t understand, but you pretend you do.

He looks insane.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” You ask one more time.

“So… Look– there” he slowly cranes his neck inside the locker room, anticipating something or someone from walking out, “I saw– Ok look It’s not what it looks like. I mean, to be honest, I don’t even know what this looks like. But I swear, in the shower— I’m not even—“ He looks down to his exposed torso, “Wait—“

You look away, hoping to preserve him of some dignity, “I got what I came here for. You don’t owe me an explanation.” You wave your hand politely before scurrying away.

“I SWEAR I’M NOT A PERVERT!”

NOTES:

hi i wrote the first draft a long time ago, but when i re-read it, i hated it so i changed some things and hopefully this makes more sense idk

also thoughts on childe with freckles? i saw a fanart on twitter once and it stuck in my head

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.

CHILDE x FEM!READER

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TAGLIST (OPEN!): @thegalaxyisunfolding @stratusworld @tiramizuloz @miy-svz @trulyylee @batatinhafriita @scaradooche @yuminako @m1njizzie @mtndewbajablasted @fadedpinkpen @vavrin @kioffy @kokoomie @ashveil @tired-jaz @nia333 @riabriyn @kyon-cherri

[batnoise]

[🦇+🔪 / september 2023 ] patreon reward for @vespidazed !! 🚏🌇

[ID: a digital drawing with rough bold linework of an androgynous coyote anthro with colors reminiscent of a sunset, running towards the right. they have long blond bangs and they wear a black cap, a black face mask with a sharp teeth pattern, a black cropped compression shirt, a black skort, and a messenger bag with papers and paint markers over their shoulder. papers with a design that says "4tune 4u" (fortune for you) fly out of their bag as they run. the background is black, blue and a mess of cyan and magenta splatters. /end ID]

[best-of-theworst]

My custom Draculaura doll

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

I forgot to post her here! I finished her 3 months ago, and making her took 2 months!

The dress is not perfect by any means! But this project took me out of a pretty bad depressive episode, so for me, it's absolutely perfect!

Here's more about the process and elements of her look! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Her dress is made out of 4 major parts:

The dress itself!

Lolita style white dress with long black sleeves in more of a witchy/goth style. A lot of ruffles and pearl chains!

The belt/skirt thing!

It's a separate part to allow easier dress up! It hooks up in the front, pleated skirt look and two chains on etch side! One black one white, all made out of glass beads!

The clip-on cape!

The cape isn't visible very well on these photos but there's only a drawing of a spider web in on the back, so you're not missing much lmfao! It has two chains hanging from the shoulders, made out of black glass, pink clear and silver beads! (I've used a lot of beads on this project didn't I...) And it uses tailor's snaps, hidden behind the silver heart, to clip on and off!

Petticoat!

A simple layered petticoat used to give she bottom of the dress some needed shape! It made out of, and stay with me on this, the material of dried out wet wipes... OKAY LISTEN. It's the perfect thickness for making petticoats! And by layering them you can create a perfect "sculpting material"! It's so easy to shape and control to achieve the perfect petticoat look!

Shoes!

Now, I know shoes aren't a part of the dress, but they also aren't accessories... so I'll put them here! I can't really explain the process of making them too well... I followed the shoes making steps I saw on the enchanterium YouTube channel! They are truly wizards in making shoes and dolls in general! So definitely check them out! (And they're my fellow polish girlis so dabble check them out!!!)

Accessories:

The bad!

The legendary bag... why legendary? Everyone who saw this doll irl immediately said "oh my god!! I need this bag in human size!!!" And honestly, I agree, it's cool as all hell! It's a simple messenger bag, the flap is layered, black material on the bottom and a weird material I found that kinda looks like a spider web! (I would really love to tell you where I got it from but I have no idea... I collect random trash that could be used in DIY and most likely, that's how I got it! Sorry... but I'm sure you can just Google "material that looks like spider web" and you'll probably find something similar!) It also has 4 belt like things hanging from the bottom of the flap! The two longer ones also have holes on the bottom with two silver rings! No real function, just there to look cool!

Garter!

It looks complicated but it was very easy to make! It's made out of a small piece of ribbon, it has, you guessed it, a chain made out of glass beads!!! And has a small a rose made of a mesh fabric!

The jewelry!

A silver ring, two silver bracelets, and safety pin earrings! A nod to her iconic earrings from gen1!

Wallet!

A piece of cardboard I wrapped up in black fabric and sticked a mesh rose on top! Sadly I got a bit lazy and it's not functional...

Blooding!

I know Draculaura is a vegetarian! Well every other Draculaura is. So she has a blood pudding for lunch! I used some random small cup, and the blooding itself is made out of... glass... beads... AND glue!

The process!

It was really easy! I don't really follow any patterns and I just measured everything by eye... yea, not very professional. So I can't give you a pattern now, but if anyone wants it, let me now! Even if it's only one person! I will get to work and draw the pattern to the best of my ability! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Thanks so much for reading! ♡