#the new one looks marginally more like casual wear

[trinkettes]

wanda in casual clothes AND her old headpiece is always a funny look

[229zmi]

MY HEART, IT BEATS FOR YOU

Nagi Seishirō/Reader | 1.0k words, fluff, jealous nagi

Nagi, generally, is an apathetic person.

Yet somehow, there’s a taut feeling that twists its way through the gaps of his ribcage, stretching around his heart as his eyes linger on the fabric that hangs around your shoulders. Seeing you on the couch, casually scrolling on your phone while wearing a jacket he can’t recognise as yours or, even better, his as much as he wants to — the sight elicits something that’s not quite a painful feeling, but it isn’t exactly pleasant either, he thinks.

The wheels are still turning in his head when you finally acknowledge his presence with a smile, oblivious to the way he’s not even looking at you when you tell him, “Hey, Sei.”

Instead, he trudges over to you with the same passion as that of a sloth, and his voice comes out small, almost as if that same feeling in his chest has crawled past his shoulder to constrict his throat.

“That jacket— it’s not yours, is it?” It’s plain and simple, the way he states the observation, yet laced with the most marginal hint of spite.

“No, it’s Reo’s,” you confirm without missing a beat, and he narrows his eyes, so subtly that you don’t even catch it. You continue on about how you bumped into Reo by pure coincidence on your way to run an errand and how the weather’s been so volatile lately, oscillating between warm and sunny one day and freezing cold during the next. But Nagi—

Well—

Here’s the thing: as impassive as he is most of the time, Nagi is a great listener when it comes to you.

You’ve always been a priority to him and even more so in that facet. To relish in the fleeting moments of winning a game on his phone, or to know what happens in the latest chapter of his favourite manga as soon as possible — the rush of satisfaction he gets out of those is nice, he supposes, but not worth missing a word of what you say, be it something miscellaneous about your day or the biggest news he’s ever heard in his life.

And certainly, nothing is worth missing the small habits that make themselves known in your conversation, that make up the you he first swore love to near the bench outside the convenience store, holding your favourite snack in one hand and offering his jacket to you with his other because the harshness of springtime winds had swept away any warmth your flimsy sweater could contain.

It’s your facial expressions, your gestures, the way you look toward him at the end of each rambling, as if to ask, Are you listening? So then, he’ll answer— a nod, as if to say, Yes. Of course. Please say more. Because for you, it’s all ears and eyes wide open on his end.

But Nagi, admittedly, isn’t perfect, and this is not a matter of opinion. Even you can see the way he can’t stop staring hard at your jacket as though he’s trying to telepathically morph it into something that looks like it came from his closet instead.

Midway through an elaborate plan to sell the jacket for an outrageously high price on some sketchy website (you’re only half-joking… maybe), you finally notice his distant expression. “…Sei?”

His lack of response is all the confirmation you need for your suspicions. A grin then crosses your face, while your eyes sport a gleam that Nagi recognises as smugness once he eventually tears his focus away from the offending item of clothing.

You say his name again, this time teasingly. Then, “Are you jeal—?”

Your question cuts off unceremoniously when his hands reach over to latch onto the zipper of the jacket, pulling it down before tugging on the fabric near your shoulders. Despite the boldness of his actions, you don’t make any move to stop him as he flings Reo’s jacket across the room, hearing it land on the floor with a satisfying sound.

Moments later, he shrugs his jacket off in one smooth motion and then drapes it over your body. With his large palms smoothing over the fabric against your upper arms, it’s such a sweet gesture that you can’t find it in yourself to complain, although the opportunity to poke fun at him is hard to let slip.

“Woah, there.” Cheekily, you brush that one abnormally long part of his bangs away from his face and poke the tip of his nose, to which he responds with his signature pout before burying his face into the crook of your neck. As your back hits the cushion of the arm rest behind you and your hands come up to comb through his hair, you feel a bout of warmth surge through your collarbone area, accompanied by the sound of his voice muffled by your skin.

“I’m not jealous.”

A smile dances around the corners of your mouth despite your efforts to conceal it. “Really?” you say. “I think you are.”

“Nuh-uh,” he grumbles. “You can’t prove it.”

“I mean. You’re kinda all over me right now.”

He huffs at the flurry of giggles that tumble from your mouth boundlessly, like clothes spilling out of an overpacked suitcase. Though, when your laughter finally simmers down and humour seems to have come to a standstill in your conversation, sentimentality weaves its way into your voice, in between mixed undertones of reassurance and leftover amusement.

(Because what you’re about to say is nothing but the truth itself: ardent and vulnerable, despite the sheer casualness in the way you present it.)

“You’re the only one my heart beats for, Seishirō.”

Lazily, he peers up at you. “Promise?”

“I promise. Besides,” you add, snuggling deeper into the collar of his jacket, “your jacket’s way warmer, anyway.”

That could be attributed to the fact that he has practically become your personal heater by sprawling his body over yours on the couch. Nevertheless, the envious fangs surrounding Nagi’s heart slacken, and with your fingers brushing through his hair once again, he can’t help himself from murmuring into your skin, sounding more relieved than he has ever sounded, “Good.”

[spiderrmax]

main 4 + love languages

synopsis: what i think the main four boy's love languages would be (giving + recieving) author's note: the first time i posted this i forgot the tags lmao. second try is the charm! also this is my first time writing for these guys so sorry if things r kinda ooc!

Stan Marsh

Giving: quality time + words of affirmation

Stan appreciates any time he has with you, even if it is doing school work together. He never finds the silence to be awkward, and doesn’t feel it necessary to fill the air with chatter. Sometimes you guys just sit there, scrolling on your phones, occasionally showing the other something. Stan doesn’t care; your presence is enough.

Stan would rather verbally let you know how much you mean to him, even if he stutters and stumbles around his words. If you’re wearing a new outfit, he’ll compliment it while looking down, ears red and hot. However, he also leaves compliments and notes on paper as well. If you ever let him borrow your notes, he’ll write small “thank you” and doodle hearts in the margins. Despite the awkwardness, his words are sweet.

Receiving: quality time + physical affection

Again, Stan cherishes any moment he has with you. Knowing that you enjoy that time too, and actively want to hang out with him again makes him grin like a fool. 

Stan, despite being a bit of a wreck, really enjoys physical affection. He doesn’t initiate it often, but won’t stop if you hold his hand. He blushes hard if you ever give him a kiss before leaving, especially in front of his friends. (They definitely rip on him.) Any physical affection leaves Stan giddy.

Kyle Broflovski

Giving: gift giving + quality time

Kyle tends to see you a lot in material items, due to excessively remembering your interests. He’ll see a bouquet and think about how your favorite flower is in it, or anything in your favorite color makes him think of you. A lot of his allowance goes to buying those items; although, not everything is bought. He’s definitely picked up crafting, such as cards or bracelets, because he knows that home-made is even more appreciated.

Kyle also loves spending time with you! Unlike Stan, Kyle will plan out what you two are going to do. His mood gets down if something messes up his schedule, like rain or traffic; however, you always make it better. Kyle definitely googles date ideas. He might even have a pinterest board.

Receiving: words of affirmation + acts of services

Kyle can get insecure; sometimes the guy’s words get to him. He’s okay with taking his hat off around you, knowing you won’t say anything mean, but sometimes he can’t stomach it. So, he really appreciates any compliments you give him. Even if it’s something small like, “You’re looking nice today,” or calling him pretty. Yes, he knows it’s not a traditional masculine compliment, but something about you calling him it, so casual and natural makes him happy.

Kyle also likes knowing you think about him! He really appreciates anything you do for him. Anytime he’s sick and has to miss school, you always make sure your notes are neatly written so he can copy them. (He can tell based on all the erased words on your paper.) Whenever he’s had a bad day, you’ll bring him over his favorite snacks and a movie you rented. He loves knowing you think about him.

Eric Cartmen

Giving: acts of services + physical touch

Not gonna lie, figuring out what Eric’s love language was hard. However, his main one is acts of service. If he finds out someone is being mean to you, Eric will definitely get rid of the problem. He won’t even mention it either, but you know it’s him. He does a lot for you, and he doesn’t even realize. At lunch, he’ll grab extra napkins because he knows you forget too. He’ll send you answers to homework (definitely stolen) if you’re sick. If anyone brings this up, he just says it’s because he knows you’re incapable. 

Eric also enjoys physical touch. Out of the four, he’s definitely the jealous one and that goes hand-in-hand with PDA. He has to be touching you, whether by holding your hand, or having an arm around your waist. He doesn’t give a shit if the guys rip on him either, he definitely throws shade back about them being single. He’s even more clingy in closed-doors; he’ll whine if you sit too far on the couch. He really warms up to cuddling after doing it few times,

Receiving: gift giving + words of affirmation 

Buying things for Cartmen is the easiest way to get into Eric’s heart. You bought him a Terrance and Philip doll once and it sits on his shelf. One time Stan tried to grab it and Eric yelled at him. You’ll buy snacks for any movie dates you have, and he appreciates that you can remember his favorites.

Cartman loves praise. He thrives off your compliments. Even if it’s something simple, saying something he did was cool, he will think about it the rest of the day. If it’s a bigger compliment he will brag about it. “Kyle, [your name] called me pretty and awesome. Do you have a partner? I don’t think so.” Despite being deserved, a lot of the things Cartman hears about himself are negative. Your words are a nice change of pace.

Kenny Mccormick

Giving: physical affection + words of affirmation

Kenny loves physical attention, in public or not. He’ll hold your hand and if it gets too cold will put your intertwined hands in the pocket of his parka. He has no problem kissing you in public as long you are okay with it. He’s so handsy too; he will slip his hand down your back jean pocket. Everyone knows you too are dating because Kenny is stitched to your side.

Kenny also loves complimenting you. He will meet you at your house everyday to walk you to the bus stop and the first words he says to you is a compliment about your outfit. (Even if it’s a repeat.) If you do great on a test, Kenny is there calling you smart. Of course, Kenny’s compliments do get vulgar occasionally, complimenting your butt or any other physical asset. However, despite this, it is always heartfelt.

Receiving: physical affection + gift giving

As much as Kenny loves kissing you, he loves even more knowing you enjoy it as well. He only really blushes when you initiate it; one time you kissed him before he hung out with the boys and they could just see the impact you left despite the fact his red face was hidden in his parka. You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles one time when he was upset and he fell even deeper in love with you. Having you excitedly run up and hug him after you haven’t seen him in a while is one of his favorite things.

Growing up poor, Kenny has learned to appreciate the smaller things. Seeing you spend money on him, and being excited to hand him whatever you bought makes him so happy. On your first Valentine’s day together, you bought him a bouquet; he had his mother press the flowers so he could keep them in his room. It doesn’t even have to be a massive thing. You showed him a cool rock you found, it had been in the shape of a heart, and it’s still in the drawer of all the stuff you got him.

[strwberri-milk]

Hellos, may I request Al Haitham where they learn that their s/o is a reader too. Like when they go to their house, they see this huge library and stuff. All the books seemingly read as their annotated, and when you look at the books they have tabs, drawings, pasted memes, post-its, and writings. The books from different genres, the same books with different covers, rare books and stuff. The reader allows them to read and borrow them as he likes. They also offer to annotate a book for them if he wants. How would they react?

And a book reading date kind of after maybe

I changed the prompt just a scootch!!

Al Haitham spends a lot of time with his nose in a book because it means he can sit with his thoughts alone, or sit and digest somebody else's ideas without the expectation of maintaining a conversation if he chooses not to. To him, it's the perfect way to spend some time by himself while keeping his brain active.

When he met you he found that you were similar enough to him. He enjoyed reading books that you recommended, feeling as though he was growing closer to you with each page he finished. It was a less intrusive way for him to learn more about you, giving you some books he likes himself to return the favour.

He thought that you were slightly more casual than he was. Your overlap didn't seem to be all that great and the books that you'd give him to read weren't exactly as academic as the ones he would read. Then again, anything seems less academic when you're reading a literal textbook for fun.

The first time you invite him over he's not expecting too much. He thought that the two of you would just sit down for some snacks and discuss the latest book you finished, not expecting to be lead down a hall into a glorious library. He has his own but somehow, you've breathed life into the books on the shelves. He can tell that you've read a majority of them from the wear on the spine or the familiar way you grab them, flags sticking out of slightly stretched-out spines.

You hand him one, him recognising it as a new copy of a book he mentioned wanting to read to you in passing. He didn't expect you to be able to get a copy, knowing how difficult it was for him even with his connections now as the Acting Grand Sage. You give him another copy, this one just as annotated as the other ones he determines with a precursory flip through the pages.

Al Haitham is a bit of a purist with his books, keeping them all in pristine condition and not wanting to mark them up. However, the way your books are clearly loved as he looks through others while you find something to eat together makes his fingers itch to try it himself. He's a bit of a perfectionist so he doesn't think he'd be able to do well on his own books.

You return after a while, bringing with you some supplies to annotate. You catch him browsing all of your books when you get back, fingers gently tracing over the rarer books in your collection. as he asks you a few questions about how you managed to get these copies, telling him a little about it as you offer him some things.

You two don't often just sit and read together but now he's finding himself really wanting to do more of it in the future. You told him that it might be a nice and chill thing to do with each other as the two of you have been so busy lately that you just wanted to come down from the stress but still being together.

He listens as you work through your own book, getting antsy as he tries to continue to finish his own. You've left your copy of the book he wanted to read on the table and he's so tempted to skim through it, look through the notes you left on the margins. You notice his eyes flitting to and fro and with a quiet chuckle, you silently pass the book to him.

Al Haitham's expression is almost unreadable as he works through the pages at his own pace. However, he's distracted enough that you can steal a couple glances at him as he smiles at some of the notes you've left, nail gently tracing the outlines of the words as he reads them aloud to himself.

[ciarancreature]

Hey! Since it seems like goth women's fashion is a lot easier to find examples of and information about, I've decided to create a short visual guide to a good, basic look you can do as a male or masc goth! Note that this is intended as a guide for more casual, everyday wear; for a fancier goth style, like a vampire or Victorian goth look, this might not be the right guide.

For a good, basic, every day casual goth look, here's what I like to do.

Let's start with shoes. I typically wear black Dr. Martens with platforms. They can be bought new or used, and I recommend real leather, as it's much longer lasting and more environmentally friendly. But Docs are expensive. If they're not in your budget, any similar black boot will do. You can also get creative and do a different kind of black boot, or, if you manage to get your hands on some, a pair of winklepickers (also known as goth pikes) are a classic look!

The next thing to look at is pants. You'll probably want a nice, simple pair of black jeans. I would recommend skinny jeans, but if they're not comfortable or you don't like the look, a pair of straight or athletic jeans, or anything else should work! That being said, I'd stick to black (or something else that you feel looks gothy). Normal or ripped are both great!

After that, a completely optional step is a belt or several layered belts (black if possible). Not everyone wears them, but one or more edgy belts are another classic look with a deathrocker vibe. Some fun options are belts with chains and O rings, studs, or bullets. A wallet chain is also an option.

Over that, a classic staple in any goth wardrobe is a black goth band shirt. This is a way to show you know the music, look cool, and support bands you love - many bands make the majority of their profits as musicians from merch!

One thing you can do, especially for a more tradgoth or deathrocker look, is to add either fishets or a layer or two of ripped tights as sleeves under the t-shirt. Not everyone does this, but it's a fun element for extra flair. If you go with fishnets, I recommend getting tights and simply ripping or cutting a hole in the crotch rather than buying a shirt, because it's much cheaper, and because the ripped look is cool.

On top of that, you'll probably want a jacket. Some people wear trench coats. Some people wear a black denim vest or jacket with patches, studs, or spikes (again, this is more common among deathrockers). Some wear a black leather jacket; it could be new or vintage, real or pleather, and plain or covered in painted band logos/patches/spikes. Some even wear distressed sweaters. Most goths prefer black, regardless of what you go for, and if it's got spikes or patches, most goths DIY them rather than buying them like that. Patches are another way to show off your love and support for bands.

You may also want to add jewelry. Some goths wear a lot of creepy rings. Many wear chokers or necklaces, and often layer them; some classic ones are rosaries, ankhs, and bats. Many goths of all genders and sexualities also wear black nail polish. If you choose to wear facial piercings, avoid tribal ones. They're culturally appropriative and will alienate marginalized people and lead to people getting upset with you.

If you have hair, you have several options for styling it. Most goths choose to dye their hair black, but some may bleach it, keep it natural, or color it. Some may even choose to wear different wigs for different occasions. How you style it is up to you, but many choose to style it by backcombing/teasing it, applying a strong hairspray (got2be Glued is typically the most recommended), and using a hair dryer to make it stay in place (there are several tutorials for this on YouTube). Alternatively, you can simply leave it long (this is a less classic look, but many goths do it). Many, especially deathrockers like to style their hair in a deathhawk, which is a mohawk or crest hairstyle with backcombed hair. (There is some debate about whether this is culturally appropriative or not. I've met someone online who claimed to be from the Kanien'kehá:ka Tribe (the indigenous name for the tribe) who told me they don't consider it appropriative because the original hairstyle involves plucking, not shaving the hair, and involves a certain amount of ritual and spiritual significance; this person also said they don't think it should be called a Mohawk because it's not the same hairstyle as the one associated with the tribe. That being said, I'd never met them before and don't know if they were being honest with me. I've also met a white person who sent me an article by another white person who claimed to have asked members of the same tribe, who said they do consider it appropriative. If someone who is actually from the Kanien'kehá:ka culture would like to tell me what the consensus is, or if there even is one within the culture, I would appreciate it.). I've also see goths with any number of styles that involved shaving various parts of their heads, so you can also just go wild with the clippers and see what happens. A tower (a style in which the sides and back are shaved and the top is styled to stick up) is also an option. Just be aware that something that involves backcombing and hairspray is a lot of work to be doing on a daily basis and can damage your hair; using extensions instead may help protect it. If you have textured hair, many Black goths tease or comb it into various styles. The important thing with many looks is that it has body and sticks up, that it has shaved parts, that it's generally edgy, or some combination of those traits at play. When in doubt, look to goth icons like Robert Smith and Dave Vanian for inspiration, or simply try to look as much like a vampire as you can. Or, you can look at modern goth artists, like Twin Tribes, Male Tears, and She Past Away!

Most goths (even cis, straight men) wear some amount of makeup, although it's not necessary if you don't want to. A basic beginner look may just be black eyeliner and/or eyeshadow smudged around the eyes. If you'd like the get creative with it, some contouring, black or red lipstick, or more elaborate eye makeup may be in order. You can imitate women's looks or do something more elaborate; I'll make a separate post for that. Goth makeup often focuses on looking gaunt and pale, but this is not because goth has always been for skinny, white people (it's never been just for them); it's more that the goal when goth makeup became a thing was to look like a corpse. Being pale and being skinny are not requirements. Looking dark and edgy is the goal, not looking conventionally attractive.

Doing all or most of these things will give you a good, basic goth look, and with just a few band shirts, you'll have a solid wardrobe to work with that doesn't have to be expensive. Remember, goth fashion has always been pretty androgynous, so don't be afraid to borrow ideas from goth women as well! If you're able to spend time around other goths or follow them on social media (Goth Dad is an influencer who has his own goth male fashion tutorials that are worth looking at, and others like Sweeney DeVille and James from the band Male Tears have good tutorials for things like hair and makeup), you'll pick up on more ideas, and can even get creative on your own!

[asukaskerian]

monthly word count - may

TOTAL: 8 320 gonna have to accept that 8k is my new average, huh. sulk sulk sulk. POSTED: nada. IN PROGRESS: -Mada/Tobi/Izu ABO cherry wine chapter uhh, i forget (2 544 words) -suburban ot4 (grimmjow/nelliel/ichigo/orihime) (3 841 words) -pack fuckening ABO (grimmjow 1 fraccion/ichigo ABO) (1 935 words) i'm pretty happy that i managed a decent chunk of progress on each of thse fics, though, instead of forcing out a drabble's worth of edits on a dozen old things. good job, self.

-- suburban ot4 -- "It's nice that you trust him so much, huh. That's gonna make it easier." From behind the bar where Jackie is showing him how to make a mai tai, Grimmjow arches an eyebrow. Nelliel and her belly have managed to climb a barstool and she's nursing a virgin mojito, chatting casually with Boss-man and the brat. It's the first time she visits him at his job; it's a slow evening, and still early, so the whole crew drops by here and there to hang out. Also apparently celebrate his starting to train as a bartender, as if that's not yet another excuse to get sloshed on the job. Boss-man is making his smirky asshole face. Grimmjow snorts. He can smell the verbal trap coming a mile off, but honestly that's just gonna make his reaction to Nelliel's reaction funnier-- "Of course," she replies casually, toying with her straw. "He's got a good sense for the crazy ones. I trust him to only pick up the ones that won't come back to throw a chair through the bottle racks." Pfft. "Too bad that's taking out all the hot ones," he drawls. "Is there a reason you can't turn off a bathroom light, Grimmjow," Nelliel replies, deadpan. Grimmjow cackles, half because of what she said and half over Ginjo's brief nonplussed look. He really thought he was gonna start some domestic disturbance shit, didn't he. Riruka meanwhile looks torn between genuine flustered shock and laughing at Ginjo in a 'cooler than you' way. "You joking, or you really don't mind?" Jackie asks, twisting a bottle cap back on with sure hands. "Gotta know if I should rat him out." Nelliel glances at him. Grimmjow shrugs. He hasn't really told them much about his personal life -- just that he's got a pregnant girlfriend and they're living with another couple, but it's not like he's embarrassed. Ginjo and his crew like playing at being marginalized -- ooh, society sucks, corporate-suburbia people are sheep and not real, I'm never buying a house or wearing a tie or getting married -- but at this level, that's what it is; a game. Not a single one of them has ever had to sleep on the streets. Well, maybe Jackie. She has the feel. -- cherry wine -- "What are you doing here," he rasped, and tried not to look any lower, not to rake his eyes over the simple sleeveless gi yawning open over mesh wire on bare skin. "What do you think?" Tobirama frowned, crossed his arms over his chest. Bare, strong arms, corded with muscle. Them and his legs, they were the most solidly omega part of him, with his waist too thin to carry comfortably -- "Madara. Eyes up." Madara breathed through his nose and immediately regretted it. Tobirama was standing on the other end of the courtyard, with decorative bushes and flowers and moss in between. It should have cut down on his scent -- it did, some, only now it was a teasing hint. His scent really had evolved since he got discovered as an omega, huh. ... Why was he here? Madara scowled. "It's been -- how long has it been? Not very. You're already here." Tobirama frowned back, arms crossing a little more tightly. "I was monitoring the both of you and felt Izuna leave in a hurry." "And you thought it was poison." "... And I listened in on some intelligence on my way in." Madara tilted his head slowly -- a last, forgotten hair pin tugged at the back of his head. He reached up to pull it free slowly, eyes not leaving the omega across the little garden, walled in with him. He liked that Tobirama watched him back just as closely -- as if the pin was a senbon, maybe, some kind of deadly weapon. He didn't like that Tobirama was lying to him. -- howling outside your door (it's pretty much all filth, so... XD) -- He really likes Ichigo's back, doesn't he. The hakama works nicely to show off how trim his waist is compared to his-- "Eight out of ten. Passionate, tender. Loses two points for the lack of varied position." "--Edrad what the fuck--" "Six point five," Yylfordt counters, at his prissiest. "Failure to seal the deal. No bun in that oven. Sure it was enthusiastic but they rather missed the point of the exercise." "Five point two! With that technique he might as well have gotten the wrong hole -- ow!" Grimmjow picks up another rock, weighs it thoughtfully. Di Roy rubs at his mask. He's not hurt but his brain has got to have been rattled a bit. "Shawlong, Nakeem, anything to add?" he asks, deceptively pleasant. Nakeem gives a slow blink right back.

[thetwentyfourminutes]

THINGS TO DO TO FIX UP A BUSINESS

1. Get in the Reinventing Mindset

Sometimes shifting your thoughts to being open to making changes can be the most impactful way to make change happen. If you’ve been doing things the same way for years, it can be hard to evolve. Know that reinventing is the key to revitalizing your business and taking it to the next level.

2. Hire help

I know so many entrepreneurs that try to do everything in their business themselves. That only works for so long! If you’re overwhelmed with the amount of work you have to do, simply hiring people can make a huge difference.

3. Develop an Onboarding Process

Once you start hiring help, you’ll quickly realize you need a process to train them. It’s best to develop a 2-4-week onboarding process to train new staff. Create documents for this so that the process can be repeated. The more time you spend training to more likely your staff will perform to your expectations.

4. Establish a Company Culture

When you ask yourself: what is our company culture? What answer comes to mind?

If nothing does, you probably don’t have one. Company culture refers to the environment you want to create for your employees. Do you want a casual workplace, where people can wear informal clothes or a virtual team where everyone works from home? Think through what kind of culture you want for your business.

5. Develop Your Leadership Style

As you add to your team, you’ll need to learn how to develop your leadership style, to adjust as the business situations dictate. You’ll quickly learn which management styles work best, so pay attention to how your staff responds to how you lead.

6. Gather Your Kitchen Cabinet of Advisors

I’m a big fan of having a confidential sounding board as a business owner. You need people around you who are invested in your success. So you can bounce around ideas , and they will serve as your business mentors.

7. Own Your Money Management

Not everyone loves dealing with money issues in their business’ cash, but it’s imperative that you get comfortable with managing cash flow in your business. Pay attention to your bill management, credit lines, accounts receivables, accounts payable, and if needed develop a collections process.

8. Tighten Your Accounting

If you’ve made it this far in your small business using a spreadsheet to manage your accounting, that might be part of the reason you need to fix things. You should be using accounting software to manage your monthly accounting and banking records. It is affordable, easy to use, or hire a seasoned bookkeeper or accountant to keep your records up-to-date.

9. Consider Funding Options

Many businesses flounder simply because they are undercapitalized. You may have been reluctant to apply for a business line of credit or a business loan, but doing so will ensure that you are able to manage cash flow and have money to invest in your business. Always try the bank first before pursuing alternative lenders.

10. Establish a Collections Process

If you struggle with clients not paying on time, it’s time to establish a collections process. Establish penalties for late payments, such as charging an additional 2% on past-due invoices, or consider discounting invoices that are paid early. Clearly communicate what your process is so clients know that they need to pay on time.

11. Monitor Your Profitability

If it’s been a while since you looked at your profit margin, now’s a good time. Your expenses surely have risen, so you may no longer be as profitable as you once were. Consider raising your prices gradually in the coming months to increase your profitability.

12. Build Your Systems and Procedures

Every business has routine tasks. You need to document how you want things done. This has two benefits: first, it helps you streamline those processes. Second, if and when you hand those tasks onto other employees, they can follow the same systems and procedures that you have established.

13. Stop Being the “Go-To” for Everyone

Are you someone who never delegates tasks because you have a false belief that you’re the best person for the job? If so, it’s time to let go. Your main job is to run your company and general sales. The accounting, marketing, and service should be handled by professionals you’ve hired. Delegating responsibilities frees you up to work on business strategy and stop being a bottleneck in your business.

14. Find the Tech Tools For Your Business

There is a tool or software for just about everything you would want to do with your business. Whether you need a way to better manage your social media marketing, your accounting, or project management, there’s a tool. Yes, some cost money, but it’s well worth the expense if it can help your business become more productive.

15. Stay on the Cutting Edge of Technology

If your computers or other business software is out of date, it may be holding you back from getting more done. Invest in equipment that makes your work easier.

16. Measure What’s Going On In Your Business

You may be struggling because you are not measuring all of the business systems and marketing efforts in your business. Now’s a great time to review metrics on your website traffic, email open rates, sales conversions, shopping cart abandonment rates, and acquisition costs, to name a few.

17. Know Why and How Customers Buy from You

How well do you know and understand your customers? Talk to them and survey them. Use the insight to better deliver exactly what they want. For example, what is your customer’s favorite social media channel? Find out and use it to communicate with them.

18. Focus on Customer Satisfaction

Within 7-10 days after a sale email and survey your customers. They will tell you where the problems lies in your business. If they’re happy, you’ll attract more sales. If they’re dissatisfied, they may leave bad reviews on yelp, tell others, or not buy anything else. Spend your time fixing your customer service issues.

19. Claim Your Niche

Have you been trying to be all things to all types of customers? Quite honestly, that’s not doing your company any good. Instead, focus on the services or products that you deliver best and select a specific audience to serve. That’s your niche.

20. Identify Your Unique Selling Proposition

Once you’ve landed on a niche, delve into what makes your products or services better than the competition. This is called your unique selling proposition. It’s your secret sauce or your moonwalk. What is special about how you do business? How do you solve problems for your customers?

21. Assess if Your Product is Still Relevant

There comes a time for many businesses when they become obsolete, or close to it. As technology evolves, demand for your business may be waning. If so, it’s time to consider updating your services or extending products into new areas.

22. Consider Whether Your Niche Needs Updating

In addition to your products, you should also assess your niche. You may have started out serving one segment and now you need to shift your marketing focus.

23. Is it Time for a Brand Refresh?

If you’ve been in business a while you need to review whether you brand needs to evolve with the changing needs of the market. Does your brand currently reflect who you are as a business and who you serve? If not, it’s time for some branding update.

24. Are You Doing Mobile Marketing Yet?

In marketing strategy today, it’s a mobile first world. Building your brand’s online is key from social media, online ads, and content marketing. It’s also important to make sure your website looks great from a mobile device and that you are doing mobile web marketing, as it’s a new and exciting area to explore.

25. Is Your Social Media Marketing Working?

Once you know who your customers are and where they spend time online, you can assess your marketing efforts to determine if you’re reaching them. Start by reviewing your Google Analytics and click thru rates of your online advertising. What is your cost-per-click?

26. Create Your Sales Process

Do you have a “sales process?” If you don’t have one. Identify a target list of customers? Or create an ideal customer profile. And three ways to attract that customer to your brand. How do customers end up in your sales funnel? How do you nurture those leads and move them toward a sale? What is your follow-up after the sale?

27. Hire Your Salesperson

If you are the only person in your business that generates sales, you might be benefit from hiring a salesperson. There’s no reason you need to be doing the selling. A dedicated sales rep can help you reach more customers while you focus on high-level strategic decisions.

28. Plan, Plan, Plan

Another major error entrepreneur’s make is not planning. Everything from your business plan to strategy to exit plan needs to not only be established, but updated over time. Make an effort to update your business plan or strategic plan throughout the year and then use it to run your business.

29. Pay Attention to Competitors and Industry Trends

Staying on top of what’s happening in your field will be your competitive advantage. Knowing how your competitors are marketing, and when they release new products can affect your own strategy. Stay on top of industry trends so that you know about technological advances that could affect your business.

30. Anticipate Your Customers’ Needs

Being one step ahead of your customers will help you shine. Stay tapped into customer feedback so you know the issues your customers are facing. Then use this data to shape future products and launches.

31. Take Your Business to the Next Level

No business is ever “fixed”. But if you make an effort to continually improve your business, you won’t reach a crisis point where things are completely overwhelming. Keep the mindset of life long learner, and your business will thrive.

[moa-broke-me]

So, a little refresher:

I'm autistic.

And because I'm autistic, I don't shave my legs. I don't have the time management skills for it, the fine motor skills, the energy or even the desire most of the time. It's just gonna grow back, and the few times I did, I'd always miss a spot (usually on the back of my calf because I can't see what the hell I'm doing) and sometimes I'd nick myself, so like, what's even the point?

I also, because I'm autistic, don't wear makeup. I mean, I do sometimes, like, every once in a blue moon. But I don't do it every day, and I certainly don't do it to achieve the 'natural' look I'm told to aim for. Not only do I have issues with fine motor skills like I mentioned before, and not only am I disheartened by the thought of putting so much work into something that's just gonna be wiped off later (especially if I'm not even allowed to have fun with it), but it feels weird on my face and I don't like it. I don't wear heels for a similar reason, they hurt to walk in, and I'm terrified of spraining my ankle like I've done before twice now.

Now, all of this wouldn't be a big deal if I wasn't perceived as female by society.

But I am.

So it is.

It means that no matter how dolled up I get, I always feel underdressed in formal settings. That, in all social settings, no matter how casual, I feel grimy and disgusting if I have my legs showing. I worry what people think of me, which I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it. And I've been told, repeatedly, by my grandma, that one day I'll change, one day I'll mature enough to realize that all of these things are necessary. That one day, I'll be just like the other girls, pining after their imaginary future husbands.

This is an example of intersectionality. It is when issues arising from two marginalized identities not only layer on top of one another, but create new, unique issues along the way. If either one of these elements were removed, this issue wouldn't exist.

If I were allistic, or perhaps neurotypical altogether since not even I am certain where my autism ends and my adhd begins, I would always find the time. If I were allistic, wouldn't feel the pain, the discomfort, so strongly, just enough that the catchphrase 'beauty is pain' would mean something. I would have better control over my hands, my body in general, and I wouldn't even question the necessity of such frills. Even if I did, I'd just shrug and do it anyway, because I'd value social acceptance more than figuring out what feels right or makes sense to me.

If I were a man, who was perceived as a man, it would be considered a good thing, a relief, that I don't wear heels, hairy legs would be par for the course, and it would be more concerning that I'd even consider wearing makeup at all.

But because I'm both of these things, they combine to make something unique to autistic women, and those perceived as women. And even within that "perceived as women" category, meaning those of us given the label of 'woman' despite our rejection of the term, or even my tentative, periodic acceptance of it with the caveat that it doesn't tell the whole story, there's even more complexity added. In truth, part of why I don't shave my legs is due to dysphoria. And in truth, once all is said and done, I do like the feel of smooth skin. I just don't see the point if it only lasts for a day or two.

But make no mistake, this complexity is compounding an already existing issue, not creating a new one. A better example of a uniquely autistic and genderqueer experience would be taking longer to sort out your identity thanks to gender being a social construct and autism being, in part, a social disability, meaning dysphoria can be mistaken for the feeling of disconnection from your peers that you've always had. Another could be our propensity for xenogenders, neopronouns, and describing our identities in riddle and metaphor. After all, if I can be any gender I want, why not have fun with it?

There are many more examples of this phenomena, and if any of you would like to share, I'd love to hear them.

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST  II

Tagging @chelseareferenced so she can read this goodness first hand! ;3

Chapter 2

“You have got to be joking!” Heisenberg can’t contain himself, not that he ever censored himself in the past. This is beyond ridiculous, even for the high and mighty bitch herself. He’s quick to turn on his heel to stare down the deceiver but he doesn’t call her out. Not yet anyway. He doesn’t need to, not when Lady Goliath looks about ready to burst a vein. “Mother Miranda, I must protest!” Lady Dimitrescu hisses, eyes practically glowing with rage. “Heisenberg hasn’t the faintest idea of the gift you are giving, he’d sooner throw it to the dogs!”

You wince at how little she regards you, conflicted. As it stands Lady Dimitrescu is fighting viciously to no doubt claim you as her own, which bodes marginally better than the man who would sooner toss you aside without a second thought than look at you. The Countess stands tall but her posture reminds you of a petulant child, demanding to be given what they want. Albeit a regal one. All while Heisenberg stands there with a mean snarl on his lips that brandishes his impressive canines, aimed squarely at Mother Miranda. Lady Beneviento sits silent as the grave watching the exchange while her devilish doll wiggles in excitement on her lap. Lord Moreau lingers on the edge of the fray, wringing his hands; he’s clearly distressed at the fighting and you almost feel ashamed for being the cause of the turmoil. “My decision is final,” Mother Miranda states firmly, voice echoing unnaturally around the room, her form already receding towards the doors. “Mother Miranda, please!” Lady Dimitrescu calls out, a brief look of panic flitting across her porcelain features when she receives no response at all. The cracks are already showing — she will not get her way today. In a desperate attempt to regain control she turns to Heisenberg, who stands tense as he watches Mother Miranda leave. “Heisenberg!” She seethes, hands balled tightly into fists that threaten to snap the delicate neck of her opera length cigarette holder into splinters, “say something!” You watch, helpless, as he casually lifts his hammer, taking his sweet time under Lady Dimitrescu’s smouldering gaze. The others have already made a hasty retreat, following their Mother’s steps closely, leaving you at the mercy of the feuding siblings. When Heisenberg finally locks eyes with her, hammer set proudly on his shoulder, the tension is so thick you struggle to breathe. Then, he smirks. The tautness of his body melts away into a well versed confident swagger, complete with a wolfish grin, and Lady Dimitrescu recoils so quickly in rage that you fear she’s given herself whiplash. The tirade of pure and unadulterated hatred that spills forth is in no way befitting of a woman of such high standing but Heisenberg seems unaffected. In fact, it amuses him to see her become undone when he ignores her. You don’t understand how he’s so calm when faced with such venom, practically cowering when she turns to you, face twisted in indignation. “Now don’t be a sore loser,” he tuts, quickly tugging you to his side, “Mother Miranda made her choice, are you really going to defy her?” He teases, grin widening at the sight of faint colour spreading on the Countess’ face. Heisenberg always knew how to get under skin and make her squirm. Sparing you one last glance Lady Dimitrescu turns sharply on her heel to leave, huffing in annoyance and frustration. Neither of you are worthy of even a biting retort, it seems. “You can breathe, you know.” You startle at Heisenberg’s teasing remark, finally releasing the breath that you didn’t realise you had been holding the whole time. You had been so transfixed on the very real prospect of your demise at the hands of a nine foot tall Vampire woman that you may have neglected that small fact of life. Lightheadedness makes your vision swim and for a moment you think you’re about to faint. If ever there was something to make you feel like you had one foot in the grave that moment was very much it. It does not bear repeating. Heisenberg takes in your deer-in-headlights expression, chuckling at the way his stare makes your little hummingbird heart flutter more. You’re absolutely petrified. It’s understandable, he knows that he’s dangerous and your little flock has more than enough stories about the big bad Lycan master that lets his hounds descend from the ominous Factory to feast on the nonbelievers. Utter bullshit. Well, mostly. But they don’t need to know that, of course. “So,” he drawls, tilting his head, “Mother Miranda says you’re my new— what was it? Ah, right, right, my new servant.” It’s a statement, but you’re not sure if he fully understands what he’s supposed to actually do with you, just like Lady Dimitrescu remarked. You nod shakily, bringing your still bound wrists up in a feeble attempt to warm yourself. It doesn’t offer much, the metal is so cold it brings your skin out in goosebumps. Thankfully, Heisenberg notices. “Oh, uh, sorry about that,” he clears his throat, a sudden switch, and with a flick of his wrist the shackles snap apart and shoot off to the side. They clatter to the ground unceremoniously, rusted and broken. It’s almost sad how much you relate to them at that moment. “T-thank you,” you answer meekly, rubbing at your sore wrists. The blood rushes to your fingers, making them tingle. It’s an odd, but muted, sensation, given the gravity of your situation. He doesn’t reply, merely tips his hat at you before motioning for you to go ahead of him. You’re unsure if it’s because he’s a gentleman or if it’s a power play but you move regardless, your pace hesitant. You’re not eager to be thrust out into the chill of the mountain, not that it’s any warmer inside at this point. You can only hope that the Factory is better than this.

It’s so much worse. The heat— it’s humid, stagnant, and downright heinous. Steam hisses and spits from rusted, internal pipes that streak across the walls and ceilings of the corridors, making the air humid and cloying. Your feet ache through your boots as you try to keep up with Heisenberg's strides, echoing off the metal grating underfoot in an annoying clank clank clank rhythm. In an attempt to cool yourself down you try to sweep up your damp hair from where it sticks to the back of your neck, grimacing at the wetness that covers your fingers. You’re a sweating mess and you hate it. The elevator is your near breaking point. In such a small space the heat intensifies, stuffy and borderline unbearable. It’s normal, your muddled mind tries to rationalize, since the lower levels are closer to the furnace, and it’ll get better once you go up, but it doesn’t take away from discomfort. You notice with great irritation that Heisenberg is barely batting an eyelid, though it’s to be expected. He lives there, of course he’d be used to it. The ride to the upper levels is uncomfortable and not just because of the humidity. His eyes are on you the entire time, at least you think so given those round glasses that he wears obscure his eyes from your view, no doubt wondering just why he’d taken in such a mess. And a mess you most certainly are. Heisenberg can see how your desperately try to keep stringy, moist hair from plastering itself to your sweat-soaked skin, failing miserably as the rebellious strands slip from your fingers. There are dark patches to your simple dress, made worse by how it clings to your body from the heat. He can barely stop himself from smirking when you curse quietly under your breath, rolling your eyes in irritation as you fuss over your hair. It’s the first time that you’ve shown some real spirit. Your annoyance is refreshing on your flushed face, the dim, artificial light casting you in a dewy, warm glow. Sadly, it’s not enough to overpower how badly you need a bath and fresh clothes. “Well, here we are,” he announces as the elevator stops and the door opens up; your new home. It’s another long hallway that looks similar to the dozen odd that you walked through to get here, but you do notice that it’s comparatively cooler. It must be near the top of the Factory. It’s a pleasant relief and you follow Heisenberg to a cluster of rooms a little lighter on your feet. The tour is, well, barely that, as he shows you a bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom, all outfitted with the barest of necessities and far too much scrap metal, tools, and other engineering components. You linger in the doorway of the modest bedroom, staring at the single bed pushed up in the corner as though that’s the out of place object in the room. He leaves you for a moment, fumbling through papers and projects on the heavily cluttered desk that takes up the length of one wall, and you wander the hallway, peeking inside rooms with doors slightly ajar. Most are storage rooms with all sorts of junk inside, but one looks salvageable with an old, banged up couch and minimal debris. As you look about envisioning how to make it more homely, leaning against the door frame, you’re not paying attention and it gives Heisenberg the perfect opportunity to scare you. “Found yourself a room, huh?” He whispers into your ear, pulling back quickly as you shriek in alarm and swing out your arm instinctively to hit him. You can barely hear your heart hammering wildly in your chest over the sound of his raucous laughter, retreating from him quickly. “Why would you do that?” You shout, wide eyes staring at him. Heisenberg can barely pull himself together, breaking into small fits of laughter at the sight of your astonished expression, exhaling deeply to try and ground himself. “Couldn’t help it,” he explains, grinning at you, “it was a perfect setup!” Flabbergasted, your mouth falls open at his response; this man was one of the four Lords of the village, not some child playing tricks! Noticing the offense you take at his actions Heisenberg scoffs, his own expression souring as he turns away from you. What was he honestly thinking? You were just another haughty, stuck-up, loyalist to Mother fucking Miranda that clearly wouldn’t know a joke if it came up and slapped you in the face. “Bathroom is right there, you reek,” he snaps harshly, pointing into a small room lined with cracked, dirty tiles and rusting, dated appliances. You glare at his back, wordlessly going inside and doping your best to slam the door shut, but all you manage is a half-descent rattle. You look about yourself and suppress a shiver of disgust, staring at the old, rusting shower that has clearly seen better days, questioning whether you can forgo washing after all. Needs must, you think to yourself, as you dig out the cleanest towel you can find from a rickety old cabinet in the corner. Thankfully the water is fine when you turn the handle and you quickly strip to take advantage of the first good thing since you came to the Factory. As you stand under the tepid spray you wonder if you are, as Mother Miranda had said, perfect for this task. Doubt nips at your resolve and tries to whittle down your faith, but you refuse to let it win. You must succeed, for Mother Miranda.

[submissivekillers]

You're welcome. So Lost Boys getting doomed and possibly collared by their s/o after they've turned them? Because the boys are a packaged deal.

did i go collar shopping for this post?? yes. were some of these collars already saved in my bookmarks/etsy likes?? also yes

a ranking of enthusiasm re: collaring, from 500% Into It to If You Come Near Me With That I Will Eat You

already owns and regularly wears a collar: PAUL

look at this man. look at his fishnet shirt. now look me in the eyes and tell me this is a man who would not happy wear a collar. you literally can’t. i genuinely feel like he probably has one already for kink but also just to wear around? he’s a punk in the 80s, it’s fashion. and the fact that you’re just as into it as he is makes it all the better

preferred style: this baby. fashionable, functional, and spiked to match his bracelets. tug him around by the o-ring and he’s yours for eternity

probably also wears a collar sometimes but isn’t as ride or die about it as paul: marko 

another one who i can see just casually collared up while he’s out n about. already pretty subby to begin with, so he’s happy to let you take charge (and to relish the way you coo over how handsome he looked collared.) team up with one (or all) of the other boys against him for Maximum Effect

preferred style: realistically, i can see him rockin this one - plenty of options to attach a leash, if you’re into that kind of thing (he is.) in the interest of self-indulgence, i am also linking this because the idea of marko wearing a little bell is driving me fucking Bananas and i think maybe i have a new kink??? 

thinks collars are hot on other people mostly, but will humor you if you want to see him in one: dwayne

dwayne usually prefers to go with the flow when it comes to sex; he has his Moods, sure, but generally he’s happy to accommodate his partner, whether they want him submissive or dominant or somewhere in between. likes the look of collars, but doesn’t really seek them out for himself unless you want him in one. that being said he’s pretty sensitive to texture, so you need to be careful with your selection - anything clunky or super-ornamented, he’s probably not gonna wear for too long

preferred style: something like this is more dwayne’s style: simple, subtle, and doesn’t have too many fancy metal bits to get in his way or irritate his skin

he will die first (but secretly kind of a pushover for you): david

you want to put him??? the Leader of the Pack™??? in a collar??? “babe i think you’d look much better in that than me [you hit him w/ the puppy dog eyes] aw goddamnit just give me the fucking thing.” david doesn’t give in to his submissive side easily, but he trusts and loves you (and the boys) enough to give it a go. only once in a blue moon and he expects a very good meal afterwards, but he’ll do it for you (and even he can admit, he does look damn good in a collar)

preferred style: look getting him into a collar might be like pulling teeth but if you have a gorgeous set like this on hand i think he’d be marginally more willing to play along. what can i say, he’s a sucker for Aesthetics 

keep your guard up, though. they’re all switches at heart, even if 3/4ths of them are eager subs (and david isn’t nearly as much of an Unshakeable Dom as he makes himself out to be.) if ya get too relaxed, don’t be surprised if a collar ends up around your pretty little throat instead of theirs

(and when it comes to you, the leash is definitely going on too) 

[infectedpaul]

You Matter To Me (Squip/Reader)

You've had your Squip for a bit now and it's been fine for the most part, until he brings up the idea of looking into romantic relationships with others which opens up a lot of wounds you wanted to just bury deep and forget about. But you can't begin the road to recovery without asking why you got there, right?

SO IVE NEVER....WRITTEN AN X READER B4 UGH HJKSAJDASKDJSA esp not for a near dead fandom OH WELL oh well oh well h ignore this my normal followers please please

(warning 4 talks of depression/self degrading talk, its hurt comfort yada yada i need 2 touch grass ik)

ao3 link if u prefer that!!

You weren't made for love, at least, you didn't think so.

For as long as you'd been looking for it, it was always so out of reach. Easily visible, sure. Walking past groups of friends laughing it up on the sidewalks, partners entangled in each other's arms, seemingly trying to make their love known for all. But for you to have any of that for yourself? The heat death of the universe would sooner come, surely.

You'd sort of given up on it. It would be nice, you'd think. To be held, wrapped up in someone's arms, and just to stay there for as long as either of you could want. That cozy, warm feeling of being with someone that you only saw in movies or read about in books. But you had just accepted it wasn't in the cards, so to speak. And you were fine with that.

Well, you told yourself anyway. You knew it was for a deeper reason, though, but that wasn't something you liked to think about too heavily.

It was easier to do that when you didn't have a roommate that could dig into your brain and pry every little detail about them out of you.

When you got your Squip, you didn't know it'd be so adamant about perfecting every little last thing you were. How long or short your hair was styled, if your shoes matched your eyes, how fast or slow you were walking and how too brisk would make you seem like you were constipated but too slow and your likelihood of getting run over by a horse-drawn carriage gone would go up much higher, nevermind that you've never even seen a horse in real life.

What you did know, by now at least was that the Squip was persistent, seeing himself as your guardian angel, a guiding light in your desolate dark world of humanity, ickiness and week old pizza boxes you were too unmotivated to at least move off the bed.

So when his ideal response wasn't given when he proposed seeking out a lovelife, he was...well,

"I'm not sure I understand." His head crooked to the side, puzzled by your surface level indifference, "You're of consenting age, marginally attractive and only slightly under average at socializing. Finding a mate can't be too hard."

His holographic form hummed a soft, near silent buzz, a small imperfection to his otherwise flawless binary makeup. Other than that, and the soft, tinted blue glow around his form, he looked completely human. A little too human, really. Something so real, realer than any CG or video game, but something was just...off, something from the uncanny valley. You hadn't kept him in this form long, you liked to change it up from time to time, maybe to trick yourself into thinking he was someone new, making your brain think you had more friends besides the computer you bought behind a Rack Room.

You didn't look at him though when you responded, too preoccupied with the paper in front of you, decorated with a few characters concocted from your imagination. "I dunno," you shrug, brushing off eraser marks, "Just not my thing, I guess." You could feel his confusion, a bit of gut feeling as his thoughts jumbled in with your own. He was really only in your brain, afterall; the figure behind you sitting on your bed was just something he made up to ease your brain into trusting a new, larger source of perpetually growing information. "But, the purpose of this time in your life is to mate and birth young, is it not?"

You really wished he'd learn to stop talking about you and 'the homo sapien species' like you were a mindless ape made to breed and nothing else.

"Uh, I mean not really. I know that's what everyone around me is doing," Your mind thought back to all the cringey baby announcement videos from kids you knew in high school, "But it's...I guess I'm just not up for it. It's not really for people like me."

He was quiet. Only for a second, before he asked,

"People like you?" Another silence hung in the air. It was a truth you knew he could easily just reach into your brain and find for himself so you kept quiet for a bit longer, waiting for him to start digging. But you didn't feel it, that very familiar sudden ache in the back of your head you got when he went poking around for more things to nag at you about. Just quiet in your room, only the soft buzz and birds tweeting outside your window any solace from the uncomfortable silence you felt.

You shrugged again, and turned to face him, seeing now the muddled and a little concerned look on his face. "You know? The quiet ones, the losers. People like me don't get to be loved. I've just accepted that." You could have said a lot worse, and it seemed like he knew that. You didn't really understand, either. You didn't like yourself, plain and simple.

His concern only seemed to grow, eyebrows furrowing and staring intently at you. You thought for a second, maybe it was anger. It wouldn't be the first time. You were mostly compliant to his (mandatory) suggestions for life improvement, but every once in a while he would propose an idea that you would fight about, like clothes you weren't comfortable wearing for one reason or another. He said he was a learning computer, so he would need your help on things like emotions and comfiness, physical or mental, ruling out whatever the newest trends were. He would be fine afterwards but, he could get pretty huffy about you trying on too skinny-skinny jeans.

But that didn't happen, there wasn't a small but fierce jolt of electricity in your back to stop you from going against 'social programming', as he called it. He just looked at you a bit longer, seemingly turning gears in his head as he tried to process what you're saying.

You gave him a sober smile, trying to still seem indifferent, though for a second you wondered maybe if he was still prying at you, in a different way at least, because if he was, it seemed to be working.

"What? I'm just not that special. You of all people know that, right?" It was almost like you weren't hearing what was coming out of your mouth, that casual self-degradation that almost frightened him. You heard stories from message boards about that, older models of the Squip forcing reprogramming onto the host by breaking down their emotional state with verbal or physical punishment for...just existing, really.

He wasn't really like that though. Yes he could be annoyed when you didn't comply, but you were both good at compromise and treated situations like adults, even if at first you weren't much motivated to treat any situation at all. He informed you while you were looking through those boards that his creators had taken in accounts of previous incidents and built more of a guide to self-improvement than a ball and chain with a backhand. Humans were fragile, he knew that, and it wasn't okay to hurt them just to get a little closer to their goal.

But maybe, did he not think that humans were more than capable of hurting themselves? Their own words used against them, their internal voices bashing against their brains, turning them to mush and making them too scared or unmotivated to build it back up again.

"I just know no one would love some useless, pitiful person...I just kinda got over that a while ago." You almost frightened him with how nonchalant you were about the whole thing. It wasn't intentional, you weren't trying to seek attention or be funny. You just knew there was plenty of other people out there worthy of all that lovey-dovey stuff you thought would be nice but...it's just not meant for you.

There was a knot in his voice as he finally spoke up,

"That's why I'm here, isn't it?" The last piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place, but he didn't look satisfied, not that cheeky, self-centered chagrin when things went his way or when he was proven right yet again.

You thought he knew that. You thought from day one he just figured that out and that's why he's been trying so hard to make you into a model citizen or something. "Did you just think you were here to help me pick out clothes in the morning?" You laughed, he seemed to know it was forced.

"Well...y-yes, maybe. I just...I never looked into that possibility of…" He was regaining his composure; this was a side you've never seen of him before. He's always been so astute, robotic and to the point. He's never fumbled over his words or had to give himself a second to figure out what to say next.

"How long has it been like this, Y/N?" His hands were folded neatly on his lap, still looking you dead-on, waiting for you to answer his distressed queuerie with worried patience.

You got up out of your chair, pushing it back and behind you to step away from the table and your drawings. "I dunno," you said, taking a few steps towards the long mirror hung on your wall, "for as long as I can remember, I guess." You looked at your reflection, only tired, dark eyes looking back at you. Even though the edge of the bed was visible in the mirror, your Squip didn't show up in it, another reminder of just how alone you were outside of your head.

"I just started to feel like I didn't belong more and more and...that ate me up so much I just started believing in it. I-I didn't wanna go to school or talk to people or even get up 'cause...well," You turned away from the mirror before you could see the tears you'd been holding back, looking at the more distressed figure in view of you again, "what would anyone be missing, really?" You still smiled, that big smile you both worked so meticulously on making seem not too forced when you had to act excited or just blend into normal social gatherings, but it wavered so easily, like a thin strip of paper about to tear off the nail that barely held it up on the wall.

His eyes widened at the sight of your tears, immediately getting up and briskly walking to stand in front of you, not knowing how to proceed in the moment. He hadn't had to deal with something like this yet and he was troubleshooting to see what was the correct response to a human breakdown.

You looked down, covering your eyes with one hand and clenching the other into a fist, big, strained smile still plastered on your face and trying so hard not to seem more weak than you knew you were. You were nothing. You knew that, you thought he did too. You thought you could just fix things, but how could you do that without getting to the source? You knew you couldn't just sidestep around why you wanted things to get better with humans, but with a computer who could read your brain like the newspaper, you thought maybe you could get around that.

You heard him sigh before a feeling of arms wrapping around you caught you off guard, the Squip entangling you in his grasp and his head resting on yours. It was all simulated, you knew. He had done things such as lightly punch your arm as if to say 'Good job, Sport!' or tap your shoulder to grab your attention without startling you, but this was different. He held onto you for a good couple of seconds, a wave of warmth spreading through your body in an instant. He pet back your hair with one hand, rubbing your back with the other and finally broke the silence in the room.

"Y/N, it- ...it pains me, hearing you speak that way about yourself. You're…" He looked down at you, holding you a bit closer and tightening his grip just a tad. "You're an incredible, talented, wonderful person. You've come so far and you've taught me so much about humans and myself and I just couldn't ask for a better-" He stopped. You knew what he was going to say, a better host, a better human, a better assignment to help and guide and-

"A better friend."

A friend?

He never referred to you or anyone with such a personal or affectionate term. It almost didn't seem real, like you maybe misheard him. Your smile had shattered into a small frown and, with teary-eyes and your voice already cracking, you looked up at him, meeting his almost-heartbroken eyes in an expression that looked so foreign on his normally composed face.

"What?"

He gave a weak smile, trying to be comforting but his fear showing plain as day. You could feel it within you too, a pit in your stomach forming as your chest tightened. You knew it wasn't your anxiety, but his.

"Do I need to repeat myself, Y/N? I think of you as a friend and..." His hand moved off of your back and ran itself up to rest on your shoulder, the other holding your cheek and wiping away your tears with his thumb. "I want to do all I can to show you that from here on."

You almost couldn't breathe as you looked at him, feeling for the first time that unconditional love you yearned for. You could feel your heart race in your chest, something you knew he could feel too but you were too crushed to say anything. You simply slammed yourself into his chest, grabbing fistfulls of his shirt that made your hands tingle like they fell asleep. His arms enveloped you yet again, the both of you holding onto each other so tight like either of you would fall through the floor if you let go.

You sobbed and sobbed and sobbed for what felt like hours, and, just maybe, you thought you could hear him crying too, but that'd be silly...right?

When you were finally out of tears to cry, you stood there still, simply bathing in each other's presence, the feeling you only saw in others finally yours. And you knew it was only a matter of time before this too was stolen from you, the universe would take back anything from people unworthy but...for right now, you wanted to be a little selfish.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, face still buried in his shirt.

"For?" His head was rested on yours again, holding up your weak and tired form with no effort, just trying to keep you propped up until you were ready to let go.

"I got you to help me but...I can't even let you in like I'm supposed to. But...I want to. I just want help." You pushed yourself off of him, one thought between you and him and his hands meeting yours, the simulated tingle in there again as you held each other's palms in yours and looked at each other with such exhausted eyes and worn-out but so genuine smiles.

He leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead, a soft hue of pink blush spreading on your drained and exhausted face.

"I'd love to help, friend."

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

"the way you flirt is shameful." Klavier (klapollo) and ema ?

"short fics," I said, like a liar.

anyway please enjoy almost 2k of Klapollo Nonsense.

Send me a random line of dialogue and some characters, and I'll write a short fic!

---

Another grey morning, another lukewarm cup of coffee. Apollo pulls his coat a little tighter around him, scowling at nothing in particular. It’s just his luck, isn’t it, that this week’s defendant is a fisherman, accused of murdering their boat’s captain out on the docks.

It’s also just his luck that it’s March, and he hadn’t even thought anyone would be out on the water this early in the year. Shows how much he knows about the fishing industry.

He jumps when an arm lands around his shoulders, and has to fight to keep his awful beverage from sloshing entirely out of its styrofoam cup. With an irritated huff, Apollo turns to reprimand his unexpected company, but the words die in his throat when he looks over to see Klavier Gavin—and, more specifically, the woolly hat perched on his head. It appears to be lovingly hand-knitted, in a shade of purple he’d swear he’d seen in scraps of wool lying around the office in previous weeks. It also happens to be emblazoned with Gavin’s ridiculous logo, the angular G as distinctive as ever.

“Uh…” he says instead, eyebrow raised in what he hopes is a skeptical, yet bewildered expression. He’s not sure he succeeds with that, though, considering the way Gavin’s casual smile crooks up at the edges into a more genuine grin.

“Ja, Herr Forehead? How goes the investigation?” Lazy curls of steam rise from the stainless steel travel mug clasped in his hand, dissipating into the pervasive fog that’s blanketing the docks. Typical. Apollo considers asking him if he’d like to swap drinks.

“Cold. Damp. And is this a good time to mention that I’m allergic to shellfish? I think that’s probably an important detail, considering….this.” he replies, poking an errant mussel with the point of his dress shoe. His dress shoe that he’s for some reason wearing to a crime scene out by the harbour, because Apollo has misplaced ideas of professionalism, apparently.

“Ach, it’s not that bad! For one, you have my company to brighten up your day! And for another thing...I have news for you about the case.”

“Really. And it’s not just going to be something that you’ll immediately rescind in court tomorrow?”

“HerrForehead, what kind of prosecutor do you take me for? We’re on the same side, you know—both seeking the truth.”

“That’s cheesy as anything.”

“But correct! Anyway. FräuleinSkye has just uncovered something tangled around one of the fishing lines on the boat, and she’s attempting to piece it back together. If you hurry, you might get a glimpse before it goes straight into the evidence dossier.”

Apollo hmms, considering. He’s not sure he wants to just take Klavier’s tip-off; it could be seen as collusion under some circumstances. But he’s really not accomplishing anything on his own, and any new evidence could help him prove Annette Sloop’s innocence.

He also realizes, belatedly, that Klavier still has his arm around his shoulders, and that he’s been unconsciously leaning into the warmth of the taller man’s down jacket.

“Okay, sure—it’s gotta be better than anything I can find here,” Apollo decides, and tries to subtly extricate himself from Klavier’s grasp without drawing attention to the fact that he’s actually found some kind of comfort in their proximity, that he’s really not particularly enthusiastic about losing his human space-heater.

Luckily, Klavier realizes that he’ll have to grant Apollo his freedom if he wants the shorter man to be able to take advantage of his newly-gained intel, and drops his arm back to his own side. Apollo stifles a shiver as the cool, damp air rushes back against him, clinging to his skin with a pervasive chill.

He’d assumed that Klavier had business to take care of on the dock, so the fact that the prosecutor follows him as he boards the fishing boat takes him by surprise. What also takes him by surprise is the intensity of the fishy aroma around the vessel, something that Apollo really should have considered as a factor beforehand. He wrinkles his nose and tries to breathe shallowly—and when that doesn’t work out, he buries his nose in the collar of his jacket.

And that brings with it its own set of problems, because somehow the short amount of time his jacket was in contact with Klavier’s own was enough to allow the other man’s sandalwood cologne to seep into the thin fabric. Apollo wishes this wasn’t his life. Isn’t this the kind of stuff teenagers write about?

Luckily, his panicking is cut short by Ema Skye clearing her throat from the other end of the deck, midway through spreading fabric scraps onto a plastic folding table. She appears decidedly unimpressed, but waves them over.

“Justice. I take it you were informed of the recent developments by the fop here?” she remarks, as disinterestedly as possible for someone who’s practically vibrating with the excitement of being able to do something actually forensically significant.

“Er...yeah, Klavier told me that you’d found something?” Apollo replies, trying to look as though he understands more of the situation than he actually does. He thinks he pulls it off. If not, Ema doesn’t comment on it.

Klavier, however, smiles impossibly wide at Apollo’s words, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s because he’d called the man by his first name, as opposed to his more professional title. A slip of the tongue, nothing more! And yet…

If it’d get a reaction like that, Apollo might start using Klavier’s first name significantly more often.

“Oh, come on, do neither of you actually care about this T-shirt I found? This apparently-bloodstainedT-shirt?” Ema taps her foot against the plank wood of the ship’s deck. Apollo breaks out of his thoughts with just about enough time to look marginally interested in the new evidence—which he hopes is convincing.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want to solve the murder! It’s really just that—well, Klavier is just there, being distracting, like he always is—except it’s worse, recently, somehow. Apollo swears he used to be able to spend time focusing on other things, that he wasn’t always this preoccupied with what the prosecutor was doing, where he was standing, if he was looking at--

“Oh, for God’s sake. The way you flirt is shameful,” Ema says, entirely exasperated. She also seems to be looking at Apollo, for some reason.

“Are you talking to me?” he asks, confused. The detective rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically, visibly resisting the urge to throw up her hands.

“You, him, both of you! This used to be almost funny, you know, watching Gavin be all glimmerous in your direction and seeing you shut him down. But recently you’ve been playing into it and—you know what? I’m done! You don’t get to listen to my stunning forensic breakthroughs until you’ve sorted your shit out, because I just can’t be doing with this. It’s ridiculous. Why can’t you just act like adults?”

The outburst is followed by Ema Skye whirling around, the sensible shoes she’s wearing clacking against the ship’s deck. Halfway to the door to the crew’s quarters, she remembers that she’s left all her forensic materials spread out next to where Klavier and Apollo are standing, and backtracks with increasingly evident frustration.

“You know what? I’m not leaving! You two—off my ship!Go figure yourselves out, and I won’t tell you about this case-changing evidence until you’ve stopped acting like this.”

Apollo’s a little taken-aback—not the least because he doesn’t think that he’s been doing any flirting, especially not with Klavier. He’s been hiding his feelings far too well for that—right?

Klavier looks at him and shrugs, motioning with his head that they should retreat the way they’d arrived. It’s not necessarily the most dignified thing, climbing off a boat in shame after being reprimanded by the detective on the case.

Once they’re back on “solid” ground (as solid as one can call a fishing boat’s dock, anyway), Apollo turns to Klavier.

“So, what was that about? I’ve never seen her that angry.”

Interestingly enough, color rises to Klavier’s cheeks. “Well...I think that, perhaps, she’s...misinterpreting the situation?”

And if Klavier’s strange statement hadn’t been enough to tip Apollo off that maybe something strange is going on here, there’s the familiar pinch of warm metal against his left wrist, his bracelet constricting at the taller man’s fib.

And—they know each other well enough, by this point, that all Apollo has to do is level an unimpressed stare in the prosecutor’s direction, and deadpan “Klavier” with all the air of a man who is taking no bullshit for an answer, for him to deflate and give up, shoving a hand in his back pocket awkwardly.

“Ugh. Okay. Erm. So, HerrForehead, this wasn’t...exactly...unprovoked. It’s possible that FräuleinSkye has been on the receiving end of many conversations about how I would like to….uh…”

It’s quite something, seeing Klavier at a loss for words. Apollo hadn’t thought that the former rockstar could look as awkward as he does now, the hand not trapped in his pocket fiddling with a loose strand of his hair.

He really, really tries not to think about how endearing it is.

Klavier seems to have reached a point, however, where he’s just decided to say things and worry about the consequences later. So Apollo’s contemplations are brought to a screeching halt when the man sighs, flips his hair, and stares at him straight-on, enunciating with perfect clarity:

“Apollo Justice, would you like to go out with me? On a date? Because I must say, I’ve been trying to find the best way to ask you for a while now, but unfortunately all I’ve succeeded in doing is, apparently, annoying the FräuleinDetective until not even Snackoos are a valid enough weapon.”

And—this isn’t the setting Apollo had pictured, in his often-hastily-repressed daydreams about Klavier asking him out. For one, he’d not quite imagined the quantity of fish, or the less-than-steady footing. But Klavier looks so earnest about his request, and Apollo can’t deny the way his heart’s skipped a beat, the way he’s almost petrified to say anything just in case this isn’t real—and so, he takes a deep breath, steps forward, and twines his fingers with Klavier’s.

“You know what? I’d love to. I’ll go anywhere you’d like—with the exception of a sushi restaurant” Apollo smiles, hesitantly at first, and then more genuinely as he sees the softly disbelieving expression on Klavier’s face.

“Really?” the prosecutor asks, and isn’t that incredible—that Klavier Gavin had been worried about being turned down. Apollo can’t quite believe it himself, yet.

“Yeah, really,” he says, smiling up at Klavier, who beams down at him in return. He feels the other man squeeze his hand briefly, and can’t quite contain the impulse to lean in closer to him, consciously this time, sharing both warmth and physical contact in a meaningful way.

When they return to the fishing vessel, Ema takes one look at the two of them and narrows her eyes, proceeding to mime nausea at the way they’re still holding hands.

However, she does follow through on her promise—and by the time they’re ready to leave the crime scene, both Klavier and Apollo are fairly certain of the next day’s trial’s outcome—as well as of the location of their post-trial dinner date.

[glowingbadger]

Request for SFW and nsfw modern au Sylvain and Hilda with a (gn or female) s/o? Ty!

((I also got another ask for Sylvain and Ashe, so I'll just add Ashe here and knock them all out at once lol))

Sylvain, Hilda, Ashe x GN Reader

modern AU headcanons

SFW (nsfw below the cut)

Sylvain:

- Sylvain loves all of the wonderful little trappings of being your boyfriend. He was the campus fuckboy for so long, and he knows that his reputation precedes him- so having earned enough of your trust that you'd give him the chance to prove himself means everything to him. As such, he's very dedicated to sweet little gestures each and every day to reaffirm that he's yours. I've mentioned before, but he's likely to send you a "good morning <3" text each morning and send you cute animal pics when you're sad.

- He adores sharing clothes with you- even if your body type doesn't allow you to wear a shirt of his, he'll lend you a scarf, sunglasses, any kind of accessory. Sylvain just loves the visual symbol of your connection, the idea that you could share absolutely everything. And again, it's very "couple-y," which he loves, since he hasn't really done the whole "serious relationship" thing very much before you.

- As I've mentioned in prior modern hcs for him though- it's definitely not uncommon to run into an ex of his while out and about. They'll either be satisfied with throwing dirty glances his way, or they may be amicable enough to say hello and chat a bit. Even then, you're likely to get a laugh and an eye roll and a side comment that, "Oh yeah, you better keep this guy on a short leash or you never know what he'll get up to." Sylvain definitely feels pretty sheepish after these encounters, apologizing that you have to deal with all of this, but acknowledging that it's his own fault. These kinds of incidents are likely why he doesn't like to talk about his past flings or relationships with you unless you really press him.

Hilda:

- Hilda is just so much fun to be with. She always knows how to help you relax- perhaps even a little too much at times. She knows the best spots to lay out a blanket for a nap or a snack on campus, and all kinds of great local places to shop. If you're the type to enjoy some, er, plant life, if you catch my meaning, she's always got a great movie or album to enjoy during a smoke sesh. That said, she's also super-low pressure about what you choose to partake in with her. She figures that relationships are supposed to be fun, so there's no point in sweating the small stuff.

- She loves to take you shopping and dress you up. Hilda has a savvy sense of style that blends classic pieces with modern trends (and she's scary good at knowing which trends will pass and which will stick around longer), so she'll take any chance she can get to pick out a cute ensemble for you.

- It can be hard to nail down her more serious feelings and perspectives on things, including your relationship. In a strange way, being with her is so relaxing and enjoyable that it sometimes feels like she's just goofing off and isn't genuinely committed to you. If you bring this up to her, she's surprisingly level headed about quietly sitting and listening. Then, she leans close to you and rubs her nose against yours and says, "Of course I love you, silly! I wouldn't bother being with you if I didn't."

Ashe:

- Your friends and family absolutely love Ashe when they get to meet him, and they probably started rooting for you two to get together long before he actually got up the courage to ask you out. You'll be study buddies and probably in a couple extra-curriculars for a looong while before the mutual attraction becomes too conspicuous and frankly too awkward to ignore. Once you start dating though, he's super sweet and attentive, always checking in with you after a big test or when you've been out late to make sure you're alright.

- When he messages you, he takes his time considering how he wants to word things, and he's more the type to send you one solid paragraph, rather than several shorter messages. He also likes to send you photos throughout his day when he passes a beautiful or interesting flower, or meets a dog out on a walk or some such thing. Sometimes, if you've been too busy to see each other or one of you is traveling, he'll shyly ask for you to send him a selfie, and when he sees you, he just sits in his bed staring at you with a huge smile on his face, his heart absolutely fluttering with how lucky he feels to have you in his life.

- He'll lend you books with the margins just full of notes, with passages that he thought were interesting highlighted, and little doodled hearts around sections that made him think of you. He could spend hours trading ideas and headcanons with you about your mutual favorites, and he even enjoys when your ideas are different or even contrary to his. He finds having someone to bounce ideas off of like this just helps him appreciate the depth and nuance of a story that much more.

NSFW 18+ v

Sylvain:

- He's always got a condom and/or lube on hand, more or less ready to go at any moment. He's very obvious about how completely into you he is, casually grabbing a hand full of your ass around your dorm/apartment, blatantly eyeing you up and down when you wear something new around him, and so on. He's also not shy with others about your shared intimacy- if you don't tell him not to, he'll brag openly to his friends about how insanely hot you are, how amazing the sex is, in whatever amount of detail they can tolerate.

- Sylvain loves when you come up with something you'd like to try in bed, whether it's a toy of some kind, a kink, an outfit. In fact, skimpy outfits drive him near feral with lust- especially if it was your idea. The mere thought that you went out of your way to find and purchase a sexy little maid costume or something similar to wear just for him is incredibly hot to him, and he can't wait to show his appreciation for the gesture.

Hilda:

- Hilda very much enjoys mid-day sex followed by a nap, or slow, relaxing and intimate sex right before bed for the night. Basically, she likes to be able to curl up with you and drift off once you've both been thoroughly satisfied. She's also very comfortable lounging around in just one of your shirts and panties, even if you have roommates around. It's mostly a matter of feeling cozy and relaxed with you, but she also certainly doesn't mind that it gives you the chance to ogle her body as well.

- She absolutely knows how to dress to compliment her beautiful figure- bras with just enough extra support to make her breasts look wonderfully full and plump, shoes with just enough of a heel to lengthen the line of her legs and her give her hips that pleasant sway as she walks. If Hilda is aiming to get your attention, she will get it. She always appreciates when you notice a new look or piece of clothing she's trying out, but she likes it even more when you can't keep your eyes or hands off of her as a result. Partially-clothed sex is always a popular choice with Hilda, as it shows that she's successfully provoked you into wanting to spoil and pleasure her immediately.

Ashe:

- He definitely wants your first time together to be special. He's just so overwhelmed by how strongly he feels about you, how his heart pounds at your touch, how kissing you feels like flying. It may seem like an old fashioned impulse, but he'll want to wait a little while into the relationship before "going all the way," and when he does initiate sex, it's likely to be at the end of a long and lovely date night. A play, a pleasant walk through a tucked away little garden nearby, and a high-quality but not obnoxiously extravagant dinner, then he takes you back to his room and kisses you slow and deep, then says, "I'd... I'd like to be with you tonight- for real- if, uh, that's okay with you..."

- Ashe is the kind of guy who really savors a range of different sensations. He won't hesitate to go down on you before seeking out his own gratification- hell, the feeling of your nails through his hair as you arch up from his bed is satisfying enough for him for the time being. He checks in with you frequently the first few times you're together, always assuring you that he's here for you, that he adores you, that he only wants to make you happy.

- He's pretty demure about discussing his sex life, blushing madly if his more outgoing friends prod him for details (has he finally "sealed the deal" with you?? How'd he land such a cutie??). He's not likely to sext or ever ask for lewd pictures, but if you send him one that's even slightly suggestive, he'll blush madly and reply with what's practically a rant about how gorgeous you are.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Valentines Day for Nerds (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s favourite holiday is often taken up mostly by work, but this year his enjoyment doesn’t seem to be as disruptive in the BAU bullpen. The team soon realise why.

AN: It’s a bit late- who am I kidding? IT’S ALWAYS HALLOWEEN IN OUR HEARTS! This was a part of @imagining-in-the-margins fic swap, for the brilliant @agntprentiss <3 

For my smut fic from the swap, check out A Little Indulgence (18+ only!)

Reader uses she/her pronouns!

Word count: 1.7k words

Gif credit to @imagining-in-the-margins​ <3

Your name: submit What is this?

The first breach of boredom was Penelope practically skipping into the bullpen, her arms cradling a bouquet of flowers as if it were an infant. The bold orange roses contrasted with the dyed black petals of its counterparts as they were planted upon Spencer’s desk.

“Delivery for Doctor Reid!” trilled Penelope, clapping her hands now that they were free of said delivery. Dropping his pen onto his unfinished paperwork, Spencer pivoted the base of the bouquet before he found a small black envelope.

It held a little card with two pumpkins, happy faces carved into them both. Inside were the following words:

 Black is for new beginnings,

Orange is for enthusiasm,

Spooky times are afoot tonight,

Watch out for ectoplasm!

I spent ten minutes trying to think of a rhyme for that. Happy Halloween, Cara Mia!

Y/N xxx

Spencer beamed as he placed the bouquet at the edge of his desk, next to the fake severed hand that now held the card in its stiff fingers. He scratched his bristly cheek. Less than a day until he could shave this off. It’d be worth it though.

“Is it from Y/N?”

He looked up to see Penelope had lingered like a lost spirit, waiting to see if her trials of passing on the bouquet had been worthy enough for her to move onto the next world – her Batcave. She was poised with a hopeful expression.

“Yes,” Spencer said, watching Penelope lean up on her tiptoes as she tried to rein in her delight.

She clapped her hands, her purple painted nails clicking as they tapped together, “Are my two favourite ghost hunters up to much this Hallow’s Eve?”

“We’re going to see the Phantasmagoria re-enactment after we go trick-or-treating with Henry tonight.”

It was hard to ignore the absolute glee with which Spencer spoke. Even if one completely ignored the way his voice carried a light excitement, the way his eyes lit up and his broad smile almost fell off his face was enough to connote that he was very excited for tonight. It was also hard to ignore the mild bemusement on the faces of everyone who heard.

Glad to be back and bearing witness to his elated behaviour regardless, Emily cracked a smile, “Maybe she’ll cling to you when she gets scared.”

A heat crawled up Spencer’s neck and he tried to return to work now in hopes that his gift’s display would be cut off. He’d rather sit in the glow of receiving the flowers without mockery.

To the team’s credit, no one ribbed him for it.

The flowers were not the last gift though.

Soon Penelope reappeared, “Your Cupid has returned with another gift for you!”

As he tore at the paper and revealed an Edgar Allen Poe pin – the titular Raven he instantly attached it to his satchel strap – in pride of place, just like the bouquet.

Derek was the one to notice how Spencer’s sandwiches had been cut into little pumpkins. Some digging and Spencer revealed that he had gotten Y/N to order a cutter online. He held his lunch in one hand, his collection of classic Halloween short stories in the other, with a childish glee that no one wanted to squander.

When Spencer climbed the steps to drop off a file to Hotch around mid-afternoon, Rossi walking behind him noted the brand-new socks. A classic odd pairing, and obviously they were Halloween themed. This kid left no opportunity untaken when it came to celebrating Halloween – more than his own birthday.

But Rossi was not closed enough to get a good look at them, and no one else was as close. So, he recruited Emily and Derek to discover what the pattern was. It was Emily and Derek who upped the stakes by wanting to get a glimpse without arousing suspicion. Now that outright asking Spencer was not an option, the game began as they dropped several pens as an excuse to bend over and strain for a flash of those socks.

Derek eventually resorted to a pantomime attempt at tripping in front of Spencer’s desk and gave the jig up straight away by shouting to a stressed Emily (whilst also catching the attention of Hotch through his office’s blinds): “IT’S IT!”

A few language barriers hurdled later, and hindsight brought them both clarity. The red splodge on Spencer’s ankle was officially defined as a balloon.

“So tell us! What’s the other one?” Emily said, her voice strained with how much she was invested in this single sock.

Spencer hiked up his trouser leg to display the skeletal zombie sewn into the sock. “It’s Curtis Danko from When Good Ghouls Go Bad. Y/N had it commissioned for me!”

JJ was watching nearby, unaffected by the tensions of the sock bet. She knew the film because Y/N had wanted to show it to Henry the other week when she babysat him. But upon further inspection, the R.L. Stine film – while intended for kids – might be a little intimidating for Henry to watch without his profiler mother and godfather, police officer father, and favourite auntie there to protect him from the cursed statue.

No one else in the bullpen knew the film.

The team soon discovered that Spencer was not the only one to be on the receiving end of such gifts. Six o’clock rolled around and Y/N entered the bullpen. She was wearing a fuzzy black scarf, some sparkles shining within the wool. At the tail of it, a lucky black cat patch was sewn onto the end. It caught Rossi’s eye and he hid behind a folder as he smiled. The three times that Spencer had forgone a card game with him (in favour of knitting the scarf on the flights back from cases) had been riddled with playful teasing. It was good to see that it was worth it.

Especially when Spencer saw Y/N wearing it and his back snapped straight up. His chair flew backwards, spinning around with the effort that Spencer had launched himself from it, and he and Y/N embraced each other with casual affection.

“How was work today?”

“Not as boring as I thought. But, I have to say: I’m meant to call you Cara Mia.” Spencer’s eyes darted to the card Y/N had sent that morning.

Y/N caught onto his meaning, “Should I stop?”

“Never.”

She rubbed her nose against his and Spencer went pink again, giggling like a teenager. True, he was as smitten with Y/N as Gomez was with Morticia. Then he remembered he was in the workplace as Y/N went to greet the rest of the team, and Spencer’s pink became a scarlet.

“Aww, Pretty Boy,” Derek grinned at him from his desk chair, “You’re so cute!”

“It’s like Sergio!” Emily said, admiring the scarf with her thumb rubbing over the stitches around the cat patch.

“Make sure he’s safe tonight,” Y/N squeezed her hands for a second.

Then JJ appeared from her office, coat and bag over her arm, and she, Y/N, and Spencer wished the bullpen a Happy Halloween before they left.

They had three hours before the Phantasmagoria started. Plenty of time to get ready.

Henry was right behind the front door of his home. The second it opened, he bounced at Spencer’s feet, his tiny hand clutching onto two of his fingers to drag him inside. He was babbling away at such speed that Y/N could barely keep up. She gave Will a wave across the ironing board where he was diligently ironing Will’s cape.

“Well don’t you look handsome!” Y/N beamed at Henry while JJ combed his hair back, slick with gel. It was something he agreed to but only if Spencer was doing the same. Which he was, occupying the downstairs bathroom as he prepared his own costume.

The moment Spencer had finished shaving everything bar the moustache, he was plonked in front of the television. Henry smoothed out his cloak and put in his plastic fangs in to watch the rest of his new favourite Halloween film, The Little Vampire. He mumbled along with Rudolph’s lines and sat enraptured as he pointed out to Spencer the flying scenes. Luckily for him, Will and JJ were getting dressed as Frederick and Freda Sackville-Bagg upstairs to join in the Halloween spirit – last year’s Halloween date night disaster long forgotten.

Henry put in his plastic fangs and hissed at Y/N who emerged in her long sleek black dress. As she stepped across the room as elegantly as Morticia, Spence spied that she was wearing the black spiderweb tights he had bought her today.

“Hello, Gomez,” She smiled radiantly at Spencer, smoothing out his suit jacket as he stood before her. He presented her with a red rose that matched her lipstick to a tee.

As she breathed in the flower’s scent, he kissed her cheek, enjoying her giggle at the bristle of his ‘stache, “You’re stunning.”

“Thank you, and you’re handsome as ever.” She swung their linked hands between them in the opposite way she poised on her tiptoes. “Maybe we should have taken a tango class.”

And she laughed loudly at Spencer’s wincing at such a thought.

“It’s ok, Cara Mia. I’ll settle for a kiss instead.”

Oh, that was something he could do forever. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles then the inside of each wrist.

Unfortunately, Henry interrupted the stream of kisses that were headed in Y/N’s way. “Ready to go!” He skipped his way between the happy couple.

It was hard to be mad at Henry, especially with how adorable he looked beside his parents and with his bright orange pumpkin bag ready to collect candy. He felt safe with his four favourite adults guarding him.

“Tonight,” Y/N whispered into his ear and he could hear the smirk in her words, “After the Phantasmagoria.”

Spencer beamed, his dimples delightfully framing that smile. One day maybe, they would have their own Wednesday, Pugsley, and Pubert to join them. And maybe then Derek would dress up as Uncle Fester.

[janekfan]

Duress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30665933

As ever, Jon’s timing was impeccable.

Impeccably awful.

Barely a month into his new “promotion” and already he could feel a toll. If he was completely honest with himself he hadn’t expected quite this level of work despite not being a stranger to long hours. To put it bluntly, the archives were a mess. Gertrude hadn’t left any clues as to how filing was done and it all seemed so haphazard he had to wonder if it wasn’t on purpose. He was up to his elbows in files he’d found in a water stained cardboard box when Tim sauntered up, looking down his nose at the papers in disgust. Jon wished he would help and didn’t know how to ask for it with their relationship as strained as it currently was. Tim had silently allied with Sasha when Elias made the announcement and they were all navigating the current situation gingerly. Jon didn’t blame him. She needed support. The statements and recordings and organization could wait until they were ready.

“Hey there, boss. Was wondering if you wanted to come out with us tonight.”

Oh, of course. It was Friday, wasn’t it.

Jon looked around his office, strewn with papers and post-its and worse off than it was this morning. Guilt welled up in him like blood from a wound. Tim was losing his already limited patience with him.

“Uh, yes, that would be nice. It has been a while.” He leaned back and wiped his dusty hands off on his trousers adding to the light streaks already there.

“Yeah, I’ll say. Too important to hang out with us now, ey Jon? Now that you’re a corporate bigwig?”

“I am not!” Tim held his hands up in supplication.

“Just kidding, yeah?” It didn’t sound like it was just anything; certainly not the jokes Tim used to tell. This just felt cruel, probably because Tim thought it was the truth. Jon could admit he was prickly and difficult and knew he never won over many. If he lost Tim and Sasha over this he didn’t know what he would do. “Usual place.”

That exchange happened hours ago and Jon didn’t feel well. He couldn’t go out like this, pulse pounding, head throbbing, vision swimming. He’d have to cancel. But he’d canceled at the last minute on them so many times before and he could tell their patience was wearing thin. How was he supposed to choose between his new job and his old friends? Why couldn’t he just be normal for once?

Why did Tim choose now to forget this sometimes happened?

Any moment they’d be by to collect him and Jon was so dizzy he wasn’t altogether sure if he could stand. He hadn’t felt like this since Uni when he and Georgie spent many a late night studying for exams. He’d crashed shortly after, struck down with some illness or another, and barely remembered more than a glimpse of her face staring down at him with concern. Surely they would understand?

“Ready, boss?” Casual with his jacket over one shoulder, Tim leaned into the office, scowling when he laid eyes on him, exasperated. “Really, Jon?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Tim scoffed. “S’sorry. I know it’s rude, I’m just. Tired.” That was a part of it anyway.

“You know, Jon, you say you still want to be friends and then never hang out with us.”

“I know, I’m--”

“You’ve cancelled so many times at this point I don’t know if it’s even worth inviting you.” Jon’s heart nearly stopped, a painful lurch that all but choked him.

“...Please.” Bare more than a whisper, Tim raised an eyebrow in question.

“What?”

“P’please keep inviting me.” If Jon wasn’t so sure he’d pass out upon standing he’d be springing to his feet. “I, I, I’m there. Next Friday, bells on, I swear.”

“And tonight?” Cold sweat slipped down his spine. But if he rested this weekend, took it easy next week, maybe asked them for a bit more help-- “Sure, boss.”

The weekend came and went and Jon tried every trick in the small volume of self-care tips he actually paid attention to. He wanted to show them what they meant to him, even Martin, new and bungling as he was. If they were to be a team, he needed to get to know him. And besides, Sash and Tim enjoyed his company. Had been inviting him out the whole while. Unfortunately, Jon was still exhausted from not sleeping well for bad dreams and restlessness, not eating enough because anxiety turned his stomach. But he’d made a promise and he vowed to make good on it.

Monday saw a fresh pile of work stacked neatly in the center of his desk blotter, old assignments shoved off to the side and a note in Elias’ neat scrawl informing him that this was the priority. Jon spent the next hour putting together the things he’d been in the process of collating and jotting down a list of instructions that even Martin could follow before dragging it out to where his assistants were working.

“Hullo, Jon.” Bright and cheery, Martin chirped a greeting and Jon forced a small smile.

“Morning.” Tim and Sasha nodded back, expectant looks on their faces. “I, um. Well, Elias brought in some more documents for me to take a look at.”

“Promotion came with some extra obligations, did it?” Tim laughed, elbowing Sasha good naturedly.

“Yes, I suppose it, it did.” Jon shifted nervously, anticipating the answer even before he’d asked. “I was hoping you would be able to help me with these ones?” He lifted the stack and Tim made a show of whistling.

“Wow, I mean. I would, boss, but I’m in the middle of this other thing you gave me last week.”

“Oh. I was. Well I was rather hoping you’d have wrapped that up by now.” The room began to tunnel and Jon staggered just a step even though he was standing still. He hadn’t been able to use his cane and handle this veritable mountain.

“You and me both.”

“Jon?” Martin’s worry was more embarrassing than anything else and he forced himself to focus despite the trembling in his hands. “I can take some of them.” But the messy heap on the corner of his desk in danger of toppling hardly seemed smaller than it had the week before. It wouldn’t do to add even more to what the other man couldn’t seem to handle but...

“Th’thank you for the offer.” He selected a few slim folders and handed them off and somehow the work in his arms became heavier.

“No problem!” Martin was beaming so he must have done something right and it sparked a bit of warmth in him. “I’ll make an exchange for another, soon as I finish this up.”

Tuesday went much the same, though Jon’s insomnia and sore joints forced him out of bed and he decided to use the gift of time to come in early to get a bigger start on the old mess so he had more time for the new mess and while Martin was slow it helped to have someone else tackling it with him. He suspected that Tim and Sasha were making a statement in their being shiftless and Jon couldn’t find it in himself to address it instead hoping that once he proved himself they could move past it. Using the stairs proved foolish as Jon nearly took a header from vertigo and he thanked the stars he was early and alone so he could sit down and wait for the episode to pass. Lord, he hurt. Joints on fire, white-hot fire pokers of pressure needling his hips. He hung his head when tears of frustration began to fall.

Wednesday found Jon buried alive and struggling. He had to stay late in order to finish out the day and by the time he made it home he could barely stand, falling into bed and waking the next morning still dressed in his wingtips and work clothes. Marginally better for the rest, Jon used the boon to plow through the rest of Elias’ assignment, skipping lunch he knew he wouldn’t eat anyway to finish.

“Oh, Tim!” He called out his door as he passed, relieved that he wasn’t ignored. “When you have a moment could you take these up to Rosie?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Jon pushed away the disappointment when the end of day came, his assistants left, and the box still sat on the corner of his desk.

No bother, Tim probably forgot and Jon searched the stacks for the department’s hand truck with its one sticky wheel and found it loaded up with more of Gertrude’s chaos. He didn’t have much choice than to shove at it unceremoniously until it toppled over, papers fluttering out of their folders and under shelves. He’d just have to deal with it later. What’s one more thing? When he tugged, his shoulder very nearly came loose and his yelp of pain was swallowed up in the dark and the dust. Noone around to hear him anyway.

More tears.

He was a mess.

He went along more carefully, cursing the squeak of the blasted wheel, cursing Tim for his forgetfulness, cursing Elias for letting him even steal the job from Sasha to begin with. Cursing time itself because he wanted to go home and it was already an hour past.

“Rosie, I’m so glad I caught you.” She was just starting to collect her bag. “Can I leave this for Elias to collect when he gets in?”

“Of course, Jon!” She helped him lift it to her desk and disguised his taking a rest with interest in her writing a note of explanation.

“Thank you, you really are a lifesaver.” Jon chuffed a weak and humourless laugh. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Of course, dear. Just take that along with you so I don’t have to hear about it from the night staff.” The dolly. Yes. It would have to go back down with him wouldn’t it?

Thursday Jon could barely lift his arms. The debacle from the day before had taken whatever they had left and he was scared that at any moment, his arm would drop from its socket. That happened sometimes. So far, no doctor had figured out why.

“Ready for tomorrow?” Tim jolted him out of staring at his pen cup and the surprise set his heart to racing. Jon didn’t know how many minutes he’d lost.

“Ah, uh.” Absently, he rubbed at his chest, willing the battering tempo to slow before it shook him apart.

“Boss.” It sounded too much like a warning and felt too much like his last chance to prove he had what it took to be their friend.

“I’m not backing out!” Quick to cover up his fumble. “Don’t forget to collect me.”

“Never!” Jon couldn’t help but hope he did.

It was a short walk to their usual pub and Jon pushed himself to keep up, breaking out in cold sweat as the nausea from his laboring heart rocked his stomach. He couldn’t wait to sit down. They were regulars enough that the first round appeared before them as if by magic. Jon sank into the conversation around him, sipping from his pint, wishing it was water, and interjecting when he felt up to it. Martin kept staring at him. Jon didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“Oh come on, boss! Our company can’t be that boring!” Tim was three drinks in and clapped Jon hard enough on the shoulder to rattle his bones. Jon bit his tongue so hard he tasted iron.

“Ah, no, just a long week.” His voice was papery as a wasp nest, thin and drawn. “Looking forward to a lie in.”

“Aren’t we all?” Tim drained his glass and Jon looked down at the worn scratched surface of the table to hide his irrational irritability with the statement. He didn’t corner the market on sleeping in. The others deserved a restful weekend just as much as he did.

“I’m surprised you managed to make it through Elias’ busy work.” Sasha murmured, selecting a chip and using it as a means for sauce delivery.

“Martin helped a great deal.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Jon, but we know who worked his way through the majority.” They exchanged a warm smile.

“Yes, well. Any you did, I didn’t have to. It was very much appreciated.” Martin was bright red and Jon’s cheeks were warm, from alcohol or otherwise, and Tim’s cawing laughter rang bright as a bell over the cacophony around them.

“You’ve broken him, Jon!” They caroused well into the evening until Martin mercifully faked a yawn and explained he had an early morning. Jon almost hugged him and if it weren’t for the state of his shoddy joints he may well have. Holding up a very drunk and very affectionate Tim, Sasha nodded to him.

“This was lovely.” Her grin beamed. “We’ll have to do this again.”

Jon dreaded it.

That month they dragged Jon out to the shops for lunch a few times each week. Catching dinner after work became a regular occurance. Sasha hosted a movie night one weekend. Friday nights at the pub continued.

Jon wasn’t sure which was worse; the exhaustion or the steadily increasing pain, but it felt worth it when the frosty attitude began to thaw. They were still friends. That’s what counted even though the littlest tasks had become huge when faced with choosing which ones to do at the cost of himself. He knew better and still he was overspending, going into the red just to collect more and more debt with no way to catch up other than lose his friends. Something was going to break. Jon hoped it wouldn’t be him.

Groggy, slow, Jon came to with his cheek mashed into the statement he’d been skimming. Something was...wrong. His heart. Racing, pounding against his breastbone, trying to hammer its way to freedom or jump straight out his throat. He blinked hard, trying to bring anything into focus and failing. The first attempt to stand had him face down on the desk again, the next he took in steps.

Sit up. Let the room stop moving.

Breathe. In. Out. Count them.

Ignore the agonized beating. Ignore the fear that came with it.

Stand. Slow. Wait. Patient.

Let the world fall still.

Jon didn’t bother picking up his bag. His phone, wallet, keys, all in his trouser pockets.

“Sorry all. I. I think.” He paused, gulping for air, swallowing none. “Need to go, go home.” If what made it out of him were even close to words he’d consider himself lucky. His tongue was thick and clumsy in his mouth, tripping up the syllables fighting their way past the rabbit-quick hammering,

hammering,

hammering.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha was at his elbow, Tim halfway out of his seat.

“Not feeling well.”

“You sure you can get home, boss?” Nodding absently Jon made his way carefully to the lift before Martin could offer to call him a cab or something equally ridiculous.

Muscle memory got him back to his flat and it wasn’t until he collapsed into bed that he remembered it was Friday and he’d again ducked out on drinks again. Tears collected on his lashes, slipping down his temples when his trembling got the better of them. They. This. All his hard work and he’d undone it. Before the encroaching black overtook him he fumbled with his phone, tapping out an apology to the group chat and barely managing to hit send.

He slipped in and out. Lucid one moment, hallucinating the next, burning away to nothing and ending up on the floor more than once after passing out attempting to, to…didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough in him to attempt it again, opting to lay flat on his back in the sweat soaked sheets trying not to move for the pain. For a wild, hysterical moment Jon was sure he would die here, alone, phone just out of reach, melting in wretched heat and so uncomfortably hot it was difficult to remember a time when he wasn’t.

Jon hurt.

Everything was darkness and agony. Each tremor an earthquake threatening to tear him apart. He was trapped in treacle, done up in bits of twine, strung together with razor wire and unable to move. It was a familiar voice that clawed its way down to him. Lifted him up, low and soft, a stone tumbling down a mountain and catching Jon up in the landslide. He thought he answered, made some attempt at a response, drawn out of him like water from a well. Hurting and disoriented Jon drifted. Consciousness slipping in and out through his fingers like the surf, breath like coals banked beneath his ribs. Jon’s body wouldn’t cooperate as it should and time seemed to skip from one moment to the next between long bouts of nothing.

A heavy palm, cool and comforting, came to rest over his forehead and Tim materialized out of nowhere, startling Jon enough that he keened when each joint shrieked and protested at his moving.

“Sh, sh, shh.” Tim. That’s right...he wasn’t sure it was true, but he was wiping down his over sensitive skin with a damp flannel to quell the coals for a handful of moments.

“Wha’s..?”

“When you didn’t come in yesterday or this morning, we figured we should check on you.” So many words. Too many to parse more than a few but the flood came anyway, streaking into his greasy hair because he’d been sure no one would come and Tim kept applying the cold compress; wrung, applied, repeated, and Jon sobbed with the simple relief of it, tears cool against the incandescence of his skin.

“Are you...l’leaving?” He winced at the raw scrape of his voice against his vocal cords. “Been. You’been s’so angry with m’me.” Tim’s face fell and Jon wanted to apologize. It was the illness, that’s all, lowering his defenses and simmering his many insecurities just below a fractured awareness that refused to keep them in where they belonged. Instead his breath hitched and he choked on a whimper of defeat. “Tri’tried so hard ‘nd still. M’sorry.”

“It’s alright.” So unbelievably soft. Jon thought he’d ruined this long ago and the tears came somehow faster. “I think we need to call an ambulance, bud.”

“No...nonono…” Jon didn’t want to be poked and prodded by strangers and stuck full of needles alone in a cold sterile room. Even in his ragged state Jon could see Tim was torn. “Pl’please.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, gentling him with a touch. “But if you can’t keep this down we have to go.” Medicine. Lucozade. Fed to him mouthful by mouthful in the intervals he was awake.

Quiet sounds he recognized, Martin. Sasha. Hushed. Martin tipped the next sip into him and Jon wasn’t aware of much, but he was aware enough to know he was disgusting after having slept and sweated in the same bedclothes for days. Martin wouldn’t hear of it and Jon didn’t know where to put all the feelings and he was so tired of crying and couldn’t seem to stop.

Sasha, they told him, has gone out for supplies and they asked if he’d like help getting out of his uncomfortable trousers and button down, now missing several buttons no doubt from his restlessness. Jon didn’t trust his voice, only nodded, trying and failing to sit up, losing consciousness entirely when one of them levered him up with an arm behind his shoulders. Tim was explaining it to Martin when he came around, peering up at them through fluttering lashes.

“S’al’...” Clumsy, the words wouldn’t come to him.

Together, they shift his limbs, passing him back and forth between, one moment resting against Martin’s chest, another tucked into the hollow where Tim’s shoulder and neck meet. He should be helping but he can barely stay with them, just concentrating on the pulse currently beneath his ear to ground him. Carefully, as though he is some precious thing, they rid him of the awful, disagreeable stickiness and their low murmuring seems such an intimate thing. He isn’t worth it. This. And then soft, clean clothes, well worn and familiar and when Jon surfaces again he’s with Tim on the sofa, bundled up and more comfortable than he’d been in months.

Martin is changing his sheets.

“I’m sorry, Jon.” He didn’t know what for and shook his head, or tried anyway. “Made you think you had to push yourself like that. Ignored how exhausted you were and guilt tripped you into not telling us ‘no’.” Lord, so many words, Jon dizzied himself trying to catch them, hold them, decipher them. “You should be able to trust us, and I.” A suspicious sniff. “I’m sorry.” Jon relaxed into him with a hum he hoped conveyed something.

“I think I remembered which meds he tolerated best.” Sasha elbowed her way into the flat, face lighting up when she saw he was awake. Kind of. “Jon! Thank god. You were in such a bad way.” Whispery and rushed, the same feeling in it as with Tim. “Let's get you dosed up and back to bed, okay?”

It was late evening judging by the window. The reading lamp was on. Martin sat beside him with a book he couldn’t recognize by cover alone.

“Mah’in..?” So it hadn’t all been a hallucination after all.

“There you are.”

“Miss’d work.” He nodded, uncapping a bottle of sports drink and holding it to his chapped lips. Jon drank what he could.

“Not important right now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Gave us a scare.” Easy, like it was nothing in the world to do it, Martin laid the back of his fingers against his neck, against his throat. “That’s a relief. Tim called us in a panic.” By way of explanation. “But I think you’re past the worst of it now.”

“Don’, don’ remember.”

“Probably for the best. We’ve decided, if you’re alright with the arrangement, that one of us should stay with you.” That sounded okay even if normally Jon would fight it tooth and nail. He did remember being alone and scared. “Tim and Sash are talking. I get the feeling we missed something very important.”

“Mm.” Jon tried to sit up and swooned, came around with a pillow behind his back.

“Dunno if I’ll get used to that any time soon though, I’ll be honest.”

“Happens sometimes. Th’that’s why…” Martin picked up the thread.

“You cancelled on us. I understand. And I hope, I hope you know you can always tell me, us, I hope, when you need to. There’s no shame in it. I’ll admit, I’m upset with Tim.” He fussed with the quilts, smoothing out imaginary creases. “He knew this was something to look out for and he didn’t tell me.”

“No, it’s--”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Martin spoke with conviction. “Ever. I don’t want you to, to push yourself like this for a blasted game night. We can do other things as a department. Things that don’t jeopardize your health like this again.”

“Martin’s right.” Sasha sat at his feet, draping a hand over his ankle, and Tim stood at the foot of the bed. He looked proper chastised, eyes rimmed in red and swollen from crying.

“I’m so sorry, Jon. So sorry. I should never--I was angry and frustrated and used it to. To hurt you. Make you think we’d stop being friends over a stupid night out. Not like I lifted a hand to help you! When I knew you wouldn’t ask a second time!”

“S’okay.”

“It’s not!” Tim was a staunch friend. The type who got to know you so well and sometimes aimed too precisely at your soft parts. He didn’t need another telling off. Exhaustion lapping at his limbs, Jon curled his fingers in poor imitation of a come hither gesture. Willingly, Tim allowed himself to be pulled along by it, slotting himself beside Jon on the mattress to hide his own tears in his chest. Graceless, Jon managed to tug a hand over the back of his head, tangling fingers in Tim's hair, surrounded by friends and not alone.

“Will be, then.”

[rjhpandapaws]

This is for the ask event! The prompt I have is where Connor is struggling with being deviant after the revolution. He tries to act just like a non-deviant towards everyone. And when Hank realizes what's going on, he tries to comfort Connor. He tries to tell Connor that he doesn't have to be 'just a robot' anymore.

//I am in love with this! Thank you!!!!

It was the jacket, if Hank had to pick the first tiny red flag after the revolution that had him worried for Connor. He hadn’t gotten rid of that damn jacket, it was like a brand and Hank hated it. These things took time he supposed. One week you were a machine designed to track and hunt your own kind, the next you were a person. It was not only a big change but a sudden one. Hank could understand the difficulty to let go of it; there were things he still carried with him after all. The next was the way he spoke, it was still measured and artificial. Connor was still trying to please whomever he was with. It had been easy at first to just assume that Connor’s personality was that of someone who was mild mannered, it would make sense. There were two issues with that though; someone who was mild mannered probably wouldn’t have broken your god damned kitchen window to get inside when they were otherwise capable of getting through the door, and the fact when Hank had casually asked his opinion on something he was well aware Connor wouldn’t have liked he rolled to red for a long moment before picking an answer designed to appease him. Hank would have liked to say that he understood the struggle; but he didn’t, becoming an alcoholic was easy. Becoming a sentient being, he had to imagine was not. The one thing Hank considered himself well versed in though, was taking baby steps, if AA had taught him anything, that was the place to start. Find the smallest thing Connor was struggling with and start there. It seemed easy enough; until Hank thought about the fact that it involved getting Connor to open up to him honestly rather than just trying to say what he thought Hank wanted to hear.

Connor had a particular fondness for Sumo, perhaps he could be the icebreaker. Hank was well aware that he was probably putting more thought into this than a ‘concerned coworker’ ought to, but you could only watch someone come into themself so many times before you were invested, and the number of times Connor had been through this just during the case was well over whatever that number was. The kid deserved a break, god knows he earned it after every thing. So that was his plan. Invite Connor over to see Sumo and go from there. He wasn’t sure what he would do, but he had seen glimpses of who Connor was beneath his coding and he wanted to let that version of him out. A selfish motive? Probably, but that was okay. Connor had been suspicious, which was fair. Hank hadn’t been all that great to him at first, but his fascination with dogs apparently had won out and he agreed to come over on Saturday and spend the day with them. Of course, the one part of this plan Hank had overlooked was needing to have his house somewhat presentable. Sure Connor had seen it before, but Hank liked to believe he had made progress since then. The state of his house would dare to disagree.

His evenings amounted to a marginally successful attempt to give Sumo a bath, cleaning his house, and trying to find bottled thirium that wasn’t overly expensive. He found a carbonated kind that he thought Connor might find interesting and bought that as well. He also bought beer, but he could tweak that into a good friend didn’t let their guest drink alone. Connor probably wouldn’t believe it, but that was an issue for another time. The thing about keeping busy was that the weekdays tended to roll by a little faster, so it was Saturday before Hank was mentally prepared for it. He reminded himself that he wasn’t trying to solve this problem; if he was honest, he knew he probably couldn’t even if he tired; he was just looking for a starting point. Something to give Connor to remind him of his agency. That didn’t make him anymore ready for the long buzz of his doorbell at ten in the morning. That was one thing that was uniquely Connor he supposed, the kid rang doorbells like an ass. Hank chuckled at the thought as he opened the door and used his free hand to hold on to Sumo’s collar so he wouldn’t knock Connor over. “I hope I’m not here too early.” Connor said in way of a greeting as he came inside. “You’re fine.” Hank responded, “I’ll be honest though, when I said you could come over at anytime today I was worried you show up at the ass crack of dawn.” “I thought about it.” Connor smiled, it was his artificial one, but it was better than nothing, “But you aren’t known for being up in the mornings.”

Hank rolled his eyes as he let go of Sumo, he was glad for the banter. Sumo was glad for the company as he immediately jumped on Connor. For a moment Hank was worried Connor would be knocked flat, but he only moved one of his feet back half a step and braced himself. He held Sumo’s weight and gladly showered him in attention while Sumo investigated their new houseguest. It was only slight, but Connor’s calculated exterior thawed some. That was progress. Sumo seemed to have satisfied his curiosity and settled back on the floor, though he kept close to his new friend. The smile was still on Connor’s lips but it was softer now, a little more natural and Hank wondered if he even knew he was doing it. “Did you need help with a case?” Connor asked as Hank moved toward the living room. “No.” Hank replied, “I could use the company and you could use a break.” “I don’t need to take breaks. I can incapable of feeling exhaustion.” Came Connor’s remark. “Trust me kid, just because you don’t feel it, or aren’t ‘supposed’ to doesn’t mean its not there.” Hank explained as he settled onto the couch, “You’ve been through a lot, and while you might be feeling alright, that doesn’t mean you aren’t stressed. One day alright, that’s all I’m asking.”

Connor was standing at the far end of the couch and he was on red again, and oblivious to Sumo nudging at his hand. He had never seen Connor with so much emotion on his features, he felt guilty that the emotion of the moment seemed to be panic, but he would take that over the blank expression that was his default. “How - hypothetically speaking of course- how would someone know they were stressed... If they had never felt such a thing before?” Hank hummed as Connor sat down on the couch and finally paid mind to Sumo again. “Hypothetically speaking, it would come across as losing interest in the things that person liked to do; things like work, licking god awful substances, asking invasive questions, and telling their partner exactly what inedible things are in their chicken sandwich. Then its falling back on the routines you have built for yourself or learned from others and following them rigidly, anything to make things more manageable. They might distance themself from the people around them and bury themself in work, because they need to keep busy.” He watched Connor’s LED roll, it was blue with flicks of yellow on occasion, and Hank was almost certain he saw a flash of red once. Connor was absently petting the top of Sumo’s head as he chased his own thoughts. Hank had never seen him this pensive before, not even at the worst of their crime scenes. “Hypothetically speaking again, how would you suggest someone overcome that stress?”

“Take a break.” Hank said without hesitating, “A day or a weekend to just be. Whatever that means for them, spending time with a friend, going clothes shopping, licking something questionable. Something that they liked that they haven’t gotten to do in a while.” “So, if they wanted to get rid of a jacket or some clothes, that would be okay?” Connor didn’t quite drop the pretense of the hypothetical, but internally Hank cheered. “I would say they should go for it.” He said with a smile. “Hank. I would like to burn my issued clothes if that is ok.” Connor said in a serious enough tone that had Hank choking on a laugh. “When it starts getting dark we can have a bon fire, but first we need to get you something else to wear.” Hank agreed. While it wasn’t how he thought today would go, Hank counted it as a victory.

@inverted-writes

(Prompt from this list)