#this is so long and i suspect VERY few people will care enough to read it

[luthwhore]

Lena was a prominent figure in the comic, Superwoman. I think Lana was Superwoman in it. I was wondering if you’ve read it and what was your thoughts on it? Specifically the character, Lena

The few things I know about her is she’s a wheelchair user and one of the few people Lex Luther calls his equal, True Equal (not really sure about this one fact). It would also be appreciated if u could refer to a post talking about her in the lens of a disabled person, I’m (kinda?) sure there was one and i didn’t reblog it

Sure! So, I referenced by dislike for the Superwoman (2016) comic in my Lex comic rec list, but I haven't really gone into it on its own before, mostly because at the time I was reading it I was still getting into comics and hadn't really started doing a lot of liveblogging or commentary at the time.

I also want to preface my feelings on the ableism around Lena, both in this comic and in general, by saying that I am not physically disabled myself. I have several close friends who are, including a roommate who is an ambulatory wheelchair user, so disability representation is something that I try to be very aware of, but I am not of any kind an authority on disability issues.

Also, I'm talking about this arc mostly from a Doyleist perspective -- i.e., focusing less on the culpability of the individual characters and whether I think their choices are understandable or justified and more on the choices made by the real people writing the arcs. This is not a condemnation of Lena's actions; this is a criticism of the writing choices made around her.

Putting this under a cut because I realized this is getting very long.

For a bit of backstory, Lena had been ill as a child -- with what, it's never specified, but the implication is that it was something chronic -- and that in an effort to "cure" her when he was a teenager, Lex had inadvertently paralyzed her.

This is actually something that was introduced by Geoff Johns' during Forever Evil, and other than the kind of dehumanizing language of calling her an "invalid" (which will be a recurring thing), I don't hate it. Lex does clearly see his inability to cure her as a failure, but it presents him coming to terms with it and realizing that he wants to rekindle his relationship with Lena, presumably for the first time in many, many years.

I don't have a major issue with this writing choice, because prior to Forever Evil, n52 hadn't really broken much with the unambiguously evil version of Lex that had been presented since Crisis on Infinite Earths, so the idea that he had neglected Lena out of shame that he couldn't "cure" her doesn't seem terribly out of place, and it presents a nice moment of character growth for him.

Justice League (2012), also written by Geoff Johns, is the first time we actually see Lena. When we see her here, she's shown in a wheelchair, and sees to be working for Lexcorp.

You get the sense that in spite of genuinely loving Lena, Lex has a tendency to be far too over-protective of her, often keeping her in the dark about things, which is a dimension to their relationship I really like! Geoff Johns is known for taking inspiration from Smallville in a lot of his Superman comics -- there are a LOT of nods to the show when he writes Kon -- and this, to me, feels very much like Smallville-inspired characterization.

One thing that DC does, that tracks across Geoff Johns, Dan Jurgens, and Phil Jimenez's writing of Lex and Lena, is really, really focus on "curing" Lena. In spite of what he says to her at the end of Forever Evil, he still ultimately sees her disability as his fault, and therefore, sees her as something to be fixed.

You can definitely put this off as a character flaw of Lex's, and I'm definitely not arguing that it's not in character for Lex to want to do so -- but it IS worth noting that this arc was happening at the same time that DC was leaning hard into erasing Barbara Gordon's disability as well, so this not an isolated incident of DC treating disabled characters like they need to be "cured".

For context: Barbara Gordon was the first Batgirl, and after being paralyzed by the Joker, then took on the identity of Oracle and ran The Birds of Prey. However, after around two decades of her acting as Oracle and being established as a hero completely separate from Batman, DC aged her down, erased her disability, and relaunched her as Batgirl with the start of the n52. (Recent years have tried to walk this back a little, but there was almost a decade of her being written as having miraculously healed from her disability.)

(It also does make me think a little of the "Lexmas" episode of Smallville, where Lionel is willing to put Lex through a surgical with a very low survival rate rather than accept the prospect of his losing the use of his legs. This isn't relevant per se, but I do think it's an interesting similarity.)

Toward the end of Justice League (2012), there is a scene in which Lena, while in possession of a Motherbox, pulls a gun on Lex and tries to kill him, and it's left unclear whether she was being influenced by the Motherbox or acting of her own accord. This is technically the start of the arc that gets picked up in Superwoman (2016).

Afterward, she ends up in a coma from her use of the Motherbox, with Lex once again swearing to find a way to heal her.

We also get a really touching scene of Lex talking to Lena at her bedside and admitting that part of the reason he has decided to be a hero now is that he wants to make her proud, and he knows she wouldn't approve of his past actions. This feels in line with the characterization established in Forever Evil; Lena is Lex's only family, and she's the only person in his life he can earnestly say he loves.

So, this is where we are at the start of Superwoman (2016). Lex and Lena have recently reconnected, and Lex is trying to be a better person in large part because of his love for Lena. Lena tried to kill him, which Lex believes was due to the influence of the Motherbox, and Lena is put into a coma.

It does seem like Geoff Johns was setting up Lena to become a villain during Justice League, or at least the potential for it, which I have... kind of mixed feelings about. On the one hand, I do think there is an interesting tension there, because Lex kind of expects to just pick up his relationship with Lena where they left off, and I think using her as an antagonist for him could have been interesting. On the other hand, with how the previous several arcs had set up Lena as the entire reason for Lex's redemption arc, it seems like an odd choice?

However... that's not quite what they do. While getting revenge on her brother is clearly a priority for her in Superwoman, she also... just kind of wants to take over/destroy Metropolis? For reasons?

In Superwoman (2016), we find out that Lex had tried to heal her by experimenting on her, and that when the experiment didn't immediately work, Lex abandoned her. (I personally find that really out of character, given what we were shown about their relationship prior.)

And we are once again treated to a character in a wheelchair being cured of her disability. This time, specifically as part of a villain arc. Which is... a choice, I guess. If they were going to use her as an antagonist, I really wish they would have done so without erasing her disability, but that's DC for you.

I also feel like a lot of her emotional complexity is stripped out in favor of making her like... a #girlboss villain, which is pretty par for the course for something that came out in 2016. The characterization here just... doesn't feel congruous with the Lena we were shown before.

I personally think, whether they wanted to use Lena as a hero or an antagonist, it would have made for a much more empowering arc not to heal her of her physical disability and instead have her seek to prove to Lex that her disability isn't something that needs to be "fixed" and that she's still fully capable of operating on his level with or without the use of her legs.

I also think the choice to use her as a villain who just wants to take over Metropolis (ig as a way to prove that she's better than Lex? by succeeding at something he failed at?) was a mistake, because one of the core conflicts with Lex and Lena in Justice League (2012) was that... Lena disapproved of a lot of Lex's actions?

The message in the comic re: Lena's disability also just feels. Really muddled? Like. It almost says something important here -- the "I knew my body meant nothing to you if it wasn't a perfect reflection of your fantasies of what it should be, but it was mine" line is good!

I think in better hands, it could have been a really powerful story about Lena's bodily autonomy, and how no matter Lex's intentions, he was still ultimately making choices that should have been hers, to make, but it just got buried in the mess of her being a generic scenery chewing supervillain, and I think that message would have hit a lot harder if they hadn't "healed" her, and if they had focused more on giving Lex and Lena and emotional arc instead of just... having her do a bunch of villain monologuing before having Lex defeat her.

Anyway I hope the "Ultrawoman" arc gets retconned out at some point because this really felt like a waste of potential for Lena and I think she deserved better than just getting turned into a supervillain before being written out of the canon.

[aliteralsemicolon]

Wait until you like me again - 18+

See part 1 | Part 2 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 3

The decision to resign puts a lot of weight on your shoulders. A takedown gone wrong makes it the least of anyone's concerns, especially Spencer’s. You’re not willing to let him back in; it feels too little, too late.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. Part 2 was highly requested and I’m sorry it’s taken so long to finish.

WARNING Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, drugs (GHB), Case details (very poorly thought out). Violence: canon typical - strangulation, drugging, guns/gunshots. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The most annoying part about making a decision in haste is the clarity of the situation when the dust settles. It’d taken Hotch just over two minutes to message you after you’d sent your email. 

From: Boss Man 🕶 👔 My office, first thing tomorrow. 

You didn’t take into account that you’d have to explain your sudden resignation to your unit chief, or that you’d need to think of a good enough goodbye to lessen the hurt of abandoning your friends. These are people you consider your found family; you’re leaving behind years worth of bonds with no proper warning or closure, in a measly few weeks. Your reasoning had to be good enough to convince them that this was for the best. 

To convince you that this was for the best. 

You’d spent the whole night in tears, racking your brain for an excuse, because ‘the person you care most about in this world and unrequited love of your life telling you that he didn’t want to see your face was a pathetic reason for discarding your life’s work. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t think of adequate justification. Even as the sun rose and you made your way through your pre-work routine, nothing came to mind. 

“You can’t love me.”

Any time you tried to conjure up a defence your thoughts would wander back to Spencer. Too many words had been exchanged between you and your former best friend in the span of four months and not a single one of them properly explained why he was so butt-hurt. He loves you too much, but doesn’t want you to love him? That’s your understanding, at least. 

“Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

Since you’d left his apartment the previous night, you’d been cycling through all the stages of grief in record time. Spencer once told you that people tend to remember more negative memories than positive. He was right. You couldn’t recall a lot of your happier memories with him. All you could think about was the two conversations where he’d hurt you in ways you never imagined he would. 

You’re not sure exactly what part of you snapped at that moment, all you knew was that you were done making him the centre of your universe. Spencer Reid played no part in your decisions moving forward. He was not the reason for your departure with the BAU, a lie you made sure to relay to Hotch during your meeting with him.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Where is this even coming from?” He inquired from across you, hands folded neatly against his desk.

“I just think it’s time for me to try new things, you know?” It was a pathetic excuse, but less pathetic than the actual reasoning. 

“I try not to interfere with the personal lives of the team, but this is just so…sudden. I have to wonder if this has to do with Spencer?”

“This has nothing to do with him.” You go out of your way to avoid saying his name, suspecting you might taste poison. 

Hotch’s brow raises, as if his brain has been alerted to key information, head marginally tilting to the side like it does when he catches a lie. He doesn’t say anything, eyes narrowing in on you in stoic fashion. You feel like a petulant child that’s about to receive a scolding from their father. 

“Hon–Honestly…Hotch, I just–”

Three rapid knocks cut you off, the door to the office swinging open without waiting for a reply. 

“Sir, Hello, I’m sorry to interrupt but it’s an emergency. That case we were consulting on for Anchorage PD?” Garcia bursts into the room, slightly discoloured and more panicked than normal. “Well, five more bodies were discovered. Two of them pre-date who we initially thought was the first victim.”

“Garcia, tell everybody to meet on the jet ASAP. We’ll debrief on the flight.” Hotch orders abruptly standing from his seat. “You and I can finish this meeting later. This case is now our top priority, wheels up.” 

Emily, Rossi and Derek were already in their seats when you boarded. You secured your go bag in one of the overhead compartments and temporarily took a seat next to Derek. 

“How bad do you think this one is gonna be?” Derek sighs, dreading the horrors that await your arrival. 

“We’re up to thirty six bodies and counting. Whoever this unsub is, they’ve been at it a while. So, bad.” You answer honestly. 

“Speaking of bad, is everything okay?”

“That was not even remotely smooth.” You scoff. 

“I’m just asking as a concerned friend.” He shoots his hands up in defence.

“What happened to the days where we at least tried to mind our business. You know, at least asked each other about our weekend plans before jumping into interrogation mode.” You roll your eyes and smirk. 

“Heyyy, woah– no one’s interrogating anyone.” Derek chuckles. “What are your plans for the weekend?”

It wasn’t long before everybody had made their way on the jet, Spencer being the last one. You didn’t notice his arrival, too engulfed in your conversation. He definitely noticed you though. The sound of your giggles caught his attention the second he was in ear shot. He didn’t like how warm he felt at the sight of your smiling face. What he disliked more was that he could instantly tell that it wasn’t a genuine smile. 

He quietly made his way to his self assigned seat on the couch, trying his hardest to focus on anything but you. Every laugh that Morgan coaxed out of you bothered him. Spencer’s agony only ended once the jet had successfully taken off. 

“Alright let’s get started.” Hotch declared and everybody moved to gather around. 

With all the details laid out by Garcia through the monitor, everybody began stating facts and suggestions. You wrapped up soon enough and retreated to an isolated seat in the back of the jet. It was an almost eight hour flight, seven of which you were planning to use to come up with a solid plan to announce your departure. Life always has to throw a wrench in your plans though, because the lack of sleep from the night before caught up to you and you dozed off almost immediately. Had you any energy left in your body, you might have been privy to the eyes that were on you. 

“She didn’t say anything as to what the meeting was about?” JJ hushedly pries from her raven haired co worker in the cramped kitchenette.  

“No, but Garcia said that ‘the air in his office was really tense’.” Emily relays, her fingers mimicking quotation marks. “Did Hotch say anything?”

“No. He just gave me his usual dry look and told me to focus on the case.” JJ rolls her eyes at the thought and leans back against the counter. 

Despite being the FBI’s most decorated task force, the agents of the BAU weren’t strangers to workplace gossip. You’d just entered the bullpen this morning when Hotch frantically summoned you to his office, not even giving you time to set your things down at your desk. Witnessing the events sparked a guessing game sparked amongst the team. 

“Is it something we should know about?” Sitting across from Hotch, even Rossi succumbed to his curiosity. 

“Dave you’re not normally one to pry.” Hotch smirks, keeping his eyes on the case-file laid out in front of him. 

“No I’m not. But with the events of the past few months...” Rossi sips his coffee, staring at his younger superior expectantly. “...there’s been some talk Aaron.”

“Talk?” Hotch meets Rossi’s eyes.

“Mhm.” Rossi nods. “Apparently you’re transferring one of our two youngest members because they haven’t been able to put their differences aside.”

“I’m not transferring anyone. Where did this come from?” The alarm in his tone makes Rossi snicker.

“Office drama. You know how it is. And while you may not be transferring anybody,” he sets his mug down and looks towards where you’re sound asleep. “I’m guessing somebody is leaving. Hence this morning's meeting.”

“We’re not supposed to profile each other, you know.” Hotch sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep this contained. I haven’t had a chance to properly discuss this with her yet and I think she’d prefer to break the news herself.” 

As you had predicted the case was by no means an easy one. On the first day everybody was split into groups to follow up with the M.E, victims’ families and examine the crime scenes. All the evidence and information gathered wasn’t enough to narrow the profile any more than the generic: male, mid thirties to early forties, hates women. You were now three days in with no viable leads. 

You were especially frustrated because you felt that you weren’t working as well as you could. The stress of your announcement was taking its toll, you were unable to properly converse with your team out of guilt. Hotch sent everyone back to their hotel rooms with the idea that you would start fresh tomorrow. Normally you would room with Spencer, but lately JJ and Emily have been taking turns rooming with both of you. This time you were with Emily.

“I think this may be the first night we’ve gotten to turn in early.” Emily yawns as she dramatically stretches her limbs.

“I’m just glad we got to turn in at all, for a while there it looked like we may have to pull another all nighter.” You force a giggle, exasperated.  

“You okay?” She doesn’t miss a beat, taking the opportunity to ask about your uneasiness. 

“Yeah, fine.” You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“You’re going to snap at some point, you know?” She examines your closed off posture, trying to figure out a way to get you to open up. “Something’s clearly wrong. Talk to me.”

“We’re all on edge right now. It’s this case.” You hope that you’re being convincing enough. 

“It's more than that. You’ve been distant from everybody.” Emily briefly thought back to the Ian Doyle debacle, recognising all the signs of somebody preparing to run away at any given moment. 

“I’m aware that I’m not working to my full potential–”

“That’s not what I mean and you know that.” She steps closer to you. “I can’t force you to tell me whatever’s actually on your mind, but I would really appreciate it if you would. I hate seeing you so…detached. Not just from us, but from yourself.”

It’s the empathy in her voice instead of the usual sympathy that finally cracks you. Tears pool your eyes and you sink to the floor. Emily sits down next to you without a word. She tries to pull you in for a hug but you push away. 

“Please don’t.” You sob. “I’m sorry.”

She squeezes your knee to relay that she understands and retracts her hand. Your discomfort with physical touch was another thing you had in common with Spencer. It was just a personal preference for you, unlike his germophobia. He was the only person you were actually comfortable with in terms of touch, but you couldn’t fault others for not respecting that boundary when you’d never verbalised it. 

“I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to tell you guys, but I don’t think there’s any way this gets easier.” You recompose yourself after a moment. “I’m, um, leaving.”

You expect her to get upset with you, but find her unfazed. 

“You don’t look surprised.” 

“Well it’s not entirely surprising. I mean given everything that’s happened.” 

“So you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” She leans back with her mouth slightly open. 

“Because I feel like I’m abandoning you guys.” You heavily exhale. 

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re doing what you feel is right for you. I mean, am I happy about it? Definitely not. But I know better than anyone why you feel like you need to do this. And it’s not a decision you have to justify to anybody.” Emily reassures you. 

“How do I tell everybody else?” You push for more advice.

“However you feel most comfortable doing it. It doesn’t have to be some big announcement. You can casually break it to them whenever you get the opportunity. They’ll understand.” 

“Thank you, Em.” You genuinely smile this time, eternally grateful that she’s managed to take some pressure off your shoulders.

“Now while you’re in a mood to share…if you wanna talk about something else–” She attempts one last time to get you to talk about Spencer, sensing that the mood lightened a bit. 

“Nice try.” You laugh as you rise to your feet, offering your arms out to her to help her stand.

The following two days were a lot easier on you, mentally. You took Emily’s advice and disclosed your news individually to each team member, each of them more understanding than you’d anticipated. You were surprised to learn that Rossi was already aware, assuming that it came with being a profiler for as long as he had. Derek and JJ did try to talk you out of it initially, but accepted your decision in the end. You still had to talk about this with Garcia, but felt a lot more at ease with mostly everybody knowing.

Except Spencer.

That thought lingered in the back of your mind. You still love him, it’s not something you can just turn off. You shake it off and divert your full attention to the case. Four more bodies had been discovered and with them, a new pattern to the killings. The unsub was devolving. You and Spencer were the only ones at the precinct when the last murder was called in. Meaning you were stuck working on the geographical profile with him while the others were out chasing new leads. 

Realistically, only one of you was needed to build the profile and decided you were going to let him do it. You quietly sat in the furthest seat possible, trying to make yourself invisible and hoping that this would keep him busy enough to not talk to you. The whole week, you hadn’t uttered a single word to him unless it was absolutely necessary for the case. It was as if he didn’t exist, even if he was standing right infront of you. Spencer, on the other hand, spent the whole week prodding you for any reaction he could get. Anytime you made suggestions and he happened to be in the area, he tried to one up you.

At times it felt like he was purposely seeking you out, despite his brutal proclamation five days ago. Every attempt to rile you up failed. The most acknowledgement he got from you was a few scoffs and glares. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it, until Derek asked him point blank what his problem was. He didn’t have an answer, but now that he was aware of it he tried to go out of his way to avoid it. 

That didn’t last more than a few hours. The fact that he had to consciously avoid talking to you pissed him off, especially because he couldn’t stop. You pretending like he didn’t exist pissed him off even more. The one time he took his eyes off the board in front of him they landed on you. You were busy scribbling words in a file, trying to get a head start on your paperwork. 

“Do you plan to help at all?” He sneers, noticing that you looked a lot more relaxed than you did at the start of the case. 

You snap your head towards the board behind him. A rough venn diagram was drawn on a map of the city, small tacked notes labelling prominent buildings in the area. 

“How am I meant to help?” You question, darting your eyes between him and the board out of confusion.

“You’re asking me how to do your job?” He taunts, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

You dramatically groan, throwing your head back. 

It’s hard to believe that he’s a man of logic in moments like these. There have been far too many in the last few months. You bounce off your seat and head over to the board. Spencer stays glued in his spot and your body accidentally brushes against his as you try to get past. He watches you take off some notes and add on new ones but doesn’t register what you’re doing at first. He’s too intoxicated by your scent. His hand runs through his hair as he steps back in an effort to regain his composure. His teeth grit and his jaw tenses momentarily, he hates that you have the ability to do this to him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” The pitch of his voice raises and his ears are burning.

“What do you mean?” You roll your eyes, shrugging your arms, sarcasm laced in your words. 

“Don’t try to act all dumb!” He berates, shaking his head. 

“Don’t try to act all smart.” Your eyes roll again. Spencer was slowly starting to wear down your apathy. 

“I am smart.” He scoffs. Your blood boils, this trump card is becoming too repetitive.

“Savour that, it’s the one good thing you’ve got going for you!” You finally snap. 

“You’re UNBELIEVABLE! The first time you bother to answer me all week and it’s just to argue?” He’s trying his best to refrain from yelling.

“Oh! You’ve been trying to start an argument all week and now that I’m giving in you can’t take it?! Actually, why have you been trying so hard, Doctor? I was under the impression that you can’t even stand to look at my face!”

He dryly swallows, unable to respond immediately. The reminder of his words makes him internally cringe. He never meant to say them. It was the most efficient way he could think of at that time to hurt you. Spencer hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of will power it would take to stay away from you. You seeking him out made it infinitely harder. His fake disdain was a defence mechanism, he was hiding behind hatred to get the job done. 

“YOU–”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hotch loudly cuts him off. 

Neither you nor Spencer noticed the teams return during your squabble. You’re slightly embarrassed, wondering how much they’ve witnessed. Spencer turns away from you and looks to the blank wall on the other side of the room. You look to the floor and bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Care to explain what’s going on?” He grills and you feel like a petulant child receiving a lecture from your father. 

“She wasn’t doing her job!” Spencer complains. “And when I brought it up she messed up my profile!”

“God you’re insufferable! It’s called ‘narrowing the profile’, Spencer. Maybe if you did it properly, I wouldn’t have to.” You retort. 

“Hey!” Hotch scolds.

It falls silent for a second, awkward glances finding their way around the room. Rossi breaks it first. 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were bickering toddlers instead of FBI agents.”

You make eye contact with Morgan trying to hold in a laugh and it makes you snort. 

“We will discuss this later. Let’s focus on the updates we’ve gathered.” Hotch dismisses due to more pressing matters at hand. 

“After talking to friends of the latest victims, I can confirm that they were all last seen in the same club.” JJ pipes up first.

“And the dumpsites are all less than twenty minutes away from there. He’s definitely not holding them anymore.” Morgan adds.

“That has to be where he’s choosing his victims. Did the medical examiner find anything new?” Hotch asks.

“Traces of GHB.” Emily replies. “We don’t know how he’s administering it into their systems, but my guess would be through the drinks.”

“Gamma-hydroxybutyrate, mostly known as GHB, is a party drug that produces feelings of euphoria, confidence, relaxation and sociability. Side effects of GHB can include drowsiness, vomiting, mood swings, dependence, as well as more serious symptoms of unconsciousness. When mixed with alcohol the risk of overdose increases as it can cause respiratory collapse leading to coma or in extreme cases death.” Spencer’s about to continue but quickly recognises that it’s a tangent he needs to cut short. 

“Wait JJ what club were the victims last seen in?” You inquire, walking closer to the map.

When she relays the name it clicks. 

“That’s smack in the middle of the comfort zone.” You point at a small red note labelling the building. 

“So how do we catch this guy? I mean the club would be packed and we don’t know what this guy looks like. The profile tells us that he would blend in, nothing would stand out about him.” Morgan subtly suggests a string operation.

“Except for when he’s alone with the object of his rage. Which in our case would be the women he’s using as surrogates. He'd be possessive, become clingy, hold on too tight and once those advances are rejected he’d fly into blind rage.” Spencer exclaims without realising the weight of his input. 

“Yeah…but he has a very specific type.” Rossi hesitates. 

A fact that everybody had been avoiding the case because of how close it hit to home. 

You’re his exact type.

“No.” Hotch shuts down.

“Hotch, think about it. I mean this guy is not slowing down. A sting might be our best bet to stop him before he kills again.” JJ shares Rossi’s hesitation.

“It’s too risky!” Spencer blurts, making it clear he’s against the idea. 

Everyone begins to chime in with their input, but you stay silent and think it over. None of them wanted to put you in this position, but you’d seen the bodies and what he’d done to those women. What he’ll continue to do to other women if he isn’t stopped. It was a no brainer on your end. 

“I’ll do it!” You announce amidst the chatter.

It comes to an immediate halt, all eyes shifting on you.

“What?” Spencer scoffs.

You can tell that he’s genuinely surprised by the small hitch in his voice. Emily sceptically calls your name, posing it as a question. 

“I’ll do it.” You reiterate, taking care to seem as confident as possible.

“Absolutely not! The odds of this going wrong are way too high!” Spencer howls with a little too much passion. 

“Reid’s right. The unsub is way too unpredictable.” Hotch debates.

“JJ has a point, think about it!” You argue. “We know for a fact that he’s going to strike tonight. Sending me undercover as bait is better than staking out the place and waiting for him to target a civilian!” 

“Okay so let’s send somebody else!” Spencer contests, his tone prayerful. 

For a split second, you see your best friend again. He’s showing more regard for you now than he has in months and it makes your heart sink knowing it won’t be forever. Still, you try to reason with him while he’s there.

“There’s no time! I fit his type. This is our best option.”

“No, this is stupid and dangerous. You’re not going in there!” He’s gone again. 

“That’s not your call to make!” You snap. 

“Hotch no!” Spencer tries again.

“Kid, relax! This isn’t her first undercover mission.” Morgan attempts to calm Reid. “Plus we’ll all be there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Statistically–”

“For God’s sake forget the fucking statistics! People’s lives are at stake!” You loudly end his tangent before it can begin. 

“Alright, everybody calm down!” Hotch speaks up, making it a point to stare down Spencer. 

He’d made his decision and Spencer can only stare back in disbelief, too breathless to argue. 

‘Like Morgan said, we’ll be there watching over you, along with some local law enforcement. You won’t be wired, but we’ll have a fail safe just in case you need backup earlier than expected. We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to work.” The unit chief asserts. 

Before anyone can make any further moves, Spencer storms out of the room. JJ runs after him, assuring Hotch that she’ll take care of it. The rest of you break off to your assigned tasks, preparing for the operation that night. 

“Spence! Slow down!” She yells, chasing him all the way outside the precinct. 

He’s breathing too fast, practically on the edge of hyperventilating. He pushes his hair back with both of his hands, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. 

“Spence what the hell is going on with you?” JJ pants, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Me?!” Spencer yanks himself away from her. “What the hell is going on with all of you?! You’re all insane for allowing her to do this!”

“She’s a grown woman and a trained agent! This is her decision. She knows what she’s getting herself into.” JJ reminds him. 

“Well it’s not a very smart decision! She shouldn’t be making decisions this…this reckless!” He shrieks. 

“Okay you need to calm down!” JJ sternly states. 

“Jennifer, do not tell me to calm down! She’s about to make herself a direct target for a psychopathic sadist and you’re all just letting it happen!”

“So what? Should we let some innocent woman become his next target?” 

“No! I’m not saying we should– just– why does it have to be her?!” The emphasis on his last word gives him away, JJ picks up on it instantly. 

“That’s what this is about? C’mon you know better than this.” She relaxes her shoulders. “Spencer, we all care about her. We all want her to be safe. And she will be as long as we separate out feelings from–”

“Feelings? This has nothing to do with how I feel–”

“Okay stop! Stop! God!” JJ huffs with pauses between her words. “I am so sick of this! This is clearly about your feelings. The past four months have all been about–”

She smacks her hands against her face as she takes a deep breath, a display of frustration. 

“Listen to me.” She commands, exhausted from the back and forth. “It’s clear that you two care deeply for each other, whether you’re willing to admit it or not. Neither of you will talk about whatever it is that’s caused this rift– fine! But don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet now that she’s leaving?”

Spencer freezes. 

“...Leaving?” He repeats, taken off guard. 

JJ takes a moment to read his expression. 

“She didn’t tell you?” JJ mutters, still scanning his face. 

“What– what are you…” He can’t find the words, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to process her words.

“She’s resigning, Spencer. She’s leaving the FBI.” JJ can’t hide how she’s surprised that you haven’t shared this with him. 

“No, that's not possible. She loves this job. Why would she leave?” Denial is his first response.

Spencer thinks over your possible motivations and can only land on the obvious. You’d only leave if you grew to hate the job. 

Did he do this? Did he make you hate it?

“We were all surprised when she first told us, I mean, it came out of nowhere.”

“We?” He rubs his temple, anticipating a possible migraine from the bomb that just dropped on him. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you guys known?” He balefully sighs, trying his hardest to not misplace his anger. 

“It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

He had no one to be angry at, but himself.

“A day? Maybe two? She told us individually. Honestly with this case I haven’t had time to wrap my head around it.” JJ honestly reveals. 

So not long. Maybe you were still making your way around to telling him? You wouldn’t just leave without so much as telling him, would you?

A few months ago, Spencer would’ve confidently answered no. Today he was sure that you would. He so badly hoped that he was wrong. 

“Spence, look, we can talk about this later. But right now, you need to make sure you’re able to stay objective. Can you do that?”

He nods relentlessly, tucking his hair behind his ears. A habit he adapted early in life. It was an indicator of the gears turning in his head. JJ gives him a few more minutes outside before guiding him back in to help with preparations. Spencer absentmindedly performed his tasks, but all he could think about was you. 

You’re leaving and he’s the only person you hadn’t disclosed this information to. Abandonment was a feeling he was all too used to, but he never imagined that you’d abandon him. He knows that he can only blame himself, but he still can’t help the irritation that’s creeping in his veins. 

Even as he straps up his hidden bullet proof vest hours later, he can’t push the sentiment away. You were setting yourself up as bait for one of the most dangerous types of serial killers. On top of purposely putting yourself in direct line danger, you were leaving without telling him. He would’ve showed up to work one day and you’d be gone.

Right now he stands just a few feet away from you and you don’t look toward him once. No one would be able to guess that you’re undercover. It’s amazing how you’ve managed to transform yourself from supervisory special agent to a regular socialite and party girl in a couple of hours.

If he could overcome the hurt he feels at the moment, he might see how breathtaking you look. Then again, you always appear breathtaking to him. Before he knows it, he’s walked right up to you. You don’t feel his presence looming behind you until you bump into him when you turn around. 

“Shit Spencer!” You jump, mostly because of the nerves from the upcoming night. 

He’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“Don’t start! I’m not in the mood.” You brush him off and disappear out of sight.

It was like that for much of the preparations. He’d muster the courage to try and talk to you, and you’d walk away. Much like how Spencer would avoid you when your friendship first fell apart. 

“Everybody in position?” Hotch inquires through his ear piece. 

“Affirmative.” Morgan gives the greenlight for your entry into the club. 

You made your way to the bar, making it a point to sit alone. You didn’t have to wait long. Archie Carter, 36, cheated on by his ex fiance before their wedding. She ran away with another man because Archie failed to keep his sadistic traits hidden and it scared her off. Torturing and murdering women who looked like her was his way of giving her a real reason to be scared. 

This was all information Garcia found after it was nearly too late. He’d managed to get you on the dance floor, subtly injecting you with the GHB. You didn’t even feel him do it. To everybody else it just seemed like you were playing your part really well on the dance floor, when in reality you were struggling to stand up. You couldn’t give out any signals and he was able to slip you away into the back alley under the noses of five FBI agents. 

It was Spencer who’d found you fighting for your life against Archie’s grip around your throat. Spencer, who put the bullet in Archie’s head after being unable to talk him down. Spencer who kneeled above you, begging you to come back as he began CPR. If he’d found you any later you might’ve been gone for good. 

Pissed was an understatement.

At the piece of shit that almost ripped you away from the world. At Hotch and the team for not listening. At himself for being right. Not you though, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t pissed at you. He was terrified. Both for you and for almost losing you. 

You had to stay a few extra days in Anchorage, bound to your hospital room. The team refused to fly back without you, each of them taking turns to keep you company. They all felt an immense amount of guilt but you reassured them that it wasn’t their fault. Your tongue grew tired of reminding them that this was a part of the job. Rossi joked that it was a good thing you were leaving it all behind in that case and it stung more than you were willing to admit. 

In your brush with death you came to the revelation that you didn’t want to leave, but hearing Spencer’s voice lull you back to him confirmed that you needed to. You couldn’t bring yourself to hear him talk everyday and not be the person he was talking to. It was why you had basically barred him from visiting you during your recovery there. Seeing his face was more than you could handle at the time. Not seeing yours weighed on him, because he needed to see if you were okay.

Physically, he knew you’d be fine once the doctors confirmed it. Mentally, he knew all too well of the repercussions that came with almost dying directly by the hands of an unsub. You’d been discharged and cleared fifty eight hours after you were admitted, and the team was ready to fly back a few hours later. All the signs of being less than okay were there. He recognised them as soon as he saw you board the jet. 

Besides the obvious bruises collaring your neck, there was some minor swelling that lingered. That wasn’t his biggest concern. It was the smile plastered on you when you put on your ‘I’m okay’ act for the others. Your eyes, like always, gave you away. You were already trying to sweep everything under the rug. Less than a few minutes after take off you isolated yourself in the back. You’d been doing that a lot in your recent cases. 

It irked him how everybody just let you. He decided right then that he wasn’t going to. He didn’t care how much you hate him, he was going to ensure that you came out of this truly okay. You were mindlessly staring out the window, counting the clouds, listening to the music playing through your headphones. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. You’d felt like that since you came to, in the alley. 

It took you a second to understand that you were actually being watched, turning to find Spencer in the previously empty seat across from you. 

“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me.” You snark, ripping off your headphones, still recovering from the small jump scare.

“Sorry.” He chuckles out of habit.

You unintentionally smile at the sound and find yourself staring in his eyes. 

“Are–” He falters as he thinks the question over in his head. “Is there anything I can get you?”

You’re taken aback, not expecting those words. You had a script prepared to waive off questions about your well being. He knows you better than that, throwing you off course as usual.

“What do you want?” You grumble, accepting that you couldn’t get past him.

“I want to know if there’s anything I can get you.” He repeats in a low tone. 

There he is again. The Spencer you know and love. Your heart threatens to leap.

“If this is to clear some guilty conscience, don’t bother.” You verbally guard yourself. “I’m fine.”

It would be a lie if he said his reasoning was completely selfless. He was hardly able to keep away from you without feeling like he was drowning, but it was nothing compared to how he felt when he thought he may have lost you forever. The feeling didn’t last very long, he was able to revive you within a few seconds, but never feeling like that again would be too soon. 

Spencer believed in two things; statistics and facts. One fact he refused to ignore any longer is that he couldn’t live without you. He quietly opened that satchel that still clung across his torso, fishing out some pain killers and an unopened water bottle. 

“I know you probably forgot to take yours out of your bag.” He ignores your previous comment and slides the items across the table to you. 

Your gaze lingers on the items in front of you, but your hands stay folded in your lap as you piece everything together. 

“You know.” You whisper. 

“Were you going to tell me?” He gulps after a beat of silence. 

“Does it matter?” You're quick to respond.

“I wanna hear it from you.” He’s just as fast. 

You look up from the leaf of pills, he’s already surveilling you. It’s a short lived staring contest because your focus shifts behind him to Hotch, who’s observing this encounter from the kitchenette on the other end. Spencer continues waiting on you for a response but you stand up, ready to walk away. It dawns on you when you see your supervisor that technically you hadn’t officially resigned yet. The paperwork never got started because this case took priority and that was a detail you needed to sort out right away.

“Don’t go.” Spencer pleads when you take your first step.

Was it a request to sit back down or to stay with the BAU? You didn’t bother to clarify, he had no right to ask for either. 

You let out a deep, exasperated sigh as you lie curled up in your warm sheet, scowling at the floor beneath you. It seemed that the universe (your friends) had it out to delay your departure as much as possible. It’s been four days since your return from Anchorage and you’ve been stuck in your apartment since Hotch dropped you off here. He’s ordered mandatory time off for your recovery, meaning the paperwork has to wait. 

You could be using this time in a more productive manner. You could be searching for a new job. And a new place to live. You should be trying to figure out where this new place would be. You never actually thought that far ahead. In your haste to run away, you forgot to plan your next steps. You’ve convinced yourself that you can’t do any of it until the forms are filled out. 

The ‘universe’ isn’t the only thing delaying you. 

If you really wanted to, you could have everything emailed to you. You can have it done online, but there are two major problems. The first is pretty straight forward; you’re not ready to leave. You know that this is the best course of action for everybody, but your brain and your heart are at an impasse. You’ve dedicated years to this job because you love this job. Unfortunately, you love Spencer more, which means that staying is going to drive you to hate your job. 

The other reason is slightly more nuanced and you don’t want to think about it, opting to let your impasse be the reason for your lack of motivation to do anything other than bed rotting. It’s not as bad as it seems, it’s more self care than anything. Your body’s telling you it needs to rest and you’re simply obliging. Plus, it couldn’t be that serious if you still had bursts when you had to keep up appearances. You have to be okay if you’re able to force yourself to open the front door for your coworkers when they come to check on you. You really weren’t that miserable if you managed to smile and laugh for their short visits. 

And it’s not like you’re truly rotting. You showered quite often, you actually just had your second one today. You were definitely okay if you could manage to keep up with hygiene. It’s not excessive, you need to scrub the purple away. You know that’s not how it works, but you can’t stand to look at the parts of your neck where his hands were wrapped around. If you close your eyes for long enough you can still feel him squeezing until–

You’re okay.

No, you’re irritated. The incessant knocking on your front door won’t stop no matter how much you ignore it. You were relieved when evening came. It meant that normal visiting hours were over and you could rest today. If it wasn’t any of your usual visitors then it had to be stranger. The thought made you uneasy, you hesitated to answer it at all. 

You can’t live in fear all the time. 

The door eventually opens and Spencer sees you for the first time in days. He actually tried to check on you earlier, but Penelope insisted everybody stick to her roster so you don’t get overwhelmed. The circles under your eyes were almost as dark as his, you hadn’t been getting much sleep. The swelling around your throat was almost all gone, but the bruising wasn’t healing like he expected it to. 

“Spencer…what are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse. 

“I brought take out.” He gently dangles a bag of food in front of him, his voice high, but quiet. 

You can practically smell the contents of the bag, nostalgia hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was your favourite thing to order on the days he’d come over for movie nights. Before Spencer showed you a side of him you didn’t know existed. It felt like a taunt, like he was twisting the metaphorical knife he plunged in your heart. It made you sick.

“I already ate.” You lie, mustering a dull smile on your face.

Spencer swallows and bites the inside of his cheek, not taking his eyes off you. Trying to think of the best way to call you out without causing you to shun him. 

“We can do something else until you’re hungry again.” He gives a tight lipped smile and raises his furrowed brows, like he’s pleading for you to accept his offer.

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry anytime soon.” You awkwardly laugh– well it’s close to a laugh if not for your strained vocal chords. 

“Can I come in anyway? We can put on a movie.” He’s using the voice he used to when trying to comfort you or convince you of something. Soft, low, steady. It’s a stark contrast to the voice you’ve been hearing for the last ten days. 

Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.

Tears threaten the composure you’re working so hard to maintain.

“Why are you really here?” You sigh, unable to stick with the pleasantries. 

“I told you.” He emphasises the bag of food in his hands again. “Take out. Maybe a movie–”

“Cut the shit.” You assert, harshly. “You can tell Penelope that you came to see me so she gets off your back, but please stop pretending like you care.”

“That’s…is that why you think I’m here?” His shoulders drop.

“Isn’t it?” You bite, your door now wide open as you lean against it for support. Your legs are aching to curl into your chest again. 

“No.” His reply is short and clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Why? There’s nothing in it for you.” You scoff, blinking from confusion. “Unless…is this some sick game? Seeing me like this– knowing that I’m– are you trying to gloat?”

“Gloat?” He repeats in almost a whisper, the hurt in his voice evident.

“Relish, rejoice, rub it in, I don’t know. You’re the walking thesaurus.”

He can tell from your lax posture that you're amused. Your back is against your door, hands behind your back and you’re leaning forward a bit as you stare at the ground. Not caring that your words cut deep.

Is this how low you think he is?

“Why would I be enjoying this?” His hopeful smile drops entirely as he tries to understand you. 

“Call it epicaricacy.” You shrug. 

“Epicaricacy?” He mumbles in a whispered tone, like he’s trying to process what you said.

Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others.

Your eyes roll from how slow he’s acting and you have to hold yourself back from repeating the definition out loud.

“Do you honestly think I enjoy seeing you like this?” The change in pitch stings a bit. 

“No, I don’t think you like seeing me at all.” You half smirk up at him, sadness evident in your eyes. “Which brings us back to…why are you here Doc?”

“That’s not true.” He cringes, ignoring the second part.

“Not true?” You wiggle your brows sarcastically. 

“Not true.” He reaffirms, sighing deeply. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry.” You scoff again, shaking your head.

“I know that I’ve been unreasonable–”

“Unreasonable?” The tip of your tongue rolls against the back of your teeth, bewildered at his sheer audacity. 

“A dick! I’ve been a dick.” He corrects himself, desperate to have you hear him out. 

You tighten your jaw, inhaling lightly through your nose and your brows are raised as high as they can go. 

“I was hurt. Okay? I wash lashing out, but, I–” He takes a deep breath to stop himself, wanting to get to the point. “I know that I’ve been acting otherwise but, I care about you. And when I found you back there…I just…I know what you’re going through, even if you won’t admit it. I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Your expression softens as he speaks. Of course he knows. He knows you better than anyone. For a moment you consider allowing yourself to break down in his arms, like you would have once. It’s jarring, Spencer reverting to his former self after he saved your life. The comfort swiftly bubbles into anger. All your attempts for reconciliation were met with so much hostility before. It took you almost dying for him to care. It feels too little too late. The only thing you can think of as he stands next to you is all the ways he can further hurt you if you let him. You push off your door and stand straight, giggling bitterly. 

“Spencer, go home.” You say with the same bitterness. 

“Please–”

“Go home! I don’t want your pity!” You yell. It feels alleviating. “Do you honestly think that  anything changes just because you saved my life? Do you think it erases everything that’s happened in the past few months? Because it doesn’t! Things can’t go back to how they were simply because you feel bad that I almost died. It’s not a flip you can switch. You don’t just get to start caring!” 

You're heaving and he can only stare at the ground. He knows you’re right, except for the one crucial error in your speech. 

“I never stopped caring.” He mumbles.

This fucking idiot.

Enraged, sad, frustrated, confused; all emotions you’ve been suppressing that are now fighting to show at the same time. You take a step closer to him and he meets your eyes again. You can see that he’s holding back tears, same as you. It fuels you in a twisted way. You have an opportunity to hurt him the way he hurt you and you don’t let it go to waste.

“Don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work to see your face at work, I don’t want to see it in my personal time too.” 

You can’t stay to see the effects of his words thrown back at his face, your heart’s threatening to burst from how fast it’s racing. His jaw locks from how tense he is. He knows exactly why you said it, but it’s still hard to hear. You turn around and rush into your apartment, shutting the door on his face, leaving him standing there. You don’t make it too far inside, collapsing on the wooden floor with a choked sob. 

That didn’t make you feel as good as you thought it would. You hoped that maybe if you could make him feel at least a fraction of you’re feeling, you’d hurt less. It was more than just getting back at him for everything he’s done. You were unknowingly trying to punish him for what Archie Carter did too. It didn’t make you hurt any less, but at least you felt less alone in your hurt. 

He didn’t come back for the rest of your time off. Everybody continued to follow the roster, showing up on their days and bringing you ‘get well soon’ goodies. Penelope even invited herself over for a night's stay once. You didn’t have the heart to say no, but you found yourself counting the hours until you’d be alone again, free to wallow. The only respite you got for the next week was on Spencer’s days. You could expect to be left mostly alone, only a bag of take out accompanied by an eerily fitting quote sitting outside your door. 

You hate to admit that those were your favourite days. You had a chance to breathe and he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. You gave the food away in protest and the quote would go straight in the bin (once you read it). One final psych evaluation later you were cleared to come back. Not that you needed one since you didn’t plan to stay for long. It was really just a formality. By the time you returned only a few faded bruises remained, easy enough to cover with concealer. 

“You’re back! Ooh, it’s so good to see you!” Garcia was the first with a warm greeting and a tight hug. You reciprocated to the best of your ability. 

“Good to have you back, Pretty Girl.” Derek’s second, walking you through the bullpen as you make your way to Hotch’s office.

“Enjoy it while you can.” You giggle in reply. “Is Hotch in yet?”

“I see someone can’t wait to leave us.” Emily jokes, feigning a hurt look. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, he’s expecting you.” JJ laughs, slapping Emily’s arm playfully. 

“Thanks JJ!” You smile and they all watch you disappear behind the door. 

“So it’s official? She’s really leaving?” JJ questions through a half-hearted smile. 

“I asked Rossi and he said that Hotch is gonna ask her to stay until we find a replacement.” Emily replies, still eyeing the door. 

“How did you get Rossi to admit that?” JJ turns to the raven head, questioningly, and Emily smiles coyly giving no response. 

“Am I the only one who thinks this whole thing would end once they make up? I mean come on, we all know she’s leaving because of him, right?” Morgan looks at Spencer, who’s nose deep in a file at his desk. 

“Yeah, but we can’t help if they refuse to talk to us about it.” Emily sighs, hanging her head back. 

The three dive deeper into their discussion and you’re none the wiser from inside the cream-coloured walls of Hotch’s office. As per protocol, he’s just finished informing you of what’s next and you’re kind enough to accept his request to stay until they find a replacement. You definitely said yes because you want to make the team’s transition easier, not for any self indulgent reasons such as you not being ready to leave. 

“Just return this to me once you’ve filled it out.” He instructs as he hands you a file containing your resignation forms. 

“Thanks Hotch.” You smile, grabbing the file. 

You begin heading towards the door when he stops you by your name. 

“I understand that you’re set on this decision, but I am sad to see you go.” It’s insane how many emotions this man can get across while maintaining a blank expression. “However, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” 

“Thanks Hotch.” You playfully scoff, appreciating that even he has to try at least once. 

If one more person tries though, you might scream. It wasn’t easy, pretending that you weren’t crumbling inside. The extra pressure doesn’t make it any easier. You leave his office, closing the door behind you and approach your desk. The resignation forms are put aside for later as you still have to finish your case report from Anchorage. Part of you wanted to put it off until the last minute, the other part wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. 

“Coffee?” Penelope chirps, holding out a mug filled with the hot beverage. 

“Thanks Pen.” You smile up at her, taking it out of her hands. 

“No problem.” She smirks mischievously and trots off. 

A strange lady, but your strange lady.

Upon your first sip you almost choke it out. It was perfect. Exactly to your liking. Which would be a good thing, except only one person knows exactly how you like it. Back when you first joined, you learned how popular coffee was with all the employees. You felt out of place because you weren’t a massive fan of the drink and you avoided too much sugar because it made you feel sick. You soon discovered that you liked it a lot more with honey instead. It was a weird preference, but it worked for you, making it sweet without overpowering your senses like sugar did. 

You never declined a cup when offered by your colleagues, not wanting to dishearten them. It was Spencer who caught you sneaking honey into your cup when you thought no one was paying attention. He never mentioned anything to you, but the next time he returned with a cup to offer, you couldn’t help but the smile that adorned your face for the rest of the day. It was why you dedicated yourself to morning breakfast runs for him, memorising his coffee order as a silent thank you. Neither of you ever talked about it. 

You spin your seat around to find Spencer engaged in conversation with Rossi. You consider walking past him and dumping the beverage in the sink to make a point, but it was a welcome energiser for the dreadful task at hand. Plus you aren’t wasteful. You spin back around and decide to accept it just this once. 

When he’s sure you’re no longer looking he sets his sights back on you. A small smile forms across his lips when he sees you drink the coffee. He honestly expected you to throw it away. He feared that if he was the one to deliver the mug, you’d throw it on him. It was why he convinced Garcia to do it, bribing her by promising to buy a round of drinks on the next night out. 

“Kid, are you even listening?” Rossi scolds in an incredulous way. 

As the hours pass, your frustration grows. You couldn’t get yourself to write the details of the case. Your mind refused to think about it. You had hoped that taking breaks would make it easier, but everytime you returned to the page your head went blank.

“Need some help?” Spencer asks, spawning next to you.

“Christ, Reid!” You blurt, startled. “I thought I told you to stop doing that.” 

“Sorry.” He chuckles as if on cue. 

You glare at him expectantly. He doesn’t say anything, glancing between you and the unfinished case file, waiting for an answer. 

“No thanks.” You keep it short, hoping he takes the hint. 

“Let me know if you do.” He doesn’t. 

“You wouldn’t even be the last person I’d ask if I did.” You snark. 

“But you would eventually?” He stays calm, almost playful. 

Smart ass. 

You choose to ignore him, be the bigger person and all that. Even though he wasn’t antagonising you. 

“Thanks for the coffee.” It’s forceful gratitude. You weren’t feeling grateful, but you still had manners. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Don’t make it again.” 

“I will not.” He grins and walks away to his desk. 

You act like you don’t know he’s watching you work. Looking up often to find you stuck on the same page. Even if he knew that you know, he didn’t plan to stop. What he does know is that you’d never directly let him help you. He doesn’t care. There weren’t any new cases this week, so a ton of paperwork was to be expected. It’s taunting enough to write down details of your own assault, the extra paperwork would only add more stress. You’re too busy trying to push through the mental blockade to notice the sudden influx of files on his desk and the efflux on yours. 

What you didn’t miss was how the next cup of coffee you were offered was just as perfect as the one from before. 

“I thought I told you to stop with the coffee, Reid.” You lightly slam the paper cup on Spencer’s desk. 

He leans back in his seat and chews on his lip with an entertained smirk. 

“And I did. That’s not from me.” He’s earnest with his response.

“Oh, so JJ just happens to know my coffee preferences all of a sudden?” You sarcastically retort, crossing your arms.

“No.” He crosses his fingers across his lap. “I told her how you like your coffee when she said she was going on a coffee run.”

“And why did you do that?” You play along, unenthusiastically. 

“Because you told me to stop doing it.” He states in the most casual way possible. 

This was getting you nowhere. It was naive to think he’d let you spend your last few weeks here peacefully. Scratch that– he was being peaceful. Too peaceful. A new tactic to get under your skin?

“Stop. It.” The delivery of your words is slow and emphasised. 

“Stop doing exactly what you’ve told me to?”

You bite your tongue and glare at him. His face, shoulders, arms, everything, is relaxed. You can’t even argue with him. You take a moment to consider how bad it would be if you bashed his head in with the back of your gun. Then you take another to critique how easy it is to pass the psych evals. They should really think about the consequences of using questions the BAU wrote on actual BAU agents. 

After that day you went back to ignoring him. Any time coffee was offered you’d decline altogether. If he attempted to try and talk to you, you’d respond with yes or no for the sake of professionalism. This didn’t deter Spencer though. He gave you your space but kept a close eye on you, continuing to try and ease your burdens from afar. Exactly how he used to. 

This only lasted until the next case came in. Specifically until you were back out on the field, where he perceived you to be in high amounts of danger. You tolerated it because it gave you comfort, not that you’d ever tell him. Having Spencer by your side made it easier to deal with the reality that there’s little you can do if another incident like Anchorage occurred. 

Plus focusing your energy on ignoring him kept the flashbacks away. Or it did, until the take down. You once again found yourself in danger from an unsub, only this time the situation was controlled. All guns were pointed at the killer, except for the one that was pointed at you. The plan was simple: you talk down the unsub, take him back to the station and talk him into exposing his partner. 

Everything was going according to plan, until Spencer realised that one of the cops in the room was his partner and he was about to shoot you. Nobody understood what happened before the situation calmed down. Spencer had fired the first shot towards the dirty cop and immediately tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the hail of bullets that followed after. All you remember clearly is freezing up, clinging to the man on top of you. One moment you were screaming out, trying to make sure that he was okay and the next you were back in the alley behind the bar, fighting for your life. 

You didn’t comprehend anything until the panic attack subsided but Spencer was fine. His vest caught the bullets. Both unsubs were dead. Rossi and Prentiss came to the realisation the same time as Spencer and were quick to react. And you weren’t in the alley. You were in Spencer’s arms as he led you away from the scene when it was safe. 

When you snapped out of it the medics had cleared him of any injuries. He tried to approach you during your check up, but you shoved him away, unable to even look at him. The only thing you remember clearly is Hotch sending you all back to your hotel rooms before tomorrow’s flight back. You should be asleep right now, if not from the exhaustion of today’s events alone, then from how long you spent reassuring everybody that you were okay. 

You couldn’t sleep. Not when so many thoughts were occupying your headspace. This is the second time Spencer’s saved your life, in the span of roughly a month. The first time he’s put his life in direct danger to save yours. Had it not been for his vest he would be dead. The more you linger on it, the angrier you’d become. You were also wearing a vest, you would’ve been fine. What he did was unnecessary and reckless. 

What if the bullet missed the vest? Entered through the side? What was he thinking?

You were mentally fighting the urge to barge into his room and yell at him for his stupidity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. What happens to him is not your problem anymore. You aren’t going to let your guard down just because he’s an idiot.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, Reader almost dies, Reader and Spencer are pissing me off, bc they’re so dumb, angst, hurt no comfort, Reader gets a little revenge.

AN - Before you comment ANYTHING, there is one more part. It’ll be posted a lot sooner than this one was. Writing this made me realise how limited the English language is. There’s only so many words to use and ways to write them. If either part sounds repetitive at times, it’s not my fault!!! Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

If you comment you garner good karma for yourself and that could lead to you meeting MGG someday (I’m not liable if this never happens), think about that... 

Thank you for reading!

[steddieas-shegoes]

Requests: Steve adopting an abandoned child post earthquake in Hawkins after the spring break from hell. And him realizing all the ways he was hurt as a child due to his parents neglect. And how he overcomes it and raises his baby-child with gentleness, warmth, patience and love

OKAY GENUINELY I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS PROMPT AND IT STILL WASN'T AS MUCH AS I WANTED TO DO. FAIR WARNING: this is an emotional roller coaster. It ends HAPPY. But there are a lot of sad and bittersweet moments and feelings leading up to that moment. There is the mention of child neglect, and that can be difficult for some people to read, even with a happy ending, so please keep that in mind before starting this. Also, this is not how the law or CPS works at all, and it wasn't in the 80s either, but this is fiction and I do what I want. I hope someone can continue this idea somewhere because it is so special to me now. This is 6200 words of me not knowing how to wrap it up with a bow. I hope you love this my darling, thank you for this one. - Mickala ❤️

----------------------------------------------

Steve spent the last 12 hours pacing the waiting room floor at the hospital. He’d promised the kids he would stay until there was an update on Eddie and Max, and their parents had insisted they go home after they’d been quickly attended to for their minor injuries.

Max was stable, but not awake. They weren’t sure if she ever would be again. Steve passed that on to Nancy so she could call everyone.

Eddie finally made it out of surgery, alive, but barely.

He’d lost a lot of blood and they weren’t able to give him a transfusion until Wayne got there to donate.

It was touch and go for another few hours in recovery.

But things calmed down a bit, his heart rate settling at a normal rate, his oxygen maintaining where it should be with the mask on, the bleeding stopped and his blood regenerating on its own.

He wasn’t awake, but he was alive.

That was enough for Wayne and Hopper to kick him out of the hospital and make him go home.

“Shower. Eat. Sleep. In that order, Harrington,” Hopper said, the gruffness in his voice overruled by the concern.

He was up to speed on everything he missed, and he wasn’t thrilled about how much Steve had put on the line for everyone.

So Steve left, even though he wanted to stay, needed to have eyes on Eddie, on Max.

He had to trust that they were being taken care of.

He made it home, did two of the three things Hopper told him to. His shower was long and hot, finally able to wash away the blood and dirt and Upside Down particles that clung to his skin for the last couple of days. His dinner was quick and unfulfilling, but frozen meals usually are.

And then he did try to sleep. He tried on the couch first, his usual go-to spot after crises. Then he tried to go to his bed, hoping the weight of his comforter would help lull him to sleep.

But two hours later, he was still wide awake.

So he got up, put on jeans and a sweater, and made his way to the school, where emergency services had been set up.

It was chaotic, still very little organization amongst groups. The firefighters had been dispatched all over town, and most medical professionals had been called into the hospital or to help EMTs on calls. A handful of teachers had been put in charge of the check-in process here, making sure anyone who came through was on a list of survivors first, then sent to help where they were needed if they were able.

Steve was able, so he put his name on the list and was told to stand with a group at the far corner of the gym. Everyone in this group was waiting for a dispatch crew of firefighters to come get them to help locate survivors.

They were given vests, gloves, and helmets to wear, and given quick safety briefings. They were told not to move any rubble, that if they suspected someone was under some, to call for the professionals. They were just extra eyes and ears because everyone was stretched too thin for a disaster of this magnitude and help from local towns was slow to arrive.

Steve figured this would help him, if he stayed busy and managed to help people, he wouldn’t think about how helpless he was when it came to Max and Eddie.

The first location they were dropped at was a small neighborhood on the outskirts of town. Most of the homes had been completely demolished, cracks in the ground swallowing pieces of them. If there were any survivors here, they would be in desperate need of medical attention.

But after nearly four hours of searching, only one person was found, their leg trapped under a large wooden beam. The leg was broken, but they were fine other than that.

Steve felt relief that nothing more serious had happened there.

But the second area was worse.

It wasn’t a neighborhood, just a small wooded area surrounding two homes a good distance apart. Surprisingly, the homes were still standing, but everything around them was destroyed. Fires had been only recently extinguished, downed trees and power lines blocking most of the driveway and road in front of them.

“This should be relatively quick, both homes are empty and cars are gone, so we think everyone managed to get out safely, but we do need to be sure,” the firefighter in charge of this group said before leading them forward.

The smaller of the two houses was empty, though a mess, like the occupants had rushed to pack necessities and threw anything else on the ground as they rushed to get out.

The other home, though, was surprisingly clean. Kept up in a way Steve wouldn’t have expected for the panic most people showed while escaping town.

Everyone assumed maybe the occupants hadn’t even been home when the quake hit.

But Steve decided to go upstairs anyway.

Something was telling him this wasn’t normal.

It felt familiar in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge yet.

No one else followed him, all of the volunteers congregating in the living room area to discuss their next location before heading back to the school for a break.

Steve followed his gut, and his gut told him to check the bedroom at the end of the hall.

He opened the door, not surprised to see that nothing seemed strange at first glance.

Then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, under the bed.

He would’ve checked there anyway, that’s where he would have hidden in this kind of situation, too.

“I guess this place is all clear,” Steve said, quiet enough not to be heard by anyone downstairs yet, but loud enough to be heard by the person under the bed.

“Wait!”

It was a kid, Steve figured as much based on the items on the desk in the corner and the poster on the wall.

The small boy crawled out from under the bed, panic on his face.

“Are you gonna take me to my parents?” The boy asked, lips wobbling.

“I’m gonna try. I’m Steve, what’s your name?”

“Elliott.”

“Nice to meet you, Elliott. How old are you?”

“Nine.”

Jesus Christ. Where had his parents even been? Why weren’t they looking for him?

He hoped they were on their way back and just stuck trying to get into town.

But a part of him had already known that wasn’t true. A part of him knew the moment they pulled into the area that he’d find someone left here, someone who shouldn’t have ever been alone.

“Alright, Elliott, let’s get you back to the school. We can put your name on the list so your parents can find you easier, okay? I can stay with you until they get here.”

“I don’t know if they will.”

Steve’s heart stopped for a moment.

Sure, his parents never came back after the Upside Down bullshit, but he’d been a teenager and adult. They probably assumed he wasn’t involved in any of it and was fine.

But Elliott was nine. Even his parents would have come back for him at that age.

They never should have left him alone to begin with, but even they knew the trouble they’d be in for leaving him at that age after a fucking earthquake.

“Of course they will, buddy. It’s just hard getting into Hawkins right now, you’ll see on our way back.”

He placed his hand on Elliott’s shoulder, not surprised when he tensed up under him for a moment before he relaxed.

Steve hadn’t been used to casual touch until he met Nancy.

But Elliott deserved to feel cared for right now, so he kept his hand there, let him get used to it for a moment, and then guided him out the door and down the stairs.

Most of the group had moved back outside, but a few people remained.

One of the few women in the group looked over at his entrance, her jaw dropping when she saw he had a child with him.

“Oh my God!”

Steve held his hand up, knowing Elliott probably didn’t want to draw a lot of attention to himself.

“He’s okay. He managed to find a safe place to hide. His parents might be looking for him though so we should get him back,” Steve said calmly.

No one crowded him, but the firefighter waiting by the van that was transporting everyone checked his heart and lungs, made sure he didn’t have any visible wounds or injuries.

Elliott didn’t let go of Steve the entire time, his hand gripping his forearm like he was terrified to lose him among the group.

Steve didn’t try to pull away, not once.

He knew Elliott needed someone. He could be that someone for him.

—-------------

When they arrived back at the school, they put his name on the list, and since he was a minor, they had him go to one of the classrooms that was being watched over by security while they tried to contact his parents.

He told them they left for a business trip over a week ago, he didn’t know when they would be back, and his aunt checked on him every morning, but he hadn’t seen her since the quake.

Steve stood by as he spoke to the responsible adults, not letting Elliott out of his sight.

Elliott begged for Steve to come with him to wait while they tried to locate his parents, so he did.

He realized pretty quickly that Elliott must not have slept last night; He curled against Steve’s side on the floor almost immediately and fell asleep, light snores making Steve smile to himself.

The floor was hard, the wall behind him was somehow harder, but he wouldn’t move short of another emergency.

They stayed like that for hours, kids coming and going as more were found and reunited with their families.

Elliott was the youngest one left in the room, all the other kids high school age.

When one of the men from the group he was in earlier came in the room to get another kid, he asked if there was any update on Elliott.

“Nah, they’re still trying to find them. The aunt um…” The guy looked nervously down at the sleeping Elliott. “She didn’t make it. Was on her way to try to get him when another crack hit the road she was driving on, car crashed. They contacted the dad’s business and were told he’s out of the country and won’t be returning calls until next week.”

“How long are they gonna make him stay here while they figure it out?”

“No clue, man. I’ll ask someone.”

But he didn’t come back and Elliott deserved something better than the floor to sleep on.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve said, gently nudging his shoulder to wake him up. “Sorry, just gotta run and ask someone something real quick.”

Elliott grabbed his shirt, holding it in his fist tightly.

“Don’t go! Please,” he begged, tears welling in his eyes.

Steve’s heart broke.

He’d been this kid for so much of his childhood, practically begging people to stick around so he didn’t have to be drenched in loneliness again.

He knew he would be right back, but to Elliott, especially after the quake, he probably felt like anyone who left would be gone forever.

“Come with me. We’ll find you some dinner while I find out how things are going.”

He stood up, his legs numb from sitting on the floor so long, and helped Elliott find his balance after waking up so abruptly.

They left the room, the security nodding them on when he saw Steve was with him, and walked down the hall to the cafeteria area.

They were serving ham and cheese sandwiches, bags of chips, and water for everyone. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.

If he could find a phone, maybe he could get Robin to bring him and Elliott more food.

Elliott shyly thanked the person handing out the meals, and Steve slowly guided him to an empty table while his eyes searched for anyone he recognized.

He almost did a happy dance when he saw Dustin and Claudia across the room.

“Hey, that’s actually my friend and his mom. Can you wait here while I grab them?”

Elliott nodded nervously, clearly only letting him walk away because he would be within his sight the entire time.

Steve ran over to them, wincing slightly when the bite on his stomach started pulsing. Probably should take it easier while that healed.

“Dustin!” Steve exclaimed as he got closer.

Dustin’s head shot around, smile lighting up his face as he realized it was Steve.

“Dude! Everyone’s been trying to find you for hours. Have you been here all day?”

“Kinda. I came to help with searching and I found a kid earlier. They’re trying to find his parents, but he’s been kind of attached to me.”

“Damn, I hope they find them soon. Phone lines keep going down. You seen Hopper come by yet?”

“No, has he gotten any sleep yet?”

“Doubt it. Ma, do you have any cookies left for Steve?”

Claudia came bustling over, digging through her purse as she walked.

“Oh, I’m sure I do! Hi, Steve, dear. Hope you’re doing okay in all this madness.”

“I’m doing alright,” Steve gave her a small smile as she managed to find the cookies and hand them over. “Hey, do you know the parents of Elliott Devers?”

“Oh, I know of them, sure. Only met them once, they never seem to be in town. He’s a sweet boy, his aunt seems to take care of him most of the time.”

Steve filled her in on what he knew so far, that Elliott’s aunt had died, that no one could reach his parents, that he’d been alone in the house for at least a full day before Steve found him.

That Elliott didn’t seem to want to be separated from Steve.

Dustin was watching him talk, eyebrows furrowing like he was trying to think of something.

“Wait, his dad’s the guy who was under investigation for tax evasion, fraud, and identity theft, isn’t he?”

Steve’s stomach dropped.

His brain made connections that only children of rich parents can in a matter of seconds.

His parents ran to another country on “business” because that was the only way they were allowed to leave while he was under investigation. No one could reach them because they gave fake information so they could go into hiding. Because he was guilty of all of the things he was under investigation for and didn’t want to lose everything and end up in prison.

Fuck.

Claudia must have realized the same thing, a deep frown settling on her face.

“Elliott is the boy sitting at that table?” She asked as she pointed towards him.

He was watching them as he ate, eyes wide as he kept glancing around the room.

Steve nodded.

“If they ran, and they aren’t coming back, where will he go?” Steve asked.

“I’m sure he’ll be placed with a family who can take him until they can figure out a more permanent place, but that may be hard right now with so many people leaving Hawkins. He may have to leave town,” Claudia said, though Steve could tell she was trying to figure out how to take him in, even if only for a few days.

“What would I have to do to keep him while they keep looking?”

“Oh, that’s a question for Hopper, sweetie. I’m not sure you’d fit the requirements, even though I think he’d be very lucky to get to stay with you,” Claudia touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze in comfort.

“Is he coming by?”

“Hopper? Yes, he just got done at the hospital handling some things for Edward,” Claudia said.

“Eddie, Ma, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“The tone! Watch it!” Steve said before Claudia could respond.

She smirked at Steve, then gave Dustin a look that said she wasn’t going to listen to him and walked away.

“I gotta go with her, she’s bringing dinner to Wayne at the hospital.”

“Is Eddie awake?”

“Not yet, but they think it could be anytime. They said the drugs in his system are heavy enough to keep him out for a while.”

“But he seems okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Max?”

He almost didn’t want to ask, but he had to.

“No news.”

Steve nodded once, acknowledging that Dustin didn’t want to talk about it right now, that it was tough to even think about how she was probably not gonna wake up anytime soon if ever.

“Hey, come by my house tomorrow, okay? We can watch a movie or somethin’.”

“Sure.”

Steve gave Dustin a quick hug before making his way back to Elliott, who looked like he might start crying any moment.

“Hey, buddy. Sorry that took longer than I thought, but…” Steve pulled the bag of cookies from behind his back with a smile. “I got cookies! Claudia makes the best chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. You’ll love them.”

Elliott relaxed a little, smiling up at Steve as he reached for the bag of cookies.

“Is she nice? She looks nice.”

“She’s awesome. She always brings me soup if I’m sick.”

“Is that what moms do? My aunt sometimes does, but she doesn’t know how to make the kind I like.”

Steve bit his lip.

“What kind do you like?”

“My favorite is tomato and noodles. She can only make chicken noodle. It’s okay, but sometimes it has a funny taste.”

Steve smiled at him, glad he was at least talking, even if what he was saying was heartbreaking.

“I’m sure Claudia can make you some tomato and noodles. I’ll call and ask.”

“But not now, right?”

Elliott’s voice filled with panic, his eyes widening.

“No, I’m staying with you right now. The chief should be here soon and we can figure out what’s going on, okay?”

“Like, the chief of police? You know him?”

“Yeah, Hopper’s nice. Don’t let his mean face scare you. He’s kind of a teddy bear.”

“Excuse you, I’m not a teddy bear. I’m a grizzly bear,” Hopper said behind Steve.

Elliott laughed, and Hopper tried to hide a small smile. Teddy bear.

“Are you Elliott?” Elliott nodded. “Can we go talk for a few minutes just us? I promise Steve can wait right outside the door.”

Hopper gave Steve a look that said he was about to ruin this kid’s day as if it didn’t already suck enough.

“Um, can Steve come in the room too?”

“If you want him to, sure.”

“I want him to.”

“Okay then, let’s go.”

Steve grabbed everything off the tables, throwing the trash away on the walk towards the teacher’s lounge area that had been set up for the cops to conduct phone calls and interviews as needed.

It was empty now, probably thanks to Hopper taking control quickly.

They sat down around a table, Elliott’s hand finding Steve’s quickly.

“Alright, Elliott, so I have a few questions and then I have some news,” Hopper started, his voice maintaining no emotion the way he’d been taught.

“Okay.”

“How long have your parents been gone this time?”

“I dunno. A week, maybe a little longer.”

“And you were alone that whole time?”

Elliott looked to Steve, like he needed help to answer, but Steve just smiled at him and mouthed ‘just be honest, you’re not in trouble.’

“Most of the time. My aunt came to check on me in the mornings and bring me food for the day.”

“Aunt Janice?”

“Yeah.”

“Bud, I’m sorry to tell ya this, but your Aunt Janice was in a really bad accident and didn’t make it,” Hopper’s voice started to show some emotion, but Steve squeezed Elliott’s hand so he wouldn’t focus on that.

“She died?”

“Yeah, bud. I’m sorry.”

“But who will bring me food in the morning?”

Steve couldn’t do this. Holy shit, he could not do this. How was Hopper able to do this?

“Well, we still haven’t been able to call your parents. Do you know exactly where they might be?”

“I don’t know. They don’t tell me where they go.”

Steve and Hopper looked at each other.

Hopper knew Steve had been in a similar position when he was younger, but no one checked on him. Hopper had often been the one to show up at his door during his early teens to make sure he had food and wasn’t hurt.

“What if he stayed with me until you find them?” Steve asked Hopper.

Elliott turned to him.

“I can stay with you?” He asked excitedly.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that. There’s a process for this kinda thing,” Hopper began.

“Then start the process. He’s staying with me,” Steve said firmly, not caring if he sounded rude, not caring if Hopper hated him for it, just wanting Elliott safe and in a house instead of a school converted to a disaster relief zone.

Hopper eyed him up and down, and the way Elliott was holding his hand and bouncing excitedly in his chair.

“Alright, fine. But it’s a week by week basis until we can get ahold of his parents,” Hopper said directly to Steve.

“Steve, do you have a microwave? I make popcorn so good, like so good. I can make it tonight even!”

Steve smiled at him, and then at Hopper, who was watching with a fond smile.

“I’m sure I have what you need to make some popcorn, buddy.”

“You wait here, I have to get the release from CPS. They’re in the front office.”

Elliott went on and on about all the things they could do while he stayed with him, and when he found out Steve had a pool, he didn’t even stop for breath as he explained that he was the best swimmer when they took a field trip last year to the pool and that he could probably even beat Steve in a race.

Steve just smiled and agreed.

—-----------------------

A week with Elliott went by, and it was easy.

Steve was terrified how quickly he just fit in.

He fit in at his house, making it feel like a home, with his rambunctious energy and nightly popcorn making.

He fit in with the kids, showing interest in D&D even though he’d never heard of it before.

He even fit with Robin, who kind of hated kids, but thought Elliott was probably the cutest kid she’d ever met.

One night, while Dustin and Mike were showing Elliott how to build a character, Robin asked him the question he’d been dreading.

“What happens if he can’t stay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m assuming they’ll find his parents soon, and when they do, he’ll have to go live with them again. Or at least his mom since his dad will be in prison for life at this rate. How are you gonna handle that?”

He had no clue. He wanted Elliott to have parents who stuck around, and who loved him, and let him pop popcorn every night.

But realistically, even if they did come back, that wasn’t what his life would look like.

His life would be a lot like Steve’s was, sad and lonely, and he didn’t deserve that.

“I’m gonna fight for him. I don’t know what that means yet, but I know that whatever is best for him is what I’m gonna make sure happens.”

Robin wrapped him up in a hug, her arms squeezing him to her.

“You’re gonna be a great dad someday.”

No one had ever said that to him before.

But maybe he could believe it.

—-------------------------------------

Steve was the first person to come to the hospital when Eddie woke up, Elliott excitedly chattering from the backseat of his car the whole way.

It was helping Steve’s nerves, but he knew he wasn’t giving Elliott the attention he needed.

“Sorry, buddy. What was that?”

Elliott was quiet for a moment.

“Are you worried?”

Steve smiled at him in the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the wheel tight.

“A little. You remember how everyone told you about Eddie? How he saved us all and almost died?”

“Yeah, he’s a hero!”

“He is. But he’s still healing and I’m just worried about how hurt he is.”

“Oh. So we can’t hug him or hold his hand to help him feel better?” Elliott groaned. “Oh man, I was gonna bring him popcorn!”

Steve laughed quietly to himself.

“I think he’s on a pretty strict diet right now, buddy. Maybe when he’s out of the hospital we can have him over for a movie and you can make him some.”

“When will he be out?”

“I dunno yet. I think it might still be a little while.”

“Will I still live with you then?”

Steve gulped.

“I hope so.”

“Me too,” Elliott said quietly, staring out the window as they pulled into the hospital parking lot.

His mood was a bit somber as they walked through the halls of the bustling hospital, going to the fifth floor in the elevator where Eddie’s room was.

When he got to the right room, he knocked on the door even though it was open, smiling in at Wayne.

“Hey, come in, Steve. Eddie, Steve’s here,” Wayne said as he turned to Eddie, who was awake, but mostly horizontal still in bed.

“Steve?” Eddie’s rough voice asked.

“Hey, Eds. Hope it’s okay I brought my buddy, Elliott, to say hi. He’s heard a lot about you and Dustin and Mike and Will have been teaching him D&D for when you get out of here.”

Steve walked close to the bed, holding Elliott’s hand. He seemed shy suddenly, which wasn’t like him, not since he was living with Steve.

“Hey, Elliott. You keepin’ Steve company?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wayne snorted.

“Oh, son, you don’t have to be formal with Eddie. He’s barely older than you in his head.”

Eddie glared at Wayne, but smiled at Elliott.

“Seriously, bud, just Eddie is fine. So you ready for a campaign?”

“I dunno. Dustin said maybe I can play with you guys?”

“‘Course you can. I have so many ideas when I get outta here.”

Eddie turned to Steve and gave him a smirk.

“As long as we can host at your place?”

Steve blushed, remembering the last time he had Eddie’s full attention on him, back when his words “make him pay” sounded a lot like “I love you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. When do you get out of here?”

Elliott was loosening his anxious grip on Steve’s hand as the nerves wore off.

“They said not for a couple weeks, but I’m gonna walk right out of here the moment I can feel my legs again.”

Elliott let out a giggle and Eddie smiled.

“You can help me, right? I may need some support to run for it.”

“No! You have to stay until you’re all better, goofball.”

“That’s exactly what I told him, Elliott. You’re much wiser than he is,” Wayne said with a roll of his eyes.

Elliott moved closer to the side of the bed, his hands folded in front of him.

“Um. Could I hold your hand? So you feel better?”

Steve was going to cry.

Eddie kind of looked like he might, too.

“Yeah, I could use a hand to hold, bud. Thanks for offering. Wayne’s hand gets sweaty, but don’t tell him I said that,” he whispered the last part to Elliott, but loud enough so everyone could still hear.

Elliott held his hand, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.

He told Eddie all about the character Dustin and Mike helped him build, about how they might run a practice campaign with him soon. He told him about the popcorn he would make for the first time he came over.

Steve watched fondly, realizing quickly that this wasn’t something he could lose.

Not Elliott, and not Eddie either.

—-----------------------------

Elliott’s parents were still missing.

It’s been almost a month, Eddie was released from the hospital a day ago, and Elliott was still living with Steve.

The longer he stayed, the more it would hurt if he left.

They got into a routine.

School had been canceled for the rest of the year, so they mostly just made breakfast together, went in the pool, hung out with the kids, visited Eddie, played basketball, and had popcorn every night.

Steve knew Elliott was happy, he knew he was happy.

He was terrified it would end.

They were hosting Eddie for a movie night, and Elliott was more excited than ever.

Steve was a nervous wreck.

He was in charge of making sure Eddie didn’t overdo it, making sure he took his nighttime medications, and getting him to bed at a reasonable hour. According to Wayne, his pills made him tired and he would fight sleep if you didn’t force him into a bed.

Steve spent the day cleaning, baking, and preparing.

By dinner time, when Eddie would be arriving, Elliott was starting to question it.

“What’s wrong? Do you not want Eddie to come over?”

“No! Of course I want him to come over.”

“So…why are you being like this?”

“I’m…”

“Is it because you love Eddie?”

Steve choked on air.

“What?”

“Or do you think Eddie doesn’t love you?”

“Elliott, gonna say a big kid word right now. What the hell do you mean?”

Elliott rolled his eyes.

“You want to make Eddie feel happy and safe here, and you always get this stupid look on your face when we visit him, and then when I asked Wayne if you two were boyfriends he laughed and said ‘probably soon.’ So you love him, right?”

Steve’s mouth was working open and shut, open and shut, no noise coming out.

“Two boys can be together, you know. Robin told me.”

“She what? When?”

“When she told me two girls can be together.”

Steve put his face in his hands and couldn’t help the laugh of disbelief he let out as Elliott touched his back to comfort him.

“Did you not know you loved Eddie?”

“Uh. I guess I didn’t know that other people thought I loved Eddie.”

“Oh. So are you gonna be boyfriends?”

“I…I don’t know, buddy. Maybe.”

“I think you should be. Then it might be like I have two dads.”

What?

What.

“What?”

Elliott pulled his hand away and suddenly seemed nervous.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Steve couldn’t handle the look on Elliott’s face.

“Elliott, look at me, buddy.” He waited for Elliott to look at him. “Is that what you think of me as? Like your dad?”

Elliott nodded.

“Come here,” Steve said, pulling Elliott into a hug. “You’re the best kid, you know that?”

Elliott nodded, and Steve let out a wet laugh.

“Uh, everything okay in here?” Eddie said from the doorway.

“Eddie!” Elliott let out, and despite the mood of the previous conversation, he was smiling from ear to ear.

Eddie smiled at him and pulled him into the least hurt side of him for a hug.

He looked at Steve with a questioning look. Steve just shook his head quickly, wiping the tears from his eyes quickly.

“Can I make popcorn now, pleeeeease?” Elliott asked, bouncing on his heels.

“Yes, fine. But only one bowl right now. You can make more after dinner.”

“Okay, dad!” he yelled as he ran to the popcorn maker.

Eddie’s brows raised to his forehead as he looked at Steve, who was crying buckets at this point.

“What’s that about, Stevie?” Eddie whispered as he came up to him.

“I um, I guess he just feels like I’m his dad,” Steve shrugged.

“Are you okay with that?”

“I just don’t want him to go.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie said, pulling Steve into a crushing hug that had to hurt him. Steve sniffled against his shoulder, letting himself cry for a minute. “Did Hopper say he may have to go soon?”

“No, but I mean, if they find his parents or if CPS decides he has to go to a real family, then he’ll have to.”

“Stevie, they wouldn’t just take him. Not when he’s safe here and wants to be here. I promise.”

“But what if he goes somewhere far away or to people who won’t let me see him?”

Eddie held the back of his head against his shoulder, placing a kiss to the top of his head.

“He won’t. We’ll fight for him to stay here, okay? He’s got a family here, with us. Right?”

“Us?” Steve asked as he pulled away.

“Yeah. Us. Sound okay to you?”

Steve could only nod as he wiped his running nose.

How attractive.

“Hopper still doesn’t have any idea where they are, right?”

“Nope.”

“They’ll give up eventually. I hate to say it, but they won’t put more effort into a kid who has a safe place to go when they have bigger problems. Like how half the town is still homeless because of a fucking earthquake.”

“That’s a big kid word!” Elliott yelled from his spot at the counter.

“I’m a big kid!” Eddie yelled back, smirking at Steve.

“But I’m not!” Elliott yelled as they heard the popcorn machine starting up.

“Fine!”

Eddie placed a kiss on Steve’s forehead, then one against his lips.

It was soft, chaste, barely a kiss at all.

But it was a perfect first kiss for them.

—----------------------------

Another month passed with no news.

Eddie was at Steve’s house almost every day, spending time with Elliott, spending time with the party, with Steve.

Steve had converted the main guest room into Elliott’s permanent bedroom, but was scared to think of it that way still.

Eddie tried to reassure him, but even he was nervous that no final decisions had been made and the case remained open.

Until Hopper came by one night, well after Elliott went to bed. Eddie was doing the dishes while Steve was prepping some fruit for Elliott’s breakfast before his first day of summer camp the next day.

“Hop.”

Steve felt his stomach sink.

They were going to take Elliott.

“Steve. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Steve let him in, his face forced into casual calm, but on the inside he was already screaming and crying about what was about to happen.

Hopper sat down on the chair, gesturing for Steve and Eddie to sit on the couch.

“So.”

“You’re taking him aren’t you? He can’t stay.”

“What? No.” Hopper frowned. “No, Steve. The opposite actually. We’re closing the case. CPS said after interviews with him, even if his parents did get found or come back on their own, he wouldn’t be put back in their care.”

“But what about putting him with another family?”

Hopper sighed. He watched Eddie place a hand on Steve’s knee to calm him down.

“They’ve spoken in detail with him about his current situation. They believe that you’re the person he wants to live with and they aren’t going to disrupt his life any more than it already has been. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

Steve felt like he could breathe for the first time in his life.

“He can stay? With me?”

“He can stay with you.”

Steve let out a sob and fell against Eddie’s side. Eddie was crying too, but trying to keep more control so he could comfort Steve.

“CPS has to do a home visit to finalize everything, but if you’re good with it, you can officially adopt him. He’s been considered abandoned by his parents, and since it’s been 60 days, they relinquish all rights automatically.”

“How quickly can we do that?”

“We? Both of you?”

“I mean, can we both even do that?”

Hopper shrugged.

“Don’t know. But they’re probably expecting just Steve for now. They’ll call tomorrow to schedule everything and give you a chance to talk to Elliott.”

Steve and Eddie both nodded.

“I’m gonna leave you two to it, but call me if you need me. Congrats, Steve. I know you wanted this. I know he wanted this.”

“Thanks.”

Hopper saw himself out, closing the door quietly so it wouldn’t wake Elliott up.

“Eddie, did that really happen? Am I dreaming?”

“No, sweetheart, you aren’t dreaming.”

“I get to be his dad.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want to be his other dad?”

“I would love to, baby. Let’s ask him tomorrow, though. It’s up to him.”

Steve nodded.

It was up to Elliott, but he knew what Elliott wanted.

He knew what he wanted.

They were gonna be a family. A real family. No more worrying about someone deciding to take Elliott away from him.

He could finally use this house that had been left to him by his parents for something other than being miserable. He could keep it filled with love and laughter and happiness and maybe the occasional stupid argument.

Maybe Elliott would make friends at school in the fall and want to have hangouts here. Maybe they could both save up some money and take him on a vacation somewhere. Maybe someday they could get married and Elliott could be the best man.

Anything could happen.

Steve couldn’t wait.

[confusedemiposts]

✿"so you're a girl?" ✿

Genre: fluff? Humour? Platonic mostly

Warnings: slight slander, touchy (Dazai) mentioned flat chest(Dazai), Tanizaki siblings, grammar mistakes

Notes: headcannons, probably oc, afab reader,referred to with she, reader is similar to haruhi from ohshc,I'm ashamed how long this took me,sorry if this shite I don't write often😭

Summery: You are the newest members of the Armed detective agency but (mostly) everyone thinks you are a boy, not that you really care about what gender you are perceived as its not like you were hiding the fact you are a girl but you just roll with it. How do they react and find out you are actually a girl?

Ranpo

the first the one to know

the moment he met you he knew

stared blankly at you than continued eating his sweets

didn't really care that much that no one else referred to you as a girl

Didn't find it important enough to make a big deal out of it

Dazai

When meeting you he stared at you for like one minute

watching your every move and observing your features

He quickly came to his conclusion

"That's a girl alright"

But didn't say anything and continued to refer to you as a guy

You know how he's quite physically affectionate?

Like jumping Atsushi and honestly just being close to people

He's definitely like that with you...

..but more touchy😰

waiting to see how long till you tell him you're a girl

once you're sick of his antics you tell him

Will act so surprised 💀

"My my your a girl?"🙀

"I couldn't have ever known! Your just so flat-"

SMACK

He got a deserved slap

Will whine about it

Asked if you can start wearing skirts and dresses

Yosano

One of the firsts to find out

it was after your first dangerous mission and you had to have a checkup

I think she'd have to read your file to add the checkup to your medical file and saw that you were a biological female on the file

During the checkup she asked about it

When you confirmed you are a girl she asked if you had any preferred pronouns

I love her

you said you didn't really mind

Would refer to you as a girl from then on

More girlies for the office 💪

Atsushi

took him a few months to find out

Always thought you were just a guy who's very in touch with his femmine side

Oh boy

Too be honest I'm not even sure how he finds out

heard you talking about periods with Yosano

He didn't suspect a thing

Thought that you were really knowledgeable about female anatomy

Poor boy wasn't taught anything so he actually wanted to learn too

Either asked you or Yosano

Honestly as I write this I still have no clue how he finds

Maybe the man just never finds out😭

I think he'd only find out either from Kyouka or accidentally seeing you change

Will grow nervous and awkward after finding out

Feels bad about any things he thought might have been inappropriate that he might've talked to you about

It will take him some time to treat you normally again

Kunikida

my boy was definitely the last to find out 😔

like how he didn't know Dazai was in the mafia he didn't know you were a girl

did get suspicious a few times

he overhead you ask Yosano for a tampon/pad

He thought he heard wrong

But then everyone was suddenly referring to you as she

"Are you talking about y/n?" 🤨

was absolutely flabbergasted when he realized you weren't a boy

"HES A SHE???????"

Had to look at you several times

he just thought you were a feminine guy😭

shocked to the core

had to sit down and process this Information

asked you why you never corrected anyone when they called you a boy

when you said you didn't care what gender you were seen as he went

"Oh"

"very well then"

Struggled with refering to you as a girl for a bit but corrected himself each time

Only change in behaviour afterwards is that he treated you more politely

Hes a gentleman at heart 🤷

Tanizaki siblings

Naomi

Naomi knew early on

was surprised when you both liked similar things

straight up asked

"are you a girl?"

when you said you are she goes

"Are you a crossdresser?🤨"

when she heard your reasoning she was fine with it

She decides to take you after work to see how you look in dresses

Junichiro

Found out the same day as Naomi

when Naomi said you guys were going somewhere alone together

"Okay-"

Then he thought it was a date

was going to kill you

Naomi told him you're a girl

He just stood there

🧍

"What"

Bro had no idea

Not even a single suspicion

Didn't believe it at first till he heard it from your own mouth

Kyouka

didn't take her long to figure out

after a case together you walked by a store with cute plushies in the window

A bunny teddy caught Kyouka's eye

You saw it and said it looked cute

she would have thought nothing of that comment since Atsushi would have said the same thing

but for awhile now she has been growing suspicious of your gender

Especially when she saw you use the female bathroom

But she doesn't know how to bring it up

Rather quietly she asks

"...y/n.. I've been wondering...are you a girl?

When you say yes she has a lot of questions

Asking why you didn't correct anyone or just why in general

Hearing your reasoning she'd understand but a little puzzled

Just saying you definitely bought her the bunny afterwards just to see her cute smile

kenji

Took a very long time

Honestly I don't think he would find out

He wouldn't care about your gender

He just likes you in general

He's so sweet

Always like

:D

Sorry I'm getting off topic

I think he'd find out only through Kyouka

"Ohh Mr is a miss?"

Still treats you the same

Fukuzawa

When you joined the agency he didn't question your gender at first

He knew because you probably needed some sort of identification to join the agency or something

but when everyone was referring to you as a guy he was absolutely confused

Had no clue what to refer you as😭

just said your name instead of any sort of pronouns

My man is trying his best

You noticed after awhile he never used any pronouns on you

So during a conversation once you made sure to say you are a girl

Glad that you told him but he got into the habit of just saying your name

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Should I do PM next?

[separatist-apologist]

Something In The Orange

Summary: Someone is trying to murder Eris Vanserra's soon-to-be wife.

And no one can rule him out as a suspect

Note: Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for the mood board and the unknown anon for the song inspiration.

For @sjmromanceweek

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Arina decided it was better to do as Eris asked and meet him outside her bedroom door after she and Elain had a private lunch in Elain’s bedroom. Eris turned the corner mere seconds later, eyes sliding down her body so intimately it made her shiver. He could do something with his eyes that made her nervous, turning that look on and off like igniting a candle. This time, though, Arina knew he disapproved of the yellow dress.

“Change—”

“No.”

Eris looked upward as if he was asking the gods to grant him patience. “Your clothes are impractical—”

“I don’t walk around prepared for battle. If you’re going to teach me to defend myself, teach me as I am, tangled skirts, long hair, and all.”

Eris paused, cocking his head to the side like a predator. “You’re taking your hair down?”

Oh, did he want her to? She was tempted to tell him no, though she’d put very few pins in her hair today to make it easy to let her hair down once they were alone so she could simulate being alone in her bedroom like she’d been when someone tried to strangle her. 

“Does that offend you?”

His cheeks darkened for just a moment as he cleared his throat. “I don’t care about your hair.”

Liar.

“This is probably pointless to say to you, but I would prefer it if you didn’t go easy on me.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Eris promised, falling into step beside her. She expected him to take her outside—somewhere public. Somewhere people could see. It hadn’t occurred to her that Eris would take her to his lavish apartments across the palace, nor that he would close the door behind him.

“Eris—”

“Oh who cares?” he said with a roll of his eyes. “There is no escape for either of us, so what does it matter if they think I’ve had you now or in two months?”

“I care.”

He shrugged. “Where would you prefer we go? To the common hall? The courtyard? Somewhere anyone with eyes can watch? The point of teaching you this is to catch your attacker off guard so you can escape, not help them hone their skills so they don’t make another mistake.”

“I care,” Arina admitted. Her reputation was all she had left—and she knew her father would be furious when the rumors reached him. Eris could still change his mind, but Arina would be unmarriageable if anyone believed Eris had her first.

Eris’s look of frustration wasn’t enough to cow her. “I told you, this marriage is happening—”

“Until it doesn’t,” she countered quietly, stepping closer to a long sofa she could imagine him lounged on, book in hand. “Are you telling me that you’d still honor this contract if your father freed you?”

Eris ground his teeth together. He couldn’t lie to her, so he wouldn’t. Instead, he said, “He’s not going to—”

“He might—”

“He won’t!” Eris snapped, some of his anger getting the better of him. “If only to piss your father off. He is taking that shitty piece of land one way or the other and you are the most convenient way to do it, and unless you think your father is willing to trade it for less than his daughter sitting on a throne, you will be my godsdamned wife.”

Arina hated him a little bit right then. His anger was palpable, a flame burning hot in his gaze. She wanted to hit him, wanted to make him feel every ounce of her own fury and fear until he stopped talking to her like she was a simple, stupid child. 

“I don’t want to be your wife,” she whispered, which was the wrong thing to say. Eris advanced on her until he was inches from her face. 

“I don’t care what you want,” he whispered, gaze not on her eyes but her mouth. 

“I’ll make you miserable,” she threatened. Eris only shrugged, the spell broken. He looked around the room as if trying to find something. It gave Arina a moment to appreciate the shelves of books, the rich rugs of red and cream, the high ceilings and open windows—all of it tastefully appointed and betraying someone with taste far more refined than her own. She couldn’t help herself, gravitating toward one of the shelves to see what he liked to read.

A lot of philosophy, she found. History, too, and more than a few books on poetry. She was particularly fascinated by a cracked blue spine that read Romantic Poetry, the silver letters peeling and worn. 

Arina reached for it just as a pair of arms wrapped around her body, holding her tight against a torso. It was Eris, she reminded herself—Eris’s forearm pressed to her throat, Eris’s torso she was pinned against. He wouldn’t kill her.

He’d promised he wouldn’t.

“Are you scared?” Eris whispered, lips brushing gently against the shell of her ear.

Arina couldn’t speak, could only nod her head.

“Relax,” he ordered, pressing his arm harder against her throat. “Go limp.”

Arina tried, but every inch of her demanded she fight him, that she twist and thrash until he let her go. Eris sighed when he felt her rigidity, holding her so tight her ribs groaned. 

“Make me work for it, Arina. Go limp.”

Something about the way he said it—with such authority—made her listen. The part of her brain that wasn’t panicking recognized help. Her whole body flopped toward the ground, causing Eris to groan beneath her weight.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise warming that same alert part of her mind. “See how I have to drag you, now? Do you feel how my hold has to shift?”

“Yes,” she rasped. He’d loosened his grip on her neck just enough for her to take a deep breath. 

“If you had a knife, this would be the time to use it. Let’s pretend you have one hidden in your skirt. Reach for it.”

Arina did as he told her to, fumbling for her pretend knife. Eris tightened his hold with a disapproving click of his teeth. “Too slow.”

And then, without warning, he drew his fingers across her neck like he was slashing her throat. Releasing her, Arina collapsed to the ground, heart racing. 

“You need to be quicker,” he said dispassionately. 

“You surprised me,” she accused, rubbing the skin of her throat. 

“Do you expect your killer to send an invitation beforehand? You need to be prepared, your instincts razor sharp.”

“My governesses must have missed the lesson on not being murdered,” she snapped, though there was no real ire to her words. 

“I’m not surprised to learn your father is inadequate,” was all Eris had to say in response. “Get up. We’ll do it again.”

Arina almost wished Eris had wanted to have sex with her. It would have been easier, would have been over faster. They spent hours going through the same scenario over and over. Sometimes he walked her through what she needed to do step by step and other times he promised her a break, let her drop her guard, and then attacked her all over again.

She left his room wrung out and exhausted. Arina didn’t dare let Eris see it—he wasn’t exactly warm—but the moment she was safe in her own bedroom she fell face first on the mattress and cried her eyes out. Nothing was going the way she’d thought it would and every time Arina tried to make the best of her circumstances, it was like fate decided to add another complication as a little test.

Oh, you thought you could connect with this man? Well, he hates you. 

At least he didn’t want her dead. She could mark Eris off her list of the people trying to kill her, which made it a list of four—maybe five if she took Eris at his word regarding his fathers priorities. 

Beron Vanserra needed her alive in order to make good on the contract. Her father needed her alive in order to secure position and wealth, as well as continue ruling as a vassal lord. Eris didn’t want to marry her, but he didn’t want her dead either. And Elain and Lucien were outsiders entirely. 

But the palace was massive and teeming with people. Was it someone angry she was the one marrying the prince? An angry courtier? A political rival? Just having a direction would have been helpful.

Arina fell asleep turning the question over in her mind, forgetting to go down for dinner or changing out of her clothes. Perhaps she ought to have known Eris wouldn’t give her peace. In retrospect, Arina figured Eris had noticed her absence at dinner and decided it wasn’t enough to torment her during her waking hours.

She felt the weight of the mattress dip moments before he swung his legs over her body and pressed his blade to her throat. Apollo didn’t intervene, raising his head only to look before laying back down in his spot at the edge of the bed. Useless animal.

“Eris,” she whispered, fingers curling around his wrist.

“What happened to your dresser by the door?” he replied, his voice low. She knew what he wanted—or, she thought she did. She didn’t have a real weapon to stab him in the thigh with so she used her pretend one, slamming her fist against his leg before shoving him off her. Eris grunted but didn’t fight her when she straddled his hips, his knife now in her possession.

“If you ever wake me up like that again,” she whispered, her hair falling between them like a curtain, “it’ll be me who kills you.”

Eris’s chest rose and fell rapidly, palms raised upward in defense as she held his knife to this throat. She could have killed him—it would have been so easy to end him right then and there. Eris held her gaze, his eyes cat-like in the dark. 

“Eris?” she whispered.

He blinked. “I…shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why did you?”

Slowly, Eris reached for a strand of her unbound hair and pressed it against his nose. “I’m a fool.”

And with that, she was on her back, knife flopping harmlessly to the bed. Eris stood, adjusting his pants before turning back to look at her sprawled over the mattress. “Keep the dagger.”

“Eris—” He left before she could finish her thought, which was just as well. Arina had no idea what she would have said if he’d stayed. It was strange, though, sitting in the dark wishing he’d come back to do the gods only knew what.

Stranger, still, to realize that the man she was about to marry wanted her.

And that she wanted him, too.

ERIS:

Eris couldn’t focus. Standing in a packed ballroom, all he could think about was Arina’s legs wrapped around his waist and how close he’d come to dragging her back to the mattress and doing every wicked thing he could imagine to her. That was made worse by the woman herself, standing beside Elain and his brother in a golden gown that tapered to a dusky rose the further down the beading went.  The neckline was low enough he could see the swell of her breasts beneath the soft slope of her collar bone and when she walked, a slit revealed a tantalizing peek of her legs. 

He sighed, half relieved when his father approached. “Have you seen your mother?”

Eris scanned the crowd again. “She’s probably fretting over wine again.”

“I’ll handle it. You handle her,” his father ordered, glancing toward Arina.

“Problems?” “With the girl? Not one. With her father? It never ends,” Beron muttered with a scowl. “All he does is complain.”

“Maybe you should kill him,” Eris suggested dispassionately.

“After the wedding,” Beron said with a roll of his eyes. “Finish things with Novak’s daughter.”

“She doesn’t want to be alone,” Eris informed his father, not betraying his own regret. Oh, how he wished Arina acted more like the ladies at court. Their propriety was just for show, their skirts easily lifted. Even now, Eris knew if he made eye contact with any number of the ladies he’d grown up with, they’d be staring right back.

Unlike his betrothed, who hadn’t spared him a glance once.

“You’re charming. I trust you can engineer some scenario that silences her obnoxious father.”

Eris resisted the urge to snap at his father. It wasn’t worth the inevitable pain that would follow. Maybe not right then, maybe not for weeks—but down the road, Beron would make Eris pay. There was only one right answer, and that was whatever his father wanted to hear.

“I’m sure I can manage it.”

His father reached for two goblets of wine off a servant's passing tray. Thrusting them into Eris’s hands, he ordered, “Now.”

Great. 

Eris knew his father was watching just as he knew Arina’s father was watching, too. How far would he go to keep Eris from defiling his daughter? Not far enough, given Eris had successfully gotten into her bed chamber unimpeded twice. All he really needed was to get her alone long enough that it suggested something happened. Though it made his stomach churn, he figured he could get her just drunk enough that she’d let him bring her to his room. After that, all Eris had to do was close the door and let her sleep off the wine on his sofa or the floor or anywhere but next to him.

“You win,” Elain said glumly to Lucien as Eris offered Arina the wine his father had given him. 

“Pay up, princess,” Lucien replied with a grin.

“Do I want to know?” Eris demanded, his temper getting the better of him. Did Elain always need to be hovering over Arina? Couldn’t he have ten minutes alone with his future wife without a million people staring him down? 

“We made a bet—”

“I don’t care,” Eris interrupted flatly, catching the way Arina smothered a smile before taking a drink. “Dance with me before I go out of my mind.”

Arina gulped down the rest of her drink, setting the empty gold cup on a nearby table. Eris followed suit, wondering if she needed alcohol to tolerate him. The thought bothered him even as she turned, flushed and beautiful, and said, “Just one dance?”

Her hand was in his before Eris knew what was happening. He abandoned his drink beside Arina’s, catching sight of a quick-fingered servant whisking them away.

“For now,” he agreed, distracted by the way the lights gilded off her golden hair and how bright her eyes seemed to be. Had her mouth always been so pink? Her skin so smooth? Eris wanted to run his hands up her arms but settled for putting one on the curve of her waist and pulling her just a little too close.

Suggestively so. Arina didn’t seem to notice, staring down at her feet before looking up to meet his gaze. “Can you dance?” he asked.

Arina’s pretty smile shifted and he swore it was disappointment that flashed over her features. “Of course I can.”

He supposed he had been a little mocking when he asked. Eris couldn’t help that. When he was nervous his words came out in a sneer. There was no apologizing, which left him only with a challenge. “Prove it.”

“I hate you. Do you know that?” she asked, stepping with him as the music began. She was fluid like water, eyes on his face, grip pleasant on his shoulder. Eris nudged her a little closer, inhaling the scent of vanilla and lime. 

“I like a passionate woman,” he heard himself saying. 

Arina narrowed her eyes. “What else do you like in a woman?”

Eris knew better than to answer that question honestly. “I like you. Isn’t that enough?”

“I would hate to see how you treat women you don’t like.”

Eris couldn’t help himself. “There’s very little difference.”

“Now that I believe,” she said, the softness returning to her expression. Arina gripped his shoulder just a little tighter as the pair lapsed into silence, focused on their combined steps through the music. They weren’t alone—couples twirled alongside them, talking just loud enough to be heard over the band. There were things Eris wanted to tell her inexplicably—things he’d never told anyone, secrets he’d been keeping his entire life.

It was nothing dark, nothing deep. There were things Eris never wanted to say out loud, circumstances he intended to keep alive only in his mind. His throat burned as he lowered his head and murmured, “My favorite color is orange.”

Arina’s brows shot skyward, eyes widening with obvious and open delight. “Really?” she asked him.

Eris felt immediately stupid. He pulled back, heart pounding. That was a stupid thing to tell her, the regret instantaneous. Arina, though, was never going to let it go. She was grinning, her fingers digging pleasantly into his shoulders.

“Mine is green,” she confided as though admitting some terrible truth. Eris exhaled the breath he’d been holding. It sounded like a laugh, maybe because it half was. 

“I’m starting to see the merits,” he murmured, taking in the mossy green of her eyes. Arina’s cheeks flushed and when she rubbed her palm over his shoulder, sliding down his back, Eris thought he was going insane. He needed to get out of the ballroom before he did something unbearably stupid.

Like kissing her in front of everyone. There was no doubt in Eris’s mind that the wine had made Arina sweeter just as he knew for certain that if he tried to touch her like she was touching him, he’d earn little more than a slap to the face. 

“Have you ever been to the garden?” Arina asked him, pulling Eris from his thoughts. It was tempting to ask why she wanted to know that. Surely she must be aware that Eris had been in that garden hundreds of times for a myriad of different reasons.

He wasn’t stupid, though. When a lady was asking a gentleman if he’d ever been to the garden, what she was really asking for was to be alone. Well. Maybe he was a little stupid, because Eris’s response was, “Not with you.”

“Would you like to see it? With me, I mean?” she asked, her voice sweet and breathless.

“Yes.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Eris remembered this was what he was supposed to be doing. Getting her alone, creating just enough doubt as to what they’d been doing when no one had eyes on them. It didn’t matter if it was true—he’d have her one way or the other—only that people believed it. Eris wished he could say everything was going according to plan but when Arina slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, once again gripping his limb just a little too tightly, all Eris could think about was being alone with her.

Stupid, given he’d been alone with her before. Not like this—not when she was touching him, smiling at him. Arina kept close, following as Eris led them from the ballroom with murmured excuses of getting some air. They certainly weren’t the only ones trying to slip away—it was practically a right of passage for couples to find some private place before their chaperones caught up with them. The only difference was Eris himself, who was a prince and therefore could do whatever he liked.

Well. Not anything. If Eris truly had that kind of power he could have simply pressed Arina against a wall and kissed her like he wanted to and no one—including Arina—would have stopped him. Still, it was a pleasant little fantasy that might have carried him outdoors had Arina not pulled him toward a hall that led the entirely opposite direction.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, yanking him close as footsteps approached. Eris was too distracted by her nearness, unable to look at anything but her palms laid flat against his chest. Obscured by shadows and half hidden behind a rather large pillar, a gaggle of older men filed past, arguing about the latest book written by a poet Eris thought was rather overrated. He might have told Arina so, too, had he not gone to look her in the eyes only to find she was staring back at him.

Oh.

He should have asked. Eris knew it and he didn’t care. If he asked her permission she might have said no and right then every inch of her seemed like an invitation. It was the sweetest she’d ever been, the most inviting and he wanted her. Deciding it was worth the risk, Eris lowered his face and kissed her amid the fading echoes of the crowd, still close enough to the party he could hear the music echoing around them. 

Bracing himself for the inevitable outrage, Eris decided to press his advantage and reach for her face. It felt good to press his mouth against hers, to feel her soft skin beneath him. Eris was so distracted that it took him a minute to realize she was kissing him back. His eyes flew open at the realization. Eris needed confirmation that what he was feeling was, in fact, his reality.

Her eyes were closed, fingers curled in the cobalt blue of his jacket to keep him close. It was right there that ruined Eris—that look on her face, the way she was holding him, kissing him, breathing him in. 

“Open,” he breathed and the hells help him, Arina did exactly as she was told. The kiss was a mess at first, betraying her inexperience though she was a quick study. Eris had her pinned against the wall, her wrists in his hands as he held them over her head and knee wedged between her legs before he could think about his next move. 

All he wanted was to take down her hair and watch it tumble over her shoulders. Well—and then to watch her dress pool at her feet while he slid to his knees and— “Eris,” she breathed, pulling him back to reality. There was something sweet about her mouth.

A familiar sweetness mingled among the wine. Eris kissed her again, taking another taste as he tried to place it. Some part of him didn’t care so long as she kept kissing him…but the other…the other reminded him that she didn’t like him. And now she was half desperate, rubbing herself against his leg as her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his jacket and—

“Fuck,” Eris snarled, turning his head in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. The syrupy sweetness betrayed itself—he should have recognized it the moment his tongue first slid into his mouth but Eris was too excited to notice. Myrrah—from the root of a regular berry plant—was a powerful aphrodisiac a lot of people took recreationally at court. Husbands sometimes slipped it in their new brides drinks after a wedding to make things easier, though Eris had never liked that practice.

For one wild minute he considered turning back to the ball and drinking some himself so he could finish what they’d started. He might have, too—the idea was powerfully tempting—had he not felt Arina’s fingers slide into his hands. Catching her wrist without thinking, Eris knew he needed to stop her before she took things too far. 

“With me,” he panted, cock twitching desperately. 

“Anywhere,” she said, opening her eyes to look at them. Eris swore softly at the sight of her blown out pupils and flushed cheeks. She tried to take a step, but Myrrah made everyone a little disoriented, made the room seemed to swirl in a way that was more pleasant than it wasn’t. Eris scooped her up before she could fall flat on her face, took a deep breath, and began walking her toward her bedroom as quickly as he could.

“I want you,” she said, the pretty little liar. 

“Tell me again in the morning,” Eris replied. “Tell me when you wake up and I’ll give you anything you like.” “Anything?”

Yes, anything. Gold, jewels, land—whatever she wanted. Maybe that was his own arousal talking, but Eris would have made her an untold number of promises if it meant she’d willingly put her hands back between his legs. 

“Where are you—Eris!” Arina shrieked, but Eris had dumped her onto the floor in her bathing chamber and slammed the door before she could stop him. “Open this door right now!” she demanded, pounding the palm of her hand against the door.

“I can’t,” he told her, sliding down the wood to keep it closed. 

“Please—”

“Don’t,” he managed, closing his eyes. “Don’t beg.”

“You don’t want me?”

“Fuck—yes, I want you,” he admitted, forcing the words from behind his teeth. “And if I take you this way, you’ll hate me in the morning.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” he replied, saying the words as a reminder to himself. She wouldn’t forgive him, would be furious he hadn’t stopped her. “You’re out of your mind right now and don’t know what you want.”

There was blessed silence for a moment. Eris knew better than to think Arina had fallen asleep—he’d been in her position before, though he’d, at least, been able to relieve himself with a partner. Eris had no intention of freeing her so she could roam the halls like a cat in heat, nor did he intend to help her. She’d simply have to handle things herself.

And like an utter degenerate, he was going to stay exactly where he was and listen.

“I like you,” Arina said softly, still too breathless for his liking.

“Liar.”

“You have nice hair,” she protested, voice rising with irritation. “And I like your eyes…your hands…”

“Stop,” he breathed, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

“Open the door, Eris. Let me show you—”

“In the morning,” he groaned, his willpower shredding with each sultry word that poured from her throat. “Ask me in the morning.”

“Do you not like me?”

Eris groaned again. “Too much,” he admitted, spreading his legs apart. It did little to alleviate his need. “But not like this.”

“Then how?”

Fuck it, he decided, reaching for his belt. If he couldn’t touch her, he could at least touch himself. He could still talk to her, could make it a little bearable at least on his end. “In your right mind, to start with.”

“Maybe it’s better this way. Get it over with—”

“Trust me,” he half panted, gripping his cock in one hand. Eris stroked himself to the sound of Arina’s little gasps behind the wood and the image of what she must be doing to elicit such noise. 

“Will it hurt?” she asked him breathlessly.

“No,” he swore, closing his eyes so he could imagine it. “Trust me.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Will you be angry if I have?”

He’d never considered that prospect before, maybe because he’d never expected his wife to be untouched. He’d assumed he’d end up with one of the ladies at court and while virginity was the official expectation, it was a rule too often skirted around in favor of hedonistic fun. 

“It seems unfair. Maybe I should be allowed—”

“No.”

“No?”

Eris stroked himself again, exhaling a soft, shuddering breath. “No,” he agreed. “It’s too late now. I want your first time.”

“You’re selfish.”

“Jealous, too,” he agreed. “I don’t want to share you anymore.”

“Maybe you won’t be such a bad husband.”

Eris’s hand stilled for a moment, cheek pressed against the wood. There were a million things he wanted to say, all of them choked by emotion. He couldn’t accept the compliment nor could he find the words to assure he would do his best. What if he failed? What if he was no better than his father? 

“Where are your hands?” he asked instead, retreating to comfortable, familiar territory.

“Under my dress,” she replied. Eris groaned loudly for her benefit, knowing damn well he shouldn’t. 

“Next time it’ll be my mouth,” he told her with more conviction than he’d ever felt. So he couldn’t tell her the truth about himself—maybe he could show her, then. His actions could be enough, he decided, and if not his actions than the way his body touched her own. 

“Your mouth?” Arina asked breathlessly. It wasn’t really a question and still Eris gripped his cock tighter, pumping faster.

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes closed as he imagined her legs spread for him. What did he want more? His cock in her throat or the taste of her cunt smeared across her lips? Both, he decided. He wanted it at the same time, wanted her thighs straddling his face as she took him, unable to move while Eris spent half an evening eating her.

And then he’d flip her over, breasts pressed to the blankets, and fuck her until she couldn’t walk the next morning. He could practically feel it, was lost to the fantasy and the sound of Arina’s own soft, desperate moans. 

“That’s it,” he rasped, unsure if he was talking to her or himself. “Come for me.”

Arina did—or, he thought she did. He was so used to loud screams that her breathless gasps of air seemed like a revelation. Was this what it was like when the woman he wanted didn’t care if he was a prince or not? Eris came, too, hips jerking off the ground as come splattered against his hand. 

The timing was terrible. Arina turned the door handle, tumbling on top of him just as a servant burst into the room, eyes wide with horror.

“I—”

“Well, fuck,” Eris snarled, trying to shove himself back into his pants without making a mess of the woman tangled up in his lap. “It’s not…”

What it looks like. He never managed to get the words out—the servant scurried away, leaving Eris alone 

“You feel better now, don’t you?” he dared to ask, buttoning his pants as Arina stood, cheeks burning red. 

“I—”

He reached for her chin, squishing her cheeks gently beneath her fingers. Eris kissed her, ignoring how wide her eyes were.

“When you wake up, don’t regret this.”

Though, if he was honest with himself, Eris regretted leaving her in a heap on the floor.

Still.

That was for the best.

[thotsforvillainrights]

I know you don’t like writing for muscular but I am a really muscular fan and nobody writes anything for him, I’m tired of reading the same stories

If you don’t mind asking, can I get Muscular with a S/O that think he’s cheating or he thinks think the S/O is cheating?

(I may not like him, but I live to serve the small community of Muscular simps. So I'm grateful for the ask!)

~Muscular accuses S/O of Cheating~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up|drabble

-He may be pretty rough but you never really had to worry about that as much as the others would assume you did. He's always had a thing for teasing you when you two got together. It's only later down the line that he starts to realize he doesn't know his own strength. You pretty much taught him little by little to be more careful with not just you but with other people, other beings and things around him. Since then you've noticed a change in him from the way he playfully punches your arm to the way he closes the car door. He hasn't exactly given up on his tough or violent nature but he's certainly more aware of himself when it comes to you.

-Another thing is his anger. He's not very quick to anger but rather annoy I would think. He can't really dish out what he gives so all day he might get on your nerves but when you do it too much, he finds himself groaning in annoyance and trying to distance himself for a bit so he doesn't fuss at you. He's still him through and through but again, as previously mentioned, he's more aware of himself.

-The biggest issue in the relationship would be how jealous he can get with the people around you. He knows it's foolish but in the back of his mind, he thinks everyone is out to get you and he hates the idea of that. How dare the worker at the drive-thru put extra sauce in your bag. How fucking dare the mailman lingers for a few minutes over just to chat it up with you. Who does he think he is??? The coworker that texts you outside of office hours about non work related things. Muscular doesn't even real like any of the other league members spending too much time around you when he thinks about it...especially not Dabi.

-You're kind and patient with him when you see fit. You reassure him he has nothing to worry about. You love him and (depending on the reader) you'll show him in many different ways~ Still, he always finds himself struggling with his damn jealously. it all seems to boil over when you are caught in the back room with Shigaraki chatting quietly about something. Secrets? Holding secrets from him with his own leader nonetheless??? Oh he's pissed so you know you'll hear about this when you get home. For a while he's been suspecting something on the foul involving you and Shigaraki. The two of you have been chatting it up more lately and he didn't like it one bit. It's not like you ever shared anything in common with each other to begin with! This all seemed to come out of nowhere. He didn't even waste time to bring up the shared texts. He knows it's been you chatting it up with him late at night.

-He's failed to see what you were doing. Completely failed to see you'd begged Tomura for help to surprise him for your anniversary. Tomura didn't want to get involved in anything romantic like that, but agreed finally to help you. You were trying to cook up a plan to have Shigaraki distract Muscular long enough for you to set up decorations and wrap his gifts. Muscular had gotten the wrong idea completely.

-He always controlled his anger around you as best he could and even now when he was having a meltdown he still managed to grip at his fists tightly and not let them fly into the wall like he wanted to. just because he made sure not to physically scare you doesn't mean he didn't have any effect on you verbally. When he noticed your tears was when he finally came back to reality. Had he...had he said something so horrible that he didn't even realize it?

-Yes...he did.

-Guilt wasn't something he felt had any control over him but surprisingly he learned it did. This was especially true when he felt his chest swell with guilt as you sobbed/explained the situation to him. He yelled at you. He said terrible things to you and scared you when all you were trying to do was something nice for him. You even showed him the texts between you and Shigaraki as proof of your plans/actions. That guilt was eating him alive right on the spot and he STILL couldn't find the words to apologize. He hated sleeping on the couch that night. He hated even worse hearing your silently sob yourself to sleep in the next room. He would've forced his way into the locked room had he not decided to let you recover to yourself. He deserved to feel like shit. The next morning he was up bright and early (very rare for him). The first thing he did was show his humility and apologized (also very rare for him). The next thing he did was spent the next few days trying to patch things up just in time for your anniversary.

-It's odd just how crazy love can make even the most hard formed men. He swore he'd try to get that jealousy in line because the idea of losing you hurt him more than anything else he could ever think of.

[cbk1000]

Hey, so kind of a general writing/not been on tumblr much update (because apparently I'm so perpetually online people will ask me if I'm ok after a few days of me not posting as much lmao): I have been having some health issues. I haven’t really mentioned them aside from updating a couple people I talk to daily on why I've been so quiet because a.) I felt too poorly to do anything other than marathon sitcoms I've seen a bazillion times, and b.) I didn't know what was going on.

The tl; dr is that, after getting diagnosed with strep throat a few weeks ago, and feeling mostly normal aside from some minor irritation in my throat, I started feeling horribly weak and overall just fucking terrible, and I was having bad tachycardia. Like a heart rate in the high 130s just standing, and a sitting heart rate of like 110 (my normal resting heart rate is in the low 70s). Three trips to the ER later, a bunch of normal labs and cardiac tests, and my boss (ER nurse for 20 years) pushing for an echo, and I finally got a diagnosis of pericarditis, which is inflammation of the sac around your heart. It's most commonly caused by viruses. The ER doc suspects my strep throat was misdiagnosed and I had a virus that caused the inflammation of my heart, although I think bacterial infections can sometimes cause it as well. I've been put on high dose ibuprofen and some acid reflux meds to protect my stomach while I'm on such a high dose of ibuprofen, and I have to take it easy for at least the next week and then be careful and play it by ear. I have been too weak to even sit up much for the past several days and cannot stand for very long, which is infuriating as someone who does one-armed push-ups for funsies.

Anyway, all this is to say, I'm still alive, the next chapter of Book of Merthur (for any of you following it) was coming along just fine but for obvious reasons is a bit postponed now. I'll probably be off work all next week again and hopefully will feel strong enough to get in a bit of writing. (And for any readers about to say, 'Oh my God, don't worry about that, take care of yourself!!' I am literally gnashing my teeth to go back to writing and am furious that my last week or so has consisted of me being too exhausted even to read. I've been marathoning sitcoms I've seen a bazillion times, I'm not even much of a TV watcher, and I'm going crazy. Yesterday I lifted two books to get to the one I wanted underneath them, and was so exhausted I went straight back to bed. THEY WERE PAPERBACKS. AND NOT WAR AND PEACE PAPERBACKS.)

[booksandabeer]

Catching up

I got tagged approximately one million years ago by @burberrycanary 💙 and @somanywords 💛. Sorry it took me so long! 😬

Last song: I don't know the exact song, but I've been listening to the album Cat Power Sings Dylan: The 1966 Royal Albert Hall Concert a lot. I'm not a particuarly big fan of Bob Dylan, or a fan at all, really. However, I am absolutely a die-hard fan of Cat Power and I think that Chan Marshall is probably the best cover artist of...all time? Well, certainly of her generation. That's not to shade her original compositions, which I also love, but she's brilliant at taking songs that you thought you could no longer listen to because they've been played ad nauseam everywhere for decades, and then teasing something fresh and original and truly moving out of them. Listen to her covers of "I'll Be Seeing You" or "Mr. Tambourine Man" or even "New York, New York" and tell me they don't excite you in any way (if they don't, I suspect you have no soul). She's even great at covering herself! Please go and listen to her 2008 cover of her own 1998 song "Metal Heart" right now. It's one of my all-time faves and also, yes absolutely a Stucky song.

Relationship status: I have a person.

Sweet/spicy/savory: Everything all at once, please.

Favorite color: Blue, blue, blue. International Klein Blue to be precise. I cannot get enough of it. Also, I will die on the hill that chartreuse is actually a great color.

Last movie: The Last Stop in Yuma County which was a fun neo-western/crime thriller that didn't take itself too seriously and didn't outstay its welcome. Imagine that! A 90-minute movie. They still make those! Wild. If you like Tarantino and/or the Coen Brothers, but played at a faster, snappier tempo, you will probably enjoy this one too.

Last show: So many. Bodkin, which is the epitome of "this show doesn't know what it wants to be." Is it a quirky comedy? A crime show? A (very tepid) satire? It's not like you can't combine these genres, but the show doesn't combine them, it swings wildly between them. The ending was terrible. I've finally started watching Hacks (a delight!) and I'm still slowly making my way through Kings (only 2 episodes left). Also following along with the new season of IWTV, which remains an absolutely bonkers show. If *this* is what made it into the final cut, can you imagine what didn't? Oh, to be allowed to read the studio notes for this one!

Last thing I googled: The origin and meaning of a Norse/Russian name. For reasons.

Current obsession: The Terror brainrot is still going stong. I have learned so much about Arctic Exploration in the 1800s over the past few weeks. Also, in a curious turn of events, I have started reading Masters of the Air fanfic? I was unfortunately pretty disappointed with the show. I had hoped it would trigger a level-11 hyperfixation but instead it just kinda came and went and I didn't even think about it anymore. Then an author, who I still follow because they used to write Stucky, started posting one Buck/Bucky (yes, they are two different characters) fic after another, and one day I said, 'Why not give it a shot?' Well, here we are, tens of thousands of words later, and for the first time in my life I'm beginning to understand the people whose general fandom attitude is 'I don't care for the source material at all, but the fic! Oh the fic compels me!' I have been compelled. I'm now a person who reads fanfiction for a pairing that includes a character played by Austin Butler (sorry Butler heads, I just don't get it).

Wonders never cease.

--

Like I said, I got tagged for this ages ago, so I don't know who's done this (recently). I'm gently tagging @bromcommie, @aimmyarrowshigh, @zenaidamacrouras1, @shackleton2 and @hail-americas-ass. Also, I mean it when I say I want to know what everyone else is watching/eating/obsessing over/etc. Tell me! Open tag for everyone who wants to do this.

[danpuff-ao3]

I was wondering if you had any recommendations for fics with jealous Snape? I love love love your work - Cruel Summer introduced me to your wonderful writing, which lead me down the Snarry rabbit hole 🥰🩷

Hello there! What excellent taste you have 😎 With the jealous Snape, I mean. I'm a sucker for jealousy in fics. All those ugly emotions other people don't like very much? Sign me up!

I'm also so glad you loved Cruel Summer and have read more of my work! That makes my heart so glad to know, thank you! 🥰

There's not half enough jealous!Snape fics for my liking, but I've gathered a few here and I hope you find some you like! I won't bother self reccing as you're already reading my works 🤭 Happy reading!

Foundations (or Where Do We Go From Here)

by avioleta. Rated: E. Words: 17,788. Hogwarts Eighth Year. First Time. Angst with a Happy Ending.

After the war, Severus retreats to the solitude of his dungeons. There are potions to brew, repair work to be done, and lessons to plan. But then Harry Potter begins turning up at all hours, wanting little more—it seems—than to irritate Severus. Severus doesn’t know what Potter wants. But he doesn’t know what he wants, either. From the original prompt: Severus knows it’s not love or even affection that brings Harry Potter to his rooms at night.

A Long Time Coming

by Conzieu. Rated: E. Words: 191,133. UST. Harry/other. Happy ending.

There are signs from the days after the battle of Hogwarts that there is much more to Severus and Harry’s relationship than the conflict and hatred that had define it until then. It will take ten years of changes, personal growth, and maturing, as well as one year when both of them change careers and return to Hogwarts, for their feelings to finally overcome their prejudices, assumptions and fears and for the love of these soulmates to triumph.

Blowing Smoke

by DawnofTomorrow. Rated: E. Words: 231,967. Slow burn. Getting together. Self-discovery. Bottom!Snape. Oblivious!Harry. Pining. Awkward flirting.

Harry doesn't care about Snape beyond having to sit detentions with the man despite being of age. He doesn't. He asks him out for a drink just to get out of detention. So what if it's... nice? So what if they become friends? So what if Snape *is* lonely? It's not Harry's problem - at least not until he realises he's accidentally befriended the man, and just how much he cares for Snape. Well, shit.

Tart

by gracerene. Rated: E. Words: 652.

Written for the prompts: Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter Prompts: This desire is eating me up… Word Prompts: jam, jealous, jackhammer Kink: Partially clothed sex

The Potter Phenomenon

by ines_iz. Rated: E. Words: 31,548. Internalized homophobia. Angst. Eventual fluff. Postwar. Coming out. Professor Harry Potter. Pining. Jealousy.

When Harry Potter, queer star of the Wizarding World, returns to Hogwarts as the new Defence professor, Severus Snape is not happy. In fact, he is positively outraged. Not only does Severus have to endure the man's obnoxious behaviour (not to mention his ridiculous sense of fashion), but he also ends up being dragged into Potter's attention-seeking plans — and, ultimately, is forced to face a few demons of his own. Or: Harry Potter Goes Gay (and the entirety of Hogwarts Goes Gay with him)

Appearances

by Queen_of_the_Castle. Rated: G. Words: 186.

Harry and Draco spend a lot of time together. Severus suspects Harry of cheating.

Pandora Awakes

by whitecotton. Rated: E. Words: 1,390. Harry/other. Tragedy. Angst. Voyeurism.

Legend has it that hope is left inside Pandora’s box. However, it is the other things that were released when the box was opened that hold our attention.

[radley-writes]

Different anon here. Been suffering a pretty significant depression slump that magnified tenfold after a pretty devastating breakup.. my main WIPs were romances but now the idea of romantic love makes me want to puke from the anxiety. It's been almost half a year now, and I feel like I'm in a constant state of mourning, a ghost of myself. Will I ever be able to write again..?

Oh, nonnie. You've really been through it. Come walk with me to the river, okay?

[image description: a sunlit field, lined with trees, and a pale blue winter sky above]

It's a lovely sunny (if FREEZING) day, so you'll need a coat and a sunhat!

Here we go...

You've been through something horrible, which has tarnished your love for your favourite genre. I'm so sorry that the breakdown of your relationship took writing romance from you. That sounds incredibly difficult, and to grieve that loss is understandable.

Let's head down through the farmland, along the muddy tracks pitted with the hoof prints of wild deer...

[ID: a dirt road leading between two thin lines of trees, with green fields on either side]

As far as I see it, three options lie before you.

1) push through the anxiety and force yourself back into writing what you used to love, risking making yourself hate it even more and causing yourself psychological damage in the process.

2) abandon the idea of writing romance entirely and focus on something new - which means letting go of something you still care deeply for, and many memories you cherish.

3) wait to heal and hope time will resolve your lingering trauma around romance - but you don’t know how long this will take, or even if it will work at all.

.... We're gonna have to take a detour because the rich city slicker bastards are out shooting birds for 'sport' again 🙃. Scuse me...

[ID: A copse of spindly birch trees, leafless in winter. ]

[ID: A fallow field with a green field behind it. The green field is dotted with numerous white fabric flags.]

Back onto a new path! And look at all the flags on that one field.... Fuck any geese who land THERE in particular, huh?

Any one of those options might work for different people! However, I suspect you’re aware of these choices, and for whatever reason, they aren’t working for you.

I can't give you a perfect answer. I can't even promise that you will write romance again. But if you’re ready, I can give you a few ideas that invoke elements of Option 1, 2 and 3, which might help with the healing process.

[ID: A path along the edge of a field, leading into a group of trees. A river is visible beyond it.]

Sometimes, we start to resent ourselves when we can no longer do something from which we used to extract joy - be this for any reason, trauma, physical disability, end of a hyperfixation, etc. If this is the case, holding tightly onto the past may not be in your best interest.

If the mere idea of writing romance brings you no joy and satisfaction, only repulsion and misery... If you are clinging on to your desire to write romance out of a need to prove that you are the same person you were before you went through this, and that what you suffered did not effect you... it might be best for you to cut that desire loose.

There are so many creative outlets out there. Something else will call to you. You could try to - very slowly and gently - broaden your reading horizons, and write something completely devoid of romance. You could dabble in different hobbies and turn your focus to alternate means of creativity, from dance to cooking to pottery.

And if you sample many different dishes and none of them appeal... There's a fair chance that, by the time you reach that point, you might have put enough time and distance between yourself and the disintegration of this relationship, that writing romance no longer feels like stabbing yourself repeatedly in the chest.

It might still hurt, but it’ll be more like grasping a thorn. A small, sharp pain, but one that isn't going to tear you all the way open.

We're almost there!

[ID: A muddy path through leafless, ivy-wrapped winter trees. A river is just visible between them]

It’s alright to change. It’s alright to let trauma and loss shape us, so long as we don’t let it ruin our lives and the lives of people around us.

We're here! Let's sit down for a bit.

[ID: Half of a simple wooden bench, on a grassy bank, pointing away from the camera.]

I want you to sit quietly for a while. Think about what I’ve said, and ask yourself, truly, if pursuing becoming a romance writer again is the best course for you.

If it is - or if you are unsure, but still want to try - let's focus on trying to help you reclaim that part of yourself that you used to love.

Does reading romance also give you panic attacks? How about novels that include romance, but focus their plot in a different direction? Sit down with a fantasy book that has a minor background romance - I can give you some reccs, if you want! See how you feel.

Is there a show you really love, and some characters whose relationship you're invested in? Do those characters feel sufficiently distant from your situation? If so, could you write a few short snippets of fanfic. You don't have to publish them - but if I'm in a slump, writing fanfic often feels far less personal than writing about my own OCs. That might help you rediscover your affection for the romance genre, without cutting out your own heart and slapping it on the page.

Alternatively, could you write a platonic romance? By which I mean, for writing practice, try to incorporate all the 'beats' of a romance book, but focus on a different type of love - that between friends, or siblings, or even a parent and a child. Again, this might help you access the emotional ups and lows of a romance novel and help you hone your writing skills, while avoiding the core issue of a romantic relationship.

[ID: a river meanders over a flat countryside, reflecting the blue cloudy sky]

Here's our river, winding away. I hope that no matter what you choose to do, you take good care of yourself.

You will find creative joy again, somewhere, even if it's not in the same way you're used to. Of that much, I'm certain. X

[hazbinhappy]

If you wouldn’t mind doing a matchup for me, I’d appreciate it. Only characters I would like to avoid would be Adam & Valentino.

I am on the aroace spectrum. Demi for both. I am bi-oriented. My pronouns are they/them.

I am autistic so I have sensory issues. I also have social issues and would like to get a service dog specifically for DPT (deep pressure therapy, applying pressure to the body to help ground & regulate heart rate) and social interactions.

I am a big animal person. I have four pets in total right now but have had many and will have many more. I’ve had animals of all kinds, birds, reptiles, dogs, cats. I’ve even worked with horses before. Very big on animals. I prefer them to people.

I wouldn’t say I’m shy necessary, more so just traumatized. When I’m in a space I feel comfortable I’m very loud, very opinionated. I tend to use bullying as a form of affection but never let it go too far. I’m petty as fuck. I’m also very blunt and brash. In spite of that I do try to be kind and help people but if you ask me for my opinion I’m going to give you my unfiltered opinion. Yes, that dress washes you out give it away.

I enjoy writing, reading, drawing, and theater. I cook and bake a lot. I like to have things organized, obsessively so. I also enjoy dance. I specifically would like to try pole dancing but for a while I hyperfixated on swing dancing. Of course, I never had a partner though. I do try to maintain an active lifestyle by going on walks with my dogs among other things. My goal is to build up enough muscle to carry dogs of all sizes and a future partner.

My clothing style tends to lean alternative. I like blacks, purples, blues, and greens. I’m not a fan of warm toned colors but I will wear maroons. I like wearing tight fitted clothes and crop tops but I also have a special interest in historical fashion so I’ll wear just about anything.

In terms of a demon form for me specifically. . . I feel like I’d be a moth, a thylacine, or a bobcat type demon. I honestly don’t really care which as long as I get fangs because fangs should be gender affirming care.

Anyway, hugs and kisses if you want them.

- @am-i-interrupting

Your Matchup is...

Husk!

This was a bit hard because it was either him or Vaggie, but I landed on him! Mainly due to how you described your personality and I think you two would get along great and just :) i made it up to your interpretation if it's romantic or platonic! @am-i-interrupting

y'all would meet either through the hotel or during Alastor's seven year absence! most likely the latter so let's run with that for this

he was probably on his way TO the casino (as if he shouldn't just live there with how much he frequents it) when you guys bumped into each other!

one of your dogs who was a bit too friendly today decided to run up to the grump and ask to be pet

Husk being Husk immediately backs up while you're trying to apologize for the dog's action and explain it away, but Husk also isn't a complete asshole so he lets it go

but it's on his mind for the rest of the day.... and so what does he do? he takes that same path every day at the same time hoping to bump into you

after like the fifth time he finally pets the dog and you two maybe share a few words. maybe several dozen times later you two start to hang out a bit

once Alastor's back though you're sad to not have you're walking friend anymore

but when you heard Alastor was back and at a hotel you suspected that is somewhere where Husk bit be (good thing for hunches!)

i wouldn't say you'd frequent the hotel because it looks very far out, but on your more free days you might take the dogs out for a longer walk for them to see their grumpy friend

(As for the other pets, they do get to occasionally come, but only if Nifty is super busy. Only the dogs and cats aren't scared of her. Honestly I'd just be scared of her period)

"Well look who showed up here."

"You say that every week, fool. You should expect me at this point. Where is everyone?"

"Charlie and Vaggie are attempting to campaign this whole failure again, Angel is working, Sir Pentious is in that weird blimp, and Alastor is fucking somewhere."

"And Nifty?"

"Haven't figure it out."

"Good things I did not bring over the little guys then. Just the dogs."

You unclipped them from their leashes to let them roam around the main floor of the hotel, though they stuck behind the bar with Husk.

"Alastor still has you stuck here? Not even a little break?"

"Convincing that bastard to give me a break is like pulling teeth outta a bear. Never gonna happen."

"Man, fuck him. He's a weirdo asshole."

"One that owns my soul."

"Dumbass."

"Fuck you."

"Love you toooo."

A/n: Thank youuu XOXO (You also did my matchup which I really loved!)

[birchbow]

Hey birch! Quick ask for your writing on POF. What do you like the most about your Kurloz and Gamzee? If you could pick a few favorite things or traits from the versions of them you created, what do you think those would be? It's ok if you skip, I just got curious. I love your epic clown sagaaa 🥰🥰

!!! :Oc oh huh! My favorite traits are almost always the ones that create friction--some of those are neutral but create drama and some of them are outright negative, lol. Short answer, PoF Gamzee's a reckless coward and PoF Kurloz is incredibly dangerous and proud over top of a deep well of insecurity. Long answer.....under the cut, lol.

The Gamzee I write is, and I say this with authorial love and tbh no moral judgment, kind of a coward. He's not scared of the same stuff as most of us would be, he's good at combat and he likes pain, but also he's hugely, deeply afraid--of lots of stuff, but especially being left behind, and that drives a ton of his characterization.

Being left/abandoned is a pretty returning theme for a reason! From the very first chapter, when Gamzee's internal monologue is basically, "Well, time for the thing that made me happy to Go Away again. Hopefully if I'm good and I wait well enough, it'll eventually come back." He's been captured on his first mission, is his family going to leave him to die? Karkat's cocooning, is he ever coming back? Kurloz is poisoned and the family is turning on him as a suspect, are they done with him forever? He's the lynchpin of the Cult of Flesh's heresy, are his gods going to turn their faces away from him?

And when he feels like he has been abandoned, he goes through cycles of rage and then retreating from the rage, because being angry is holy but being angry is bad and drives people away, but being angry feels right, but-- It drives him to be overly obliging, trying not to drive people away, and it pushes him to be vicious when somebody seems to be interfering with his grasp on the things he values. It makes him a very sweet guy who'd do just about anything for the people he cares about, and it makes him clingy and dependent and blindly devoted, and prone to lashing out when he feels like they don't care about him as much as he cares about them!

I identify with a lot of that as an author, but I also just feel like it dovetails pretty neatly into the scant amounts of canon characterization we get for Gamzee, so I find it very compelling to read/write!

-

As far as Kurloz goes, what I like most about him as a character is probably like...his pride? And (especially because this is a kinky sex fic) the shame that goes along with that.

On a very surface level, the concept of the Grand Highblood as a grumpy, proud old guy who's getting reluctantly dragged in the direction of a still terrible but less hemoist society is very funny to me. Make up a bigoted old man and then force him to knuckle under repeatedly to the people he's bigoted against. But also on a more-plot-less-humor level, a character who's made himself a very strict code of "this is what's expected of me and I will fulfill it no matter what it does to me" is RIPE for drama. Especially when the plot of the story is then giving that character something that suddenly he finds he values at least as much as that code and pride, and making him struggle with that.

The counterpoint to that being; it's fun to set up a character as a proud, badass, dangerous son of a bitch, and then give the POV/the readers a shot straight into the shit that he's hiding behind that "I'm untouchable, don't fuck with me" pride. Sadism, especially as extreme as I've written into Kurloz, can be an intimidating thing! On the surface it's part of the mask, part of the scary persona--but it's really compelling and interesting to me to then sidestep that mask and go into the roiling mess of sexual shame and religious guilt and uncertainty and self-loathing. MAN I love writing the Brother Immortal scenes, you guys.

[undead-merman]

Garnet

December 31st 2015

To my horror, my father's scraps of rambling claiming to be research turned out to be true. 

Deep in this unnamed facility past a million warning signs was the monster. His eyes gleaming in the darkness, reflecting the light of my lantern. I swear his eyes bore into me as if he was reading my very soul. He shouldn't be alive, not for how long this place has been abandoned. Life behind a chain link fence with only stagnant air and dust particles. 

I pulled him out and seeing as how I simply came here to fight off my burning curiosity and hatred, I don't have a team to help me swipe the place and collect the research from the last group that contained him. I've contacted my most trusted allies to help me. They'll arrive any day now to my camp just outside this worn down concrete mess of a building. 

He's semi feral. He understands basic body language, but does not speak or respond to any spoken language. I've tried. He growls and hisses at the most basic of things. He didn’t even understand forks and knives. He doesn’t even eat with his hands, he kneels down and licks it up from the ground. It’s a sad sight, really. I managed to lead him outside with some scraps of my lunch. He hissed and shied away from the sun like it was a beast. The poor thing, I shielded him away from the sun and waited with him until the sun went down. I made him a spot in my tent, and I'm watching him. I can’t be too careful with how wild he seems to be. He’s sleeping in my bedroll. 

I cannot believe my father was right. The power of manifestation is true and has happened in the past, allowing a billion gods to be born over the years… Garnet, as I will be calling him from now on, doesn’t seem to look like one. He looks more like a demon. Garnet horns, a long tail, rough skin with pillars of said stone growing out of his spine and across his skin. His skin I can tell is supposed to be a much more saturated red, but with who knows how long he’s been in there he’s surely gotten paler. 

I’m going to do my best to look after him. I think I should look into my father’s notes more as well. 

January 5th 2016

A few days have gone by, and I want to compile my notes here. My new team has arrived, a few of my late father’s friends, a few friends of my own. All of them know of my father’s sudden detrimental interest in manifestation, even after all his years as a man of hard science. A handful of them searched the building, while a few stayed with me and studied Garnet. 

Previous research dating back to the 1800s shows he wasn’t always feral. He was a calm-collected man that was theorized to be a demon of sorts. The horns on his head are indeed made from pure garnet, as well as the protrusions on his body. He used to have wings, as stated in some of the old writings, but they must have atrophied and fallen off. 

I’ve taken some time to try and teach him some basic English. He’s a fast learner, which makes my life a lot easier, though it seems like he used to speak it a long time ago. My guess with how long he’s been alone, he’s forgotten it. Makes me sick to my stomach. Over a hundred years of solitude. Strangely enough, looking at his old enclosure, there were no signs of attempted escape. He stayed put like a well-trained dog.  

There are thousands of files, some of them unreadable, almost all of them unorganized. We suspect people have been in here to explore or trash the abandoned facility, so it makes it harder to find material. But with Garnet the moral is up at the very least. Though, Garnet seems wary of new people. He only seems at ease around me and inside my tent. He snaps at anyone getting too close. In fact, he goes ballistic unless I stand in the way. I hate to describe it as such, but he acts like an unsocialized dog. Still, he seems like a good man, just lost from the stillness and loneliness of that facility. I’ve seen him sneak around and patrol my tent before curling up by my head. When he thinks I'm asleep he’ll lick my hair and chew it. 

Talking with the team they agreed to stay here for as long as it takes. One of them even inviting a few more to understand garnet, a biochemist, a genealogist, Histologist, Biophysicist, the whole nine yards. Some of my father’s friends are even paying for the expenses of this trip. I’m so grateful. I hope that the study doesn’t stress Garnet out too much. Furthermore, I’ve resolved myself to taking Garnet’s comfort as a priority. If he doesn’t want to do something, then I will make sure that they don’t press anymore. 

January 16th 2016

Our team has done some more digging and careful organizing and we’ve found out more about Garnet’s reason for being here. This used to be a research company that was looking into lab grown crystals but had ended up finding Garnet. They had harvested garnets from his body using different methods from bloodletting to cutting them out of his skin after burning him. From what it seems his blood would solidify into gemstones. It would provide hefty amounts, though their color would be low quality. The act of burning him which would scab over with the crystal and yank them out. These would result in much higher quality garnets. They wanted to test this, but I refused. It's far too inhumane. 

We have also discovered he’s been there for generations. They had found a collection of folders called ‘Project Vein’, they didn’t even properly give him a name. I couldn’t stop myself from crying, knowing this man had gone through all that for some stupid fucking jewelry. Worst of all, when he saw me crying he straddled me licking my face and tried to comfort me, me. I couldn’t sleep that night, I didn’t even try. 

The company dissolved after the great depression and he had been there ever since. Wasting away as he waited for someone to come find him. Save him, give him orders. Good riddance. I don’t even want to know the names of the people working here… it would eat me up inside. 

We’ve been trying to teach him more and he’s picked up on it more and more. Instead of basic words, he’s relearned slightly more complex sentences. Thankfully, he’s a bit more social now and not just hovering around me and hissing and biting at the others. Not to say he doesn’t hover still but at least he’s not hostile to the others at camp. My father’s closest friends from work, he has taken great interest in Garnet. He keeps trying to feed him and get Garnet to spend time with him. Garnet is still wary of him. We did find out Garnet enjoys fruit. One in particular being a pomegranate. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. We gave it to him, and we watched as he peeled the flesh with such delicacy. No juice spilled from it unless it was already in his mouth. We all sat around and watched as he plucked seed after seed. He offered a handful to my colleague and myself before eating the rest. Ever since then, he’s been pestering us for ‘the tiny pom’. 

His body is nothing like the doctors have ever seen. They were able to take small tissue samples and do some check up and scans. The tissues turned to Garnets within a few minutes. After study, his flesh truly turned to the crystal. The Mineralogist explained that garnets have a few different species. He seems able to produce many species… I wasn’t aware there were species.... Chrome pyrope garnet seems to be the main one he produces. He’s only able to produce a red variety as far as we know. But even she doesn’t know if. His flesh produces Spessartine. She wanted to take samples from all over his body including bone and marrow samples, but I refused.  

I made sure they don’t go overboard with testing. As fascinating as he is, I cannot allow any mistreatment. 

January 25th 2016

We have been here for nearly a month and Garnet has made leaps and bounds worth of progress. His long hair had been bothering him so they went head and cut his hair. He perked up the minute they showed him his reflection and he came scrambling over to me asking if I liked it. It suits him, and now I don’t have to spend twenty minutes every morning combing it. 

He’s finally comfortable wearing clothing, much to everyone’s relief. With the cold, It only further proves the point that he is not bound by reality like us mortals. While he contains a stomach, he does not need to eat, he doesn’t need to sleep, the cold has no effect on him, he can have his body torn apart and beaten and still be fine, and heal it all away within a matter of hours. 

He is not a mortal creature. If my father had any say in this, he would have called it a god. Garnet ceaselessly creates from his body without the need for energy. What else could you call it? I’m not even sure myself. Father’s research says there are billions of them. Gods created from the ideas and concepts attached to them. He mentioned gemstones, devils, zodiac, animals, though gemstones are primarily the object of his interest. Garnet, amethyst, ruby, topaz and citrine. He claimed to have known about Garnet, his mother telling stories about him. I worry that my family was somehow involved with him. 

We’ve plucked through as much as we could inside, but sadly time has destroyed most of their research. What I've previously written down in my cataloging is simply all we have. Garnet doesn't seem to remember anything after the last visit to him. From what he's told me, a man had come up to him and told him to wait there. He waited and waited until I came. 

Everyone discussed what to do next. Without Garnet consenting to testing, there wasn’t much they could do. But when I told them about my father’s research, they asked if I was planning to see if there was more like Garnet. I had to admit it. If there were any more creatures like Garnet, I was willing to risk everything to find them. 

I really am my father’s child… 

They agreed to help me and asked what to do with Garnet, and honestly I had to think awhile about it. I simply just couldn’t let him go about the world on his own. I know it in my heart that he’d be taken advantage of the moment someone got him in his grasp. But keeping him with me? It is not like he’s some pet. I’d have to hide him, keep him safe. I’m not sure if I am up to the task. 

But seeing how Garnet curls up to me every single night, licking my fingers and hair, and nibbles at my shoulder just to hug and hold me, I knew I had to. I told the group I’d keep him by my side and Garnet was thrilled about it. He latched on and didn’t let go until bed. I’d have to return home to look more into my father’s notes. The people of my camp offered to help me get back without having to arouse suspicion from the public. I am privileged to have such lovely people surrounding me in this mission. When I told Garnet that we’d be traveling back home, his tail whipped around wildly, and he seemed to take pride in the fact I called it home for the both of us. I hope I can spoil him like he deserves. 

January 28th 2016

We ended up taking a train. We were able to have a whole private cart to ourselves, so I didn’t have to worry about Garnet getting overexcited and getting caught. I had to thank one of my dad’s old friends for that. 

He was pressed by the window the entire time, and he refused to let me squirm away. I was by his side with his hand around my waist as he watched trees and mountains go by. It was charming seeing how amazed he was. Every seat cushion he bounced on, the table he laid upon and lounged like a king. After so long alone, it was heartwarming to see him so enthusiastic about the world. 

I’d let him pick at my lunch and takes the things he wanted as I looked up more about Gemstones, mostly the ones about my dear new friend. 

From my dad’s rants, I remember him saying that humans assigning characteristics would result in a grain of truth. So I looked at what the birthstone would represent and their symbolism. It was sweet seeing him sniff and poke at my pad and pen. 

Loyalty, passion, healing, and protection were the most common aspects… and it would make sense for him. Loyal to the end. Waiting for someone to come find him. I have to push down all those hateful feelings. I have Garnet to look after. 

Maybe in the future we will find more about them, but for now I'm going to spend some time looking into my father’s things and making sure Garnet feels safe, loved, and taken care of. He deserves it. 

[toodrasticallydumb]

20 questions for fic writers

Oh! Hello! I was tagged by @pinkytoothlesso11 ! Thanks for thinking of me pinky! I’m kinda new to the whole fanfic scene so i really appreciate it! This was already a long list of questions to begin with but i fear i may have made it worse…

OH WELL HAVE FUN SPORT :}>

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Unfortunately just 2, though I do plan to add a few more in the future as ideas flow. Might take me a minute ‘cause my schedule is just a little bit kinda sorta really swamped down with my main child which requires let me you, A LOT OF CARE DONT SIGN UP TO ADOPT KIDS PEOPLE IT’S NOT—

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

Phew. ummmm it changes very rapidly (because i’m a girl w suspected adhd and can NEVER be told to shut up) with every chapter but as of this moment is 228,665! wow! i don’t really know how great of a number that is but i’m sure it’s a lot! I told you I can never shut up! (-whispers- Hey kid, u want some dRuGs? i mean- an update? That itty bitty word count is about to take another not regularly scheduled mini-skyrocket so get ready for it ehehe ;})

3. What fandoms do you write for?

For now, just Trollhunters/Tales of Arcadia, mainly Trollhunters despite the fact that the first of the Tales of Arcadia shows that i watched and really enjoyed was actually 3-Below, but oh well my man is in Trollhunters sooooo oopsie but i DO have some random snippets of fics for Miraculous (rewrite), the Star Wars sequels (rewrite), Batman, some for the Dream SMP, and weirdly enough also Raya and the Last Dragon (rewrite). All of which i prolly wont ever post because i wrote them a while ago and yeaaaahhh not my best writing but if i get enough people other than my best friend wanting me to post them, i might…

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

uhhhh i dont actually HAVE five fics to my name, so i’ll just…put em in order (w their long-ahh title names):

Trollhunter!Strickler: Destiny's Ill-fitted Chosen

'A MiStAkE' because I haven't updated in ages--A Stricklake month 2023 prompt collection

but i am so happy for the people who have left so many kudos on my work it really warms mah little heart ❤️

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes. At first, I sorta struggled with it (who the heck am i kidding i STILL do) but since my fic USED to be two times a week updates i would feel like i couldn’t respond to a comment left after i posted a new chapter so i might’ve left some comments in the earlier days unanswered, super sorry. Nowadays i make it a point to reply back to everyone in the order that they commented in because (anxiety makes me think if i don’t respond they won’t comment anymore and know that i love reading their comments and that they’re so amazing for actually taking the time to write something back AND I DO LOVE IT I PROMISE IT JUST TAKES ME A WHILE TO RESPOND—) …because it’s pretty chill to geek out w em and see they liked stuff that i loved to write! I do have a backlog of comments to get to i just end up overthinking everything to match the person’s energy to be sure they know i love em.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Unfortunately, i haven’t actually finished a fully-fledged fic to say it has the angstiest ending bUt definitely a contender would be chapter 1 of my 2023 Stricklake prompt collection because i just leave it on the sad note and don’t do anything about it because angst and because spoilers for my actual story fic that will eventually make it to that point.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Happiest ending, huh? I like to say that most of the things i will/have chosen to write end happy/hopeful because i hate when books/tv shows end bittersweetly it’s like i have enough with life itself being bittersweet most of the time let me be happy LET THEM BE HAPPY. But that doesn’t exclude me from providing the proper banquet of angst that ends in caretaking, my absolute favorite trope.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Oh heck no. I would be devastated honestly, but thankfully everyone who comments is always the sweetest and kindest people ever and really encourage me to keep going, for that i am only thankful.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No. Just no. I love romance but i am a minor, so i’ve never consumed smut nor intend to ever write it. Give me a soft romance and loving gestures, I can allude to greater happenings but not details.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I don’t, sorry. I don’t know something in me just doesn’t sit well with crossovers, for the life of me I don’t know why. Like genuinely i wish i could get into them but maybe it’s like food on a plate? i don’t like the foods touching each other so maybe the same rules apply??? yeah i’m drasticallydumb

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that i know of, no.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t believe so, and if someone did they’re in for a heck of a lot of work there…

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! I’d like to sometime but i have no idea how one even goes about making a co-written fic, on top of which i am a very sporadic person in terms of motivation and random ideas produced by a song i’m listening to while writing.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Stricklake obviously is a really big contender if not the winner, the ship that brought me to AO3, writing fanfics, and tumblr. But, if i had to pick other options i’d say Eugene and Repunzel from Tangled would be one of my ogs, another might be uhhh Chris and Aviva from Wild Kratts the og of the ogs.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Chapter 3 of my stricklake 2023 prompt collection, it just has a lot of moving parts and me and my best friend are chronic procrastinators and with the month pretty far gone it might just end up sittin’ there for the foreseeable future 😞 but who knows

16. What are your writing strengths?

Phew, that’s a dozy mainly because i’m not super sure. I’d like to think one of my main strengths is descriptions and really putting you in the mind of the character, i don’t really like spelling things out and i like a little investigating to get you where u end up, u know? I like to think my writing FEELS a little more like a show on a page rather than a true book, most to blame would be my maladaptive daydreaming taking up a lot of time in my planning for my writing.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Ah. How the turn tables. I would say that my weaknesses in writing mostly consist of me going a little *too* far into detail on meaningless things or making it too convoluted for people to understand, sometimes spelling it out is better in certain scenarios and i just really need to get myself past that. Another one i would say is that i go REALLY into detail not only in a sentence/chapter sense but also a complete STORYLINE sense, i hate time skips and i shoot myself in the foot wanting to completely document every moment of everyday w a character and hence it seems like a lot of time in universe hasn’t gone by. Trying to improve and grow tho 💪

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Can’t wait to do more of it! Especially with Claire and her family (including NotEnrique) speaking spanglish w each other automatically mainly because i am hispanic and completely fluent in Spanish and live in a similar household so i just love to add a little ✨personalization✨ to my dialogue and interactions in that way. Other languages………….yeaaaahhh i’m not super good will prolly use google translate and hope.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Trollhunters, my gateway into AO3. HOWEVER. if you promise not to tell, the very first fandom i read/wanted to write a fanfic for was actually, as far as i can tell, Wordgirl. don’t ask why. don’t ask me how. it just kinda happened. But, officially, it’s Trollhunters. (maybe with a side of Warrior Cats).

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Not hard at all! My pride and joy, my youngest baby in the grand scheme of my writing journey, Trollhunter!Strickler: Destiny's Ill-fitted Chosen! A surprise to absolutely NO ONE. It’s honestly so amazing to both write and see people read and enjoy as much as I do, he’s my little man ❤️ And doing so much rewriting and character growth and having so much written and planned for the future, it’s just my absolute fav

[sniperjade]

What is Happiness as a Concept?

Regulus definitely cared the next morning.

He lay there in bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the churning in his stomach. What was he thinking? Well in truth he hadn’t really been thinking. He blamed the wolf transfiguration because he now knew in detail exactly how Remus smelled and something deep inside him really wanted more of that.

He patted himself down until he came across his wand that was still stuck in his pocket and accio’d a pain potion. It came flying out of the cupboard and into his waiting hand with a thud. He gulped it down and fought the wave of nausea from overtaking him. He swung his legs around to dangle off the bed and accio’d a hangover potion. He was desperate to handle the task himself before Remus had a chance to make good on his offer.

Fuck. He could arrive at any moment and Regulus did not know what to say. Sorry, I got drunk and tried to fuck you because turning into a wolf turned me temporarily insane? No. How about sorry I tried to get you to wake up in my bed so that I didn’t have to Accio my own potions? No. He pulled at the hair on his head hoping that the tight pain would wake him up enough to think of a solution.

He staggered to his feet and lurched over to the bathroom. The only real option was to disappear before he got there. You didn’t have to have an awkward conversation if you weren’t there for it. He hurriedly showered and dressed for the day before escaping into the early morning light. He knew that if he beseeched the elves in the kitchens, he could probably garner a few muffins or something before disappearing into a secluded corner to read.

Hopefully, by the time dinner had come around, Remus will assume that he had forgotten what had happened and they can go back to some semblance of normalcy.

Regulus spent the next several days avoiding Remus. He aimed to never be in a position where Remus could catch him alone and bring up uncomfortable topics like kissing and his very deliberate invite into his bed. The downside to that of course, was that it meant he had to spend a lot of time with Severus and Lily – who he suspected, to his profound disgust, were now a couple.

Of course, because it was Christmas this also meant spending a lot of time with Harry, who had stayed behind to spend time with his mum. Lily was over the moon with the situation. All her favourite people were with her, and she spent the entire time taking pictures and cooing.

The only downside had been the revelation that Harry had received a broom from some unknown person. The Firebolt had appeared at the foot of Harry’s bed in non-descript wrapping without a card. He’d come barrelling into breakfast wearing a huge smile full of thanks to his mother who looked at him like he was bonkers. They were supposed to go looking for a new broom over the holidays.

It had put a significant dampener on the whole affair as Harry was not happy to have his broom confiscated, with no timeline as to when he might get it back. Regulus had tried to soften the blow by offering to go flying with him as much as he could, especially given the fact that he was currently banned from going alone with the threat of Sirius still in the air.

As far as children went Harry was not a bad child. Regulus quite liked having someone to fly with and Harry was not overly loquacious which Regulus appreciated. He was quite content to fly or race silently only engaging in conversation when it was vitally important.

On one such occasion, he was sitting at the top of the quidditch field looking out over the snow-covered lake, marvelling at the beauty of it all when Harry flew up to meet him. He sat silently and stared for a long time before he turned to Regulus and broke the silence. His expression was grim

“Is there something going on between Snape and my mum?” he asked.

Regulus lifted an eyebrow. “I think that’s something you should be asking your mum.”

Harry screwed up his face in disgust. “She says they’re just friends.”

Regulus shrugged. “I don’t have any evidence to oppose that statement.”

Harry gave him a disbelieving look. “How can you say that when you’ve seen them together?” He screwed up his face in disgust. “They’re so cozy.”

Regulus laughed. “Well, I can honestly say that I have never once in my life heard Severus referred to as cozy.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That’s mum’s fault. She makes anything and everything cozy.”

Regulus sighed as his mind's eye filled with Lily Potter. It was a very true statement. Lily lit the world up like very few people he knew could. She was a lot like Sirius in that way, his enthusiasm and zest for life was mirrored in her love of learning and joy of discovery.

“That she does,” Regulus agreed.

“Why couldn’t it have been you or Remus?” Harry asked grumpily.

Regulus almost choked in surprise. “Excuse me!?”

“You and Remus are cool and nice and,” Harry gripped his broom tight, “Snape is such an arsehole!”

Regulus raised an eyebrow at the boy. “Ten points from Gryffindor Harry. I may be nice but I’m still a professor and so is Snape, and whilst you may not like him, you will treat him with respect.” He paused for a moment before letting a sly grin cross his face. “Even if he is an arsehole.”

“He’s worse than Malfoy.”

“Is that right?” Regulus inquired, the smile on his face growing. “And what, may I inquire is so wrong about my dear cousin?”

Harry spluttered, “He’s… He’s just so pompous and mean and thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

“Hmmm,” Regulus mused, “I think you’re being a little hard on him. There’s not a lot of options for a guy like him.”

“What!?” Harry objected, “Raised with everything anyone could ever want? Living in a mansion? With two parents who obviously love him?”

Regulus scratched absently at his mark. It always played up when he was made to think about his family and his childhood. Parents who loved him. Regulus cringed. He was familiar with that. Sirius hadn’t thought of it as love. After all, when you’ve experienced the sort of love that a family like the Potters can give, you would, wouldn’t you? Regulus however knew the truth of it. How love can sometimes be toxic and suffocating. How it can make you do things you regret.

“Right,” Regulus replied sarcastically, “Because all that money and prestige doesn’t come with a price. Do you really think he’s free to do whatever he wants and be with whoever he pleases?” He scoffed. “Some cages don’t have bars, Harry.”

Harry looked at him with wide eyes. He gulped. “I never really thought about it like that.” He blushed suddenly, the colour flowing into his cheeks. “Do you think he needs rescuing?”

Regulus barked out a laugh. “Maybe.”

Read the rest on Ao3

[funeralcryptid]

Hello! I am Ver and I really like your readings♥️ You are one of the few people that gives me inspiration to become a better divination reader in general.

I am a lurker here but I do really admire your readings truly🫶🏻

I am curious to get a reading from you and I saw you opened up free readings. I am also open for an exchange with you! If your readings are closed feel free to delete this ask.

I offer you this song “Hope is the thing with feathers” by Chevy, especially this part of lyrics:

We rise together as our destiny unfolds

We face the darkness and our trials are yet untold

Through the shadows of despair

Oh, in silence, hopes we share, woah, woah

To chase our dreams that we've declared

We glimpse, through our eyes

Yet fools, blind our sights

Can't make what they say

We'll find our way, we'll find our way

The question is this: how to clear out my fears of finding new genuine people?

I got so many disappointments in the past and I am trying to address my fears. I fear to experience again the feeling of being left out and being the second choice of people.

In the past people never chose me and always came because they were out of choices. They came close to me only because they needed something from me.

At one point I chose to stay alone and stopped trying to have friends since they didn’t resonate with me and weren’t any good influences for me.

Nowadays I think I am healed and ready to meet new people, but still the shadow of the past still doesn’t get away from me. I am trying to manifest healthy and positive friendships for myself but I admit that I am using the excuse of being busy to not focus on chasing new people.

Thank you so much for your energy and hit me up in dms if you wish a reading from me♥️✨

Welcome,

Thank for your heart touching words. I really appreciate it.

Before I even pull any cards, I see a crack in a crystal of sorts. It possesses no evident color, which means it is a crystal of pure refraction. When light hits it, you will see all the colors of the rainbow. I suspect this crack I mentioned is in your spirit. More than exclusively focusing on this matter you bring to me, you need to look into your spirit and face the things you yourself don't know, especially the things you don't like.

Count your blessings but learn to detach yourself from the things you desire and the things that drag you down. This is rather optimistic. First of all, you need to recognize and embrace the good things in life. The best thing in your life is yourself, believe it or not. I know you wish to have very important things, but you have been blessed otherwise. Be proud and grateful of that. Always trust your intuition and stay in a place that is safe even if it feels uncomfortable if it means you stay true to yourself. For you, it is not advised to be daring, may you try to force things. You have to be unapologetically yourself; this means embracing the idea of you being unwanted. Yes, accept who you are and then take a closer look. You would be surprised to find out you've been wrong about it this entire time.

You are, in fact, a very beautiful person. You are half proud of this, half embarrassed because you think you're not enough. I'm telling you; you are joyful, beautiful and proud. Embrace that. You don't need to project these qualities, you just need to feel them out and own them. Stop trying to modify yourself, to cut the inadequate, to trim the fat. This is not a matter of hard work like that. It's not about the tangible experiences. It's about how you feel inside.

Once you stop caring so much and can live comfortable in your skin, maybe then you will be able to start meeting the genuine friends you long for.

Remember, you're doing this for yourself, not for them.

The tower is only as menacing and intimidating as you let it be. It's a world dominated by appearances, you think the tower threatening to fall on top of you is an exception? Yes, let it come undone, let the lightning strike and trigger the fall. There's many things you have to realize.

I hope you find this insightful xx