#what an awful pessimistic way to look at things honestly

[januaryembrs]

YOU CAN HEAR IT IN THE SILENCE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [9]

description: the TWO big steps you take together.

word count: 13.5k

trigger warnings: entire mr scratch episode including drugging and suic!de, gore, violence, blood, mention of Diana's schizophrenia, mention of hotch's upbringing

author's note: lets do this again UGH. also set throughout season 10 so even though it seems like a jump its been a whole year bcus I can't write about every day my babies spend together.

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‘Cause you can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home, you can see it with the lights out,

You’re in love. True love,’

The one where you meet his mom. [you have the parenthood talk]

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her thumbnail instinctively picking at the side of her forefinger as her eyes trailed over the dress in the mirror. 

It was a little too chesty, were the sleeves too short? Would his mom not like that it was backless? Backless meant suggestive to some people. Would she hate her piercings? She could take out a couple of her earrings just for one day, cover the hole where her nose ring slipped in with foundation easily. 

Smile, she needed to remember to smile, not that god awful resting bitch face that Elizabeth used to say looked like she’d sucked a lemon between her cheeks. Smile. No, not like that, that looks fake and awkward. 

Was her make up too much? She would hate for Spencer’s mom to think she looked like a hooker. A cheap one at that. 

She felt his hands on her shoulders before the throes of her vicious mind could nab her once more, and her eyes trailed behind her in the reflective, if not slightly fingerprinted, mirror. 

“You’re thinking loud,” Spencer said as if it was a fact, though that tended to be the way with him, since he knew damn near everything there was to know. Especially about her. “Why are you so worried, it’s my mom. Besides, what’s not to like about you?” 

She huffed, shaking her head even though she really tried her best to give him a smile, instead turning to look down at her hands with wincing, cynical twinge of her lips. 

“Maybe my tattoos or my make up or my slutty dress or my piercings that make me look like I just raided Penelope’s collection of ‘goth chic jewellery’, her words not mine,” She said pessimistically. She didn’t want to dampen the mood, honestly she was looking forward to the woman who graced the world with Spencer Reid (she wondered if a handshake or a hug would be appropriate, she would ask Spence in the car she decided,) “People don’t tend to see me the way you do, honey, I can be blunt and rude and snappy and cold. And it’s your mom, she’s like the most important person in the world to you.”

“She’s joint first, actually” Spencer corrected, trying to lift her spirits even a little. He knew none of the things she was saying were necessarily true. He suspected that voice that had overcome her was not her own at all, more likely her own mother nagging into to her for years to sit up straighter, smile more, make an effort to network and socialise, or any other piece of shit observation about how she acted for Elizabeth to badger her about. 

But then she smiled at him, her eyebrows drawn together a little like she guessed he was lying or perhaps sugarcoating things. 

“You’re allowed to have her first, you know,” Bugsy reassured him, her eyes melty and soft as she looked at him and he nodded, wrapping his arms around her stomach, almost like he was trying to suck the negativity out of her whole body through diffusion of their skin alone. “She’s your mom,” 

“I know,” Spencer said simply, their eyes never breaking the gaze at one another, and Bugsy felt herself warm inside when she saw just how besotted his forest hues were, “Please stop worrying, she’s going to love you,”

“You can’t know that for sure,” She pushed back, because when had she ever allowed herself to enjoy a good thing when she had it. She knew she was being somewhat of a Negative Nancy, and she didn’t mean to be, truly. But Diana Reid was possibly the most significant person in Spencer’s life, despite what he said. And Bugsy was… Bugsy. All teeth and chaos and bite and vicious tongue when she didn’t mean to be. 

If Diana didn’t like her, she wasn’t quite sure she’d be able to look at Spencer again without blurting out the million ways she’d try to make it up to him.

“Oh, I do know for sure actually,” He said, spinning her around so he could see her first hand, not in a reflection or a mirror image, and she smiled despite herself, pressing into his lean body and taking a big whiff of his freshly washed clothes. It was the same detergent she used, the same one he’d always used, and yet it was so Spencer it made her skin crawl with what she thought felt like warm goosebumps.

“Oh yeah?” He nodded proudly, and she progressed to a grin, her chin leaning against his chest as she spoke, and he stroked her neatly braided hair away from her face to see her better, like he’d won the second he saw her smile properly, “How do you figure that one out, wonder boy?”

“I’ve mentioned you in almost every single letter I’ve written to her for three whole years. When she saw the photo of you I sent her, she asked if I’d cut you out of a vogue magazine,” Spencer said and she burst out laughing. He couldn’t say he blamed his mom, the photo he’d sent had been one of Bugsy’s best, but then he’d be willing to argue all of them were just as newsworthy as the last. And nothing compared to the real thing. “You make me happy, happier than I ever thought I was allowed to be. Believe me, I know she’ll love you, because I love you,” 

Bugsy smushed her face into his sweater to hide her modesty, and she pressed a small, barely there kiss to where her lips met even if he wouldn’t feel it. 

“Does my hair look okay?” She checked again, her voice muffled by his thick knitted clothes, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead, stroking a gentle hand down her spine. 

“You look beautiful,” He said softly, pulling her away from his body and holding onto her right hand, “Give me a spin,”

He lifted her hand above her head, despite the fact she seemed reluctant and embarrassed, “Spence,”

“We’re not leaving until you give me a spin,” He teased, and his smile was infectious as she twirled around beneath his grasp, the long, floral, sundress fanning out around her knees, “And back again!”

“Spencer-” She said with a chuckle, but he seemed to ignore her, or judging by his smile that spread across his whole face he didn’t care.

“Sorry, it’s just the rules,” He said, though she was almost certain there wasn’t ever such a thing as a rulebook on how to make your girlfriend less of a whiny bitch.

He spun her back around, and by the time she whirled around to face him a second him, his arm dropped down to secure around her waist, yanking her towards him to press a scorching hot kiss to her lips. 

She kissed him back, her tongue trailing against his lip and Spencer’s obscenely large hand released her waist, trailing up her sides to cup her cheeks. Spencer kissed her like she was sucking air right out his lungs, like he was receiving life saving medicine, like he was being graced by an angel, a non-believer, a man of science reaching out to the white gates of heaven as if they were about to disappear under his touch. 

They parted with a small smack that reverberated in the bathroom, and Bugsy looked at him as if he’d infected her with a drug, because truthfully that was how his touch, his kiss, made her feel. 

They settled in his car, a few soft and loving affections later, because she really did look beautiful and he could apologise for smudging her lipstick another time, and Spencer it was the first time in a long time that Spencer felt like his future was laid out in front of him. 

–

She fretted some more in the lobby, the woman behind the desk at the sanitarium lighting up at the sight of Spencer walking towards her with a smile. 

“Dr. Reid,” She enthused, noting the woman next to him that squoze a book to her chest tightly like she wasn't sure what her fingers might do if they were let loose, “She’s been so excited to see you, her doctors said she’s responding well to the new medication,” 

“I heard, I’m glad to hear she’s feeling calmer,” He said, his eyes trailing past the brunette who tapped away at her keyboard idly, “Where is she?”

“She’s just in the sunroom. She’s been learning how to crochet, just like you said,” The receptionist smiled kindly at Bugsy, who looked all but terrified, though she hid it well through tight lips. 

Spencer nodded, reaching up to put a hand between Bugsy’s shoulder’s to lead her through the lounge area where a few other residents watched a black and white movie. 

“Are you sure my make up looks okay, my mascara hasn’t ran has it?” She whispered, because a few other people, some even her age, were sitting in comfy armchairs flicking through books. 

Spencer smiled at her, because she was so cute when she was nervous, usually it was the other way around, “You look lovely, you always look lovely,”

“I believe that’s what’s called voter bias, Dr Reid,” She said, because jokes and wit always seemed to release the pressure on her head when she was stressed. 

He chuckled, opening the door to a large room filled on all sides with windows, and the cosy heat hit her in the face, “Not if what I’ve said is a verifiable fact.” 

“Who’s your secondary source, Dr?” She said, because they seemed to fall into a nerdy sort of teasing when they were like this. Facts and figures were predictable, getting your boyfriend’s mother to like you based entirely on your personality was not. 

“My mom,” Spencer said, and her head whipped to his, ready to protest when he led her to the corner of the sunroom, where a woman sat with her ocean blue eyes screwed up in concentration where two blush pink hooks were crossing and bobbing between a cream thread of yarn, “Mom,”

Her eyes flew up from where she sat, immersed in the delicate movements. Spencer had said a few weeks ago her hands were becoming stiff on her new tablets, that the side effects were making her circulation poor and so Bugsy had been out to help him pick up a crochet kit from Walmart the very same day.

“Mom, this is Bugsy,” He said, and it was his turn to be almost shy as he gestured to the young woman. “The girl I was telling you about,”

Diana stopped for a moment, as if assessing the new face, the way her hair fell around her ears, and Bugsy clutched the hardback tighter to her chest, thinking that maybe she should have gone for something a little fancier than the small piece of twin that wrapped around the present. First time meeting his mom and this was the best you could do, really Bugsy? Where’s the flowers or even another ball of yarn to keep her occupied? 

Bugsy swore her breath caught, her brows furrowing together worriedly as she went to hold a shaky hand out to Diana, but then second guessed herself when she wondered if the loathing of spreading germs was shared between Spencer and his mom. She’d forgotten to check when they were in the car- stupid- stupid girl.

“H-hello, Mrs Reid,” She said quietly, shakily, holding out the book to the woman. Diana Reid looked good for her age, considering Spencer had told her on numerous occasions that she struggled to pretty herself up the way she used to before her Schizophrenia had spiralled. But her hair was a warm blonde with only small traces of grey in it, short around her neck likely for practicality, and despite the fact her face seemed somewhat grumpy, though Bugsy would describe her as lost more than anything, she lit up like a damn firework on the fourth of July the second she saw her son. 

“Spencer!” She exclaimed, holding a hand out for her son to take, which he did so without hesitation. Bugsy thought she might be going in for a hug, maybe that she’d missed the hint that Bugsy was trying to greet her, which the young girl didn’t mind one bit. She was well aware she was stepping on their time together, “Help me out of this chair, I left my glasses in my room, I want to see her,” 

Bugsy felt heat rush to her cheeks as Diana all but threw her crochet set to the little table beside what seemed to be a lukewarm mug of coffee, and Spencer helped her out of the recliner, Bugsy holding out another hand in case she needed it. She was tall once she stood to full height, taller than Bugsy would have thought she would be, and hands were on her shoulders the second Diana had released her son. 

“Oh, look at you!” Diana exclaimed, and Bugsy tried not to falter with embarrassment under her words. But his mother’s hands were soft, if not rough on the tips where she had spent her life flicking through pages on pages of literature, “I’ve always told Spence he was a looker but, my god, you’re a catch even for him,” 

“Mom,” He said indignantly, but Bugsy chuckled through flaming cheeks. Diana waved him off in favour of smiling at the girl, and the second she met eyes with the woman who had raised Spencer Reid she saw where he got his good heart from. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Reid,” She stumbled over her words, trying for a second time to give her the book, and Diana looked almost aghast that she had brought her a present, “Spencer said you’d finished all your books they let you keep here so I bought you one of my favourites-”

“How could I resist The Great Gatsby,” Diana said, running a polished thumb over the gold printed writing, a small smile playing at her lips, “I’ve been meaning to brush up on Fitzgerald,”

Spencer smiled at his mother, who seemed more full of life than she had in weeks, before she waved her hand in front of the two of them, and Bugsy wondered if she had done something wrong. 

“And none of this Mrs Reid crap. You're not the IRS, Diana is just fine, honey,” She said, and Bugsy grinned, nodding in agreement with the older woman. “Mom is even better if you’re feeling brave,” 

“O-okay, absolutely,” She said, smiling even wider when Spencer seemed almost aghast his mother was being so brazen. Though he needn’t be so prudent, Bugsy was certain she loved her already. 

“And how is my big strong FBI agent?” Diana turned to her son finally and he shook his head, his eyes full of boyish affection for the women. 

“There’s dozens of words I think would perfectly describe me yet ‘big and strong’ fall nowhere in that category, mom,” He said, smiling widely at his mother who rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. She seemed more like herself than she had in years, her eyes were clearer, her nerves weren’t shot like usual. She seemed like the mother from his best memories. 

“Alright, how does ‘contumelious’ work out for you?” She cracked back, and he laughed, shaking his head and he caught the pure warm grin radiating from Bugsy’s direction at the two of them. 

And Bugsy saw in the kind, devoted eyes that hid behind Diana’s fluffy white, blonde hair where Spencer got his gentle soul; as if no amount of medication or illness would ever make his mother let up on the tenderness she held for him. She felt it in the air alone, the way they fell into sync only blood could ever achieve, and for a flash of a thought, Bugsy wondered if Spencer would be so doting on their children. 

And for the first time all day she didn’t need to second guess herself. She already knew the answer. 

–

“And this was Spencer in the mathletes,” Bugsy’s hand flew to her mouth to suppress the ‘aww’ threatening to tumble from her lips, because she knew from the way his cheeks had turned a bright rouge that he was embarrassed and she hated to make him feel like she was finding humour in his shame. 

It was easy to see which one was him from the offset. Three college boys who had probably spent the best part of their first years begging sorority girls to fuck them and eating funny brownies stood at the back, atleast in their late teens judging by their late-adolescene acne and braces. Yet there, standing in front of them dressed in a tweed sweater vest and pressed brown trousers as if he was a small grandpa, was a scrawny pole of a boy, peeking out from behind a sweeping fringe in need of a trim and a pair of  bubble-like glasses. 

He was smiling wide, holding some sort of trophy in between his slender, little fingers, and Bugsy could bet her entire savings that he had answered almost all of his team’s questions. 

“Spence,” She murmured, taking the photo gently between her fingertips where she sat in between her partner and his mother at the foot of Diana’s bed, “You were so cute,” 

“You can just say dorky,” He corrected, fighting the urge to cover his cheeks with his hands, because he could feel the way they gave away his self-consciousness. 

But she shook her head, leaning into him with adoring eyes as she stared at the photo, “No, I mean cute. Look at your little hair, you were so tiny- aw!” 

He laughed awkwardly, not missing the way she put a hand on his leg in reassurance, and Diana handed her another photo of a toddler with thick dark hair, those hazel eyes she loved, huge and round on the baby's smiling face. Bugsy melted when she saw the milk teeth gleaming in the midst of his laugh, yet she burst into sheepish giggles when she realised baby Spencer had no clothes on. 

Spencer’s eyes widened when he saw the thing dangling between his legs as the picture captured him crawling towards where Diana had the camera. “Mom!” 

Diana rolled her eyes, producing another one of Spencer watering the flowers with the garden hose, barely one year old in a bucket hat and, yet again, nothing else. “Oh, Spencer, don’t give me that, look how cute those little butt cheeks were,” 

Bugsy slapped a hand over her mouth, her brows pulling together at the endearingly innocent photos, and she met Spencer’s gaze again, the urge to squish his cheeks in between her fingers suddenly itching her hands. Though, judging by the embarrassment in his expression, he wouldn’t like it very much even if she did mean the best of intentions.  

“You were so adorable,” She confessed, looking back down at the two tiny, round butt cheeks that made something well in her chest because it was Spencer, so small and vulnerable and helpless. She turned to Diana, her eyes wide with love, “How did you not want just millions of them?” 

The woman laughed, leaning against Bugsy and palming off another photo, this time of Spencer in swimming trunks at the beach, likely around two or three, a line of white sun cream running down his nose and cheeks as he looked to be grumbling about the sand on his legs. 

“Because I knew none of them could ever be as special as my Spencer, and then that just wouldn’t be fair on them.” She said simply, and Bugsy smiled at the woman, truly smiled, because despite everything her illness set against her, she loved her son more than anything in the world. “You don’t win the lottery and then pawn in your rings for a couple bucks, now do you?” 

Bugsy chuckled, shaking her head. Elizabeth had never been so doting on her. She knew she shouldn’t think about her, shouldn’t compare the two of them because they weren’t similar even in the slightest. Diana was a single mother of a deadbeat husband who left, she battled a disease day in-day out that threatened to eat away at her brain, her memories of her son who thought the world of her, and she was still a better mother than hers had ever been. 

Part of her felt that bitter sting that never really left her since she was thirteen, since she saw the maid at breakfast time more often than she ever saw her mother, the kid that got picked up and dropped off in another country like she was furniture, a barbie doll for her mother to primp and clean and boast about her big brain to her colleagues without ever showing a semblance of affection for the girl reading material eight years above her grade level. 

Diana was living proof that no matter what, it’s not a challenge to love your children the way Elizabeth had always made it out to be, that she was difficult to love even for her own mother. 

Bugsy bit the emotion back, knowing it was just the baby photos ramping up her hormones, and felt herself fall perhaps even more in love with Spencer Reid when she saw the photo of him at Christmas dressed as a Jedi. 

–

She was quiet on the way home, her stomach warm with fondness, her hand warm with his palm as they held hands on top of the gearstick. 

She watched the last of the sun peek through the trees in a cantaloupe orange and candy-floss pink swirl, and she let herself close her eyes under the day’s worth of laughter. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer said after a moment, giving her hand a small squeeze when she didn’t answer right away, and he wondered if she may have even fallen asleep, feeling immediately guilty for waking her. 

She looked at him with an uneasy smile on her face, and his brain threw up a million different reasons for it, almost all of them making him worry.

“I know my mom is a lot,” He said, his tone jittery and she started shaking her head immediately, forgetting he couldn’t see where he was looking at the road, “I know she’s-”

“She’s wonderful, Spencer. God, no, it’s not that. I loved her,” Bugsy cut him off, and his shoulder’s immediately sagged in relief. She moved her hand to tuck a single lock of hair behind his ear, and he nudged into her touch on instinct. 

“Then what’s wrong?” He asked, his brows pulled together in worry as they came to a red stop light, and he put the Beetle into neutral. He looked over at her then, and he saw the way the grin had slipped off her face, leaving her with something oddly unreadable, though if he had to put a name to it, he would say doubtful, and she swallowed thickly. 

“Do you ever worry…” She paused herself, because she already could see their picture perfect day spiralling down the drain like yesterday’s woes, “It’s nothing, just forget I said anything,”

“No, tell me,” Spencer insisted, and the road around them seemed to hold its breath waiting for her reply. He’d taken a nice route home, claiming he wanted to skip the eight pm traffic, whatever that was, had cut through one of those neighbourhoods they show on holiday brochures or estate agents' windows. The kind people with kids and volvo’s and yoga mom groups lived in.  

Her eyes snapped out the front window when four young boys zipped past them on their bikes, their knees muddy from where they’d probably spent the day playing soccer, their clothes just as messy and torn, likely waiting to be scolded by their mothers for their recklessness. And pulling up the rear was a kid smaller than the others, jogging after them, wanting to cross the road before the light turned green, his glasses slipping down his nose with every step, and some weird, small part in Bugsy’s gut wanted to throw her arms around him and walk him home to make sure he got there safely. 

Spencer’s hand was on her thigh, pulling her out of her thoughts for a second time, and she blinked a little too harshly, wishing she could just enjoy a lovely day for what it was rather than putting such a downer on things. 

“I haven’t spoken to my mom since Emily’s funeral,” She said, swallowing heavily, and understanding passed over his face then. He knew he would never have with Elizabeth what they had just had with his mother. Even if she retired tomorrow and wasn’t jetting off to another country every week, Elizabeth Prentiss was a cold, shrewd woman who could make someone, mainly her daughters, feel empty just by being in the same room. 

Her damning grey eyes, her tight lips that never smiled, her harsh brow. 

“I don’t think she even kept any of my baby photos, none that don’t have her in them at least,” She confessed, and the lights flashed to amber, then green, and he was forced to let go of her for just a moment as he pulled off again, “I don’t… I don’t think she ever liked me.”

He had no idea what to say that would make it better. Usually he was so good at wriggling her problems out from the core, proving all her worst fears were wrong with simple logic. Yet he was at an end. Because Elizabeth had never shown any sign of loving her daughters, truly loving them beyond trophies. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” He tried, pulling over to stop at the curb because he hated speaking to her when he was distracted. “Some people just have a funny way of showing these things,” 

But she shook her head, turning her eyes to her lap, “Your mom is… Amazing. And I feel like a total asshole for complaining about mine when yours is sick most of the time. And I know things weren’t great- I mean you were just a kid, you should have never had to look after her, it’s supposed to be the other way around, you know? But you’ll know she’s always loved you, like truly, truly loved you. I mean, you’re her whole world,” She rushed, like the thoughts had been bouncing around her head all day, waiting to burst out at the seams, which they had. 

Spencer took the keys out of the ignition, shuffling in his seat to face her, and he only realised then she was watching where the four boys had taken off down the street on their bikes, the smallest one trailing at the back like a lost puppy. 

“Don’t you ever worry sometimes I’ll be..” She started, and he knew where it was going before she forced herself to finish. Taking her hand in his, weaving his fingers between hers and squeezing them tight. 

“Like your mom?” He said for her because the words were lingering in the air like alphabet soup. She nodded silently, grateful that he always seemed to know how her brain was ticking over. She reminded herself to make it up to him later, “Never,”  

“But-” She started, and he grabbed her chin then, forcing her to look at him. He smiled dopily, because usually it was him who needed to be told how other people felt, and she swore his eyes had never looked so sweet. 

“Never,” He repeated, feeling the smile spreading under his fingertips as it took the second turn for her to hear it, “If anything, I worry more about becoming like my dad,”

Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head again. Sometimes Spencer wondered if she knew she was so expressive. It was one of his favourite parts about her.

“Never,” She echoed back to him, and they shared a sombre smile, squeezing each others hand just that bit tighter, “I tell you what, the second either one of us starts becoming our parents, we have the right to call them a jackass,”

He laughed, nodding his head and leaning over the centre console to press his forehead to hers, “Alright, deal. Although I think I hear Freud rolling in his grave at that statement.” 

She kissed him, hard, because she would never be able to tell him exactly how he made her feel with words alone. Over two hundred thousand words in the English Language, at least five other languages she could speak fluently, and yet not one of them knew how to describe this feeling. Like she had been absorbed so completely, effortlessly, by Spencer Reid. That she was disease ridden, riddled with Reid. 

And the thought made her giggle into the kiss, because she would have to tell him some other time. Her hand ran through his hair, pulling him closer, and his hand skirted down to her waist to tease underneath her shirt. 

They pulled away after a moment, staring with the same dazed look in their eyes. 

“We have three more days in Vegas,” She started, fixing his collar and hair with idle fingers and pressing an absent peck to his lips, “Do you think we could go back one more time? To see your mom? If that’s okay with her, of course,” 

And he smiled widely at her, nodding and pulling her in for another long kiss. They had a dinner reservation in a half hour, but he didn’t mind being five minutes late for once in his life, not if it meant he was with her. 

The one with Scratch. [he buys a ring]

He’d walked past the jewellers three times that week on his way back from the coffee shop. Bugsy had a fair bit of paperwork to catch up on, despite him offering to halve her load with her because Hotch had already warned them once about the complaints he got from the other agents that she was using Reid’s memory as an unfair advantage, although he would argue that her brain was just as capable as his. 

So, he’d been sent on a coffee run alone. He wasn’t complaining, it was just down the road, barely even a five minute walk, and it meant he got to look at the range of neatly cut diamonds in peace.

He wasn’t looking to buy it soon, at least that was what he’d told himself the first time he’d seen the pretty one in the corner. He was just having a browse, perhaps just looking at the watches they had on display and his eye had happened to fall to the women’s section below. The second time he’d stopped for a look, it was just to see if anyone had bought that one he’d seen the first time, and when he realised they hadn’t, his heart gave a somewhat relieved sigh that he decided he would confront later. 

By the third time, the shop keeper stuck his head out the door, making Spencer jump. 

“Either you’re buying or you’re fogging up my window, kid,” The old man’s voice was gruff, but he had kind eyes, that of a romantic, and Spencer supposed you didn’t sell a dozen engagement rings a day and not feel hopeful. 

“J-just looking,” He stammered, taking a step away from the rings and double checking he hadn’t gotten any smudges on the glass, “Not to buy right now, just for future reference,”

“No one comes back that many times for future reference, son,” He said with a chuckle and Spencer hated the part of him that said that he was right, “Why not for right now?”

Spencer huffed quietly, wondering if her coffee would be cold by the time he got back at the rate he was going, “It’s still a little early. I don’t want to freak her out,”

She had been his girlfriend for one year, seven months and two weeks (and four days but who was counting). It had been her thirtieth birthday just a couple months ago, as far as he was concerned Bugsy had never dropped any hints about wanting to marry any time soon like he knew other women did at this time in their life. 

He was happy where they were, in their apartment, in their semi-public relationship, with their boys that were starting to look a little grey and rickety on their paws. Spencer didn’t want anything to ruin that, even if that one ring did seem to call out to him like a siren song. 

The jeweller grinned slyly, like he knew something Spencer didn’t, but he nodded at the kid nevertheless, “Well, that little number in the corner you’ve had your eye on has had two offers already, incase that sways your hand at all,” 

And Spencer felt the jolt of injustice in his head at the idea of someone else taking that ring, one that he couldn’t get out of his head the entire way back to the office, one that only went away when he saw her smiling up at him. 

One that only dissolved when he imagined how she would look wearing it. 

–

“Tell Penelope I said hi,” Director Axelrod murmured, turning on his heel and heading back to his car as Hotch flashed a look down at the paper, the name ‘Peter Lewis’ scribbled out on the line and he passed the paper to Bugsy where she peered around his shoulder. 

“Get this to Garcia, Lewis has his final victim already,” He said and she nodded, the two of them heading back to the car. Bugsy pulled her cell out her pocket, immediately calling their tech whizz where the rest of the team were at the office an hour away. 

“Peter Lewis, born and raised in Jacksonville, Florida. To call him a Math genius would be an understatement,” Garcia reported, her press on nails clicking against the keyboard as she worked in the candlelight since Lewis had hacked into their electric systems. 

“Where was he in the foster system?” Hotch asked, Bugsy holding the phone up over the centre console so they could both speak to their team.

“He was… ugh this WiFi hotspot is the worst,” They waited, Hotch heading for the freeway, “He was not in the foster system. He had two very biological parents and they ran the foster home until it- oh dear,”

“Looks like we found Mr Scratch,” Rossi sighed, and Bugsy’s brows furrowed, waiting for a response. 

“So one of the boys in the house said Peter’s dad would dress up as the devil then the other kids would follow suit, this has to be where all the victims stayed before they were adopted and their names were changed,” JJ chimed in. 

“Did Lewis’s father serve any time?” Bugsy piped up, chewing the inside of her cheek because the whole case had given her the heebie jeebies. Grown ups reporting sights of shadow monsters and waking up with dead loved ones. She thought by now she had heard it all. 

“The case was pending and then he was killed in jail for being a paedophile. Peter’s residency is still listed as Florida,” Garcia said, her mouse whirling around at the speed of light judging by the soft ticks they heard on their end. 

“He broke into FBI files to find someone in witness protection, did any of the kids from the home end up in WITSEC?” Hotch asked, clicking the blinker down to chand lanes and overtake the ford infront of them. 

“That would be… no? No, none of them,” Garcia replied, and the team shared a confused pause. 

“Who the hell is he still hunting?” 

Hotch spoke up, his own mind whirring as to who could possibly be Lewis’ endgame, “Garcia, who ran the investigation in Florida?”

“Hold on, that would be Dr. Susannah Regan, who went into witness protection on a very nice estate in Columbia, Maryland,” Bugsy and Hotch looked at one another, sharing the same thought and the unit chief floored the gas pedal, knowing Regan didn’t have a whole load of time left if Peter had gotten to her already. 

“Send Reid the location, we’re on our way,” Hotch ordered, and Penelope was already ten steps ahead, Rossi and JJ grabbing their vests and heading for the garage. 

Bugsy hung up, checking her gun was still holstered as Hotch launched them the final five minutes to Dr Regan’s home. 

And yet she couldn’t help feel like they were walking into the belly of the beast the victims had been describing. 

–

Garcia hadn’t been kidding when she said it was a nice estate. By the time they’d gotten out the car, the entire street was silent, a quiet only lots of acres and high gates bought you. 

“You stay behind me, we watch each other's six. We get Dr Regan and we get out, are we clear?” Hotch muttered, his eyes darling to the living room window where the curtains had been pulled closed, one single lamp left lit. 

She nodded, the two of them edging towards the door that had already been left open a crack, “Crystal,” 

He took a second to breath, wondering if they should wait for back up, but Savannah didn’t have alot of time, not if the unsub was already inside like he suspected, before he raised his hand up to the knocker and snapped it a couple times, pushing the door open. 

“Dr Regan?” 

“It’s open, come in,” The woman’s voice called, though it sounded too chipper to be authentic, some sort of uncanny valley as if it was an automated response from an answering machine. 

Checking Bugsy was still behind him, he pushed on, his footsteps light and quiet, eyes scanning the large antechamber, the grand piano sat in front of a huge fireplace cold to the touch, the lights all switched off despite the owner being home. 

Maybe Dr Regan was cheaping out on her bills. But Bugsy doubted it. Something in her gut didn’t sit right. 

“Are you alright?” Aaron called, his torso squeezing against his vest as he scanned what he could see from the room, and she held up behind him, flicking a look over her shoulder every once in a while for movement from the other rooms. 

“Agent Hotchner, I got Agent Rossi’s message,” She said, again in that cheery voice, despite her words claiming she understood she was in peril, and the sound of it made Bugsy’s chest seize with suspicion. 

“Doctor, you’re in danger, you need to come with us,” She explained, her eyes squinting to see in the damning lowlight of the home. 

“I understand,” That robot voice spoke, “I’m in the study,” 

They paused for a second, exchanging another look before pressing on because they had no time to lose over silly hesitations. Passing through the entrance into the room lined with bookshelves on bookshelves, expensive tapestry on expensive tapestry, their heads flicked over to a frail older woman that somewhat resembled the woman they’d been sent from Penelope, when she had was freshly turned twenty five with a sparkly new bookdeal under her nose. 

She sighed in gratitude when the entered, and Bugsy held back a moment as Hotch moved in, keeping her finger on the trigger, “I’m so glad you’re here, you need to see this,” Savannah produced a long, glass sharp letter opener that could easily pass for a knife with the eight inch edge of it, “He wants you to see this.”

And with that, without hesitation or caution she jammed the knife through her own windpipe as if puppeteered by a master, and Bugsy leapt forward to try stop the bleeding just as Aaron did. 

Only she never got that far, because no sooner had she stepped forward a hand reached out from the darkness, grabbing her by the scruff of her hair and throwing her to the floor while she had been caught off guard. Pain exploded behind her eyes as her nose met the hardwood floor, and she swore she cracked a tooth or two. Her hand scrambled out for her gun, only to watch a large black boot stomp down on her digits that made her hiss in pain. 

She heard a scuffle up ahead where Peter had managed to grab Hotch equally unaware, and she watched her unit chief tumble to the floor, smacking his head on the table on his way down. 

And it was then that she smelled it. A raw chemically odour that ran up her bloodied nose, went into her mouth when she tried calling out for Hotch, and it made her cough up a thick mucus before it had even slid down her throat. 

She heard shots fired, and it was enough for her to reach out for her own gun again, hoping that Lewis was distracted enough to not pay attention to her, only to realise somewhere in the scuffle he had kicked her weapon across the floor. 

When had he done that? Why hadn’t she seen him? Probably because the pain behind her eyes had damn near wiped her vision into a blur of white. 

It was then the nausea hit her, the vertigo washing over her like she’d stood up too fast, only she wasn’t standing up at all, in fact she was pretty sure she was on her hands and knees trying to crawl towards Hotch. 

Hotch, who lay on the floor with his own eyes rolling like the room was spinning for him too, and she wondered how on earth anyone could have beaten Hotch. He was a rock, immovable, irreplaceable, forever. 

“Hotch-” She garbled out, her voice tragic and weak in a way he’d never heard before. 

And he opened his mouth to speak, only to find his own voice gone when he saw the figure leering over her body, a glint of a knife in his hand, and Aaron wanted to know how he had managed to emerge out of the shadows when he could have sworn Lewis was right next to him. 

The drug, it had to be the drug. God his eyelids were heavy, what had they been in this house for?

But Aaron felt a scream lodge in his mouth, sounding more like a yelp, something that could have been a mix of ‘no’ and raw anger because Peter had brought one of those big black boots behind him and kicked Bugsy so hard in the gut she flew to her side like roadkill, the wind leaving her lungs with a whimper of pain, and her eyes never left Hotch’s gaze as he did so. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to need some alone time with Mr Hotchner here,” Lewis said, and before Aaron could plea or beg, he watched the man lean down and drive a swift line across her throat, as if he were simply gutting a pig, and her carotid artery was sliced clean in two, her blood spewing all over Aaron’s shoes, seeping into the floor. 

And Aaron went to scream, felt the tears well in his eyes because he’d failed her, only this time, unlike Hailey, he was forced to watch every second of life trickle from her face as she bled out onto the floor, choking and clawing at the floor for reprieve. 

What would he say to the team, to Spencer? What would he say to Emily?

Aaron let himself sob, shaking his head in denial and squeezing his eyes tightly shut, hoping to god medical would get here soon. It would be too late by then, he already knew it. 

Bugsy was dead. There wasn’t any miracle fix or band aids that were going to fix that. 

And yet in the next moment the sound of her body writhing in desperation against the floor, the sight of which he couldn’t even bring himself to watch, it had gone quiet. 

And Aaron peeled his eyes open, wondering if she had passed, if she was still in pain, if she wanted someone to hold her hand as she went, and he urged his heavy muscles to do something god damnit anything to help her, except his body felt like lead and even opening his eyes was too much for him. 

But there was nothing there. Not the puddle of blood he’d just watched spill over the flooring, not her hand reaching out for him, clawing at her throat for reprieve and certainly not a body of a girl he once loved like a daughter who would stay with him for a lifetime. 

All of it, just… gone. 

“Don’t you worry, Mr Hotchner, I’m saving the girl for later. Can’t have a pretty thing like that go to waste,” Lewis smiled toothily, and Aaron wanted to wrap his hands around the bastard’s throat, wring the life out of him until he was a crumpled mess on the floor, “But for now, it’s you and me, Aaron. And I think you should answer your phone. Your team are on their way for you,”

–

Her scream was piercing, cut through two walls. He could hear it the second they stepped out of the car. He’d all but thrown himself out the vehicle before Anderson had even stopped, probably would have barged right through the front door without even drawing his gun if it hadn’t been for Morgan grabbing him. 

“Reid, Reid, no-” Derek said, even though his voice wavered, his head flicking back at the house, “You can’t just head in there without backup, it could be a trap, man,” 

“She’s in there, can’t you hear her?” Spencer said, his eyes wide with terror as the sound of her screaming kicked up a whole other decibel and Spencer's stomach churned at the thought of what might be the root cause of it, “Please, Morgan, I can’t-” 

He didn’t even realise his eyes had welled up at the sound alone until he couldn’t finish his words, and Derek was staring at him with an equally solemn expression. 

JJ rounded the other SUV, Rossi at her tail, their guns drawn low to their thighs as they gave Derek a nod; ready to enter. 

“Just promise me you’ll keep your head, Reid,” Morgan said with a cautious tone. Realistically, Spencer should have stayed back at the office with Kate. He was too emotionally invested in the case, though no one wanted to be the one to argue that with him, knowing Spencer would only fight back that they would all struggle to keep their cool once they entered the house. 

Because the UnSub had Hotch and Bugsy. He’d taken family. He’d made it personal. 

And then, just as Spencer nodded, unholstering his own gun and making sure his vest was tightened at his waist, perhaps the worst happened. 

A shot fired from inside the house, loud and unmistakable over the deafening cries and Bugsy’s screaming stopped. 

–

Spencer didn’t even remember entering the house, not really, despite his promise to Morgan. He felt like his heart was in his throat, images of Maeve’s brain matter splattered over the warehouse floor flooding his head, because apparently a revolver can cut through two heads at once and still pack a punch.

Spencer was realistic, had sprung into a clinical sort of worry that told him exactly how many times he’d told her he loved her (two thousand, six hundred and seventeen times) and that maybe that wasn’t enough. It told him the amount of kisses they’d shared could have easily been doubled if he dared to steal them more often before bed, if he’d been honest with her years before he had, if he’d just taken five minutes off his showers. 

He had barely survived Maeve dying. If Bugsy was gone… there would be nothing left of him. Nothing important anyway. Just a body, limbs, a heart that would never beat again. He wagered even his blood would stop because the idea of her gone from the world had already made him cold. 

He heard movement in the living room, and judging by the way Derek’s head whipped over to their right, he had too. And before they could raise their guns up to aim, Derek edging forward to kick the door in with pure, simmering rage, a voice sounded out from the other side. 

“In here!”

Hotch. Hotch, who sounded like he was weeping, or at least had a frog in his throat, hummed his words almost. The men drew a breath of relief, Derek reaching forward to open the living room door, his weapon still tight in between his fingers as he pushed. 

“Hotch?” He said, though Spencer’s eyes cast around the room the second he confirmed his unit chief was okay. He had a nasty gash on his head, likely from where he’d fallen, and his pupils were dilated. Drugged. “Hotch, where’s Bugsy?”

“H-he took her-” Aaron slurred, attempting to get to his feet, holding out a hand to the sofa and using the furniture to claw himself up to a stand, “Upstairs I think- I need to get her- Where’s my gun-”

Morgan rushed in to grab Hotch under his arms as Rossi and JJ burst in from the kitchen, Rossi calling out behind them for medical attention. 

“Hotch, you’re not going anywhere, you need to- Reid,” Morgan yelled, but Spencer ignored him. Because he could apologise later. 

Lewis had Bugsy alone, had taken her upstairs, that was what Hotch said. And Spencer couldn’t stand by and wait while they had no idea what was happening to her. He heard JJ’s footsteps pounding behind him, following him up the stairs, and he knew he should be paying more attention for any hint if Lewis was still in the building. But he didn’t. All he could think about was those screams. Raw. Guttural. Like she was being skinned alive. 

His eyes trailed the empty bedrooms, any sign of movement whether it be Lewis or the woman he would trade his own life for in a heart beat if it came down to it. But there was nothing there, not even as JJ swept the other handful of rooms, leaving them with one small storage room at the end of the hallway, and the two of them cast a glance at one another. 

JJ nodded to him, and he reached out a shaky hand, praying on everything in the vast universe he’d spent his entire life learning about that someone heard him begging to keep his Bugsy alive. 

He slid the door open, cocking his gun up to the figure in the corner, his own weapon at his feet as he smiled in a smug manner. 

JJ took stock of their surroundings, waiting for the trap they were walking into to spring, only he held his hands out in surrender. 

Because he had already gotten what he wanted. He had killed Dr Regan, and taken two cops down with him. 

“Where is she?” Spencer spat, handing JJ cuffs as the woman grabbed him harsher than she should do, because the pleased look on his face was infuriating, only made worse by the chuckle that bubbled out of his mouth. 

“She’s in the closet,” He nodded his head to the smallest bedroom, and Spencer’s eyes narrowed, “She sure is a darling, isn’t she? So easy to tame once that smart mouth of hers was gone,” 

Spencer wanted to shoot him between the eyes there and then, put him down like the sick dog he was, but instead he fled after where Lewis had directed him, because he didn’t know if she was injured herself or if it was already too late.

For once in his life, Spencer Reid knew nothing. 

–

And then he saw her. 

She was alive, thank god she was alive, a dent in her nose that suggested he’d thrown her to the ground face first, her knees skinned, her palms scratched. 

But that wasn’t what worried him.

Because no sooner had he opened the door to the closet, reaching forward to yank her hands off her ears, or maybe pull her for a hug, or maybe break down into sobs and tell her how sorry he was he couldn’t have stopped any of it, she’d started screaming again. 

He didn’t think after so many years on the job he’d ever heard something so gut-wrenching. For a moment he thought he might even be sick. Because it was full of pure terror. Not the childish fright you get from a scary movie or a loop de loop on a rollercoaster, but blood curdling fear like he had never heard before. 

It was enough to have Morgan running up the stairs with his gun drawn, only to see Spencer frozen, his hands reaching out to grab her, and it was only then the agent realised Reid was trying to speak to her. 

“Baby, baby it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Spencer, you know me,” He said, his lip quivering, his words warbling with tears, “Please, please come back to me, I don’t know what to do- please just tell me what to do-” 

“Reid, she’s not herself. Hotch said Lewis made him see things, awful things, just like he did with the other victims,” Morgan said, holstering his gun, his own resolve crumbling when he came closer and realised she had her eyes screwed tightly shut, curling herself into a ball in the corner like a kid trying to hide from the boogey-monster.

But Spencer didn’t listen, he couldn’t accept that they had found her alive and still he had been too late, didn’t want to accept that he had her in his grasp and yet she was still living her a personal hell with no end in sight. 

“Please, please, come back to me,” He sniffled, leaning forward onto his knees to try hold her hands in his, maybe get her to hear his voice and wake up from whatever nightmare she was stuck in, “Come on, I got you,”

“No, no, no, you’re not real, you’re not real,” She screeched, shoving his hands off her, and it was then he saw the dribble of tears running off her nose, “You’re not, I won’t kill him, I won’t-”

It was the ravings of a mad woman. But Spencer didn’t doubt for one second that whatever was happening inside that big brain of hers felt entirely real. He heard Morgan draw a sharp breath, turning to face away from the girl and steady himself where his dark eyes lined with woe and salt. 

Spencer hated seeing her cry, hated not knowing how to help her even more, and he didn’t care if she pushed him away even more. He had to hold her, hold her and make her listen, make her understand she was safe because he was there. 

Spencer swore then and there that he wouldn’t let anything touch her ever again as long as he lived. 

It took everything in him to ignore the way her hands scratched at his wrists desperately, and he wondered if in her mind he’d taken the form of some beast ready to swallow her whole. But he was sure he could calm her down with some coaxing, get her to see what was real if he was patient and gentle enough. He scooped an arm under her legs that shook, and it only took him a second to realise he had peed herself in the throes of her nightmare, the sight of it causing another cry to roll from his tongue. He didn’t care about the mess, because his entire focus was on her as her hands thrashed against his chest, trying everything to get him off her, even when his other hand wrapped around the back of her head and pressed her tightly into his shoulder, squeezing her against him in his lap like she was an inconsolable child. 

“Please, please, I can’t, I can’t do it again, I don’t understand,” She wailed, her voiced croaking and pathetic and he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d damaged her vocal chords, “I don’t understand,” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” He cooed softly, pressing his head next to her ear and rocking her slowly, “It’s me, it’s Spencer. I’m real, this is real,”

Her hands stopped their fight against his body, his own grip tight and not showing any signs of letting go any time soon as he waited for her to wear herself out, for her body to lose its adrenaline and slip out of its fight response. She pushed him limply a few more times, with little more than the strength of a toddler, and he knew she was coming back down, at least something close to it. 

“I’m so tired,” Her voice was muddled with tears, slurring and stumbling over each other and it was then that JJ walked in with three paramedics behind her. 

The blonde’s face evened out when she saw the girl was alive, nothing but a few surface wounds, but it was then she saw over Spencer’s shoulder the way her eyes were clenched tightly together, the red marks on Spence’s alabaster skin where she had put up a fight behind cradled in his arms. 

And JJ knew then that something inside Bugsy had changed that day. 

“I know, you were so brave, you were so brave for me,” Spencer nodded, his cheeks flooding as he tried to keep his tone strong, stroking the back of her hair softly, “You did so good, I’m so sorry,” 

“I’m so tired and I don’t understand,” She said, like she was putting sentences together for the first time, and it was like suddenly the fight had been sucked out of her as she slumped against him, not even realising in her haze that she needed to be showered off desperately. 

“I know, honey,” He murmured, sniffling and pressing his face into her neck, “You can sleep now, I got you,”

She hummed like she didn’t quite believe him, like she still thought he was some figment of her imagination, but she hadn’t the strength to fight back, to call his bluff. And so she drifted in and out of sleep, as the paramedics got her on a stretcher, Spencer hovering over her face incase she woke up in a panic again, cracking her eyes open right as they got her on the back of the ambulance and suddenly it wasn’t Spencer’s face she saw flitting in and out of her eyeline, it was Hotch. 

“Hotch-” She tried, her hand swinging out at her side with her attempt of grabbing onto his face because there was a trail of blood down his cheek. Her voice was fried, just like Spencer had suspected, her words sounding as if she had swallowed stones, “Hotch, your head,”

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I should have known he would be there,” Hotch said, as her eyes rolled back, straining desperately to keep herself awake. But she had said it herself. She was just so tired. “I shouldn’t have taken you in there,”

“I don’t think I like dreaming anymore,” She garbled childishly, a small frown on her face, and Hotch bit his lip to hide a whimper, raising a hand to her cheek, and Spencer sat at the foot of the stretcher, his neck and wrists sore where she’d clawed him, but he didn’t care. 

Hotch gave her a long kiss to her forehead, one Spencer pretended not to see for the sake of paperwork, because he knew Hotch needed it, even as she’d been sucked right back into the reverie of sleep, their eyes never left her frail form, not even when the paramedics started hooking things up to her wrists to take her charts. 

Spencer knew then he should have bought that ring. 

–

She’d been staring at the ceiling for about five minutes before he tried to pry an answer out of her. 

He’d tried not to smother her the second she woke up, had seen the hesitation and distrust swirling in her gaze when she saw him there, and he wondered if she thought it was another one of her dreams she had yet to wake up from. But he was real, and he was worried, and he loved her. God, did he love her. Loved her so much he couldn’t stand for one more moment to see her so dissociated from a world where she was his and he was hers and everyone was missing her.  

“What did he make you see?” Spencer tried, his voice as soft as he could try make it without crying, because her gaze remained in her lap, the side effects of the drugs making her a little woozy, “Baby, I can’t help you unless you talk to me, please just, let me help you,” 

Her throat was in agony the second she opened her mouth to speak, ripping with pain when she cleared her throat and in an instant, Spencer’s hand was on her thigh drawing comforting circles with his thumb. 

“Emily was there, she came to- r-rescue me,” She started shakily, her hands trembling beneath the covers and she breathed slowly through her mouth, “S-she wasn’t wearing a vest, and when I asked her she said she’d gotten the first flight out of London to get me; and then… Doyle,”

She swallowed, and he took her hand in his, giving her a reassuring squeeze, and she tried not to let her eyes well up only to find it was already too late. 

“He stabbed her like he did that night, but it was different this time. She was on the floor, trying to get away, begging me to call for help but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything, and I was trying so hard to scream and tell someone, but I couldn’t…” She sniffled, squeezing his hand so tight it hurt, but he didn’t care, “And he wouldn’t stop. He just kept going, over and over again, and I had to watch every second of it knowing it was my fault,” 

The floor was red, a horrible midnight ichor of Emily’s blood seeping from her body, more blood than a person should ever be able to hold. Last time Doyle had killed her, there had been a hairline chance that she would pull through and Emily had beaten all the odds stacked against her. 

But this wasn’t like last time. There was no miracle escape to Europe. Bugsy would be surprised if there was even anything left of her to put in the casket. 

Her eyes were terrified as she watched Doyle drive the knife into Emily’s skin, the scream lodging in her throat for a reason she couldn’t place. She begged herself to do something, say something, tell the man that she would rip him limb from limb if she ever got the feeling back in her legs, wail for help because that was her sister, her big sister, and she’d stopped moving a while ago. 

Stop, stop it, stop it.

But the words wouldn’t come out. She was frozen. Numb. Like someone had unplugged her from the socket, and the only part of her that did work was her eyes, why did it have to be her eyes. 

And the blade was red, so red she thought she’d never see anything else other than red again, as so was the floor, and his arms, and Emily’s clothes. Red. All over. Driving into her stomach with a wet squelch that made Bugsy want to vomit. 

Over and over and over.

She burst out crying then, the first real emotion she’d shown in days, and he was out of his chair in seconds, cradling her to his chest and shuffling to sit next to her on her bed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it wasn’t real, baby,” He soothed, and she shook her head, her tears soaking his shirt through, and all he could do was stroke her hair down and press gentle kisses to her brow, “You were so brave,”

“And his face changed, and he wasn’t Doyle, it was Hotch. And he-he gave me his gun, and said I had to pick between him or you because one of you had to die and-and I wouldn’t do it, I wouldn’t pick-” Her words warbled into his shirt, an amalgamation of sobs and deep breaths in between sentences, but she needed to get it out. It would eat her alive if she didn’t.

“Choose,” It was Hotch’s voice. The same rough edge, same bite he used with the UnSubs they chased, the tone he’d never used on her. 

She shook her head, because the feeling had tingled back up her spine into her neck by now, and with it brought her voice, her sorrow. 

“No, no, Hotch, please don’t make me, I can’t, I won’t-” She sniffled, looking at the thunderous eyes of her unit chief she’d known for years. He didn’t look like himself, like someone was wearing him as a mask, yet she knew it was him by his steady hands that drew his gun from its holster. He had always been sure of himself. 

How had she got here? Had Lewis got to Hotch, brainwashed him into slaughtering and terrorising his own team. Whatever it was, Bugsy knew in her chest that whatever was standing in front of her was not Aaron Hotchner. 

“Me or him,” He said simply, as if it was that easy, as if he wasn’t pressing a gun to Spencer’s head. 

The sob fell from her lips before she could help it, looking to Hotch’s feet where he held the love of her life bound, his eyes rimmed with fear. 

“I can’t, please, I can’t,” She wept, her cheeks soaked, the salt trickling down her neck and into her shirt. Or was it blood. Had she hit her head? Why did her head hurt?

She couldn’t care, couldn’t think of anything other than the fact a monster had taken over the man she thought the world of. She knew if anything happened she would never be able to hold it against him if anything happened, even if it would always be his face in her mind killing Spencer. Because it wasn’t him. It was Lewis. It wasn’t him. 

Hotch’s finger clicked a bullet into the chamber, pointing the gun at Spence’s crown, and she warbled in protest, because her legs were still numb, her body from the waist down useless, but this time she could scream and fight and yell all the ways she begged for this to stop. 

“Hotch, please, please don’t. It’s not real, it’s not real,” She yawped, her chest in agony, her head spinning because she could have sworn Emily was just here, could have sworn she had been coming to save her. Why was Emily here? And she’d usually be embarrassed to admit it at her big age, but she wanted her sister. She wanted her big sister more than anything, “Hotch,” 

But the man who looked and sounded like Aaron Hotchner wasn’t listening. Instead he looked at her with a steely glare, cocking the gun once more between his fingers, “If you’re too much a spoiled little bitch to choose, then I suppose I’ll have to do it for you,”

And with that he pulled the muzzle away from Spencer’s head, and before she could say another word, utter another plea, he angled the weapon under his chin, pointing it straight for his brain, and pulled the trigger. 

She thinks she screamed, though her hearing had gone with a staticky blur, his blood spraying across the wall like something out of a slasher movie. She remembered howling in shock, her face soaked with ichor and salted tears, and she expected Spencer to rush forward, grab her in his arms and cradle her with soft words. 

But he did. Those hazel eyes she would know in every life time stared blankly at her, all trace of terror gone from his gentle face, and in a whirl of movement, he was standing where Hotch had been, his body gone in a wisp of smoke, like he was nothing more than a magician’s magic act, like her chest hadn’t just cleaved in two at the sight of him dying. 

And Spencer took his place, the lips she’d kissed a thousand times pressed into a scowl, the hands she wanted to melt under, to hold her and tell her he was going to fix everything and make it make sense again holding the loaded gun. 

And at his feet, bound by the same rope he had been was JJ. Freightened, beaten. Mother, wife, best friend, sister. JJ.

“Choose,” Spencer said, but it was cold and unfeeling. Nothing like the saccharine tone he used with her, and she felt the pit of pain and suffering and dread that had opened in her stomach grow only deeper, “Me or her,”  

–

She had cried for about two hours after that, and he had held her for all seven thousand, two hundred seconds of it, stroking her hair, reassuring her that Lewis was gone, the drug disposed of, and more importantly, telling her he would never let anything like that happen to her again, over his cold, lifeless body. 

And he meant it. With everything in him, Spencer would never let an UnSub get so close to harming the woman he loved. Not a bruise, or a cut. Not even a scratch. 

And for the three days they’d kept her in for observation she’d slept, and slept some more like she hadn’t known a wink of rest in years. And with it came the nightmares, of all the people she loved splattering their own brains over the walls, Chose, chose, me or them?

But by the fourth day she was allowed more than one visitor in her room, the spot that had solely been filled by Spencer, who would take to his grave that he’d gone home and washed their clothes of the mess she’d made when she wasn’t herself. 

And on that fourth day, the team had arrived with love by the bucket load, because Bugsy was family, and family never let each other suffer alone.

“Oh, look at you!” It was Penelope first, ofcourse it was Penelope first, “Spencer, where’s that cardigan I told you to bring her, she could get cold, and that purple is so her colour- oh what am I saying, come here!” 

Penelope bounded over to her bedside, not completely blind to the way Spencer tensed up as she threw her arms around the girl, fighting his urge to chide Garcia into being more gentle because he knew he’d been hogging time with her while the others had been forced to wait. 

“Pen,” Bugsy said, breathing out and hugging the woman back as hard as she could, “Why do you smell like lavender?” 

Garcia released her clutches (reluctantly) and produced a big tote bag of trinkets, one of which Bugsy suspected was a candle. 

“Spencer said they might be keeping you another couple of days and so I brought you some goodies to cheer this place up,” She said with a chirp, reaching in her bag for two stuffed teddies, and Bugsy’s eyes melted when she realised they resembled Niko and Sergio, their colourings not quite identical but the thought had been there, “So you don’t miss your boys too much.”

Bugsy smiled, her chest spreading with warmth “Thankyou so much, Penelope,” 

And Garcia went to respond, her smile wide and relieved, when another voice spoke up behind her, “Quite hogging her, mama, there are people waiting to see the kid,” 

Penelope rolled her eyes which made Bugsy snicker slightly, moving out the way for Derek to lean over her bedside and give her a tight squeeze. 

“You gave us a scare and a half, baby cakes,” He said with a sigh, and she hugged him back the best she could, though his arm muscles were the size of her head. 

“I’m sorry,” She murmured, and he patted her on the back gently, before letting her go for the next person waiting to pounce on her. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to be sorry,” JJ shushed, her slender arms all but crushing her into her chest, and she heard the breath of relief from the woman’s throat as she stroked a hand over her spine, “Just get better for us, okay?”

And Bugsy knew she didn’t mean the crack in her nose Peter Lewis had given her when he’d grabbed her by the nape of her neck and slammed her face into the wooden door the second Hotch’s back was turned. She meant the screaming. The nightmares. The chill that ran down her spine even now when she looked at every one of her friends and remembered that night. Picturing their brains on the wall, their blood on her face-

“Henry drew you a picture,” JJ said, pulling away and presenting her with her own gift basket full of homemade goodies and fresh pyjamas because the ones she had from the hospital were starting to itch, “He said you needed magic kisses,” 

Plucking the card from the front of the wrapping, her lips quirked into a smile when she saw two stick figures, a small dot with yellow hair labelled ‘henry’ with an arrow, and a tall woman with a triangle dress and two glittery wings labelled ‘bugy’, and she was almost certain it was because they had played fairies and princes the last time she had gone over. 

She flipped the page, and saw his hand writing scrawled in a green crayon, a few spelling errors here and there where he had tried his best. 

‘to bugy

mommy said you wer hurt at work and needed somethink to make you happy agan.

I gave the card majick kisses before mommy takes it to the hospital to make you better agan. 

also plees coud we play princes again some time soon.

Love Henry’ 

She chuckled, her finger stroking over the letters gently, because she could imagine him at his little blue table writing it out for her, and she handed it off to Spencer to put on her bedside table. 

“Thankyou JJ,” She said earnestly, and the blonde nodded, squeezing her leg under the blanket gently before she moved over for Rossi to shuffle in, ruffling the girl’s hair because he would joke later that his back couldn’t handle all the movement when really he felt like she’d been mauled with enough affection for one day. 

“You okay, kid?” He said, his eyes roving over the bruise on her nose that had bled into her eyes, and she nodded, smiling up at him somewhat convincingly. 

“I’m still kicking aren’t I?” She said, and the older man chuckled, shaking his head, “Can’t get rid of me that easily,”

And it was almost true, the small seed of double planting in her own head because for a second in that house she had thought things were done for her. And Spencer had thought the same, judging by the way he nervously cleared his throat, playing with the collars of his shirt.

But Rossi nodded with her, “You kidding? There’s enough life left in you to resurrect all of my dead end marriages,” The team snickered, Rossi squeezing her arm the way grandads do, “Kate sends her love, she had to take Meg to her dance recital, she said she’s dropping by later with good coffee,” 

Bugsy took a sigh of pleasure, because she would kill for a steaming cup of good coffee, and Rossi smiled at her attitude they’d all missed in the office. 

And then there was Hotch, who looked damn near like a dog with a tail between his legs, sporting his own jagged forehead wound that had been stitched up, his lips pulled into a guilty pout unlike everyone else's grateful beams. 

“Bugsy,” He started mournfully, and he swallowed heavily, “I’m-” 

“Don’t-” She shook her head, looking up at him from where she’d sat up in the bed to accommodate everyone’s hugging, “It wasn’t your fault, so don’t give me that. He caught us both of guard,” 

But he still didn’t look like he quite accepted that answer, settling to reach out and squeeze the hand that was laying across her stomach, his skin warm and rough as he held her like she was cracking glass under his touch. 

She realised she had been wrong that day with Lewis, when she’d been damn near shaking in her spot because of the man who looked so much like Hotch, and she saw the fatal flaw that gave it all away. 

His face was set in a frown more often than not, and it was for that reason a lot of the agents on the other floors lived in fear of SSA Hotchner’s thunderous tone and barking attitude, but Bugsy knew that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Because while he could be cold and domineering and bossy, his eyes told her all she needed to know. 

He was hurt. He was guilty. He was worried. He was mourning. He couldn’t stop seeing Peter Lewis slitting her throat in that flash of a blade. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her incase it was all a dream in itself, that they had never been found, he had never woke up, they had never saved her. 

His eyes were haunted by the past twenty years of his life, perhaps what happened even before then because she wasn’t so stupid to miss how he was more rough on child beaters and abusive fathers than he was their usual UnSubs, how he was so extra gentle with Jack, how he hated raising his voice. And inside the big scary exterior, Bugsy saw a boy who only wanted to save everyone because no one was ever there to save him. 

She squeezed his hand tightly in hers, pulling him towards her and he’d resisted hugging her to start with because he knew the frog would leap into his throat, but he could never deny her. And he didn’t, he simply leaned over, caressed the back of her head over his shoulder with one of his enormous palms and gave her a warm hug no monster or demon or whatever she had seen could ever be capable of. 

And Bugsy felt stupid for ever believing anything she’d seen. 

–

They stayed for another hour or so, Derek running out to grab Bugsy a subway because the food at the hospital hadn’t been the best, and she had devoured the steak and cheese footlong so fast Rossi’s brows had raised into his hairline. Spencer handed her a strawberry flavoured pudding pot, the lid already peeled open for her and a spoon.

And it was then a figure came rushing through the door, so fast they were surprised they hadn’t heard the heels on the linoleum and the whole room stopped for a breath, Bugsy dropped her pudding cup down her shirt, barely even making her first bite count. 

“Why did no one tell me those two were screwing for eight months?” Emily barked, gesturing between the two agents that cuddled up on the hospital bed, and almost as soon as the pure joy to see her older sister had flooded her body, it ebbed again, and Bugsy rolled her eyes.

“Eleven hour flight, Em, and a buttload of head trauma and that’s all you have to say to me?” She snipped, mopping up her pudding with the edge of her finger. 

“I got weekly updates about the consistency of Sergio’s bowel movements but this you missed out?” She threw her hands up, sighing in contempt and almost immediately the girls were bickering like they hadn’t spent a single day apart from one another, but then Spencer supposed that’s what happened when you were blood. 

And part of him wondered just who was going to tell Emily about the proposal, the same small part that had gone and bought the ring just yesterday while she’d been sleeping. 

He supposed he could live with it being his secret for a few weeks longer. 

--

TAGLISTS:

@littlemadamred  @stainedpomegranatelips  @mcntsee  @release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08  @caramelised-onions  @the-tpd-bau  @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches  @sammy-4103  @starmansirius  @yeonalie  @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child  @sadbae-33  @mdanon027  @swag13r  @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey  @mindfullycriminal  @mrsbellastyles  @nilopillo  @imagines--galore  @bluejaysaysstuff  @imaginexred  @flow33didontsmoke  @spicyspirit  @mywellspringoflife  @lovelyygirl8  @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3 @rosylnsworld  @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters  @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist  @theoraekenslover  @niktwazny303  @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave  @yondiii  @cultish-corner  @lllucere  @escapismurmom @stillhere197  @hiireadstuff  @queermaxwooo  @telengraph  @ivyflowers13 @estrela-rogers  @busy-buzzing

[honeybumpkins]

Please tell me about your swap au! :) i would love to hear more about it!

I really like all of the designs for the voices(?) that you have in it! I think that I really like the chill and the skittish the most! It all looks very interesting!

YAYY!!

I'm so glad you like the designs so far! <3

I'll give you the run-down of the little lore and things I've got down for this. Keep in mind that nothing is set in stone yet (or, ever honestly lol), so things may change at some point.

Basic swap au premise, the Princess and the Long Quiet swap places! Now the bird is imprisoned in the cabin, and the princess (or Maiden) is the one who is supposed to slay him. This, of course, changes some of the lore, yeah?

The Long Quiet and Shifting Mound were still originally one vessel, and were still separated. The Narrator imprisoned the Monster in the cabin because of the stagnation. He himself was stagnating. Rotting to nothing. He wanted to stop this; he wanted change. So, he did what he does in Canon! Only, to the LQ.

He brought the Princess to the cabin, instructing her to slay the Monster, or the world would end. Fortunately, she also has the Voice of the Maiden to influence her. and the Maiden is not so sure the Narrator should be trusted.

The voices, in this au, are fragments from the SM, since the Princess is the SM's "heart", she still has sort of a connection to their perspectives. Here is a list of the current voices!

Voice of the Maiden - The replacement for the Hero! The Voice of the Maiden represents standard Princess in Canon. She is a kind-hearted, level-headed do-gooder and most often the one keeping the peace between all the voices.

Voice of the Wounded - Representing the Witch from Canon and the foil to The Scoundrel, Voice of the Wounded is spiteful at a betrayal she's faced, and wants nothing more for the Monster to feel the pain she has.

Voice of the Lover - Representing the Damsel from Canon and the foil to the Admirer, the Lover is gentle and loving. While not completely enamored in the way the Admirer is, she harbors a great deal of affection for the Monster, though she is generally useless when it comes to making decisions on her own.

Voice of the Joyous - (Alternatively, Voice of the Hopeful) Representing the Spectre and the foil to the Chill, Voice of the Joyous is a pleasant voice who is afflicted with a deep longing for a better life for both her and the Monster, and sense of optimism, even in the worst of situations. However, she has a fierce edge to her that should not be ignored.

Voice of the Rigid - (Alternatively, Voice of the Cynic) Representing the Prisoner and the foil to The Fool, the Rigid is a stubborn pessimist, and has a notable mean streak. She is basically a second Narrator, in terms of her main route. Though when faced with the Fool's splintering, she shows an extreme curiosity. Something good about her is that she stands by her values, and though they happen to coincide with the Narrator often, she is not him.

Voice of the Brutal - Representing the Adversary and foiling the Combatant, the Brutal is someone who loves fighting. She longs to struggle and be forced to adapt, and she exclaims that she feels alive when taking on the Combatant.

Voice of the Prey - While she does not represent any princess from Canon, she is the stand-in for the Voice of the Hunted, and foils The Rabid. She is not meek, but the other voices often wrongfully regard her as such. She speaks in hushed tones, and is extremely smart with her instincts.

Voice of the Cruel - Representing the Razor princess and foiling the Bristles, the Cruel is joyfully sadistic. She expresses often how the Princess ought to just stab the Monster. She enjoys it, which is a discomfort to even the Narrator. She is an awful liar, but maintains an upbeat attitude.

Voice of the Haunted - Again, this one does not represent a princess, but is a replacement for Voice of the Paranoid! She is the foil to The Mold, and is frightened often. But, as such, she is the most used to it out of the Maiden or her fellow voices, and can guide them through the situation if only they will listen.

Voice of the Weak-Willed - She doesn't represent a princess either, but also does not fully represent the voice she replaces: Voice of the Broken. She is a demotivated woman who has hardly any drive, but proves to be useful sometimes, at least. Though, she gets infatuated with The Victor in their route, and advocates fiercely for them to obey him. Simp <3

Voice of the Imposing - Representing the Tower princess and foiling The Skittish, the Imposing is a 'get shit done' type of woman. She is, as the name implies, an imposing figure, and it shows in even her voice. She has a high sense of her own self-worth, and is sometimes arrogant, having grown used to bossing everyone around by the time she meets her meek, but defiant foil.

Voice of the Crooked - Finally, here we are! She does not represent a specific princess, but is more like Voice of the Opportunist is he were slightly more evil. She foils The Arrowhead, and is logical and pragmatic, yet has the capacity to be cruel if she thinks it will increase her chances of 'escaping this damned cabin.'

That's all of our voices, except for the Narrator I guess, but he remains unchanged!

Now, naturally, with the Princess and LQ being swapped, the various enemies you face have been changed too. Here is a list of them:

The Admirer - Swapping with the Damsel and representing the Voice of the Smitten, the Admirer is madly in love with the Princess. He is completely, head-over-talons enamored. To the point where if his beloved sees it fit to slay him, naturally, he should be the one apologizing. He branches into Ch III - The Warm Embrace, in which he seeks to bury himself and the Princess alive, so that 'they may find our skeletons intertwined, a testament to our undying love!' “This one is unconditional affection. You have molded him to love you, and he would, in any form you take. He will make for an enamored heart. Do not mourn him. He has served his purpose.”

The Arrowhead - Taking the Witch's place (originally named him The Chip (as in chip on your shoulder, meaning a grudge) but I changed it) and acting like the Voice of the Skeptic, only more sarcastic and with a hint of the Witch's playfulness. He can branch into Ch III - The One Eye, or Ch III - The Knot.

The Bristles - Taking the Razor's place, and Representing Voice of the Cheated! The Bristles happens if you fool the Monster into thinking your dead, and then gut him when he gets close. He essentially became a blade monster because he wanted to never be tricked by you again, and gets tired very quickly of the Princess continuously coming back. His two chapter branches are Ch III - The Steel Claw to Ch IV - A Mass of Blood and Blades, and Ch III - The Barbed Wire to Ch IV - A Beating Heart. “This one is consumed by mistrust. He refused to be deceived, but his efforts to arm himself tore through him as much as it did others. He will make for a guarded heart. Do not mourn him, for he no longer has anything to fear.”

The Chill - Taking the Spectre Princess' place, and Representing the Voice of the Cold, The Chill is a spirit without any vengeful feelings. Merely, it was too painful to constantly wish to be saved, so he shut himself off, in a way. Still, once he realizes he can use you to escape the cabin, he gets very angry when you deny him the help, especially after you killed him in cold blood. He can branch into Ch III - The Torrential Winds, in which he kills you in an avalanche, a blizzard, or by his own hands, and uses you to escape the cabin. “This one is apathy. He wished for a life he could not attain, and turned himself into a stiff, sharp wind to avoid his longing. He will make for a cold heart. Do not mourn him– he has finally found what he wished for.” 

The Combatant - Taking the place of the Adversary and Representing the Voice of the Stubborn, The Combatant desires a fight. He simply craves the thrill of battle with a worthy opponent, and the feeling of a life, his opponent's or his own, bending to the will of a strong heart. He can branch into Ch III - The Serrated Edge, in which he finally gets the fight he desires, or Ch III - The Unwound Screw, in which he kills you no matter what you do. “This one yearns to fight, to struggle against someone worthy, and feel the thrill of the battle. Even now, he thrashes against me, not realizing we are one. He will make for a stubborn heart. Do not mourn him, for he will feel the satisfaction of victory.”

The Fool - Taking the Stranger's place, and Representing Voice of the Contrarian, The Fool is unstable at first. Though he only displays amusement as his situation, especially when the Narrator reacts. He is a monster that can hear the Narrator, and interact with him. He finds joy in spiteing you and the Narrator, and displays a morbid curiosity at his situation, especially when he starts fracturing. “These ones are contradictions. A kaleidoscope of paths unwalked. They are stretched into a shape they cannot hold, and yet, I feel their contrary. They will make for a rich, radiant heart.”

The Mold - Taking the Nightmare's place, The Mold is a decayed monster who has rotted in the cabin, and now seeks revenge. he has mold and fungus growing on him, and his feathers have been preened out of stress, leaving large bare patches in certain places. He can branch into Ch III - The Infection, in which he kills you, or Ch III - The Reflective Surface, which is basically The Moment of Clarity. “This one is decay. A soul left to rot with only himself as company. He desires companionship, but is too angry to let go of the knife. He will make for a lonely, callous heart. Do not mourn him– he has finally given in.”

The Rabid - Representing the Beast princess, The Rabid is aptly named! He is visibly infected with rabies, and is more wild and unpredictable than before. He acts on instinct, and has the behavior of a predator. He branches into Ch III - The Abomination, in which the infection has progressed, and the foam in his mouth chokes him, taking away his speech. In this chapter, he also acts even more like a feral beast, and looks the part. The Rabid can also become Ch III - The One Eye, which is basically The Wild (for now!) “This one is wild. Consumed by instinct, he has become unpredictable. A creature, hunting and fighting to survive, and forcing the adaptation of its prey. He will make for a feral heart. He wishes me to devour you. To make you a part of myself. But he is only a voice. Do not mourn him. He is part of something greater.”

The Scoundrel - Representing the Voice of the Opportunist, and also kind of taking The Prisoner's place, The Scoundrel is kind of like a con-man. He defends the actions of his previous iteration (them being killing the Princess while she was resisting the Narrator), and can be killed in revenge. But his bigger plot is the romance! That's right! You can romance him. Show him a little affection to gain his trust, and either free him again (to the Voice of the Wounded's extreme dismay) or betray him! Stab him right in the back, which will prompt him to strike back fatally and kill you, but the damage will already be done. He will give you a cold look (though you will notice his eyes are wet and shiny, of course) and call you a liar before you are taken to Ch III - The Frigid Touch, in which he pushes you down a deep hole and breaks all of your bones, and then kills you. “This one is both sides of a coin. He is motivated by survival, and is willing to stoop low to preserve it. Yet, he is not a bad soul. He will make for an opportunistic heart. Do not mourn him– he can live now.”

The Skittish - Representing Voice of the Paranoid, The Skittish is a very frightened monster who cowers in fear from you. Though, if approached, he will be driven to attack. If you take him on, you can eventually blind him, and then either save him or murder him. If you murder him (you monster (/lh)) you will be taken to Ch III - The Something (which is currently unnamed, if you couldn't tell. I am just calling it The Flinching in my head). In This chapter, he's basically Voice of the Broken. Extremely depressed, and also still blind, which he knows doesn't give him the edge. Either he'll stab himself, or you'll stab him here. “This one is paralyzed. Hope drowned out by fear. He will make for a paranoid heart. I feel his terror now. He desperately wishes to flee. But he is only a voice. Do not mourn him– he is safe now.”

The Victor - Taking the place of the Tower princess, the Victor is a lot like her. He is more outwardly arrogant, and a lot sharper with his words than her, but still wants to take you on as a pet. He can branch into Ch III - The Halo, or Ch III - The Unwound Screw. “This one is dominance. A figure who bends others to his will. He will make for a proud, arrogant heart. Do not mourn him, for he would not mourn you.”

And that's them! My sillies <3.

The Long Quiet has you bring them to him. They are fractures of his heart that were lost (either by the Narrator or on purpose), and kept in the cabin.

Here is a little list of the Ch I outcomes I made, just to keep track

Take the blade:

Provoke, play dead, slay, die - The Bristles

Provoke, keep fighting, die - The Combatant

Provoke, give up, die - The Victor

Slay Instantly, don't check, kill yourself - The Chill

Slay Instantly, check, die - The Arrowhead

Lock monster away, die - The Mold

Rescue, resist narrator, die - The Scoundrel

Rescue, do not resist narrator, die - The Arrowhead

Go unarmed

Retrieve blade, attack, give up, die - The Rabid

Retrieve blade, attack, die - The Victor

Go back for blade, do anything - The Arrowhead

Lock monster away, die - The Mold

Rescue, resist narrator, die - The Admirer

Rescue, do not resist narrator, die - The Skittish

Don’t go at all

Refuse to enter cabin - The Fool

Is there anything else you would like to know? I'd love to talk about the swap Au more, but I don't know what to talk about.

[freakinator]

I've been wondering for a long time. How would you characterise Wemmbu? How he seems in your eyes, your opinion of the guy. I hope I don't sound weird or crazy.

aw dw anon its okay to be curious ^^

regarding my characterization of wemmbu, while there is a lot of consistency in how he acts since hes an improv rper and therefore generally just acts as a polished/exaggerated version of his own self, there are still a few differences in how he acts depending on what smp hes in

general: smarmy, quite pathetic but tries his best to hide it until he literally cant anymore, opportunistic, petty, truthful in that kind of way that makes you doubt him, not quite black and white thinking but can switch up fast when someone does something that presses his buttons (doesnt necessarily trigger when someones just being mean, its specific kinds of things -- mostly has something to do with pride and trust), has a desire to be on top of things but whether or not he indulges in that desire depends on his overall plans and the kind of server hes in, silly but in a lowkey way as in like he presents himself as a normal person which works but only if you dont look closer, lowkey cringey in that uwu kinda way (affectionate), good at one-on-one yapping esp if hes confident & knows more about the situation than the other person but starts to crumble if its either him vs a group or if hes genuinely not confident about something, willing to sacrifice so much just to achieve his goals whatever they may be

kings smp: more opportunistic and a lot more willing to lie & manipulate & betray, crab mentality very high but he holds it back since indulgin in all of it at once isnt very good for his plans

challenge smps: like kings smp but even More willing to lie & manipulate & betray, has a stronger crab mentality since the whole point of the smp is to win and he really wants to win and he knows he wont be seeing these ppl in this context again anyway so hes willing to do whatever it takes even if it means betraying his allies, << does Not apply to team challenges btw he will be very loyal until hes given a reason to betray such as believing the others are betraying them first

lifesteal smp: had a good grasp of what it means to be a lifestealer right from the get go but has struggled a bit in figuring out what that means for him exactly so he still has a bit of that new guy stench if you get what i mean (this characterization becomes less and less prominent the later in the timeline it is), has been very loyal thus far and is more than happy to point that out, average level of lifestealer aggressiveness, i like to parallel him with zam mirror-style due to them having opposite thought processes but coming to similar conclusions (pic below of unfinished draft ive had for ages cause idk how to word my thoughts regarding this properly other than 'the vibes')

unstableverse: very obvious mirror parallel to zam that i honestly wouldnt be surprised if it was on purpose, kinda hard talking about his motivations and character devoid of context regarding zam considering he spent 4 out of 5 eps as a major character (even when he isnt actually there lmao) and wemmbu spent 3 of those 4 eps obsessing over him but i will try my best, can be a bit of a stalker but only if he really cares about whatever it is the guy hes stalking is doing/potentially doing, no empathy (affectionate), generally doesnt care that much about individual players but when he gets attached he gets Attached for better or worse, zeroes in on his goals even to his own and others' detriment, a lot more pathetic than in other smps or at least has a harder time hiding his patheticness, also may just be me but i think hes more pessimistic?? not entirely sure tho

overall i think hes pretty neat! pretty cute and silly but also devious and mischievous, if i could shake him in a can i would

[stupid-fucking-storm]

Watched Cinderella’s Castle and had a very underwhelming experience. Review and LONGGG rant under the cut.

Minor spoilers.

First of all, I thought the pacing was really, really bad. I also thought the tone of the story was really weird??

Obviously it’s Starkid, they love putting things in odd tones, but there was not one song or moment that really made me feel anything for these characters. In fact, the most I felt for any of them was Lauren’s throwaway cousin character, who was killed pretty much immediately.

This was not at all the fault of the performers, who were doing The Most with the script they were given. Performance-wise, in fact, it was very good. Aside from Jeff Blim, who honestly made me completely dislike him due to this show. I’m sure he’s a fine guy, but he constantly writes music for his falsetto which he seems very proud of but is …never… on pitch. I’ve grown increasingly bored with his score and lyric writing through Nightmare Time and this show was the embodiment of that.

The absolute worst part of the show was the incessant background music—something they carried over from Nightmare Time as if we enjoyed that. I certainly didn’t, it made Nightmare Time a tough watch for me. Plunky little notes like synth improv, absolutely separate in tone from the dialogue, plague every scene. This is especially bad in the second act to the point that I actively stopped trying to understand or care about the scene because the background music was suggesting that I shouldn’t. Keep in mind this was during what I think was an important exchange between Bryce and Curt’s characters. Honestly, I could not tell you. I don’t watch musicals with subtitles on so I can be surprised by dialogue and make it more akin to watching the performance live. This was a mistake. This was a long stretch of dialogue, too, completely nullified by the dumb background music. I mean, think Nightmare Time improv synth but with none of the recognizable motifs. That’s what it was. For almost the entire show.

As I mentioned, the music was again by Jeff Blim. I was worried when this was announced because of how boring, same, and uninspired his stuff has become, but I wanted to give it a chance. When it was announced as a pop rock musical, I got more pessimistic. I was unfortunately correct.

There are about 2 songs that I enjoyed, and one that was very good for the first 15ish seconds. Almost every song’s tone was completely wrong for the scene/what they were conveying. And not in a fun, we’re-doing-something-unconventional way, which Starkid has done really well in the past.

Angela fucking killed as the stepmother, but her singing range is very limited. Everyone knows this and that’s fine!! I’m begging Jeff to stop writing music for her that’s outside of her range. It’s not like they didn’t know who they would cast. I think it’s been stated that Starkid still have to audition for their roles, but with such a small cast I’m sure Nick/Jeff/Matt have an idea when they’re writing.

Mariah and Lauren did great performances as the stepsisters. I wasn’t expecting Lauren’s elf voice and thought that was a little off the mark. She still slayed, it’s Lauren.

The problem is, these characters had so little depth that none of them really had an arc at all. There was not much for the actors to do or build on to make me care about them. Let me be crystal clear: I LOVE STARKID. Fucking love it. Even I couldn’t give a fuck about anyone’s character in this show but Lauren’s throwaway character and Angela’s villain—and probably mostly because I’ve grown very fond of Angela’s acting and performance recently on Smosh.

I’m not saying anyone did a bad job. They did their best with what they had. My issue is entirely with the writing, the music writing particularly, and the pacing, which was god-awful.

Now, the puppets.

This was the part of the show I was most excited for. Starkid hasn’t done puppets for a while! And I loved the Starship puppets! Horror/weird looking puppets?? Sign me up!

Unfortunately, this also left a lot to be desired. I enjoyed the puppet for Crumb and the frog, and Joey is an especially EXCELLENT puppet actor. But the troll puppets were really lack-luster. Seeing the actresses so clearly beneath them, still in their elegant dresses when they were supposed to be fully these ugly monsters, was very immersion-breaking. Even attaching a dark cloth to them to hide their bodies and a screen over their faces would have done A LOT. This was really disappointing. So was the weird voice effect on Angela’s troll. Only because she was already doing a voice, and it was delayed just long enough for it to be jarring and disrupt my ability to follow what she was saying. (Fyi, I do not have any sort of processing disability or disorder.) Still, her performance was really great and I’m happy to see her in a main role.

I didn’t find James’ character charming or funny, which may be an acting thing or may be a writing thing, I’m not sure. I’ve never been a huge fan of his, and I found his interpretation of the character to be pretty bland and literal. I would have liked to see some hints of a real person under all the crude jokes the prince makes—but this is likely due to writing issues/tone issues.

Curt was great, there was not a lot for him to do. Kim SLAYYYYYYYED her song and it was the only one I really liked. But she did not act in this show and was really underutilized, as probably the most vocally talented person in the cast. JLB was not in this show, which I didn’t realize and was saddened by. I think she would have brought a great energy to it. Jon’s performance was sweet and he was obviously having a good time. Let the man sing more often. Bryce slayyyed the vocals but the acting was ehhh. Again, not a lot of depth. Her whole thing felt really rushed due to writing and pacing. The fact that I can’t remember if anyone else was even in this, without looking, is a little sad.

Overall I’m very disappointed. The tone, pacing, and background score were quite bad. The set design, music, and characterization was bland. The costume design was good—I found myself commenting on the outfits frequently. Some of the puppets were good, others confusing. After watching it, I’m really, really not excited about “The Lands That Are” and am terrified for another Hatchetfield wearing out its welcome.

In conclusion: To watch this for $15 is fine but I’m certainly glad I did not fly to see this in person, which I had considered doing. I will always support Starkid, but if they keep hiring Jeff for the music, I am going to continue the decline in passion I have for it, which started when Nightmare Time did. I’m hoping that they’re able to mix the background music to non-existent or extremely quiet in the YouTube version after enough feedback, and that the next musical is more inspired and—GOD—not fucking pop rock again.

[pulchrasilva]

Decided I don’t have the patience to wait. Have my questions

• Is your character an optimist or pessimist?

• Is your character good with kids?

• From childhood to their current age, how has your character changed?

• What event in your story altered your character the most?

(Honestly tho no pressure)

Ty for the ask bestie!! And yes, Ayo is the Creature's best friend, I'm thrilled that you guessed that!

Is your character an optimist or pessimist?

The Creature: Pessimist for sure! Its whole life's philosophy is "something looking evil doesn't make it actually evil", but ironically it tends to assume most people are unforgivably cruel because that's how it's been treated. But! Thanks to a certain someone, that will change.

Ayo: He definitely starts out an optimist! He's one of those characters who starts out super naive but slowly becomes disillusioned by the world (at the same time as restoring hope to those around him - I wonder who that will be haha). He'll have a bit of a pessimist arc, but it also won't last forever.

Is your character good with kids?

The Creature: It depends on the kid! Mostly The Creature stays away from kids (and people generally) because people don't like it and it's sick of being rejected/threatened/etc. But there are definitely some kids who would be fascinated by this friendly monster, and it's all made up of limbs which is probably ideal for things like throwing kids in the air. It probably takes a long time for it to realise that there are kids who would like it though

Ayo: I think he used to be good with kids, he's the kind of person who can drop his inhibitions really easily and just play. But as his power grows and he understands just How Much he could do with it, he starts staying away from kids because he's scared of hurting them, and he definitely stops letting down inhibitions around them

From childhood to their current age, how has your character changed?

The Creature: well, for one thing it has become a fucked up thing! It's also become much more isolated and distrustful, but happier and freer.

Ayo: I'm honestly not sure Ayo changes much from childhood? He starts out in the story as pretty child-like in a lot of ways. The change happens during the story instead!

What event in your story altered your character the most?

The Creature: Probably befriending Ayo! When they first meet, Ayo is understandably freaked out and the interaction does Not go well, and the Creature is like "see? another rejection. typical of those small-minded normies". But a bit later, once Ayo has become a bit more disillusioned with reality, he starts to understand the Creature's idea that looking evil is not really evil. And Ayo comes back, and says "I understand you" and the Creature is like oh..🥺a friend 😭. Ayo restores (some) of its faith in people, and shows it that it doesnt need to choose between companionship and being itself (fucked up scary monster).

Ayo: For a while, Ayo reassures himself that he won't accidentally do something awful with his magic by telling himself that the Sun Queen (who is the one that provides them with magic in the first place) is Kind and Loving and therefore wouldn't let him use magic to do harm. But then he learns that Sidera, the very person who told him that, actually did hurt someone by accident, and that causes a bit of a downward spiral for him. If Sidera, the top priestess and most powerful magic user, can do that, what's stopping him from doing it? (Don't ask me what Sidera did or how Ayo learns about it, I'm still figuring it out-)

Doing this ask game!

[ransprang]

[KO-FI REQUEST]

Hi! Can I request a SFW+NSFW match-up for a male Harry Potter character? I’m afab, pronouns are they/them.

I’d consider my personality to be fairly ambiverted but more extroverted around friends etc. I can be very flirty and and jokey. I have ADHD so sometimes I am spontaneous and that can lead to saying and doing things that get me in trouble although I generally try to abide by rules. I hate conflict so I’m also quite a people pleaser. I’m also more on the pessimistic/cynical side. My hobbies include reading and writing, really anything creative. I love reading and watching fantasy and romance tv and movies. I do have a soft spot for paranormal horror movies too. Also quite a fan of sudokus and puzzles and such.

My type in men is older men (I am 29 so 40s+) but I love long hair, dark hair, loud jokester or quiet stoic type. Body type: just not skinny, honestly. What I hate…being ignored, or feeling ignored or taken for granted. I hate loud noises like fireworks, balloons, thunder etc. enclosed spaces, yelling or general aggression. My most prominent love language is physical touch. But also words of affirmation and gift giving (mostly me giving) I can be very quiet, shy and timid upon meeting. Also I am demiromantic so while I can feel sexual attraction straight away, generally romantic feelings take a long while to form.

I think that’s all. Thank you so much!

thank you @dixonsgirl93 for being our first ko-fi supporter and for letting us post this <3

if anyone else would like a match up this is the link to our ko-fi :)

your match up is..... SIRIUS BLACK!!

SFW

You were quiet during your first meeting with Sirius, so naturally he made it his mission to get a reaction out of you. He tried playing pranks on you, flirting with you just to see what kind of person you were. The first time you replied to his awful pickup lines with one of your own, he was gobsmacked and has been loyal to you ever since. 

You both can be quite cynical, and share a similar world view. It’s you both against a dark world, and you wouldn’t have it any other way

Sirius having spent a long time in jail made him not take any of his loved ones for granted. He will shower you with affection as much as possible. If you at any time feel ignored by him just tell him. 

Sirius can be a loud man especially when he is angry or getting heated. If he makes eye contact with you while in the middle of being angry at someone else he’ll immediately have a sense of calm washing over him reminding him to lower his voice. 

Sirius’s humor has toned down a bit from being a loud prankster in his schoolboy days, but you catch glimpses of it now and then. Whenever you see that maniacal glint in his eye, you know something wild is about to happen. 

Some nights you both go on long walks together and stalk Harry. During those walks he turns into a dog and people think you’re crazy for talking to him. 

When you guys watch horror movies together he makes sure to scare you during the build up to the pop up scare. He finds it very funny how he always gets you, even if the movie doesn't.

NSFW

Sirius is a touchy man for sure. Random hugs, kisses, touching your hips, squeezing your breasts throughout the day. He does all of this hoping to work you up and get your pussy wet and ready for his fingers. 

He would work his charm on you wherever whenever. No matter if you just started dating or have been together for years he’ll use stupid pick up lines on you. Holding you by the waist he’ll bring you closer to his body. He’d make sure both your chests are pressed against each other, so he can feel all of you. He stares into your eyes and lowers his voice, “Is your favorite spell Evanesco? Because every time I see you, my clothes disappear.” He smirks at how confused and flabbergasted you look. With a swish of the wand you are both naked. He groans in pleasure taking in the sight as he pushes you onto the bed. 

You can gift him sex toys and watch his eyes grow wide. “Wow love, I didn’t know you were into such things.” He’d gladly indulge in anything you bring to him. It gets him hard knowing that you want him as much as he wants you too. He will immediately try on whatever you get him and start the foreplay. 

Sometimes, you enter the room and see him naked, sprawled out on the bed reading a book. He would look up “Finally home? I've been waiting for a long time. Have a seat” as he points towards his cock and chuckles to himself.  He keeps the book aside and leans forward to pull you into his embrace as you can feel his hard penis against your bottom. He starts kissing your chest as he works his hands to remove your clothes.

Due to your spontaneity you end up saying what's on your mind, like when Sirius would ask if he looks good in his new coat and you jab back “Please don't rummage through Snape’s closet again.” with a smirk. Sirius laughs “Are you sure you want to say that?” - You chime back “Why not? Did I offend you?”. Sirius’s smile disappears “Looks like a brat needs some taming.” - you raise your eyebrow in confusion “Excuse me?” as he moves close to you till your noses touch. You can hear his breathing. He tilts close to your neck and bites into it as you moan. He carries you up into his arms as he pushes you against the wall. He then uses his hands to push your wrists against the cold hard concrete. You can see a mischievous smile forming upon his lips and he gets to work his magic on your body. 

Sirius likes to call you to him randomly, and trace his hands along your silhouette with his eyes closed trying to remember you simply by touch and sensation. His nose picks up on your sweet scent. He opens his eyes and when his gaze meets yours, the animal in him comes alive.

When you straddle him and ride his dick up and down he feels you close up around his girth and digs his fingers into your thighs. You feel a warm feeling rise up your body as you come close to climax and you intertwine your fingers into his long locks and lightly pull as he lets out loud groans. As he goes over the edge releasing his hot thick cum inside of you.  

yours magically,

admins sav, sar & san

[prettyboykatsuki]

Do you have any tips on how to like. Manage insecurity lol

im told i have a pessimistic way of handling this specific thing so take this advice with a grain of salt but i break like all inner issues down into two parts. the practical application and theory

the practical application for managing insecurity is that theres only two states for that thing. can be changed and can’t be changed. if something can’t be changed than worrying is a waste of time. if it can then i can work to change it, then the question is, is it worth it? as in, does making this change serve me as a person or improve my quality of life and am i doing it for the right reason?

the second and more important imo is the theory of insecurity which is why told im kinda pessimistic shfjsnf

but my mindset is basically 1. there’s nothing self-righteous about your misery and 2. thinking you are by some measure uniquely awful is also a complex of thinking you are special.

insecurity is a really insidious things because it places importance on very arbitrary things. and its made so big by social media. you should care about the opinions of people who are important to you and who love you but strangers are just strangers. and people who don’t know you intimately cant make full enough judgements of what makes you good or bad

but ultimately i think of my own self hatred as kind of lame and thats why i dont sink to deep into it anymore. my insecurity is not accurate measure of who am i in the same way my accomplishments aren’t. im not a uniquely evil monster just like im not a heavenly saint

my bodies shaped like that because bodies look like that. my teeth are yellow because sometimes they stain. im annoying sometimes and sometimes im inconsiderate and i isolate often. these are qualities about me i dislike and can feel insecure about but they’re not some machiavellian, radical evil. just like my good traits arent some inherent divine goodness

insecurities are reflections of the world around us and the people we encounter. your insecurities don’t show up out of thin air. they’re brought and imposed upon you through a long life and its normal to have them and working through them is a life long process

but the reason ive gradually become less insecure is because having this intense fixation on my flaws was honestly a massive waste of my time lmao. my miserable and pitiful outbursts were eating away at my long and beautiful life. if i spent even half of the time i did as a young kid worrying about my appearance on literally anything else i might’ve been the next frank ocean. my suffering wasn’t righteous. it didn’t make me special or cool or interesting.

be cringe and weird. be ugly and outdated. be gross and sad. what do you want to see when you look back at your life? beautiful misery or ugly and unkempt joy? its not a fix but it helped me a lot to think that way even if its morbid or pessimistic.

when im insecure the little voice in my head goes “but does it matter?” because i taught to do that. it usually doesn’t matter because a lot if it’s arbitrary. thats my two cents

[unskilledpoint]

You literally just spelled the word "Br*t*sh" (censoring it so I don't do it myself) to say that br*t*sh spelling makes your point invalid, therefore your own point is invalid. Checkmate!

Wrong. In that sentence I was using British spelling to refer to a dialect of English spelling. Or whatever the fuck you call it. Look man I'm tried okay. The past month hasn't been great okay.

Like first a while ago I was hungry which was really fucking crazy because that basically never happens. So then I just figured whatever fuck this let's make pancakes who doesn't like pancakes. But I deserve a lot better than regular pancakes so I started going around looking for chocolate chips. And guess how many I found.

I found two. Fucking. Chocolate chips. Which is honestly really insulting I mean having no chocolate is one thing you'd be like aw man really sucks that I'm outta chocolate. But like if you find two you're like which jerk left these two chocolate chips out here. Of course in this I'm not you I'm me and I was like oh right that jerk who left these two chocolate chips out here was me. What better way to start off the day by waking up and ruining the first meal I had in a week. Man who even cares anymore I ruin everything what's fucking new about it.

So now picture this. It's the asscrack of dawn like I'm talking 6 A.M bullshit, I'm standing outside an empty cabinet and I've got two chocolate chips in my hand. Obviously I'm not gonna eat them so I just toss them somewhere I don't fucking know where.

They made this really quiet little ping on the tiles and then the other one followed with another little ping and when you think about it the arcs of the chocolate chips must have made them separate. So then I got kind of sad for a second you know because like what the fuck these two little chocolate chips have been in the same package and then the rest of their little chocolate chips all fucking died so now it's just them standing on the front lines waiting for their inevitable doom and now they're lost in an unknown land alone thinking the other is dead.

And then I thought well maybe they grew to hate each other. Maybe the little chocolate chip on the left was a useless optimist and the little chocolate chip on the right was a pessimist who just bitched and moaned. But does that even matter because at the end of the day they were all that's familiar to each other even if they did think the other one was a little bitch.

Now it's 8 A.M and I figured man who even gives a shit about these dumbass little chocolate chips. Anthropomorphizing them does pretty much jack shit because they're inanimate little bitches so I should just hurry the fuck up and buy a new pack from the market and make some goddamn pancakes. And that was that.

[livelymyrtle]

Honestly atp I don’t know how to feel about Lin Manuel Miranda. I don’t want to be in that crowd of the “Hamilton and everything else he does sucks and it’s all awful” because it’s not really true… Hamilton was very good (mostly brought down from excellence by the second act), and I actually quite liked Encanto (aside from the fact that Abuela gets pretty much excused at the end + Disney forced him to do stuff like writing in Isabela). In The Heights I haven’t paid much attention to, but what I saw I remember being good, and I know he has plenty of other gems…

so why is it that I, like so many people, am just not feeling it? Netizens have recently been feeling more meh on him or even begun to hate him. So why this shift in perspective?

I think the sudden scrutiny against LMM has two main components:

1) Overexposure

After Disney has been putting him in everything, which was already after everyone was saturated with Hamilton and ITH stuff, I think people are just getting a bit sick of the man. It’s especially damning for Lin that he tends to make every main character himself, and that he has such a distinctive lyrical style(or rather, he is unwilling to diverge from that style - he wrote How Far I’ll Go for Moana and that was more off par for him). As a result, it just feels like you are watching the same thing over and over and over again with him - and at this point it’s just getting kind of exhausting to see him all the time doing what feels like the exact same thing.

It also probably doesn’t help that he has become associated with Disney just as Disney has begun losing popular favor. Nowadays, they mostly are doing mediocre movies with the exact same plot, characters, art style, aesthetic, and message(basically trying to be Studio Ghibli in plot except that they don’t have the slow pensiveness, nor the understanding of what consumers actually want, nor the desire to create art for art’s sake), and extremely awful live action remakes that literally nobody likes, so Disney’s new stuff has been bleeding popularity like a bullet wound. Now, people think of Lin in the same vein that think of their disappointment with Disney, which is probably not making him look better. I’ve even seen people blame Disney’s negative shift on him, which isn’t really fair, but… I can see why someone would draw that conclusion, you know?

2) More importantly, cultural shift in attitudes.

Post COVID and what I like to call the Reality Exodus, everyone went on their phones, got really depressed and pessimistic, and got really online. I think that this has directly lead to why people are no longer ok with some aspects of LMMs stuff. In 2015-16, we all loved Hamilton: it was an inclusive and fresh new take on US history, something that we were pretty starved of pride in. With the election of Trump, things seemed bleak: but people remained hopeful still that there could be pride in this country. The concept of Miranda only hiring actors of color was also just the right amount of groundbreaking but not too shocking for the culture - we were committed to diversity, but not so much to the point where we wanted truly diverse stories to be told, so the all-POC cast in a very white story was a good way to knock on the glass ceiling without breaking it. The added message of “we are all a part of America” was fitting for the widespread “we don’t see color, everyone is welcome, hakuna matata” brand of anti-racism that was the most widely accepted narrative at the time.

But as we got into COVID, we see In the Heights released. And all of a sudden, the Twitter mob has come out against LMM for… colorism in his casting, of all things??? Casting that was very diverse?? And that he wasn’t even in charge of anyway???

In hindsight the whole Twitter cancellation thing seems ridiculous, but I do think it’s an important example of how much more aware and critical we had gotten as a culture. And I think our new perspectives shifted our views on some of his earlier work, too: namely, Hamilton.

After COVID, a play written by a nonblack man about rapping slave masters (but they are all played by POC) didn’t really seem all that revolutionarily anti-racist. We as a culture had developed our understanding of racial theory to a different, more radical narrative: we should start uplifting the stories of real POC and make actual changes. All of a sudden, LMM’s rooting for diversity just didn’t seem genuine anymore the the culture at large. I think that has played one of the biggest parts in his loss of popular favor.

And that’s where we get to now: I just don’t know what to think. I mean, on the one hand, of course Lin Manuel Miranda does some great stuff artistically. But his art, his messaging, his image in general has become associated with an era of lenient attempts at equality that I just don’t really support. And no, before you think it, this isn’t going to devolve into the regular separation of art and artist stuff. But it is a question of separation: Can we separate the goodness of an art piece from its intent? Can we judge art or media as being good objectively? And how important of a part does messaging play in what makes something “good”?

My answer? I don’t know. I need a cup of tea and a nap. Peace.

[cringengl]

I honestly doubt that anyone in Stranger Things is going to have a 'tragic' ending (especially Will).

Stranger Things as a TV show is all about themes of friendship, family, hope, overcoming impossible odds and being your own person despite everyone calling you a 'freak'.

When I see posts about which characters are going to die and which stories are going to end in tragedy, I really do doubt that they are going to happen, especially if their death would be just to be 'realistic'. It would honestly go against the core themes of Stranger Things and would reinforce the idea that going against societal norms should be and will be punished (such as Will being gay, in love with his best friend and just being 'different' in general).

Stranger Things, isn't trying to be a 'realistic' show in terms of being pessimistic about the state of America in the 80s, it's instead trying to promote hope and defying awful circumstances.

But but but what about Barb, Bob, Billy and Eddie, they all had tragic deaths??

Honestly, I wouldn't call their deaths tragic, just sad, since they all have a purpose and Bob and Eddie even get to finish their character arcs with their deaths.

Barb- Barb's death is arguably the most tragic. She didn't know anything about the UD and had no idea how dangerous bleeding by the pool was. However, her death shows to Nancy how she doesn't want to be Steve's girlfriend and that ultimately Barb was right- she wasn't being herself. Barb's death also leads to the closing down of Hawkins laboratory, meaning that Nancy and Barb's family do get closure.

Bob- Bob spends lots of season 2 being insecure in himself and jealous of Hopper since he's so strong. However, Bob gets to be a superhero in his own right by solving what Will has drawn and then successfully getting them out of the lab, therefore concluding his character arc. His death is also one of the main obstacles in Joyce putting space between her and Hopper, a major s3 plot point and development in Jopper's relationship.

Billy- Billy's life is tragic, not his death. His death is the one part of agency he gets after being possessed by the Mind Flayer- which is actually more triumphant. His character arc is finished by him finally doing one good thing, sacrificing himself, instead of being the mouth breather he has been since he was introduced in s2. His death also serves as a major plot point for s4 due to its impact on Max.

Eddie- Eddie's death is extremely similar to Bob's in the way that it is established at the beginning of the season that Eddie is upset that he only runs away, but at the end he doesn't run away and fights the demobats to defeat Vecna, therefore showing his character development and concluding his arc. Although s5 hasn't released yet, I have no doubt that his death will have a major impact on characters such as Dustin, just like every other character death has (especially the ones that happen at the end of a season).

Two things that these characters have in common is that their deaths all had a major impact in the season after (there will be no season after s5) and that 3/4 were introduced in the same season that they died (Billy died in the season after he was introduced).

Finally, here's this quote from Finn Wolfhard (look at the the 2nd paragraph specifically):

(From here: https://www.gamesradar.com/stranger-things-season-5-finn-wolfhard-will-and-mike-future/)

Therefore, Will isn't dying and none of the main characters are going to die tragically either (not saying that none of them will die- they probably will, it just isn't going to be in a way that is depressing and takes away from their characters).

[champagnepodiums]

this is a completely different topic from what you've been discussing here...

but, um, the way fans nowadays babify drivers is so weird... not only that but also some of the tweets that cross limits while jokingly 'shipping' drivers. maybe that's just how most of the new fans tweet / talk abt drivers but psychoanalysing every little thing abt them and the extent to which some of them are babified is genuinely kinda insane to me lol..

i believe that also plays a big role in how the casual fans/on insta/even media to some extent behave towards certain drivers, especially the ones who are believed to have only female fans, which is so not true. it also doesn't help in reducing the amt of misogynistic comments made by men bcuz it makes them believe more in what they say abt watching the sport only for looks etc etc. but this just leads them to not take such fans seriously at all and yeah i mean ppl will probably say enjoy the sport like u want to and all but it would be easier for other fans as well if such ppl were a little more normal in the way they talk abt drivers i guess.

i know there's nothing anyone can do abt it and it's probably just the way the new generation of fans behave and act but i just wanted to get this out of my head..

okay so like no offense to you, everything I'm going to say right now is not directed at you, personally anon because i do think you mean well and i don't think you had any idea that you have touched on things that i feel strongly about but also things that are kind of sore spots for me atm but there are a few things i want to go over:

do we all know what psychoanalysis actually is? its not just this anon but i see this word tossed out so casually and like it's this terrible, awful thing and i do not think as a whole, this fanbase actually has a good grasp on what psychoanalysis actually is. it's become this word with a negative connotation and I just think we should generally have a conversation about that. Now, I am not any of your guy's mothers nor do I have the time to handhold everybody through this explanation for you today so I invite you to read this. I would like to tldr it to make a point and it's this quote from the article: "Psychoanalysis, in providing multi-layered and multi-dimensional explanations,  seeks to understand complexity." When people are psychoanalyzing drivers (and it's something that I've been accused of more than once), usually what is happening is a person or a group of people are trying to use the information that we know about a driver through interviews to understand this driver. And sure, sometimes lines are crossed but I do not think psychoanalysis is some terrible thing that is ruining this sport.

Men are going to devalue women in motorsport spaces no matter what- I would suggest you reflect on the idea of women not participating in babifying drivers (which I think you're talking about fangirls essentially which i have thoughts on fangirls in general but im staying on topic kind of) will somehow make men respect women in motorsport spaces. i do not want to assume anything about you, anon but i have a sneaking suspicion that you might be younger (and that's okay!!) and i just -- it really doesn't matter how "good" of a fan you are, men will find a reason to discredit you. i spent a LONG time trying to be a perfect motorsport fan and you know how much respect it has earned me among men? absolutely none. men are either going to respect you as a motorsport fan or they're not, it doesn't really matter what sort of fangirl type behaviors you partake in (or not). I'm not saying that women who aren't interested in the fangirl behaviors are wrong or anything but trying to refrain from them in hopes of avoiding misogyny is honestly a waste of time (I've been in sports fandoms for a decade so while this probably sounds harsh and pessimistic, I've been around the block a few times and if i could give any advice to 16 year old me, it would be to not give a flying fuck about what men in sports fandoms think of me).

I think i had a third thing but it's gone now lol. I think motorsport fangirls are amazing and kickass and honestly so incredibly knowledgeable about motorsports and i will always defend and advocate for their right to exist in motorsports. anon, if you're still reading this i really hope you know i'm not yelling at you or anything, like i'm not mad or anything. if you wanna keep talking about it, feel free, you can even dm me!!

[pennycutenice]

Transness, weird signs, pain and becoming a great actor because of it

To me thinking about the following thing no longer triggers emotional reactions, but is probably triggering for some, so be warned and look at the tags please.

I just remembered a weird sign of me being trans going back to puberty ten years ago. I was obsessed with chemical castration. Like, I wanted to be chemically castrated so bad I envied sex criminals that forcefully got the drugs. I tried to find stuff I could get my hands on regularly for many years because having erections was so awful. It frustrated me and made me angry. And since this topic is so taboo I could not talk to anyone about it. So I was just in distress regularly for years until my general bleak outlook on life killed any healthy biological function down there for the most part lol.

Today I am angry at the world. Had I been taught what transness (or autism) is at any point in my life so much pain could have been prevented. Like, I am an obvious case. I wanted girl toys and was mostly friends with girls until puberty and literally wished to wake up as a girl and read gender bending stories und layed awake at night angry about my awful boy body. But nobody noticed my distress. To be fair, I hid it better and better over time. If physical pain patients learn to manage abhorrent pain without looking out of the ordinary after some time that's probably possible for emotional pain aswell.

After getting antidepressants and hormones I was genuinely shocked to realize that I could smile honestly that much. Because I am very good at faking a good mood when I feel like I need to to circumvent social punishment. Only about three times in my adult life was my mental health bad enough for me to be able to fake a great mood.

I'm a kinda good actor because of this. I realized young how hiding my emotional state trained my acting capabilities. I won competitions for being able to believably switch between emotions. I went from a very expressive kid in colorful clothing to a numb pessimistic suicidal depressive adult wearing grey every day over seven years because I was weird and wrong and got bullied for it and had no idea what was going on. It was awful.

Now I know I wasn't wrong. I was trans. I was neurodivergent. But since I never actually knew what that meant I just suffered. So god fucking damn it, I want the kids these days to know. Minimize the pain by telling them about how different people can be and how completely okay it is to be this way. You are good. Being like you is fine. You are on your very own spectrum of awesome, kiddos. Don't you ever forget!!!

Anyway now I'm on hormone replacement therapy and chemically castrated by it lmao.

[soul-dwelling]

Eh about the reboot thing I think its wrong to assume that one has to care for it in the first place - for example I liked Shaman king and especially Samurai X (even if its sad how horrible the author turned out to be...) - yet I just didnt bother watching them and dont feel like I lost anything - maybe its because I dont really look into the fan discourse of those shows as I do with Soul Eater.

That’s fair. 

I sure as hell am not going to give Rurouni Kenshin another try, I feel badly for people who worked on that series (especially actors) who had nothing to do with the creator--and I look side-eyed at certain creators (Oda) who can't muster enough criticism and seem to be actually supporting the fucker.

But let me put it another way to clarify where I’m coming from, as I’ve had enough years to think about what I would do if a reboot happened. 

On the one hand, yeah, I don’t have to watch, write about, reblog, or otherwise engage with a Soul Eater reboot. For the sake of my time and health, if I have such an adverse reaction against even the idea, then it doesn’t hurt me or anyone else to skip watching it. 

On the other hand, however foolish this may seem, I do want to see this blog through to whatever conclusion it ever has, and I don’t think I can keep the blog running without engaging with a reboot, for however little time I can. If I honestly just hate even a minute of it, then I tap out and fulfill the small obligation I set for myself. I wanted to set out to make a Soul Eater blog, it is a project that I get to keep working on, and I want to see it to its end, whenever that time comes. 

Also, I think I’m being pessimistic to the point of being annoying. I doubt the majority of fans or even a potential audience is this negative and is more likely willing to give a reboot a try. 

Yes, I have to do what I think is best for me, but I also don’t want to ignore valid potential counter-arguments. I should listen to what friends, frequent submitters to this blog, and those artists, writers, analysts, essayists, chroniclers, and others in the fandom whose opinion I respect all have to say, not to overwhelm my own thoughts by drowning in a sea of other people’s takes, but because, again, I respect what they have to say and am willing to listen to their insights only after I actually engage with the primary text myself. All of these people have shown over and over that they understand what works in this series, and sometimes I get to figure out what works in the series only because these people were already literally explaining it to me.

And, where I disagree with these people, I hope I would at least hear them out. I mean, this is just a comic turned into an animated series, that is one of the few things I think people can agree to disagree on (except for the dealbreaker stuff: Chapter 113 and all the stuff Ohkubo did with Tamaki’s story is still pretty bad and a horrifying hint about his philosophy about girls, women, sex, and humanity). 

So, I hope I would give the reboot a chance--even if all I do is look at a trailer or a still image or a GIF on Tumblr and say, “Wow, this looks awful to me, this doesn’t work for me, no thanks.” 

(I’m already behind on enough other reboots, continuations, sequels, and remakes to watch. I fell off of Spice and Wolf--if just because I really think they should have hired a new director and studio...Massive content warnings there.)

I guess I am stuck still thinking I have to be a completionist and see things through to the end. But I do wonder whether there will be some "official" iteration by Ohkubo, Square Enix, BONES, Kodansha, or some other related party that is too poorly handled and finally makes me say, "I'm done, no more."

[tragcdysewn]

@mvsicinthedvrk asked: for xiao lanhua! 𝟎𝟔.   𝐉𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑   !(   𝗌𝗒𝗆𝖻𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝗌   :   luck,   growth,   expansion,   optimism,   abundance,   understanding.   )is   your   muse   a   lucky   person   ?   do   things   randomly   tend   to   go   their   way   without   much   effort,   or   do   they   have   to   work   for   bad   luck   ?   when   was   the   moment   in   your   muses   life   that   they   had   to   grow   up,   a   situation   where   they   just   knew   it   was   time   for   them   to   mature   ?   perhaps   a   traumatic   event,   maybe   even   an   exciting   one   !   has   your   muse   found   their   happiness   in   life   ?   their   purpose   ?   if   so,   when   and   how   did   that   happen   ?   what   gives   your   muse   confidence,   what   makes   them   optimistic   ?   or   are   they   pessimistic   ?   what   makes   their   life   purposeful   ?

i'd say that xiao lanhua is decently unlucky, honestly. she consistently ends up in bad situations, though they do also work out for them in the end, usually. she's someone who doesn't believe in luck, but i think that she definitely has to work to get out of things her bad luck has gotten them into. they did learn that they needed to mature around the time she returned to cangyan sea from the mortal realm, because she came to the conclusion that maybe their childish fantasies about shuiyuntian being a shining beacon of goodness that she would be forever loyal to were wrong, and that she wouldn't just be handed a happily ever after. i definitely think she would say she's found her happiness. they were very lonely in their early years, but now she has a whole group of people that love and care about them, and that's really all she's ever wanted. and in terms of purpose, they don't really think she has one, nor are they really looking for one right now. their purpose for a long time was sorting destiny books, and though they don't remember this, it became saving the world, and she did do that. so now, they just want to live in peace with the people they care about. she gains a lot of confidence when one of her schemes works, and they really don't need more of that, their schemes are usually reckless and awful even though they do work. they're always optimistic though, almost to the point of naiveté most of the time, she's always convinced that things will work out in their favor, no matter what. her life is given purpose by the people she loves, and that may sound cliche, but they absolutely would say that if asked. making sure they're safe and know that they're loved and cared for is incredibly important to her.

[vrisrezis]

I'm in love with your "dr characters + their ideal partners" posts. It all feels very true to their characters.

By any chance, would you write the sdr2 cast + the types of people they would hate? I'd just love to analyze/see what opinions they might have on other charactees I know.

Keep safe, I love your writing!

TYSM !!! I’m glad u agree :) this was rlly fun !

Mahiru would hate anyone that’s lazy, I feel as though this would be obvious to her though, she’s an open book and makes it very clear she hates those that are unreliable. If you remind her of her father, she just isn’t interested!

Peko would hate you if you acted like you were of the moral high ground but deep down were a piece of trash that didn’t actually care about others at all. The reason she liked fuyuhiko was because despite how he acted he has a kind heart deep down, so having somebody be the complete opposite.. she would hate that kinda person.

Ibuki doesn’t hate people really, but when it comes to romantically interests she’d be the least interested in somebody with an attitude like fuyuhiko or more accurately, hiyokos. She’s not gonna be very attracted to somebody that constantly belittles her and makes her feel bad, but I also find that ibuki things being kind to those around you is an important thing? She would be put off by this, deep down of course.

Hiyoko would hate you if you didn’t know how to defend yourself, perhaps like Mikan. It just reminds her of her old self and it would make her just fucking hate looking at you. However, I can see her somehow getting over this if she ended up liking you for some reason.

Mikan wouldn’t hate you either, but she wouldn’t like somebody that’s mean to her. It would form a toxic relationship with her for obvious reasons, she would feel an intense need to get you to forgive her already for living, maybe you do constantly berate her but you care about her somewhere right? She knows you make her feel awful all the time but it’s okay right?

Nekomaru hates the idea of dating somebody who isn’t themselves. Who is constantly trying to be somebody else, he’s an honest guy and he just can’t stand the idea of dating somebody who can’t be honest to anybody, especially themselves.

Gundham is similar to nekomaru, he cannot stand dating a liar. Dating somebody who isn’t true to themselves, but at the same time he also feels like it’s due to the trust issues he possesses that makes him feel this way. Also not being an animal lover cuz. Tf

Nagito would hate anyone that’s .. yknow.. sad. Miserable. It’s the epitome of despair and he would hate somebody like that. To add onto this, being talentless. To him, you’re just boring and average and do nothing to improve society.

Chiaki wouldn’t want to date somebody who’s overly negative. It’s one thing to be pessimistic but being a Debby downer about everything is just upsetting to her and she’s extremely bothered by this. She won’t say too much on it though.

Sonia would hate if somebody was just simply a shallow individual. She’s a kind person and cannot imagine dating somebody that doesn’t care for others or have empathy in anyway. Especially for animals!

Akane can’t stand the idea of somebody constantly blubbering about how pathetic and useless they are. Like she doesn’t hate Mikan or anything, but somebody that uses being a victim as a shield for holding accountability. That’s the shit she truly hates.

Souda just can’t stand the thought of dating anyone that is like junko but honestly that’s really it. Souda is a pretty open guy and doesn’t hate people all that easily and would be down to date most people. You’d have to be downright terrible for him to hate you.

Fuyuhiko would hate to date anyone that made him feel like he didn’t matter to them. Example; not answering his texts, calls, only talking to him to get things from him, etc. he hates people like that so much.

Hajime hates the idea of dating an egotistical asshole to be honest. He just can’t imagine it, maybe it comes from a place of insecurity and a lack of confidence but he finds egotism annoying. He can excuse it if it’s due to an inferiority complex though.

[cinnamonest]

Oo how about the boys with aftercare💕

I think on a scale Zhongli would be the best in this situation and scaramouche is probably the worst :(

Oh you're absolutely correct. If we had to break it down into categories it would more or less look like:

Does so by default, goes above and beyond without needing to be told: Zhongli, Thoma

Does so by default but at what cost: Bennett

Does not automatically think to do it himself but will rush to do so if prompted, does well: Kazuha, Venti

Does not automatically think to do it himself but will rush to do so if prompted, does a moderately good job but needs some guidance: Chongyun, Gorou

'I already apologized for bruising your insides :( what more do you want :( why are you mad at me just cuddle with me :(': Childe

*is already asleep*: Diluc

'You know what what will make you feel better? :)' (spoiler alert, it won't) : Kaeya

Tries his best, but honestly is awful at it, poor thing: Albedo

Gets someone else to do it: Xingqiu

Gets someone else to do it + paranoid pessimist who gets all hurty bc he overthinks it: Scaramouche

'???? After-what': Razor, Xiao

----

You're right in that Zhongli would definitely be among the best, I want to say he's about tied with Thoma. Both naturally have high perception to your pains and discomforts, so they can tell when you need it (even if you might not yourself).

Zhongli is more for things like blankets and other physical comforts, not to mention he's good at verbally comforting you too. His voice just has a way of calming you down if you're panicked or disoriented, and lifting you up if you experience any kind of post-coital depressive issues. Also, if anything was particularly rough, and he's aware of it, you get baths. It's really nice, actually, warm water is very helpful in regards to physical pains and is emotionally comforting as well, so it's a highly soothing method of showing care for you. He's well-aware of the effect it has on you, and to some extent he takes a bit of pride in knowing that he can read you and your needs very well, and meet them perfectly.

----

Thoma, on the other hand, goes for food and water as a primary source of showing care. It's what he's best at, so it's just what comes naturally. He knows your favorite things, and thus doesn't need to be told what to bring you, he just sort of kisses your forehead and mumbles something about how he'll be right back, and returns with this or that. That is, provided it's simple, since actually cooking would take too much time, so basically it's whatever small simple things you like. And lots of water! You need to stay hydrated, you know... overall though, he's actually fairly confident in his own ability to care for you, to watch you and determine that you're alright and that you don't need anything else by the time he's done (besides cuddling, which can be provided once he puts everything away and comes back to bed).

----

Bennett tries. He really does. It just so happens that it seems that whatever higher power is determining this poor boy's luck has decided that every attempt to care for you will be ruined. He tried to make you food, but it caught fire... he went to get you a glass of water, and ended up apologizing while soaking it up off the ground and picking up the shards... oh, here's an idea! He can kinda just slightly warm up his hands without actually producing fire, it can act as a heating pad if you're hurting... except he actually does end up going a bit too hot and now you have a burn. Honestly you reach a point where you're more afraid of aftercare than any sex act itself. Poor thing though, at least he's trying.

----

It's not a lack of consideration, Venti just gets really tired post-orgasm, so his natural instinct is just to sort of lay there with you, close to drifting off to sleep... but the moment he hears you sort of grunt or grimace or feels you stiffen with any sort of pain, he sort of opens one eye to get a look, and realizes from your face that you're hurting somehow. To be honest, sex with him isn't very likely to hurt you in the first place, as he tends to be gentle-to-moderate in terms of roughness, but occasionally a certain position might hurt your back or knees or the like. And he leaps at the opportunity to do anything to endear himself to you, so he'll go get anything he thinks might help, be it alcohol or painkillers or whatever you need. However, note that he really likes praise, so honestly he's hoping in his mind that you'll be really happy about it and thank him or something, and will likewise be disappointed if you don't.

----

With Kazuha, on the other hand, isn't an issue with getting tired, so much as he is frustratingly unaware of his own strength and roughness, so he doesn't realize the difference between "slow gentle missionary where you're pretty much fine afterwards" versus "that was so rough that you're not going to walk normally for several days and will probably grimace every time you move." It's not until you're clutching your lower stomach with pain on your face and in your voice that he realizes it might have been too hard... likewise, he leaps at the opportunity, thinking you'll forgive him and maybe even be happy with him for doing something, and besides, he hates seeing you in pain (during refractory periods where he can't get aroused by it only), so he'll come back with food and water and whatever else is available to him... which to be honest, isn't usually a whole lot, but he's making an effort, and that's what counts, right? For the most part, it's a lot of verbal and physical comfort, gently rubbing you where it's needed, giving you forehead kisses and generally expressing affection, which he hopes helps both with your physical pain and helping to bring your out of any negative headspace.

----

Chongyun is very... not confident he's doing the right thing, so he's very panicked if you show any signs of a "drop" in which you become low-responsive or tired or quiet. He's paranoid about having hurt you in the first place, especially if he's coming out of a manic state and has to realize what just happened and doesn't know the details of exactly what he might have done. So he's direct, asks you if you're okay (lots of little apologies too), asks you what you need. And generally, he does just that, sticks to what you tell him exactly. But he will pick up some extra things too -- you were saying you wanted another pillow, well, he also got you a glass of water while he was up... that sort of thing. His nervousness can be a bit cute, really, if you have the mental clarity in the moment to observe him fretting as he does. He has to ask a million times if you're okay and if you need anything else... it can get a little bit annoying, sure, but you tell yourself it's better than someone who wouldn't care.

----

Gorou is similar, he's not sure if he's going about it right. He doesn't think to do so at first, he's still just basking in euphoria from it all when he realizes that you're either very quiet and distant and still, indicating some sort of drop, or you might be grimacing in some pain. Unfortunately, he realizes only afterwards that oh, whoops, he didn't mean to, but it looks like he did accidentally sink his teeth into your shoulder without realizing what he was doing, sorry. It didn't break the skin, but he'll happily sort of massage the pained area for you, hold you close and apologize and murmur words of comfort. The only issue is that if you want him to, like, get something, such as food or water or get up and run a bath or the like, you'll have to wait a few minutes... the knot takes time to swell down, so he literally cannot physically pull out of you without causing you both immense pain for five minutes or so. But once he can, he'll rush to get what you need.

----

Childe, like most people, tends to think of how to help others from the perspective of his own experience. When considering what others want, we humans tend to determine this by thinking of what WE would want, as it is our best frame of reference, and he's no different... so, cuddling should work. In fact, he can experience a bit of a drop himself sometimes post-coitus, so it becomes an issue of balancing you needing whatever you need, and him desperately needing comfort himself. Ugh, fine, he'll get up and get something if you need him to, but... just let him come back and let him hold you. Except then you need something else and he has to go get that too... okay this time let him hold you... eventually he just sort of whines and says it'll be fine, promise you'll feel a lot better if you just let him do this... and it's much worse if you're mad about him going too rough, or especially give him a cold shoulder. He already apologized! Can't you be sweet now? It wasn't that big of a deal! He basically shoots himself in the foot with his words... and if you do something like turn your back to him, it just makes his own "drop" worse, feels like a knife to the heart, and he himself ends up getting quiet and hurt... usually this is resolved by you giving him the attention he wants. He's good at that sad puppy face that makes you cave to the guilt-tripping every time.

----

Diluc is one of those guys that just. Out like a light the moment orgasm dies down. A lot of the time he doesn't even get to pull out of you, and more unfortunately, also does not roll over to the side, no. Your chest makes a nice pillow, he thinks. You, on the other hand, do not think his entire bodyweight makes a good blanket. Quite the crushing one actually. So you have to beat on his back a bit with your hands before he kinda grumbles and slides off of you, just to pull you back into an iron-grip spooning embrace. And you say something to him, say that you're really sweaty and want a shower or something, or that you're thirsty or hungry or want something heated to put on your throbbing insides, but you only get heavy, half-snore breathing in response. Literally out in less then 10 seconds. Don't worry though, whenever he wakes up from the nap, he'll be a lot more receptive and will get you whatever you need. But until then, you're not getting what you need unfortunately, because his grip is tight enough to prevent you from getting up either.

----

Kaeya and Albedo have the same mentality, but different solutions.

For Kaeya, his solution is the thing that solves all of his own problems and pains... copious amounts of alcohol! Really, it'll make it super easy to go to sleep. Sore? Here, have some. Here, have some more. And so on it goes. That being said, if you're getting wasted, so is he (no this totally wasn't an excuse to drink... not JUST an excuse to drink at least, he was genuinely trying to help), so you'll basically end up drunkenly falling asleep together. Which just turns out to be a problem of its own when you wake up with a horrendous hangover, head throbbing and limbs feeling like concrete. At which point, though, you're both suffering. The thing is, he tends to overdramatize any sickness or pain in an attempt to get some affection out of you because it's one of the only ways he knows how to get you to. So while he's the one to actually do things, and will get up and get you both coffee and water or whatever your hangover cure of choice is, YOU end up being the one to get pity-fished into being comforting. But hey, suffering together is kinda romantic in a way, you know...

----

Albedo approaches it very... mechanically. This does not combine well with the fact that he is probably one of the ones for whom you'll need aftercare the most, given all the sadistic and weird kinks you've undoubtedly been forced into. You'll have to tell him, say you're not feeling good or that something hurts. Not that he doesn't want to help you if you need it, it just doesn't cross his mind until you tell him, he'll just go back to normal otherwise. He's weird about that, if you don't do anything or say anything, he can just go from highly intense sex to just talking about something completely unrelated in his normal voice as if that didn't just happen within the span of 20 seconds. But he'll help you without hesitation, of course... he just sees it as a list of requirements to be met. Dehydration - treat with water. Sore spot - something heated up. Skin chaffed - ointment of some kind. It feels mechanical and can consequently feel impersonal and cold, although he's not intending it to. And to be honest, he's awful at trying to be verbally comforting. But he tries, and you can feel that he is genuinely concerned and putting effort in, so that counts for something.

----

What's the point in having family servants if you're not gonna utilize them? It's not hard. Ugh, honestly Xingqiu's family probably has those little attendant handbells they can hold up and ring and someone will come to the door, it's so obnoxiously upper class it could make you roll your eyes. But yes, thankfully they know better than to actually barge in by default (it happened once, now they know to knock to make sure you're both decently clothed), so he just speaks through the door and tells them to get a bath going or bring you two food or drinks or whatever. Honestly it's just as much of an enjoyment for him as it is for you, since he also gets to enjoy the benefits of it all... but that being said, should you be in a mental state that he can tell is abnormal, he still puts effort into physical and verbal comfort, and although the words themselves are teasing and comforting, you can always sense a nervousness in it, as if he's afraid that he's not doing or saying the right things.

----

The Fatui serve the same purpose as servants for Scaramouche, on the other hand. It's not like he's gonna actually stand up and go do it himself, surely you wouldn't expect that of him... well, you do, at least in the way you phrase it, you ask him if he can get you this or that. His eyes narrow and he sort of sighs as if annoyed, before walking over to the door and carrying on your message to whichever unfortunate grunt has been assigned to guard the hall. But you can't help but notice that the very request seems to have upset him in some way... even once what you wanted is dropped off, his voice has something like... no, not irritation, more like bitterness, actually, roughly hands it over to you with a flat-toned 'here.' It's especially so if you were angry or cold when you gave the request, if you were clearly upset with him over hurting you or the like... see, regardless of which one it is, he tends to have a lot of pessimistic paranoias, and overthinks everything to the extent that he reads too deeply into things to find some negative conclusion or deeper implication, even when there really is none. In reality, you really, truly just wanted that thing, but in his mind, you were trying to get him to go away, weren't you. You were that desperate to get him out of your presence that you tried to find some way to do so just for a few minutes, you hate him that much, huh. So, yes, it's definitely not good, the most bothersome of your problems ends up being a bitter sulking manchild rather than any ache or pain.

----

I mean Razor and Xiao would try but like... they'll probably just make things worse.

Oh, you got dirt on you and your back has some scrapes and mild bleeding from bark while you were being railed up against a tree? You want cloth with water to wipe it down and hold onto the cut? Razor has better idea, carry (y/n) into river :) The (freezing cold, unable to see anything within bc it's the middle of the night but you know is filled with ambiguously unpleasant wildlife) flowing water will wash it off without any effort and all you have to do is stand there! Smart, isn't he? Alternatively, you get... a very special form of aftercare... if you can call it that. If you get scraped up he can just give you the cure-all treatment for wounds, a nice dose of aggressive licking. It works for the wolves, it stops bleeding, and mates often do it for each other.

----

Xiao also tries. It turns out to be a lot like the except it's less selfish and more that he's genuinely trying and just doesn't know what else to do. Oh, you are saying your insides hurt now and it's his fault. Sorry. Well... it's on your insides, right? So he can't do much, it's not like an external wound he could bandage up or put medicine on or something. But... whenever he comes back from fighting all hurt... he likes to lay beside you, you're warm and soft and it makes him feel a lot better, even if he's still hurting physically. So he can do what he always does whenever anything whatsoever is wrong: sit behind you, rest his head on your shoulder, and squeeze you tight. And sit like that for a while. Except said squeezing is literally right on the bruised spot and you have to get him to reposition his arms five times before realizing it's just not worth it and it's better to just ignore the soreness and try to sleep. Oh, but don't complain too much, or else he might get into one of his moods where he thinks you're trying to overexaggerate it or lie for some ulterior motive, and start questioning you on just how you're planning to use this situation to run away...