#wish i was a fan when overdose was still open :(

[vriskaserketdaily]

Announcement; CW for graphic descriptions of medical emergencies & discussions of death/mortality

so, yesterday i briefly mentioned that i had been hospitalized. i unknowingly consumed edibles, became anxious and hyperactive, had a full-blown panic attack, and believing myself to be in the mother of all caffeine overdoses (2 cups of black tea) or having a heart attack or both, called emergency services, and was hospitalized with severe tachycardia.

i genuinely thought i was dying, sitting outside in my pajamas with my back to the mailbox post waiting for the EMTs to arrive. i still thought i was dying two hours later, struggling to breathe in the hospital room with my parents beside me.

i thought about a lot of things in the time between calling the emergency number and being lifted into the ambulance. i didn't want this blog to be my only legacy when i have so much more to do and be and make. i have other hobbies---knitting, crochet, playing guitar & composing music, and especially writing. i haven't drawn or written about my ocs in years, even during the recent hiatus, and i would like to change that.

to that end, i will not be drawing vriskas on a daily basis or consistently updating the fan art queue for the forseeable future. i will still draw vriska, especially if there are requests in the inbox, but i won't be going out of my way to squeeze out fan art when i'm ill, busy in other areas of my life, or generally not feeling it.

i will be keeping this blog up. i will not be changing the url because i fought too hard for a hypen-free daily vriska url and i'm not giving it up that easily. perhaps, after a year or two, i may even resume daily vriskas and normal blog operations.

COMMON QUESTIONS:

are you like, okay? i think i'm fine, physically? i was discharged after about four hours in the hospital and was able to move and eat and stuff today. i still feel some soreness/tightness in the chest, but i think that's to be expected given the circumstances.

can we still send requests? YES please omg. the interactions i have had through requests have been so positive and rewarding that it'd be difficult for me to fully give this blog up. even something as simple as "draw vriska" will function as a request. one thing that's been going through my head a lot lately is the thought that i could die and no one here would notice or care, so having tangible assurance that there is at least one person in the world who wants to see my vriska art would be very meaningful in that regard. i may not respond immediately, but i will respond to all requests that conform to the blog rules and mission (no nsfw, no pedophilic/incestuous ships, must involve vriska in some way)

will you consider opening mod applications? no, both because i don't think there would be too many takers for the position and because i know from experience that the fastest way to kill a daily blog is to load it up with a bunch of mods. (i am not the original owner of this blog and have moderated a few other multi-mod blogs before---i am currently the sole mod of the two i stuck with, this being one of them). i'd rather keep this blog half-active with just me than have it be completely inactive with me and 3-6 other people. again, there's a chance that after a year or so of taking things slow, i may come back to it.

can we tag you in art/fics/vriska posts? yes, actually, that would be very helpful. i don't expect anyone to do this, but again, i will no longer be actively perusing the character tag. feel free to @ me in vriska-related posts you think could use a little love.

if i have a daily vriska blog, will you promote me? sure! genuinely, i wish you luck---i've seen a couple of y'all come and go, and it really takes a lot to keep a blog like this running for more than three months. if you can do that you will be certified spiders for real.

where else can we find you? my main blog is @beangods, where i reblog posts that are not about vriska. you can send art requests there, too, but they cannot be related to vriska. that's what this blog is for. i also moderate @theextendedzodiacas, which is mostly fantroll-oriented. i'm on discord, too, but you won't find me on any other social media site.

is the vriskord still up? yes, it is, and you can join it, though the server is not very active. i don't plan on taking the server down or anything like that.

eighth question eighth answer 8ottom text

please feel free to reach out to me, and i'll be happy to answer any questions that i can. thank you for your understanding, and i'll see you . . . in probably a few days when i draw the 1 request currently sitting in the inbox.

thanks for reading all this.

-mod 8

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐼𝒳: 𝒮𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁, 𝒲𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: aftermath of an overdose, addiction, relapse, crying, panic attack, brief mention of needles, canon typical violence, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Author's Note: The descriptions of overdose treatment in this chapter come from my best understanding of this article from the NIH. They may be inaccurate.

Summary: John and Vincent are forced to trust a civilian doctor to save Vincent's life.

Since they had united three days ago, John had been the only one to touch Vincent. He had not considered what it would feel like for someone else to do so in his place.

The doctor, a man right around John’s age who had arrived still dressed in pajamas, had insisted they open the windows and blast the AC, and frozen items from the fridge were piled around Vincent’s head. The ceiling fan hummed above them at its highest setting while the doctor leaned over Vincent to put a needle in his arm. He emitted some half-conscious whine of miserable protest and then fell silent again. An impulse rose up in John, to take a step forward, to be there for him, but he managed to restrain himself – there was nothing he could do, and the stitches had to be redone next.

Logically, he knew how outrageous it was to resent a doctor who was actively saving Vincent’s life. But he still wished it were him, wished that this, too, had been a part of his training. To stand by idly, of no use to Vincent, filled him with an ache. An ache that had already frozen his body into a tensed, motionless statue at the side of the bed with feet planted wide apart in wait for orders. An ache that felt far too familiar.

Whatever he did, he must not think about the last time this happened. The last time he waited at a bedside, unable to do anything…

“You were right to put him under cold water.” The doctor pulled him out of his reverie. “The only mistake was taking him back out. He probably overheated again immediately, and lost consciousness due to that. But it’s not a stroke.”

John finally managed to exhale. “So why is he not awake?”

“I’ve just given him a minor sedative, to prevent heart attack. Counteracts some of the effects of stimulants. But it won’t last very long. He’ll be awake again soon.” The man looked him up and down. “You, on the other hand, look more like a hypothermia than hyperthermia risk. You should warm up.”

John had stopped noticing his own shivering at some point in the shower, and since then, he had been soaked to the skin in wet clothes. “Right.”

“I can have the front office throw your shirt in the dryer. And your friend’s clothes.”

He nodded. Awkwardly, he pulled off his shirt, and the man’s eyes appraised his tattoos with thinly veiled alarm before settling on the holster at his hip. “…You know, he should really be in the hospital. It’s not worth staying on the run just to die of infection. Did you ever tell me how he got shot?”

“No.” He held out the balled-up shirt and let the sounds of rain stretch uninterrupted between them.

The man took it gingerly, staring at John’s face, still littered with cuts from the car crash. “I can also look at – “

“No. Thank you.”

He finally had the good sense to leave the room.

So John wrapped the comforter around himself and sank into the armchair, gazing intently at Vincent. He managed to look even more bedraggled than he had when John carried him over the threshold that first night. He was extremely pale, with dark shadows under his eyes from so many days of insomnia, and his wet hair clinging to his forehead. There was that horrible ache again. The way it tugged at John’s heart was almost literal, a pang through the chest. Vincent may be a terror, but John had decided that, given the choice between the sleeping angel on his deathbed and the waking demon full of life, he’d take the demon every time.

Before long, Vincent was stirring feverishly. John went to his side before he knew what he was doing, leaning over him, the comforter falling to the floor in a heap. “Hey. How do you feel?”

His eyes opened halfway, and he pawed at John’s hand. “Like everything is dragging behind itself,” he slurred. “Water, please.”

John hurried to obey, and by the time he turned back, Vincent wore an entirely different expression. His eyes wandered languidly over John’s chest and shoulders, starstruck. In a small, hoarse voice, “The Ruska Roma has a good tattoo artist.” He sipped the water in the manner of a fine wine and licked his lips.

“Really, Vincent? This is not the time.” But he was grinning in relief. Clearly the Marquis was getting back to his old self. “…I’m glad you’re okay. Doc said there’s no permanent damage. But you could have died.”

“You saved me,” he said, with a smug little grin. God, he was adorable.

“Don’t do it ever again.”

“I’m sorry.” Something about the speed with which he said it and the way his grin suddenly faltered betrayed hidden depths of shame. “That’s easier said than done, Mr. Wick,” he said defensively.

“I’m not angry with you. I was worried. I want - ” This could really piss him off if he wasn’t ready to hear it. But it was worth the risk. John gathered himself and finished the sentence. “I want to get you help, if you’re willing.”

Vincent looked away and released a labored sigh, somewhere between pain and ecstasy. “I have never had someone worry over me for that. But now that I do…I would like to get better, I think.”

John glowed with pride. “When this is all over, we’ll – “

The door opened. Vincent turned towards the doctor, his affectionate side vanishing in an instant, replaced by something curious and cunning. Even looking up from the bed, he managed to look down his nose at this stranger who had intruded on their private moment. “Voici donc le médecin que vous m'avez trouvé. [So this is the doctor you found for me],” he said, speaking to John without breaking eye contact with the doctor. “Peut-on lui faire confiance? [Can he be trusted?]”

“Il faut l'espérer. [We have to hope so.]”

“Does he speak English?” the man asked John. He looked extremely hesitant to talk to Vincent.

Vincent’s glare could have killed. “Yes. Explain to me why my…assistant has no shirt in this very cold room.”

My assistant. What were they to each other? It was just occurring to John that he could not possibly explain that to anyone.

“Your clothes are being dried.” The man frowned. “I need to ask you both some questions.”

John didn’t like where this was going. He liked the look of mirth in Vincent’s eyes even less. He was getting ready to toy with this man, and that could only end badly. “Marjorie said you didn’t ask questions.”

“Ordinarily, I don’t. But in this case…” His eyes were lingering on John’s holster again. “If it’s alright, I just want to ask your friend about his medical history. Uh, or your…boss?”

“Something like that.” John made a point of handing the gun to Vincent and locked himself in the bathroom.

A minute or two later, laughter filtered through the wall, ending in a fit of strained wheezing as it disturbed Vincent’s stitches. “You can come out,” he called. “This idiot thought you kidnapped me. Ah, that’s too much.”

John gave an apologetic half smile to the doctor. “I appreciate the concern, but I think we’re done here, unless he needs anything else medical.”

“No, we’re not done here.” Vincent leveled the gun at the man, snapping from mirthful to joyfully vindictive in an instant. The man held both hands above his head, shaking. Dog growled, turning from one to the other, unsure what was going on.

“Hey. What are you doing? He just saved your life.”

“He also called the police on us.” Vincent was laughing again, now a low chuckle that said it-just-about-figures.

“What!?” Damn it.

“I – I didn’t mean – “ He was stuttering in confusion. “Look, Marjorie is too lenient when it comes to these things. You need to get to a hospital. It’s better to face your trial and get medical attention than to keep running, especially if you’re in some kind of hostage situation. Please don’t make your sentence any worse. If you kill me it’s just…it won’t help anything.”

Vincent smiled bitterly, and dragged himself up from the bed with as much dignity as he could manage while dressed in nothing but underwear and gauze. He swayed on his feet for a moment, still struggling with blood flow after that ordeal, but maintained his hold on the gun. “Jo- er, assistant, please get out your phone and search for news on wanted persons in the New York tristate area. And Pennsylvania.”

He did, and saw Vincent’s photo staring back at him. “Jean Felix, wanted for first degree murder. Potentially held hostage by another suspect, likely accompanied by a grey bulldog…no photo of me, I guess Winston must have talked them out of that one too.”

“Did they specify a method?” Vincent asked casually, now strolling right up to the doctor to press the gun flush against his forehead. “I hope they said axe. That would be…colorful. I’ve always wanted to try my hand with an axe.”

“What the hell is going on?” The doctor asked desperately, unable to avoid Vincent’s livid eye contact. “Are you saying you were framed?”

“Oh, now you ask? I thought you knew all about it yourself. Going to be the hero of the day, weren’t you? The nervous, twitchy little hero of the day, sticking your nose into other people’s business.”

“Let’s just – “ But John was too late. Vincent turned the gun sideways, and bashed it across the man’s face, breaking his nose in a shower of blood. The man doubled over screaming wildly, as Dog set off in a fury of barking.

Vincent, meanwhile, was collapsing against the wall, having overexerted himself. John ran to him, pulling him upright.

“Shit!” Still supporting Vincent, he turned to the doctor. “You should leave.”

He didn’t need telling twice.

Vincent lolled against him, spent rage giving way to fear and frustration. He chuckled weakly. “This is what happens when you trust people, John.”

“You survive. You would have died otherwise.”

“As if I won’t now, thanks to that rat!”

“No you won’t. I will keep you alive.”

As if to contradict him, both their phones lit up at the same time, first with one notification and then with a second. Vincent lurched towards the nightstand, trying to grab his. John’s arms around his waist kept him from falling. “Let go of me!”

Unwilling to touch him without his say-so, even for his own good, John lowered him to the floor. “I’ll bring it to you. But we already know what it is.”

He took a deep breath and handed Vincent his business phone – the source of endless trouble. He looked down needlessly at his own. Contract Update for Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont: Target cited at Blue Moon Motel, 206 Golden Key Rd, Kutztown, PA 19530. And then: Contract for John Wick: $20 Million. Open. International. Target cited at Blue Moon Motel, 206 Golden Key Rd, Kutztown, PA 19530.

Vincent was in the fetal position.

John went to his knees beside him. “Regardez-moi. Nous allons régler le problème. [Look at me. We’ll sort it out.]” He did his best to hide his own dwindling confidence. Vincent’s heart couldn’t take any more right now.

“Tu as tellement de chance que je ne l'ai pas tué. [You’re so lucky I didn’t kill him.]”

“Je sais. Mais nous n’avons pas le temps. Il faut qu'on bouge, d'accord? Puis-je vous aider? [I know. But there’s no time. We need to move, okay? Can I help you up?]”

Vincent turned his face away for a moment, screamed wordlessly into the carpet, and then turned back to John. “Oui. Bien. Tout va bien. [Yes. Fine. Everything’s fine.]”

John pulled him against his chest crushingly for a moment, before standing. “Oui. Tout va bien. [Yes. Everything’s fine],” he echoed.

Forcing down waves of emotion, he glanced around at the disarray surrounding them. “Let’s go. Grab anything important and put your shoes on. I’ll get the duffle bag.”

Another flight through the rain and they stumbled into the front lobby, John supporting Vincent on one arm, wrapped in a towel, and carrying the bag on the other.

“Oh my lord, what happened to you boys? And I just saw Mr. Elliot drive off too.”

“We’d like to check out. We’ll just take our clothes, if that’s okay Marjorie. I’m so sorry, genuinely. You’ve been very good to us.”

“Don’t tell me he called the cops, he promised me…”

“Yeah.” John sighed. “Listen, I know this is sudden, but…I’d like to buy your car.”

She sighed right back, eyeing his gun. “Don’t suppose I have a choice in the matter. Well, it’s an old junker anyway. The check engine light never turns off, and the brakes are starting to go. Okay if I clear out the glove compartment? I’ve got photos of the grandkids.”

John nodded.

When she got back, he ran his card for $20,000.

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹

[ramalbumclub]

20 Years of Almost Killed Me

Let me quickly run through the biography.

Craig Finn, future leader of The Hold Steady, was THAT kid in school - neither the first to be picked for the sports team, nor the last. A bespectacled adolescent navigating the school corridors, aware that there’s an “in-crowd” and he’s on the outs. 

He's the kid in-between - like most of us. Like me.

So what's the plan? How does he get from there to here?

Does he settle or does he aspire?

He does neither, he retreats into a world of books and music and becomes an expert in HIS field. He learns how to play guitar, becomes a fan of local Minneapolis bands like The Replacements and Husker Du, and, even though he's still a kid, he goes to see them at the "all ages hardcore matinee shows" in town.

Just a quick aside here but "hardcore matinee shows" sound like the most fun in the world - something to really build a day around. I'd basically vote for any political party that introduced them into the U.K.

But back to the story....

In his early '20s, Finn forms a band called Lifter Puller who are simultaneously pretty good but also not quite right. What works, spectacularly, is Finn's lyrics about drugs and the shady characters that surround them but "the not quite right" bit is the music - a sort of '80s inspired synth overdose that, at its worst, sounds like the soundtrack to a Brian De Palma movie and, at its best, sounds like the soundtrack to a Brian De Palma movie.

After a few albums, a modicum of success, Lifter Puller split up and Finn becomes a financial broker for American Express before moving to New York to get a job at a digital webcasting company. At this stage in Finn's life it would appear that his brief flirtation with a career in music had ended and he was now on a course for a series of jobs in tech and finance. In fact, he doesn't do anything related to music for two whole years. He's just the guy at work, the one who used to be in a band called Lifter Puller.

And then it happens.

Craig Finn is watching Martin Scorsese's The Last Waltz, the film of The Band's final concert, and he turns to his friend Tad Kubler, and says "Dude, why aren't there any bands like this anymore?"

Finn's observation is correct - there are no bands like that and I'm not sure there ever will be. But that's obvious, that's the bit we can all see. Even I've watched The Last Waltz and said to my mate Dan (I don't have a mate called Tad, I wish I did) - "Dude, why aren't there any bands like this anymore?"

No, what I love about this moment is what they did next. Finn and Kubler, there and then, decide to form a band like that. They took the completely mad decision in 2003, when everyone was still floored by that Neutral Milk Hotel album and everything it spawned, of creating a band with just guitar, bass, and drums.

They called themselves The Hold Steady and there wasn't a singing saw, a zanzithophone, or a wandering genie organ in sight.

What started out as an excuse for a bunch of guys in their '30s to hang out, drink, and play the occasional show, then becomes something of a going concern. Finn's lyrics, framed by Kubler's big riffs, created an unlikely breath of fresh air, a sense of celebration. Before long they're signed to Frenchkiss, the best name for a record label ever, and they release their first album - Almost Killed Me.

The album, in fact their career, opens with A Positive Jam, a song which tells the history of 20th Century America in 171 words. In the background, a lazy guitar struggles to wake up as the events are passed like road signs. It's their first song, on their first album, and after 90 seconds there's been a stock market crash, a World War, and 3 Kennedys are dead. The lyrical economy is remarkable, the way he deals with each decade precisely and definitively in one sentence. 

This is how he nails the '50s -

"We got shiftless in the '50s, holding hands and going steady, twisting into dark parts of the large Midwestern cities"

No need for the white picket fence trope, no need for Ike or Truman to co-star. Post war America perfectly reduced to "Holding hands and going steady". And then The Twist tells you the ‘60s are coming.  I got it straight away.

And this is how he nails the '70s -

"We woke up on bloody carpets, got tangled up in gas lines and I guess that's where it started"

He rhymed "carpets" with "started" and reduced the long term economic and political effects of the 1973 Oil Crisis to a line. What's not to like? I can still vividly remember my first listen now - the time, the place, and an album cover of blacked out faces. It was immediate. I was in.

And I didn't even know then what I know now, that he was providing context - that he was explicitly saying "We have shared history." Because at the end of the song, he brings us up to date, the guitar does wake up and the band kicks in. It's then that he tells us that he was bored so he started a band, it's then that he tells us that he wants to start it off with a positive jam.

The first time I heard Almost Killed Me I rewound the opening song again and again. I guess the "positive jam" that the song was trailing was The Swish, the second song on the album. But I couldn't get to it, I couldn't get past how good the opener was. I listened to it five times on the spin – by the time I was finished 15 Kennedys had died.

But then I did I get past it. I got to The Swish and my head fell off. Honestly, I stood there laughing, air riffing and dancing, in thrall to my new favourite band after just two songs. The bridge from A Positive Jam to The Swish is one of THE moments in music for me. It simultaneously comes out of nowhere yet evokes a memory. I made it through the rest of the album, breathless and giddy.

I'd never heard anything like it, despite having heard things like it.

Does that make sense? That bit really needs to make sense.

You know when The Sopranos came out and you thought "Jesus, not another story about Italian American Gangsters. Surely not THAT again." But then you watched it and saw that the characters were immersed in that culture as much as the viewer. They existed within their own context and couldn't move without referencing it.

And that was the difference. It was derivative but it was spun, from an angle so it wasn't head on.

That's The Hold Steady. That's Almost Killed Me.

It would be easy to say it's my favourite album of the 21st Century if only it didn't have to compete with what they did next - Separation Sunday, Boys and Girls in America and, finally, the hangover, Stay Positive. Finn had done it, with his friends they'd made one of the greatest runs of albums ever - an aggregate score of at least 36 out of 40.

At least.

Yes, there were comparisons to things you'd heard before, a familiarity, but for me it was almost entirely different. People screamed Springsteen, people screamed The E Street Band but I never really knew why. These weren't stories about open roads, about making love to the interstate. These were stories about the claustrophobia of community, about the kids in between - confined by drugs and religion. And you know what? Springsteen never swished through the city centre to do a couple of favours for some guys who looked like Tusken Raiders did he? No he didn't, he was probably driving somewhere.

The Hold Steady wore their influences on their sleeve but they spun them. They humoured them. They said "Tramps like us and we like Tramps" and told stories about people who looked like people -  people who looked like Rocco Siffredi, Elisabeth Shue, Izzy Stradlin, Alice Cooper, Mickey Mantle, and, of course, Tusken Raiders. They were doing that thing again - they were saying "We know you know. Because we have shared history"

But this analysis, my attempt at explanation, is nothing compared to the visceral triumph and joy of a Hold Steady show - the pleasure of watching this band that had been plucked from their own lives and were creating anew. I used to spend hours looking at the bass player, I'd never seen anyone work so hard whilst standing still - a man who started the night dry and ended it dripping in sweat and smiles.

And then there was Finn - the inbetweener, the most generous of front men. He was always so warm and inclusive to his audience, so glad that they're there with him. Yet he never forgets the band. Never. And for someone so wordy it's remarkable the gaps he leaves for them - the gaps for them to play and for him to admire. Often he’d be clapping, dancing, and having so much fun in admiration, that I’d worry he’d forget to join in again – that he’d forget that the moment after the gaps were his.

But he never did.

Fast forward to 2014 - to the Holiday Inn, in Brighton, a few hours after a Hold Steady show.

I'd probably had my back to him for about 10 minutes, having a night cap at the hotel bar and thinking about what had come before. But then I turned around and there he was - Craig Finn, sitting alone, a hero rather than a star. I decided to say hello and he gestured for me to sit down. We talked about The Last Waltz. I asked him if it was true, whether that's really how it started, and he said it was. We talked about the rest of the film, all those conversations, you know where they go - Joni Mitchell and all her chords; Van Morrison and that ridiculous high kick. And somewhere in the drink and The Last Waltz I lost the memory of the night, other than to say he was good company and he paid his way.

And if I met him now?

If I met him now, I'd probably get lost down another rabbit hole - about how we're the same age and how I wasn't picked first for the sports team either. I'd ask him how he feels now, at 44, about the start he gave himself at 33 - whether that still surprises him, whether it ever did. Whether he knows, REALLY knows, that for about four years The Hold Steady were the best band in the world. But more than that I'd tell him about how HE influenced, how HE inspired, about how Ruth and I always used to say this album club was about spinning familiar stories, about telling them from an angle rather than head on - just like The Hold Steady.

Because that's what we used to say. When we wanted to avoid nostalgia and reheating the past , we used to say it should be "JUST LIKE THE HOLD STEADY".

And before I lost another evening, and its fluid memory, I'd like to take the opportunity to thank him for that.

Martin Fitzgerald (2014)

[yeahimwiththeband]

-> with the band chapter 13

tell the truth (part 3)

warning: smut. larries, shield your eyes.

A/N: it’s all happening. with the band is a love on tour au and in this chapter, anxious izzy and angsty harry clash. it’s a fever breaking and i’d suggest scanning the others before reading. 

word count: 2.82k

Izzy heard the stage door click open and slam shut. It was Harry, still in his outfit from his encore, emerald green pants and a matching vest, bare chest, fidgety with weird vibes. Outside the arena, if he wasn’t still strung out, George waited for Izzy in a hotel room on satin sheets. She would go to him... after visiting Tara in the hospital. Izzy wished she were back at the co-op in Texas, lying on the grass. She wished she were back at that first show, listening to that voice for the first time. She couldn’t shake off the day, and everything awful that had happened—the chaotic party, Tara’s overdose—the whole thing was giving Requiem for a Dream or Trainspotting. But it was real. She tried to push down her anger, but it had nowhere to go. 

“I can’t do this any more,” Harry said, crossing the pit to Izzy quickly. She could barely hear him over the roar of the fans in the arena. He took his monitors out as he walked. Izzy noticed that his hands were shaking. 

“What?” Izzy said, looking around her. Was he talking to someone else? 

“God, it’s so loud in here,” Harry said. 

“Can you—“ he spun around, shouting toward the booth, “—cut the fans? Cut off the AC, just for a minute.” The fans clicked off, stumbling to a stop. Izzy and Harry stood facing each other in the quiet. A door opened and shut above them; the crew in the booth was gone. They were alone in the arena. 

Confetti floated down the floor around them. Izzy was reminded of the last time they were alone in the arena after a show, when Harry taught her to dance—or almost alone, anyway, Lydia was there. 

“I can’t do this anymore Izzy,” Harry repeated. “I can’t.”

 “Do what, Harry?” Izzy asked. She crossed her arms. He was probably going to complain about driving her everywhere, even though he volunteered. She didn’t have the capacity for his brattiness.

 “This,” Harry said. He walked closer to her, stopping about ten feet from her. He gestured at the space between them. “Us.”

His tone was serious. Izzy uncrossed and recrossed her arms, trying to play it off casually. “You’ve already given me a lecture about how I don’t belong here, remember? How I should home? Back in New York?” 

“Please don’t pretend,” Harry said. He unfolded his arms. “I know I’m not the only one.” 

Izzy’s breath caught in her throat.

“Elisabetta.” 

“Harry—tonight isn’t…” Izzy looked at the floor, dotted with confetti, catching sight of her shirt, still splattered with Tara’s blood. “Could we talk about this tomorrow?” 

Harry shook his head and sighed. “You’re crawling out of your skin because we’re about to have a real conversation.” He sounded frustrated, and his accent was thicker than usual. 

“We’ve had real conversations, Harry.” Izzy remembered the night in the garden at the co-op.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “Sorry.” He took a step forward and ran a hand through his hair, a tuft defiantly flopping back down over his forehead. “I’m trying to say that despite everything...” He exhaled, and started again: “I mean, you’re so nice. And I hate that about you. You’re American, from some tiny place. You’re unemployed, basically—“

“I did have a job,” Izzy sputtered, “I’ve been working—“

“I know, I know. The store,” Harry smiled. He laughed a bit. Izzy felt her anger start to bubble again. “It makes no sense, at all. You’re terrible for publicity, for my reputation. You’re not in the business, and that’s the best thing. You’re not an artist or a musician, you’re not hustling to try to make yourself something, trying to find out who you can use. You’re not trying to be famous. You don’t care about followers—”

“So this is it, then,” Izzy said, wounded. “This is the real conversation you wanted to have, about how I can’t hang, and I’m too basic, I’m not an artist...” She felt her fury swell along with her pain as she processed each insult he had thrown at her. She might start crying. Or yelling. Only Harry seemed capable of hurting her like this.

“No, no,” Harry said, stepping closer to her. “Izzy, I know you know.”

Izzy could only look at him. She held her hands out, confused. 

“You’re a nobody, your family sounds awful, and even with all of that,” Harry said emphatically, “even with all of that, I’ve been… You had to have noticed how much pain I’ve been in.”

“I don’t understand,” Izzy said.

“I’m in love with you.”

.

Izzy thought she must have misheard him. The whole arena felt smaller, suddenly, rows of seats coiled tightly around them; it felt claustrophobic, stuffy, and the temperature was climbing with the fans off. 

She waited for Harry to say something, to correct himself, but he only looked at her, with pleading and pained eyes.

Izzy stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“I’m in love with you,” Harry repeated. “I have been for a while, since New York. Before that, since the rain.”

Izzy stared at Harry. The rain? Her mind seized on the details; she couldn’t face the actual content of his words. Her heart thumped in her chest like a hammer.

“I want to be with you. Stay on the tour, with me.” Izzy flashed on the apartment by the beach, the shiny, perfect apartment George rented for them. On the lease she signed with George just hours ago. 

“Harry,” Izzy said, speaking slowly and carefully. Surprising herself, her eyes were wet and her nose had started to tingle; she was tearing up. 

She cleared her throat before she could continue. Her whole body felt like it was buzzing with a new static energy. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. But I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t.”

Harry shifted his weight to his back foot, and he took another step backwards, knocked back as if she had hit him. He balled up his fists and released them. He looked totally shocked.

Anger flashed in his eyes. “That’s your answer? ‘I can’t’?”

“It is.” Izzy blinked back tears; all the anger that had built up all day had boiled up to just under the surface, just underneath her skin. 

“But you can, Izzy. You don’t… want to, is that it?” The words were so painful for Harry to say, like shards of glass in his mouth.

“I can’t.” 

“Can I ask why you’re being so cold?” Harry said in a clipped voice.

“Only after you explain why you just told me you think you love me despite the fact that my I’m a fuckup and not creative and a nobody who is unemployed and—“ 

“I didn’t say that exactly—“

“You know it’s not just that!” Izzy heard her voice rising. “Why did you have a photographer follow me and George and Meg and then pay a newspaper to run those photos?”

Harry gulped; he obviously didn’t think this would come up. “It was the best course of action at the time,” he muttered.

“Fucking pardon?” Izzy took a step toward him, seething. 

“I did what was best for you, trust me,” he said. “Those photos were way better than the ones published the night before.”

“Meg lost her job! Her boss saw the photos and she got fired.”

“I thought that with her being just, you know, an average person, it wouldn’t really cause—I didn’t think they’d put them on the front page. I was protecting you.” Izzy’s face felt hot; she felt feverish. 

“She was unemployed for a month. A month! Not that you would understand basic concerns like that—“ Izzy was almost yelling; she had never spoken this honestly with anyone else. She couldn’t control the words flying out of her mouth.

“You were the one that was supposed to leave the tour after those came out,” Harry said quietly. “I was trying to help you.”

“So you admit it!” Izzy gasped. “You were trying to get rid of me!” What she had suspected all along turned out to be true—and all this time, Harry had  pretended to be her friend. 

“I told you this before, but you don’t belong with Lydia and that band—we both know what Ryan is about.”

“I don’t belong with my own family?”

“Lydia—we all love Lydia, but thinks she’s Penny Lane and she’s really just a drug addict and you deserve better.”

Izzy’s mouth dropped open in shock. “And you’re better?”

“Thanks for that,” Harry said spitefully, almost spitting. He walked around her, and she spun to face him on the other side. “Now I know how you really feel. Did you honestly expect me to be happy for you, that you were tagging along and doing little stories for Instagram and going on shopping sprees, all wrapped up in Ryan’s bullshit?” He ran a finger along his bottom lip. His hands were twitching with rage. 

“God! You’re so sensitive, such an artist, so progressive, but your ego is the size of a fucking planet!” 

“You’re a people pleaser and every word out of your mouth is a fucking lie!” 


“The money, the stupid hotel rooms, the overpriced clothes - that was never part of the appeal of being here, and how could you pretend to be protecting me, while attacking my boyfriend?”

“Your boyfriend,” Harry spat. He marched over to Izzy, stopping just inches away from her. His cheeks were flush, lips red. “George can manage ‘imself. Why are you so concerned about him?”

“You know why.”

“Right. You care so much about him.” Izzy could feel Harry’s breath on her face.

“Yes,” Izzy replied defiantly, furious. “I’m going to live here in California with him—

“No, you’re not—“ Harry stepped closer, face lit up with rage.

“—and help him with his new album.”

“You’re not, you’re not. Replace new album with store, and George with mom.”

“Harry, shut the fuck up—” Izzy said, furious.

“You’re back on your bullshit, living for another person. It’s not because you’re in love with him. I know you’re not in love with him.” Every muscle in Harry’s body was tense.

“You can’t know that.”

“I know you.”

That voice.

The silence of the arena tightened around them. 

Harry grabbed Izzy’s face and took her waist with his other arm, pulling her close and kissing her suddenly, hard. He tasted like cinnamon and his mouth was hot; Izzy’s whole body was on fire. Her hands flew up to his chest, wrapping around his shoulders. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and wound his hands through her hair, pulling it. Izzy moaned into the kiss. He held her tightly, she could feel his fingertips digging into her waist, gripping her neck; his stubble scratched her cheeks. She pushed the vest off him and ran her hands over his shoulders and down his chest, feeling his heartbeat under pounding in every muscle in his torso. He kissed her deeply; she was so hungry for him and so furious at him, needed him so badly, he was water in a desert. Their hands were frantic, tearing at each other’s clothes and then Izzy was flat against him, kissing him back, their heartbeats thundering together, skin beading with sweat. Harry pulled her shirt over her head, panting, catching her eyes, searching them, briefly: both she and Harry said, I want this. You’re not the only one. 

He kissed her again, then kissed down her jawline, sucking the warm skin on her neck into his mouth. Harry pressed his palm to her mound through her underwear and Izzy twitched. She kicked off her pants. Harry swung her knees out from under her and they landed their discarded clothes where he nestled his hips into hers, grinding against her, heavy. Izzy could feel him through his underwear; she could feel his searing pulse. He kissed her hard and looked down at her through his eyelashes, running a finger along her bottom lip. She ran her hands along his back; his shoulders trembled. 

“Harry, I’ve never—”

Surprise flashed across his face and Izzy thought she saw a glimmer of satisfaction; no, she hadn’t slept with George. “S’alright,” Harry said, all smugness gone, voice deep and shaking. Sweat dropped from his hairline onto her chest as he sucked her right nipple into his mouth, biting down on her areola slightly. Izzy’s hips bucked; she was so close; she couldn’t hold on for much longer. She pushed her underwear down and kicked them off. She ran her hands through his waves, feeling how soft they were for the first time. Harry pushed his underwear down and she could feel him against her, burning hot to the touch; her wetness soaked his cock instantly. Harry pushed her thighs apart with his own and she wound her legs around his hips. 

Harry pressed his thumb into her clit, rubbing it in gentle circles; he watched her intensely and Izzy felt herself lift off the floor, back arching, gasping; she felt like she couldn’t get enough air. She squeezed her eyes tight and moaned, cumming hard, thighs vibrating. Harry clamped his lips down on hers and pushed inside her, groaning deeply; it was a deep, stretching, throbbing feeling with a pinch of intense pain that dissolved into heat as he buried himself to his hips inside her, then pulled back. 

Izzy opened her eyes and saw Harry looking down at her. He smiled, a genuine, soft smile she had seen only once before, and brushed her hair off her face, easing into her again, going slowly; his mouth dropped open, breathing hard. He pumped her faster and faster, Izzy pushing back against him, learning his rhythm; his pelvis ground against her clit and every nerve inside her felt like it was on fire. Her thighs shuddered and she came again, eyes fluttering close, nails dragging up Harry’s back as he thrust deep and hard, grunting; it felt like fever breaking in waves that got higher and higher. Harry was relentless, thrusting faster - Izzy didn’t know her body could feel like that, that feeling this good was even possible. She could feel every contour of his body and her own melting together. Harry grunted suddenly and ground into Izzy hard and she clenched around him as he filled her totally with his cum. He rocked his hips against hers again, kissing her deeply, and let his his chest drop onto hers; Izzy loved the feeling of his heaviness, his whole body pressed into hers, feeling all of him. Harry pressed his cheek against Izzy’s and she kissed his shoulder, running her fingers through his hair. Izzy put her hand to his cheek and nudged his face toward her, holding his face in her hands, cheeks still stinging hot, and kissed him again.  She felt drunk. Harry smiled. 

“Harry,” Izzy whispered, smiling back.  

“Izzy.” 

Just then, the sound of a heavy door closing and a phone clattering onto the floor.

chapter14

[nyxzee]

i debated putting this on my art blog but as a point i've been vocal about this shit since it happened and i'm still fucking livid about it all despite how fucking long ago it was. this is going to be linked in my pinned posts so as a heads up, warning for all types of abuse, self harm (including a detailed description), suicidal ideation, suicide attempts, overdose mentions, intense mental health shit, ableist narratives and gore along with mistreatment from the fandom

hi, i'm nyx, this blog used to be called emeridan and my old main was bardofmotherfuck - i was one of the gamzee fans who was sent gore, the wish i kill myself, and other abuse for identifying with gamzee. this wasn't a "oh lol funny clown he's goofy like me" i identify with him due to abuse trauma, due to being an addict and mentally ill. because i was hurt deeply by religion and losing my faith caused me to fall into bad fucking shit. to slightly minor extents i identify due to the friendship and romantic issues he had, fuck gamzee makara even had me, a then 20something realize i was bisexual and nonbinary! to a more intense one i identify with him because his agency was taken away and he was made a slave to other peoples horrific intentions - which isn't fun as i hope you'd imagine. i used to have a tag for the vent art i did involving the makara line (blood, gore, abuse all in this tag as you'd expect someone with severe trauma to have in vent art)

i'm not unique in this. there are a lot of gamzee fans who dealt with this. it was a huge fucking issue, it happened on msparp too, to the extent they posted about it happening because it was so fucking frequent. there are multiple gamzee fans i used to follow on tumblr who were sent the same and worse shit. i'm not mentioning them because even to the ones still into homestuck content, this shit was traumatic. i'm a petty bitch so as a protest i only drew gamzee for a while! (just in case these are the real time posts from my main: 1, 2), i have this account from 2015 here, i have this mentioned again here. this fandom abuse has been established well for me, it started 9 months into my homestuck art centric blog after all!

i'm still here in spite of people wanting me to kill myself. honestly despite being petty and boastful in still being here about it when it happened i wasn't actually feeling like that in real life. shocking i know. i had an intense cutting period due to it, i'm still scared of having my submit open, i still want to vomit whenever i get an email that anyone's sent me anything. i've seriously considered suicide a lotta times because i was so frequently told i was in the wrong, i've still got methods in mind and whenever i take my regular medication for the chronic pain shit i think things would be better if i flat out just took everything and didn't wake up ever again. a lotta it is real life trauma, but i used and still use homestuck (and especially gamzee) to help with that.

i talk about it whenever i see a brief chance to, i just haven't screamed loudly in a while that this abuse happened. i find screaming that i'm hurt exhausting and i'm still pretty sure someone will end up giving me shit - and for what i'm doing in this fucking post i'm damn fucking sure i've painted a target on myself again. but i don't care. i am who i am, i've been through all the shit life has thrown (and continues to throw) at me.

@ardenttheories posted a thing that includes a message i sent on twitter (on anon of course because i was scared) in this post here. blog's inactive, i dunno anything about ardent and that isn't the point of this. i'm just proving i've been here for a long fucking time and i've seen some fucking horrors. the message was one i sent on twitter and it looks like the op has deleted their account so i can't prove this but i think i've shown that this isn't a thing i've pulled outta my ass because i'm one of the bitter old fans who hates the current team and wants to lie to hurt them.

i actually don't know anyone aside from james roach being involved and the fact kate was asked to rejoin the team. this is mentioned here by sarah who, was in fact part of this problem but of course that doesn't matter because gamzee fans are pigshit (no tag because i don't wanna waste anything on that drivel!). here's a casual reminder of what exactly the pigshit comment is referring to.

i don't think the trauma of gamzee fans trumps the trauma the team got. trauma and fandom abuse is bad all round. it's not fun, it's gross and painful and people who send abuse are fucking monsters. however, the team was a big part in sending a giant fuck you to the trauma gamzee fans have gotten. that's what the problem is here, that's what this whole post has been leading to. i'm not writing this as a call to cancel homestuck^2 - i'm writing this because i want some acknowledgement on what happened to us. as i said, i'm still here despite the abuse, hopes i'd kill myself and the want to kill myself so i'm making a point of saying something.

the issues in the fandom of team members didn't start with the hs^2 team, it had a nice jumpstart from shelby cragg. i refuse to link any of the accounts who have posted accounts of this as i don't want to get people who dealt with her more stress and the only other person who mentions it isn't someone i want to link any traffic towards. google 'shelby cragg gamzee hate' and you'll find it. she used to tag horrific shit on gamzee fans artwork. fans who had in fact, been sent gore and harassment. she used to post about how great abusive ships were, how actual abuse victims (specifically the gamzee fan ones!) should feel about gam/rezi, how stupid gamzee fans were and directly bait and switch gamzee fans who she'd directly told to call her out if she fucked up by telling them they were random people who had no right to call her out. she had an abuse survivor friend so of course, the wrong abuse survivors didn't matter.

her co-authoring the serendipity gospels which while not official canon had become fandom canon. purples and teals of course work together on alternia after they grow up! gamzee was a total abusive nut case whose personality was either lol druggie or abusive monster and terezi was his victim, gamzee was a bunch of things in this fanfic and it's still looked to as the greatest fanfic in fandom history. as anything shelby touched involving gamzee his portrayal in it was racist, ableist and was always abusive in some way to any character he was placed with. i'm not here to talk about the person who wrote it with her or whatever work she's doing now with her non homestuck content. my point is the fanfiction was bad and it became fanon legend.

gamzee fans have been out crying that we have endured severe trauma that made us relate to gamzee. we weren't there for the ableist shit shelby made out of his character. there are different types of fans for his character, but i hope i've made a point that i'm referring to the people like me. the ones who were directly targeted because of our mental illnesses and abuse history. the ones who monsters wanted to kill.

homestuck proper ended on a bad note for gamzee fans. we had no conclusion, we had nothing. in the end after everything we were left with absolutely nothing but people filling in the blanks to say we likely deserved it because we liked this fucking awful clown. we got nothing for what happened to us. we just had to blindly accept we were hated and people wanted us dead for identifying with a fictional character.

then the epilogue's happened. then homestuck^2. then pesterquest. it bought this hate for us back front and center. the team hated us, hated a character who helped us get through shit no one should have had to endure.

like shelby did, they brutalized his character, and i'm damn fucking sure those cunts know what happened to us. we screamed, and screamed and SCREAMED that we were suffering but they boiled it down to "oh they just like that abusive man! let me make him more abusive" - the portrayal of gamzee in the new work is nothing but someone constantly spitting in our faces. the album of the team's string of bullshit should give you an idea on how the rest of this is gonna go.

the epilogue portrayal of gamzee went into the shit we'd had enough already, it turned a character who helped people cope become a gross dystopian version of our fucking abusers!!! the shit we'd endured from the fandom and our real life trauma was the butt of every fucking joke. there was no conclusion to his actual arc in it, there was no happy resolution for us, but there was a shout out to us. we got our moment of acknowledgment! they turned something that had helped real life abuse survivors, mentally ill people, addicts and victims of religious trauma - a fictional character who people wanted us dead over - into our abusers, into the worst things we'd dealt with, into a fucking mockery of our abuse. ALL of our abuse. all of our trauma. all we'd been through.

homestuck^2 did this further. they were parading the mockery of our abuse to the fullest extent they could think to do. i couldn't get past gamzee's death. but i know they've continued to hate us. i know they can't wait for us to end up killing ourselves so they can piss on our graves.

i have a review of pesterquest here, it's not complete. i couldn't finish the game fully. rose's story caused a self harm relapse and a huge hope i'd be brave enough to take the fucking overdose and end it all. i didn't go into how much gamzee's route broke me. i couldn't. i gained something outta it though! my left pinky and index fingers often lose feeling and i'm unable to use them unless i rigorously shake my hand for five minutes because i burnt my arm as badly as i could. i have cigarette burns all over my wrist, it looks like an octopus scarred me with every arm of its on one side and like someone made an attempt to burn down to my bone with something far bigger than a cigarette on the other. it wasn't something other than a cigarette, but it was a few cigarettes in the same spot. it was burning until i snuffed it out, relighting and burning down again until i'd finished the cigarette, lighting another and repeating. i did this until i felt like i'd earned my right to be alive again.

i need you to understand i'm disabled due to severe pain. i have fibromyalgia that was undiagnosed and untreated since i was 15. i'm 30 now. i've been suffering chronic headaches since i was 11. i've had my lip ripped open. i have ganglion cysts that make bending my wrist in the slightest hurt. i tore both rotator cuffs severely 10 years ago, my wrists are hypermobile and hurt constantly. my dominant arm sufferers from tendonitis. my jaw is so fucked i can't open it fully some days and it always makes a horrific pop outta alignment when i yawn. i've spent at least 10 years sleeping on a couch instead of on a bed as i either didn't have a bed or the one i had was so busted it made sleep impossible, as such my back and neck are a fucking nightmare stream of nonstop pain. i have back trauma from a car accident as a kid. i've strangled myself a few times with cords to try numb the pain out, i've been physically abused to the point i nearly died, i've been sexually assaulted multiple times, i've been violently ill from attempted overdoses or allergies. my point is, i know pain. it's the oldest companion i have and i'm tired of having it.

the continued burning i did to myself from that night however, surpassed any of those individual incidents. it eclipsed the regular intense agony i'm in daily for a solid month. the emotional turmoil of a life like mine had led to this. i'd found fiction to hide in, i'd found a character who so perfectly captured all of this trauma, all of this pain, all of this shit i've had to fucking deal with. i've had people try and take him away, i've had monsters try and get me to take the plunge and kill myself. i thought i was largely numb to bad gamzee interpretation and could move past all this hurt. it turns out i wasn't numb and this shit would continue to hurt. but it wasn't just a random ignorant idiot this time round, it was official. it was the team digging my grave and getting ready to throw shit on top of my corpse. that hurts in a unique way.

i don't do homestuck^2 now or ever. i refuse to finish pesterquest. i do my best to ignore the additional trauma the original team was aiming for. i viciously ignore and deny the shit they pull now. i quietly hiss to friends that some disgusting and ignorant cunt said the dumbest fucking shit that makes me want to scream until my vocal cords snap. i see the odd snapshot of what mutilation is happening to a comic that frankly saved my life in so many ways. i don't look in the gamzee tag as someone will have tagged the mutilated hs^2 version in there and that will do nothing but hurt. i don't enjoy being irritated by the snapshots i've seen. i want noting more than a fucking retcon where hs^2 and pesterquest are removed and we were left with the snapchat panels as the finale of homestuck.

in a more petty sense i want a personalized apology from everyone involved in the project, tattoo "i'm a dumb cunt" to their forehead, write an essay as long as homestuck's entire transcript about why they're sorry for what they did. i want the fans who rejoice in the mangled mess that gamzee is in hs^2 to shut the fuck up and delete their blogs. i want the amount of money the kickstarter for hiveswap raised deposited into my paypal account weekly. i want my therapy sessions paid for until i die. i want them to pay for private health care so i can stop physically hurting. what i want is illogical and those are frivolous things off the top of my head. they're stupid and petty and a complete fantasy.

what i really want though, is something that seems like it's a million times more impossible than a weekly deposit of $2485506. i want some fucking acknowledgment of this shit having happened. i've laid out my personal history with this shit, but it's not a personal "here's the essay nyx wrote about how much gamzee hate has fucked them up - it's totally worse than what the homestuck^2 team went through - gamzee hate is a bannable offense as such on every site due to it" that i want. i've burnt down to my bones on how much this shit has hurt me and in truth, i think i'm largely writing this for myself so i can at least say i said something. i wasn't a coward. i stood up and shouted at the void that gamzee fans have been badly abused.

the truth is: i want the abuse gamzee fans went through, the harassment, the gore, the threats and the physical abuse some of us have endured recognized. i'm not trying to overshadow the harassment the team got. but i'm saying the personalized attacks on us were unjustified. the mockery of the abuse we received from real life abusers and the abuse we were sent online for liking gamzee makara. they knew what they were doing. they did it to mock us. they did it to hurt us because we were the wrong kinda victim. we weren't their warped view of the canon and we interpreted, saw, identified, found comfort and loved a character who they disliked. our real life trauma and circumstance wasn't what they saw in gamzee and we had the fucking nerve to see ourselves in a character who can't be replicated in any other media. we were the ones in the wrong. we're the wrong victims. the wrong fans. the pigshit.

i've been writing this for over four hours now and i think i've exhausted how much i can say this stuff. it's been painful and i've ripped myself open to say this all but i think i'm doing the right thing. i'll second guess my way for the rest of my life, i'll overthink everything i do every time because i'm the wrong sorta victim. overall, in a sense i don't care anymore. i'm not numb by any means, i'm not saying i don't care as a bravado this time. i'm saying that i'm not letting you motherfucking cunts put me in the darkest place i've ever fucking been again. i'm not relapsing and losing more use of my hand. i know what kind of people the team are, i know the ignorance and venomous victim blaming and hate in people who hate gamzee fans. over all my final point is this:

it's unfair. why was this shit justifiable. why do we get ignored when we're hurt severely. why don't we matter. why can't our method of coping with homestuck be accepted like everyone else's. why are we the wrong ones. why did we deserve this. why was the fandom abuse towards us a good funny thing.

why the fuck do you hate us so much?

[happyksm]

[fortheloveofwonderland]

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

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

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

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

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

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

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is coffee an option?”

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

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

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He turned to you in the doorway.

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

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

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

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

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

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

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

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

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

***

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

Easier said than done you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

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

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

You took another long sip of the coffee.

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

“And how did you piece them together?”

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

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

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

***

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

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

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

You just had to hope.

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

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

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

Chloroform.

***

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

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

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

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

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

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

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

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

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

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

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

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

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

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

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

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

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

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

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

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

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

“Where is he from?”

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

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

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

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

“She came in recently?”

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

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long has your mom been here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

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

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

“I know that feeling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you went your separate ways.

***

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

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

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

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

“How many?”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

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

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

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

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

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

“How long have you been here?”

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

“What month is it?”

“September.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And who did?”

“I did.”

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

This was a huge waste of time.

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

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

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

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

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

Your blood ran cold.

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

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

Oh god.

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

It was not going to come to that.

***

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

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

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

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

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

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

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

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

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

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

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

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

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

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

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

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

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

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

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

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

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

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

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

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

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

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

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

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

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

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

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

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

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

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

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

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

You couldn’t help but laugh.

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

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

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

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

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

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

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

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

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

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

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

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

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

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

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

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

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

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

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

You turned to face him curiously.

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

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

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

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

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

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

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

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

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

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

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

He turned to face you curiously.

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

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

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

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

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

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

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

—————————————————————

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

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

[futurebicon]

Dusk Till Dawn

I was gonna post this later but I physically can not wait any longer.

Apologize in advance

CW- death, panic attack, screaming, crying, fighting, accidental slight domestic abuse, self-harm, depression, anxiety, mention of child abuse, food, suicide attempt, hospital, dissociation, grief, hurt, blood, overdose, surgery

Remus didn’t know what to do or how to help.

All he could do was hold Sirius as he kicked and screamed and cried and punched and gasped for air.

“I’m so sorry,” Remus whispered even though he knew his husband wasn’t processing what he was saying. “I’m so sorry.” Tears streamed down his face.

Remus didn’t know how much time had passed since they got the call.

Heart attack.

Overworked with physical activity.

Celeste had called them crying.

It was at least an hour later when Sirius collapsed against him, exhausted from the meltdown.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Remus kissed the top of his head.

“I can’t, Re. Please,” Sirius gasped out quietly. “I can’t.”

“Shh, I know. It’s gonna be okay.” Remus held him tighter.

“I don’t want. I don’t want to.” He sobbed.

Remus had nothing else to say until his phone rang.

“Hey, Logan.” He asked the call.

“Did Celeste tell you?” Logan’s voice was a broken sob.

“Yeah,”

“Okay, uh, is Sirius okay?” He asked.

“Not at all. Are you?”

“No.” He sobbed. “No.”

“Logan I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

Dumo had been a father to everyone on the team but it was different with Sirius and Logan. They had lived with him for years, had breakfast with him in the morning and dinner with him at night, watched TV together, talked to him about what was going on in their lives. He was truly their father.

Even more so for Sirius.

Sirius never understood what a father was supposed to be like until he met Dumo.

He knew they weren’t supposed to hit their kids but he didn’t know that they were supposed to love them.

Dumo was the first person to truly, truly care about him.

Yes, Regulus loved him and cared for him but that was different.

Sirius didn’t know what love was so he ran away from it. Not joining in on dinners, staying in his room, not speaking unless spoken to.

But Dumo never let him get too far. He didn’t push Sirius to join them or talk with him but he didn’t let him think he was alone.

Slowly Sirius stopped trying to escape it and instead started to welcome it.

It still took a while for him to truly open up, but Dumo was always there.

Dumo was always there.

He didn’t leave when Sirius would flinch away from his touch or fast movements or loud sounds.

He didn’t leave when he walked into Sirius’s room while the teenager was having a full-blown panic attack that left him paralyzed.

He didn’t leave when Sirius gave him a black eye because he was trying to wake him up from a nightmare.

He didn’t leave when he saw the bandages.

He never left.

Even when Sirius moved out he was still there.

Remus didn’t know who Sirius would call or what he would do without Dumo.

“Arthur’s gonna call us all in tomorrow and tell the rest of the team.” Logan pulled him back to reality.

“They don’t know?” “No, uh, Celeste only told me, you, and Arthur.”

“I’ll see how Sirius is but I doubt we’re going to be able to go” Remus looked down at Sirius, who had fallen asleep after exhausting himself.

“Yeah neither of us have to go. I still don’t know if I’m going to.”

“Let me know if you are.”

“I will,” Logan told him. “Alright, um, tell Sirius I’m here if he needs me.”

“I’ll tell him, but know that we’re here for you too.”

“I know.” Logan let out another sob he had been holding in and hung up quickly.

+++

Sirius and Remus stopped when they walked into the conference room.

“Hi,” Celeste sadly smiled at them, obviously exhausted.

“I did-didn’t know you were coming.” Remus stammered.

“I can’t stay long. I just had to come by and help write the statement to give to the league.” Celeste met Sirius’s eyes as she explained.

Sirius quickly looked down at the ground.

“Hey, Sirius.” She said softly.

“I can’t.” He looked up with tears streaming down his face. “Celeste I don’t know- I can’t.”

Celeste wrapped him in her arms as he fell into her sobbing.

“He loved you so much, Sirius. He was so, so proud of you.” Celeste told him as everyone left the room to give them time alone.

“I don’t know what to do.” He pulled away.

“Come talk,” she led him over to the table.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with me. You should be with your kids.” Sirius wiped his eyes but the tears were still falling.

“You’re my son just like Marc and Louis are. Now talk to me.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.” He admitted.

“What do you feel?”

“I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s like I can feel all the emotions but I’m also numb to them but not fully numb because they still hurt.” He sobbed. “Celeste it hurt. It hurts so fucking bad. It hurts.”

“I know it does sweetheart. I know.” She hugged him again.

“I don’t think I can do this.” He shook his head. “I can’t handle this feeling. I need it to stop.”

“Hey, none of that.” She cupped his cheek. “Adele and Katie and Marc and Louis already lost their father, they don’t want to lose their brother too.”

“I don’t want them to but I can’t take this.”

“You can Sirius. You’re strong. It’s going to get better. I know we’re all gonna miss him more than anything. But it will stop hurting so much.”

Sirius could only cling to her and sob.

++++

“Hi, baby.” Remus hugged Sirius as he walked out of the room with Celeste.

Sirius curled into his chest.

“I’m gonna head out,” Celeste told them with a sad smile. “The kids are with their grandparents and the team’s already here.”

They said their goodbyes and walked into the main lounge where half the team was already gathered.

“You okay?” James asked Sirius who could only shake his head and collapsed onto the couch, letting Remus pull him onto his lap.

The previously happy energy in the room dulled as they waited for the rest of the team to trickle in. The energy rose slightly as they cracked jokes to lighten the mood.

“Alright now that you’re all here-”

“Dumo’s not.” Nado pointed out.

“I know,” Arthur said sadly.

“Hey if he gets to skip why couldn’t we?” Kasey protested.

“Make him do extra laps tomorrow,” Thomas told Arthur.

All of their remarks stopped as they looked over at Sirius as he sobbed into Remus’s chest. Logan had his arms crossed on his knees and head buried in his arms his body shook as Leo and Finn rubbed his back.

“Coach why’s Dumo late?” James looked at Arthur. The coach had tears streaming down his face.

“Why is Dumo late?” Kasey asked through clenched teeth.

“Celeste called last night.” He started to explain. “He had a heart attack.”

“No” Thomas shook his head.

“Oh god,” Lily threw her hand over her mouth.

“They tried to bring him-”

“Stop.” James shook his head in shock.

“I’m so sorry.” his voice broke.

The room filled with silent sobs.

“The league’s going to release a statement tonight,” Arthur told them before falling silent, letting them all process the news in silence.

“Celeste wants us to clean out his locker.” He said a few minutes later. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, she just wants to get everything out of it so she can keep some things. She said you can have anything you want from it.”

The team stood up numbly and walked into the locker room.

“You sure?” Remus asked Sirius as he climbed off his lap. Sirius nodded and grabbed onto his hand.

It was only silent whispers and cries as the team pulled things from his locker and stall.

“Stop,” Remus’s loud voice cut through the silence. “Sirius stop.”

They watched as Sirius punched Remus’s arms that were wrapped tight around his waist to hold him back.

“Let me go.” Sirius snarled, getting lifted off the ground when he tried to kick Remus’s legs. “Let me go.”

“I’m not gonna let you go until you calm down.” Remus held him tight.

Sirius didn’t stop.

The team watched their captain in shock and overwhelming sadness.

“Sirius, you have to stop. You’re going to make yourself sick, baby.” Remus tried to calm him.

Then Sirius is screaming.

Just screams.

And screams and screams.

They’re terrifying sounds. Torturously filled with panic and grief and sadness and desperation and anger and pleas.

He screams until his voice wears out and he can’t fight anymore. He turns around in Remus’s arms and screams with what little voice he has left.

Remus was shaking with sobs as he held his broken husband. Wishing he could fix everything that broke him.

Remus picked Sirius up as his knees gave out and carried him out of the locker room. Leaving everyone in silence.

++++++

It didn’t truly hit Remus until the league released a statement.

Then it hit hard.

They had breaking news on all the sports channels to explain his death and what it meant for the team.

Once the tweets started he made sure Sirius was still asleep after exhausting himself from breakdowns last night and quietly left the bedroom.

As soon as he stood in front of the sink he started shaking.

Moments later it all hit.

He sank against the wall with silent sobs.

He had lost people before, his grandpa, an uncle, but he wasn’t close with them.

He was close with Dumo.

Hell, he’s the reason he’s married to the love of his life.

His first thought when they got the call was Sirius.

And that’s who he had focused on since the call.

All the effort it took for him to try and be there for his husband, left little time to think about anything else.

But Sirius was asleep and all the tweets he was being tagged in that told him that they were sorry for his loss. Now he could process it.

He cried for Dumo, and Celeste, and Adele, Marc, Louis, Katie, the team, the fans, Logan, Sirius.

He cried for all of them.

He cried until he felt someone sit down beside him and pull him into their chest.

He was going to apologize for waking Sirius but his mind was racing too fast and all he could do was let Sirius hold him and cry.

+++3 Days Later+++

“Sirius?” Remus shot up as he felt the empty bed beside him. “Sirius?”

He ran out of the room calling his husband’s name with no response and, fuck, this wasn’t good.

“Sirius? Sirius.” Remus stopped as he looked into the ice rink in their basement.

Sirius was shooting pucks into the goal. Each shot more forceful and more powerful than the last.

“Baby,” Remus called out, getting his attention. But the black-haired man just shook his head after making eye contact. And went back to hit the black rubber.

“Baby.” He called out again. “Come back to bed. Please love?”

Sirius dropped his stick and stood in the center of the ice panting.

Remus could see the tears now that he was standing still. He was wearing simple grey sweatpants that he had stolen from Remus. But his heart jolted when he saw the hoodie.

It was Dumos lucky hoodie.

As much as the older man said superstitions were stupid, he never played a game without wearing it.

The once bright blue fabric was now a dull blue-grey color.

The red letters barely readable after too many washes.

The small New York Rangers logo was only noticeable if you knew it was there before.

The team always chirped at him for wearing it. “That’s betrayal, Dumo.”

Celeste had given it to Sirius earlier but he had refused to even touch it until now.

Sirius skated over to the side and took off his skates quickly before pushing past his husband.

“Sirius” Remus followed him up the stairs. “Hey, stop.” He grabbed his arm.

“Leave me alone.”

“Sirius calm down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Sirius seethed and hit his hand away.

“Calm down and I won’t have to tell you to.”

“I fucking hate you.” Sirius gritted his teeth and pushed Remus in the chest.

“Don’t push me,” Remus told him firmly.

“I don’t know why I married you.” He pushed him again, with more force as tears streamed down his face.

“Stop pushing me.”

“I hate you.” He pushed him hard, Remus’s back hitting the wall.

“Sirius don’t fucking push me.”

“I HATE YOU.” He screamed and raised his fist.

“Don’t you dare,” Remus grabbed his hand before it could connect with his face before grabbing the other and holding them in a restraint. “You can scream and cry and tell me you hate me or that you don’t love me all you want, I’m not gonna stop you.” He told him firmly. “But I am never going to let you hit me.”

Sirius seemed to snap out of his trance and collapsed into Remus. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please, I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He sobbed and screamed.

“I know. I know you’re sorry. I know you didn’t mean to but no matter how angry you are, you can’t physically hurt me, or someone else, or yourself.” Remus held him.

Sirius could only sob.

“This doesn’t mean you’re your parents, Sirius.” Remus could read his mind. “Your parents hit for no reason. You tried to hit me because you’re angry and scared and devastated and so many other emotions that you don’t know how to handle.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No, it doesn’t make it okay. But there was still an understandable reason for it, meaning you aren’t your parents.”

“I didn’t- know- I- was- do-doing-ing it,” He gasped. “I don-don-t know-why- I- di-did- i-i-it-t-it.” He was hyperventilating at this point. His knees gave out and dragged both of them to the floor.

“You need to take deep breaths for me, baby. You’re going to pass out if you don’t slow your breathing down.” He kissed his forehead. “Try and match your breathing with mine.” He put Sirius’s hand over his chest.

Sirius choked and gasped for a few minutes before sobbing. “I-I can’t.”

“I know it’s hard but you’ve got to try my love. Breath with me okay.” He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Repeating it until Sirius started to follow his rhythm.

“Good job baby.” He kissed his forehead again as his breathing slowed.

“I don’t know why I did it.” He hiccuped slightly.

“Baby you grew up in a world where abuse was a sign of emotion. If your parents were angry they hit. If they were disappointed they hit. If they were hurt they hit. You learned that if you’re hurting you make others hurt. Not verbally like some people do but physically. That’s what you had always known and accepted. And yes you aren’t controlled by their tactics anymore but your mind still remembers those lessons that you didn’t even know you learned.” Remus rubbed his back and rocked him slightly as he explained.

“Right now you are hurting more than you ever have before. And you are devastated and panicked and angry. And those are all normal and perfectly okay to feel. But your mind doesn’t know what to do with this level of emotions so it goes through everything that has happened when you felt these emotions until it thinks it’s found a way to get rid of them. In your mind anger had always and only meant pain and hurt. It’s not your fault baby. It’s not. But we’re gonna have to figure out a way to stop your mind from thinking that.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know you are. And just because it’s not your fault and that it’s not really you that’s doing it, does not mean I’m going to allow you to hurt yourself or someone else.”

“I’m so sorry.” Sirius sobbed again.

++++++++ 2 months later ++++++++

“And with 5 minutes left of practice, they come calling.” Arthur pulled out his ringing phone. “Hey, Loops.” He put the man on speaker. “Where are you?”

“The uh, um,” He sounded dazed and disoriented.

“Remus? Are you okay?” Arthur asked.

“Hospital. At the hospital.”

“What? Why?” James asked.

“Sirius, he, he, uh, ki- tried, cut. He tried to ki, ki-” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Oh god,” Leo breathed.

“Is he okay?” Logan asked.

“They pu-pumped his stomach.” He trailed off.

“Remus?” Arthur asked after a short stretch of silence.

“Sorry. He’s in surgery, on his, uhm, wrist. Was too deep.”

The team all stood in shock.

“Do you want us to be there?” Arthur asked him.

“Please.” Remus gasped.

“Okay. Yeah, we’ll be there soon. Do you need anything?”

“Clothes. There’s blood. Clothes?”

“Yeah someone will grab you a change of clothes.”

“In bag. Locker. Sirius’s. Clothes.” Remus seemed to be getting more and more disoriented.

“Alright, we’ll bring them,” Arthur told him as Finn dug through Sirius’s bag and pulled out a change of clothes.

“Okay.”

“We’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.” Remus hung up.

“Fuck” James collapsed into his best friend’s stall, sobbing.

+++++++

“Oh, shit” Kasey breathed when they turned the corner into the waiting room.

There was blood on Remus’s clothes.

Sirius’s blood was on Remus’s clothes.

“Hey, Loops.” Finn walked in and handed him the bag of spare clothes to change into.

“Hmm?” Remus blinked. “Oh, thank you.” He took the bag from him and stood up.

“Woah,” Finn caught him as he staggered. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Remus stood up and tripped out of the room on shaky legs.

He took one look in the mirror and ripped off his clothes, chucking them in the garbage. Quickly putting on the clean clothes that smelled like his lover, and started to wash the blood off his arms.

He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until he felt the faucet turn off and the soap taken out of his hands.

“It’s off, Fruit Loops,” Thomas told him softly.

“I’m gonna lose him. I’m gonna lose him.” Remus whispered around the sob stuck in his throat.

“No, you’re not. You’re not gonna lose him. We’re not gonna lose him.” Thomas said firmly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“No need to apologize.”

“Um, thanks for, you know, coming to check on me.”

“I got your back Loop, we all do.” Thomas threw an arm around Remus, in support and to keep him upright, as they walked back to the waiting room.

“Remus.” Lily was there when they walked back in. “God I’m so sorry.”

Remus let her pull him into a hug and sobbed into her neck.

++++++++

Remus looked up when someone new walked into the waiting room.

“Hey,” He stood up as Celeste hugged him.

“How is he?” She asked when he pulled away, tears streamed down her face.

“I don’t know. Last thing they said was that he was in surgery.”

“What happened?” She asked softly as they sat down.

Remus let out a sob. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Celeste told him along with the rest of the team.

“It is. I knew something was off. I knew something was wrong.” Remus couldn’t hold back his sobs any longer.

“When he woke up he said he was going to get a drink but was going to come back to bed and I fell back asleep for a few minutes and he wasn’t back so I went to the bathroom cause the light was on but the door was locked and he wasn’t answering and I kicked down the door and he was pale and he wasn’t moving and the cuts kept bleeding and they wouldn’t stop. I tried to stop it but I couldn’t. They wouldn’t stop bleeding. There was so much blood and he wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t stop the bleeding.” He was hysterical by the end. Celeste pulled him into her arms and shushed him softly. “He had no pulse. He was dead. He kept dying in the ambulance. He wouldn’t stop dying.”

Celeste squeezed the distraught man until he calmed down.

“Fuck, sorry.” Remus pulled away and wiped his eyes. “I don’t know why I freaked out like that.”

“Remus, your husband is in the hospital. You’re allowed to freak out.” Arthur told him.

Everything stopped as the doctor walked in.

+++++

Remus’s breath hitched as he stood in the doorway of Sirius’s stale hospital room.

His husband looked up at the noise.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius gasped. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, my love.” Remus rushed over to Sirius and leaned his forehead against the others.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The distraught man kept repeating as tears fell fast.

“I love you. It’s okay. I love you. It’s okay.” Remus cupped his cheek and cried along with him.

“I’m sorry.” Sirius couldn’t stop repeating.

“Shh, shh. Don’t apologize. Baby, please don’t apologize.” Remus pressed his lips to his husband’s forehead, letting his lips linger on the warm skin.

Sirius’s words slowly and quietly faded out until only sobs left his mouth.

Remus pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed. He took Sirius’s hand lightly and tried as hard as he could to ignore the white bandages wrapped around his wrists.

They sat in silence as Remus rubbed soothing circles on the back of his hand.

“Please say something,” Sirius pleaded.

“I thought I lost you,” Remus whispered.

“I'm sorry,” Sirius’s voice was worn out.

“I thought you died.” He gritted his teeth. “And I didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t know if I was going to live while you weren’t.”

“Please, please don’t say that,”

“It’s the truth, Sirius. You don’t want to live without Dumo and I don’t want to live without you,”

Sirius stayed silent.

“I have never felt so purely hopeless than I felt when I was in that bathroom. There was nothing I could do.”

“I’m so sorry I’m putting you through this.”

“Stop apologizing,” Remus begged.

“It was so stupid of me but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I was two feet away. You promised you would come to me when you felt like this.”

“I didn’t want you to be mad at me.” Sirius wouldn’t meet his eye.

“What?” Remus breathed out. “Baby why would I be ma- have I done anything to make you think I would be mad?”

Sirius shook his head and stared down at his lap.

“Sirius, please. What did I do?”

“Nothing I promise that you didn’t do anything.” Sirius met his eye and looked back down.

“I will never. Ever. Be mad at you about something like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Remus pulled him into his arm, praying that he would never have to let go.

[sixofpomegranates]

Rain in California - Act 1 - California

🥀Mini Series “Rain in California” Act 1 - Part 1 - California🥀

✨My Main Masterlist✨ | 18+ | AO3 | Wattpad

🥀Soundtrack🥀 | ✨Aestethic Trailer✨ |  🥀Masterlist🥀 | Words: 9.4k

A/N: The music used in this story is not owned by me (obviously) & I used it in the same style that 'Rock of ages' and 'Mamma Mia' used songs. I gave them a different meaning and context. The meaning and context are NOT representing the one that the ORIGINAL ARTIST had.

TW: ANGST, mention of loss/death/addiction/sobriety/murder, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, depression, addiction, substance abuse, drugs, alcohol, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, stalking, death by overdose, mentions of OD, passive aggressiveness, arguing,

Songs in this Chapter: La di die – Nessa Berrett Going to Hell | My Medicine | Heaven Knows – The Pretty Reckless

“Spence?”

 Spencer looked up from his book.

Oh, so now he was allowed to talk with them about the case.

Since the briefing they hadn’t talked to him about anything. Spencer had to beg them, to let him work on this case.

He had really felt left out and why?

Because the stalking victim was a famous Rockstar with addiction issues. Spencer was hurt about his team not wanting him to be on the case because of this. Yes, he had struggled with addiction in the past, but he had been clean for over ten years now.

Was this unfair treatment…this distrust in his sobriety, ever going to stop?

It wasn’t like they had cared much about it when Emily had faked her death or when Maeve died, but this, for them, looked like a too high risk? Because there was a pretty girl involved?

He tried his best not to sound passive aggressive when responding.

 “Yeah, JJ?”, with success.

“I asked if everything´s okay.”

“Sure. Why should anything be wrong?”, the blonde shrugged a little, an apologetic look on her face.

“Well the case-“ “It´s just a stalking case. Nothing we haven’t already seen. I actually wonder why we even need to come. The stalker isn’t aggressive and hasn´t hurt anybody. Right now he´s just importunate. The police should be able to catch this unsub themselves.”, he had accidently let a little of his passive aggressiveness slip and Emily, who was sitting next to JJ, looked at him.

“The record label convinced the police to contact us. They seem worried about their artist.”

“From what I know…this girl can take care of herself.”, Luke snickered, earning himself a ‘Come on, really?’-look from Emily. “Sorry, but have you seen or listened to her music? She could probably beat Reid in a fist fight.”

“Just because she´s making rock music, doesn’t mean she´s tough. But we should talk a little about the case, Reid if you ever feel unco-“, he quickly interrupted her with a snappy tone.

“Why, because she´s an addict? I don’t care about that.”, Emily lifted her hands in a calming manner.

“Okay, jeez. Just the way you´re on edge, since the briefing, doesn’t look like you are okay.”, Spencer took a deep breath, trying to talk calmer this time, now almost pleading in tone.

“I-I know. But I´m clean since was twenty-six. I never touched anything again and I don’t feel the need to. I even regulate my alcohol intake, never drinking more than a beer, maybe two glasses of whiskey. Which means, that statistically all of you are at a higher risk, of becoming addicted, during this case, then I am. You guys need to trust me.”, the dark haired woman sighed and nodded.

“You´re right. I´m- We´re just worried. You´re our friend, Spencer.”, she handed him a file. “Just promise me you talk to one of us, if something changes.”

 He nodded opening the file. A picture of [y/n] looked at him. Dark heavy make-up, dark clothing and jet black hair with colorful streaks.

His younger self would´ve been as attracted as terrified of her.

He flipped through the pages. [y/n] [y/l/n]. Twenty-six years old. Stalker since approximately two years. Nothing extremely outstanding for a stalking case…which was kinda outstanding. No letters, no calls, no pictures, no break in, no threats…sometimes she would get random, expensive present delivered to her mansion, but that was it. Given that she was famous, this presents did not even have to be from a stalker.

 “Are we sure there´s even is a stalker?”, Spencer frowned at his own question, Emily shrugged as a response.

“According to the manager, Philip Schuyler, since the first time she played his concerns down, he gets these calls of a man asking for [y/n] and how she is doing. The label didn’t take it serious after he told them, but then the unsub stole the last finished album from [y/n]´s band ‘Shot Monarch’, before it could get released and distributed, also erasing every digitally existing copy. He then called the manager and send the owner of the record label a letter; typed on a computer, no fingerprints; stating that he wanted to be taken serious. Later [y/n] got the USB, containing all her songs, with a dozen white lilies, her favorite, back per mail with an apology letter; stating that she had done nothing wrong and didn’t need to worry, since he could never harm her or her carrier. That´s when the label pushed the police to contact us.”

“Because they are worried about the music…not the woman.”, JJ sighed, shaking her head.

“Well, that´s the industry. At least her manager is worried. Police states that he got himself a gun license after that and tries to be everywhere [y/n] is.”, Luke added.

“Something about that is off.”, Spencer whispered, rubbing his stubbles, before looking at JJ, Emily and Luke again. “There is nothing that indicates a stalker, but every time somebody doubts his existence, he does something noticeable. I know she is famous and that comes with the stigma of having crazed fans as stalkers, but most stalking in general is committed by someone known to the victim, such as an ex-partner or acquaintance. We should check that out.”, JJ nodded.

“It would also be smart if one of us stays by her site.”, Luke quickly raised his hand.

“I volunteer. I- Like- Really! If necessary I´ll sleep in the SUV.”, Emily raised an eyebrow.

“Can it be that you´re a fan? I heard you and Penelope freak out a little over the case earlier.”, a shy smirk appeared on his lips.

“‘Shot Monarch’ has really good music. Since my road trip a year ago, I love their stuff. Penelope actually tol-”, Spencer interrupted him determined.

“I´ll do it.”, Emily quickly shook her head.

“Reid, no.” “Why not?”, his voice got high, making him quickly cleared his throat. “Because-“ “Because she is taking drugs. Do you trust me that little, Emily?”, Spencer snapped at her and she leaned back into her seat. Sure the others from the team were older than him, but he was in his late thirties, and yet was treated like a child.

 “Fine. If you think you can handle it, do it. But stop being so sassy, I hate that.”, Emily looked at look in defeat. “Luke tell him what you know about [y/n] and the band.”, he nodded pulling out his phone.

“Okay so, [y/n] is the lead singer of ‘Shot Monarch’. She´s from a small town in Ohio and came to LA when she was eighteen, to become a singer after going viral. They are a band since five years, the name never really got explained by them, but it has something to do with the butterfly; at least that’s a fan theory I now from Penelope. Plus it makes sense, because [y/n] has a tattoo of one on the back of her hand.”, Luke flipped through some pictures of older man, reminding Spencer of bikers and insurance agents at the same time. Like middle-aged fathers that liked rock but still had a nine-to-five job.

“Hank, the guitarist, was a lawyer before and in a cover band with his high school friends Tom, the bassist, who worked for an insurance company, and Leroy, the drummer, who was history teacher and is also married to Hank. They met [y/n] at an open mic night and even though she´s twenty-six and they are in their late forties, early fifties, they got along so well, that they became a band. That´s ‘Going to Hell’ by the way. One of the more controversial songs.”, Luke pressed play on the video and already moved the lips to the lyrics.

  “Father did you miss me,

Been locked up a while.

I got caught for what I did but took it all in style.

Laid to rest all my confessions I gave way back when.

Now I'm versed in so much worse,

So I am back again, and he said

For the lives that I take, I'm going to hell!

For the love that I make, I'm going to hell!

Gettin' heavy with the devil, you can hear the wedding bells.”

  “The guitar you´re hearing is a classic Hank. That guy knows what he´s doing.”, Luke added, seemingly in his element, reminding Spencer a lot of Garcia when she was excited.

 Spencer nodded and watched the music video, the overall theme was dark and heavy. [y/n] voice was nice, a little smoky and strong, but everything just sounded so angry. Not really his style, although he preferred older, classical music in general over the ‘normal’ things ‘normal’ people liked. [y/n] wore tightfitting latex, while the men from her band mostly just wore black jeans and shirts, sometimes leather jackets. At one time, she was surrounded by snakes, only wearing white lingerie. She was really pretty, red lipstick making her look like a biting version of Snow White. Like a princess that would rather save herself, becoming the villain along the way, before letting someone else save her.

  “Father did you miss me,

Don't ask me where I've been.

You know I know, yes, I've been told I redefine a sin.

I don't know what's driving me to put this in my head.

Maybe I wish I could die, maybe I am dead!

And he said

For the lives that I fake, I'm going to hell!

For the vows that I break, I'm going to hell!

For the ways that I hurt, when I'm hiking up my skirt.

I am sitting on a throne while they're buried in the dirt.

For the man that I hate, I'm going to hell!

Gettin' heavy with the devil, you can hear the wedding bells.”

  The lyrics and symbolistic in the video mocked parts of the Christian belief system. Such as the bite Eve had taken from the apple, showing [y/n] taking a bite from the forbitten fruit. The last supper and the crucifixion were shown with a dark twist too. This could be a hint of rebellion, to cope with religious trauma, or simply be a way to cause controversy.

“Please forgive me father,

I didn't mean to bother you.

The devil's in me father.

He's inside of everything I do.

For the lives that I take, I'm going to hell!

For the laws that I break, I'm going to hell!

For the love that I hate, I'm going to hell!

For the lies that I make, I'm going to hell!

For the way I condescend and never lend a hand.

My arrogance is making this head buried in the sand.

For the souls I forsake, I'm going to hell!

Gettin' married to the devil, you can hear the wedding bells.”

As the video ended Luke took his phone and put it back into his pocket.

“Their earlier stuff had a little more emotion to it, was about heartbreak, suffering and made you feel. This is one of the more recent ones and you can hear that it´s now mostly just stuff like sex, drugs and anger. Most people think that´s because [y/n] writes all of their music and she´s…seen better days…”, Luke sighed, trying to make it sound as polite as possible.

“Because she started taking drugs?”, Spencer raised his eyebrows, but Luke shook his head. “Oh, no. She, according to many rumors and an interview with her father, has taken drugs since she was a teen. But at this point…she just simply seems to have given up, having chosen to not go deeper with her songs anymore. I mean, they still slap. They just don’t slap your heart anymore, you know?”

“Not so nice, when your father talks to the press about your addiction. Could her father be a suspect?”, JJ asked, making Luke shrug and shake his head at the same time.

“Most likely not. He said in that interview that he wishes her the best, but doesn’t want to speak to her again.”, Emily mouthed a silent ‘ouch’, the whole talk about the rockstars private life making Spencer think.

“Maybe that´s part why she´s taking drugs? Often people use them to cope with-“, Emily interrupted him, profiling [y/n] and her substance abuse, quickly.

“Reid. We´re not going there to fix her, just the stalking situation.”, he nodded, knowing that he had a savior complex, always trying to help and save everybody.

“Exes?”, Spencer asked and Luke shook his head.

“Just one is known, Dean Lennox, singer, now married with kids. He and [y/n] were together for two years and according to him it was toxic. Like, always fighting, jealousy, distrust, fear of being left but she still didn’t want him close at the same time, lying. After their last breakup, he told a gossip magazine, he just couldn’t watch her destroy herself anymore. She never commented on it.”, JJ looked at Spencer worried.

“She seems like a handful, are you sure you can handle her alone?”, he chuckled while nodding.

“I´ve been through worse. How hard can it be to watch a twenty-six year old? When she, like Luke said, really doesn’t want anyone close, I´ll just sit on her couch and let her do her thing.”

*****

After landing in Los Angeles and checking into their hotel, the team drove to police station. There already waited a massage for them with an address. It was from the manager, he wrote that he was terribly sorry, but they needed to come to the recording studio, since the band was on a tight schedule all morning. Luke had tried his best, but Spencer could see his excitement through his tough-guy-façade. He, JJ, Luke and Emily took one of the SUV´s and drove to the address.

 The building they entered was large and with great security. Expensive, white marble flooring in the entire entrance hall. They showed their batches to the lady at the front desk and the security, she called somebody and soon a short, pudgy man, dressed in a designer suit walked out of the elevator and up to them. He smiled at them friendly and shook everyone’s hand.

 “Ah, the agents. I am so glad that you´re here. Hi. Hello. I´m Philip Schuyler, the manager of ‘Shot Monarch’.”, Emily shook his hand and pointed at the team.

“Nice to meet you. I´m unit chief SSA Prentiss, those are SSA Jareau, Alvez and that´s Dr. Spencer Reid. He will take on the job as bodyguard for Miss [y/l/n].”, the man scratched his brown hair, avoiding the bald spot on top.

“Yes, uhm, please just call her [y/n]. She really dislikes being called Miss [y/l/n]. We also already have police and security around her house, so I don’t know how important a personal bodyguard is. I really want this case solved and it would be terrible if we would hinder your work.”, Spencer lifted a finger.

“Actually, it would be better if I´m able to stay close to [y/n]. Normal police and security could probably oversee minor details about the stalker, Mr. Schuyler.”, the man waved off.

“Please, Mr. Schuyler was my father. Philip is completely fine. Everybody calls me that.”, he started walking to the elevator and the agents followed him. “Right now the band´s having a little break. After that, we need to record one more song for the ‘live in the studio’-version of their new album, that just came out. Are you familiar with their music?”, they got into the elevator and Luke already nodded.

“Yeah. Really great. Big fan.”, Emily lifted her hand, silencing Luke.

“I´m sorry. If that´s a problem we can-“, Philip laughed, interrupting her.

“Oh, no, no. [y/n] will love that. She likes meeting fans and showing off her music.”

 They got out of the elevator, walked through the little hallway and entered the large double door in front of them. There was the recording studio. A lot of technical things, Spencer didn’t know much of, and a large glass wall in front of it, showing another room.

 The recording room was large, with a black leather couch and beanbags in it and nice, warm, wooden flooring. A drum set was placed on an vintage looking, red carpet and the overall lighting was warm and inviting as well. The door to the room was open and he could hear the three men, from the band, talking and laughing inside.

 “Guys, can you come out for a bit?”, Philip asked them and they looked up, walking up to them. “Okay, uhm, guys, those are the agents from the FBI. You know? The once coming because of [y/n]´s stalker.”, the largest man, a head taller than Spencer, smiled through his long grey beard that contrasted his bald head.

“Nice to meet you then, I´m Hank. That my husband Leroy,”, they shook hands with the dark skinned, skinny man, who in contrast to his husband was cleanshaven, with short black hair and glasses, “and that´s our friend Tom.”, the chubby, white, blond waved at them friendly.

“Why would like to talk with each of you individually, later at the police station, if that is possible.”, Emily said before introducing her team again, also mentioning Spencer´s duty as bodyguard. Leroy grimaced his face.

“Uh, [y/n] will hate that. The girl does not like being babysat.” “I´m not going to babysit her.”, Spencer answered, making Leroy chuckle. “That´s not how she will see it though.”, Hank sighed and put a hand on Spencer´s shoulder.

“Our girl is going through a lot right now. So it would be nice of you, to not take everything she´s saying personally, okay?”

“Personally?”

 Spencer raised his eyebrows. He desperately hoped [y/n] wouldn’t be a bitch the entire time, since he couldn’t promise to not give her a piece of his mind, if so.

“[y/n]´s a little belligerent…Easy to get triggered and then she blows up like a bomb.”, Tom said and JJ cocked her head. “Is the stalking getting at her?”, Leroy shook his head. “Not really. But her mother died a few months ago and since then…little rough patch. She´ll get better. We all hit rock bottom once.”

“Is she going to therapy?”, Emily asked straight forward, making Tom, the chubby one chuckle. “Not since she hit the last therapist a few years ago. We paid his medical expenses and he was nice enough to not sue her. But we are here to help her, once she´s ready to let us.” “Must be exhausting, for you.”, JJ said empathetic and all the men waved off.

“Because of the drugs? No, it´s not that bad. She´ll collect herself. I have seven kids. Four of them are going through puberty right now. Phil has a toddler and Leroy and Hank have three rescue dogs and a couple of snakes. We can handle her.”, Tom laughed and the rest of the men started too.

“And that little stalker…Imma just say, I´m gonna rip him a new one, should I ever get the chance of meeting him. Counts for all of us.”, Hank added with everyone nodding in agreement.

“[y/n]´s a really nice girl and she´s been through a lot. If you´re nice to her, chances are high she´ll warm up to you and you won´t have any problems.”, Tom said to Spencer making him nod.

“And if she doesn’t?”, the tall doctor didn’t get an answer and just witnessed the rockers share a look.

 Nice girl. Drug issues not so bad. Be nice and maybe she´s nice to you. For Spencer all of that sounded like he would have to walk around on eggshells, while she would blast through walls like a wrecking ball. The manager, Philip, checked his watch and looked around.

 “So, where´s [y/n]? One more song and we´re done. Would be great not to hold up the investigation for too long.”

“She went to the toilet thirty minutes ago. We just ate our sandwiches. She said she wasn’t hungry.”, Leroy answered and at the same moment [y/n] walked in.

 Spencer looked at her and for a moment forgot how to breathe. Short, high waisted, leather skirt, low cut, tank top and biker boots, all black, rounded off with fishnet stockings.  [y/n] looked like she had climbed out of a teenagers wet dream. The perfect, little goth-girlfriend. She stretched a little and Philip looked at her.

 “Bonjour, Philly.”, she said with a sassy undertone, while walking up to him and leaning on his shoulder. He was the same high as her, which wasn’t really tall, about 5,4, if Spencer had to guess.

“Hey, where were you?”, the pudgy man asked her.

“Took a nap in my car.”, she booped his nose and gave him a sheepish little smile. Spencer knew she was high. In fact the whole room knew it.

“You drove here?”, Tom asked shocked and [y/n] grinned sarcastically.

“I guess so, else somebody explain to me why my car´s here.”, Phillip patted her shoulder, looking worried as she took four pills out of an orange pillbox from her bag. He gave her a glass of water and she swallowed them. The men from her band looked at her concerned, making her give them a pearly white smile.

“Headache.”, she explained and they only nodded. Spencer couldn’t help but think, that she wasn’t having a headache and even if she had, it was probably a withdrawal symptom.

“You know that I don’t want you to drive when you´re…”, her manager looked at the agents and stopped talking, making her look at them as well.

“What? Why´d you stop talking? That the fun police?”, she started giggling at her own joke, making the band chuckle, since she clearly didn’t know how accurate she was with her joke.

“That´s the FBI, Princess.”, Hank told her and she made a fake shocked face and then laughed again.

“Officer- No wait, agents, right? I swear I did nothing wrong. Weed´s legal in Cali.”

 The team shared some looks and Spencer couldn’t help but roll his eyes. [y/n] was not just on weed. Most definitely not just on weed.

 “They are here because of your stalker.”, Philip explained and she shrugged almost disappointed.

“Oh, that guy. Well, then hello. Nice to meet you. I´m [y/n].”

 She shook hands with JJ and Emily as they introduced themselves. Luke couldn’t help but breathe in sharply, as he shook her hand and almost choked on his own spit as an aftereffect. She started patting his back with wide opened eyes.

 “Shit, you okay? Asthma?”, [y/n] reached into her black, designer handbag and gave him a bottle with clear liquid. Luke took a sip, quickly grimaced his face and began coughing harder.

“Vodka.”, he stated through his coughing. [y/n] quickly took the bottle from him and took a sip too, without flinching. She then started cracking up at her mistake.

“Whoops. Mixed up the bottles, the other´s probably in my car. Philly, can you bring him…?”, Philip nodded and gave Luke a fresh water bottle from the mini fridge.

 Wow. Vodka hidden in a water bottle. Spencer licked his lips, taking in the view of her bandmates looking at each other. ‘Not that bad’ looked different. ‘Not that bad’ would not have her sleeping in her car, midday, with a bottle of ‘water’ and coming back high as a kite. Luke, by now, had stopped coughing and [y/n] stepped away from him again.

 “You good?”, she asked him, watching him wipe away his tears.

“Y-Yeah. Sorry.”, the black haired girl waved him off.

“Nah, don’t worry. I had asthma till I was twelve.”, he shook his head.

“I- I- No asthma. Just a really big fan.”, she started laughing again and although the light was dimmed, Reid could clearly see Luke´s cheeks turning red.

“Oh, that´s cute. But ‘Take My Breath Away’ is by Berlin.”, that sentence actually made the whole room laugh except for Spencer, who didn’t understand the reference. “What´s your name?”

“Luke Alvez.”, she shook his hand again, this time he didn’t almost choke.

“Well, nice to meet you, Luke. What´s your favorite song of ours?”

“25, no doubt. Really amazing. Like a James Bond song.”, the bandmates chuckled.

“We said that too.”, Leroy snickered, patting Luke´s shoulder and [y/n] nodded.

“It´s also my favorite. Excited to hear one of the new songs?”, Luke nodded excited and she turned her head to Spencer. “We both don’t know each other yet. Hi, I´m [y/n] and you are?”

 She sounded quite collected. Clearly high, but able to think straight if necessary. [y/n] must´ve been doing this for a while now, seeming to have figured out, how much she could handle while working. Spencer had been at that point too once. You wanted to do your work and be good at it, but needed to be high, to make it through the day. So you just tried over a period of time, bit by bit, how much you were able to take before doing a shitty job. ‘Not that bad’ didn’t make you figuring out a system to be high all the time.

 “Dr. Spencer Reid.”, he shook her hand.

“Dr. Reid will be your bodyguard, [y/n].”, Philip explained and quickly earned an angry look, as she let go of Spencer´s hand instantly.

“What? I don’t need a bodyguard, we talked about this.”, she hissed at her manager, but then started laughing after looking Spencer up and down. “And then that guy?”, Philip nodded as she rolled her eyes at him. ‘Do not take it personally’, Spencer told himself.

“I am more than capable of protecting you.”, he stated as friendly as possible, making her giggle.

“From what? A difficult math question?”

 [y/n] mocking tone started to piss him off, but as Spencer felt Emily´s look on him, he played it cool. After all, he had to proof himself able to handle her.

 “Your stalker.”, he corrected her and she licked her lips, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, looking at Luke.

“Since you don’t have asthma, would you mind if I…?”, Luke shook his head and she smiled. “Nice.”, she looked back at Spencer, at his gun. “Philip has a gun too.” “But Philip isn’t an FBI agent.”, Hank told her, making her shake her head in protest, like a little child.

“That´s ridiculous. And all of that just because a stranger sends me stuff, people send me stuff all the time.”

“You should be more worried about this guy.”, Leroy said and Tom nodded in agreement. “Yeah, what if he´s dangerous?”

“What´s the worst that could happen, like honestly, Doctor?”, she cocked her head at Spencer, looking up at him with an almost flirty smile.

“He could kill you.”, he gave back objectively, making the rockers obviously worried. “Geez. You make that sound like it´s a bad thing.”, she snickered and looked over to Luke. “Luke, wanna hear some music?”, he nodded.

“It would be an honor.”, his sentence made her giggle as she walked past him.

“You´re really cute.”

 [y/n] walked into the recording room, Tom, Leroy and Hank following her. She put on her headphones and lit a cigarette, putting the package on the little table next to her mic. Philip closed the door and started pushing some buttons on the sound mixer in front of him. JJ whistled impressed.

 “You do the technical stuff too?”, he nodded, chuckling.

“Since the stalking started, I try having as little people near [y/n] as possible. Thought it might just be a little crush from a weirdo and when he doesn’t get to see her, he gets over it.” “We need a list of the people that worked here though.”, Emily told him and he nodded.

“Of course.”, then he pushed a button and started talking into his microphone. “You guys, ready? Last song. ‘My Medicine’, then we can go home.”

 They all approved of his words and started to playing. [y/n] relighting her cigarette and clearing her throat. Spencer couldn’t tell if that was her simply not caring or doing it for the feeling of the song. However, it seemed to fit the style.

“Somebody mixed my medicine

Somebody mixed my medicine”

“I love this already.”, Luke whispered and JJ chuckled.

“You haven’t even heard anything yet.”, she snickered.

“Doesn’t matter, the feeling is there.”, he lifted his arms, showing her his goosebumps.

“Well you hurt where you sleep and you sleep where you lie

Now you're in deep and now you're gonna cry

Got a woman to your left

And a boy to your right

You start to sweat so

Hold me tight 'cause

Somebody mixed my medicine

I don't know what I'm on

Somebody mixed my medicine

Now baby it’s all gone

Somebody mixed my medicine

And somebody's in my head again

And somebody mixed my medicine again, again”

Spencer watched [y/n] starting to move to the rhythm, swaying her hips and tapping her left foot to the beat, then looked to Philip pressing some buttons.

 “She´s gonna be happy with that one.”, he whispered almost to himself and the next time Spencer looked at the band again, it almost felt like she was attentionally singing in his direction.

“Well I drink what you leak and I smoke what you sigh

See you cross the room with that look in your eye

Got a man to his left and a girl to his right

You start to sweat so

Hold me tight 'cause

Somebody mixed my medicine

I don't know what I'm on

Somebody mixed my medicine

Now baby it’s all gone

Somebody mixed my medicine

Somebody's in my head again

And somebody mixed my medicine again, again”

She started moving her head in a way that made her long black hair fall in her face, framing her features almost delicately. While Spencer starred and earned some grins from [y/n], he could hear Luke whisper with Emily, who actually seemed to like the music too.

“There's a tiger in the room and a baby in the closet”

The room laughed and Spencer looked confused, having JJ tell him, that it was a movie reference. Sometime he felt like an alien, having such simple references fly over his head. Star Trek or Book references would´ve been easier for him…although he still didn’t know what that ‘Twilight’ book was Penelope and JJ talked about a couple of times. Or that other book all the women had talked about in their break….what was it called, ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’? They had told him it was a romance novel, so he just assumed it was like ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen.

“Pour another drink mom I don't even want it

Then I turn around and think I see someone that looks like you”

Philip pressed some buttons again, [y/n] now harmonizing with herself.

“Well you hurt where you sleep and you sleep where you lie

Now you're in deep and now you're gonna cry

Got a woman to your left

And a boy to your right

You start to sweat so

Hold me tight 'cause

Somebody mixed my medicine

I don't know what I'm on

Somebody mixed my medicine

Now baby it’s all gone

Somebody mixed my medicine

Somebody's in my head again again

And somebody mixed my medicine

Again, again, again

Again, again, again

Again, again, again”

The music started to slow down again, just like [y/n] movements, making Luke whisper words in awe.

“Somebody mixed my medicine

Somebody mixed my medicine

Somebody mixed my medicine”

Philip and the team applauded as [y/n] took her headphones off and the men put their instruments away.

 “I´m happy with that.”, she said looking at Philip. “You, Philly?”

“Sounded great to me.”, he gave back, happy to answer.

“What about my new favorite fan. Luke?”, Luke quickly pushed Spencer aside to get to the microphone.

“Loved every second of it! Like- Amazing! Really!”, she giggled, throwing her head back and came through the door.

“What about my new guard dog?”, Spencer pointed at himself, not knowing if she was talking about him. “Of course you. So, what do you think, Doctor?”

“I- I don’t really know.”, she raised her eyebrows at his answer.

“Okay? Was it the drugs or just the music in general?”, he felt himself go pale. “Ah, okay. You´re prude, get it. I mean you already have that whole tutor-thing about you, so…Bach or Chopin?”

“Pardon?” “Which one? Or is it Mozart, or the deaf bitch, Beethoven?”, she grinned snarky.

 [y/n] had a mocking tone in her voice, making Spencer feel embarrassed and like he was in school again, when the other kids in high school were making fun of him for not being cool enough. But he was too old to be bullied by a little junkie, who thought she was better than him.

 “I´m surprised somebody like you would even know them.”, her smile vanished.

“Little bitch.”, she snapped at him, stepping closer as he cocked his eyebrows at her. Philip quickly walked between the two of them and smiled.

“So, what are we doing next? The albums done. Taken care of. [y/n] have you eaten something today? You wanna go out for dinner?”

“No, I haven’t and no, I don’t want to, when THAT is around.”, with ‘that’ she clearly meant Spencer.

“Now don’t be grumpy, Princess. You started it.”, Hank told her and she started to pout, shoulders relaxing.

“Wasn’t worth my time anyways.”, she murmured and Spencer felt himself getting proud. This was the first person, trying to bully him, he had stand a chance against.

“So, we´re gonna need you at the police station, if that´s okay?”, Emily asked Leroy, Hank and Tom, who nodded. “And Spencer, you should take [y/n] home and check out her house.” “Mansion.”, [y/n] corrected Emily. “I have a mansion. Worked too hard to have it being called a house.”, Emily only nodded, not letting herself get bothered by her words. Philip nodded, completely ignoring his clients snappiness too.

“I follow you in my car.”, he told Spencer. “[y/n] give Dr. Reid your keys, please.”, she shook her head indignant.

“No. That guy is not driving my car. I´ll drive.”, the whole band now started saying no.

“[y/n], you´re not driving.”, Tom ordered and Leroy nodded. “You´ll get an DUI so quick, it´s not even funny.”, Spencer lifted his hand, waiting for the key. “Oh, come on.”, she groaned, looking at her bandmates like her childish behavior would change their mind.

 A nice sound. An annoying person, not getting what they want. Almost as beautiful as her [y/e/c] eyes, that actually were rather bloodshot, when Spencer thought about it.

 “Should the police pull you over and see that you´re high, they´ll look through your car and I don’t think you want be taking in custody for drug possession, right?”, she handed him her keys and Spencer couldn’t help it and whispered “Thank you”, in the most mocking tone he was able to.

“Fucking cunt.”, she whispered back at him and he just chuckled.

“I´ve been called worse. So your little words don’t hurt me…sorry.”, she then grinned.

“Things like Spencer?”, [y/n] asked him, spitting his name like poison.

 Spencer took a deep breath and watched her go out the door, telling himself to not answer her.

 “Hey, kid.”, Spencer looked at Hank and he just lifted his thumb.

“You held yourself better than we thought you would.”, Leroy added, Emily looking at Spencer concerned.

“You sure you can handle her?”

 He nodded, walking out the door and to the elevator which doors [y/n] was holding open for him.

 “Hurry up, bitch boy! I wanna go home.”

 *****

 Of course the rich, spoiled brat drove an imported sportscar. When Spencer got in, he firstly had to push back the seat, not having enough room for his legs and then tried getting [y/n] to tell him where she lived.

 “Try google, smart ass.”, was her answer and he sighed.

 [y/n] then rolled down her window and grabbed a joint from her glove compartment. Spencer quickly leaned over and snatched it from her hand, making her whine as she tried getting it back.

 “You´re such a bitch. Give me-“, he interrupted her whining.

“No. First tell me you´re address.”, she sat back into her seat.

“Fine. I´ll lead you there.”, [y/n] said, making grabbing motions with her hand and he handed her the joint back. She lit it and smoked out of the window.

 Spencer knew he should have questioned why she gave up and let him win so easily. After ten minutes they weren’t at her mansion, they were at a McDonald´s.

 “You´re fucking kidding me, right?”, he snapped at her and she began to giggle.

“You´re kina hot when you´re angry.”, her flirty grin and the way she bit her lip made him furious, because it was hot.

“What is wrong with you?”, Spencer almost yelled and she leaned back and pointed somewhere. “I´m hungry. Drive-Through. Over there.”

“No.” “Come on. Don’t be a bitch, dog.”, she snickered, resting her feet on the dashboard.

 He looked at her, for a second thinking about simply getting out of the car and leaving, before he could hurt her. Maybe she was really too much for him to handle, the drugs were manageable, but it was her personality that drove him mad, yet he wasn’t someone to give up easily. Cars started to honk behind them.

 “You´re holding up the traffic. I just wanted something to eat.”, [y/n] said, now almost annoyed because she wasn’t getting what she wanted. Spencer took a deep breath.

“Okay.”, she looked at him confused.

“Okay?”, he nodded, pulling into the Drive-Through. He was above this. ‘Give her what she wants, so she´s at least quiet.’

“You win.”

 She started clapping and hugged him, smelling like marijuana and something he couldn’t quite make out. When they came up to the microphone box, [y/n] crawled over Spencer´s lap, forcing him to look and think respectfully. She ordering a bunch of stuff and then looked at him.

 “What do you want? I only have booze at home, so…”, he looked at her a little startled. Was she trying to be nice to him?

“You wanna buy me something?”, she nodded like this behavior was normal to her. “Sure.”

“Surprise me. I never eat fast food, I don’t know what´s good.”

 She nodded and then told the voice from the box to double her order. Sitting back into her seat, [y/n] took out a hundred dollar bill from her purse, handing it to Spencer. When they pulled up by the window, taking their things, the woman in the window nearly lost it when she saw the rockstar, starting to cry. [y/n] was really nice to her and asked her if she wanted to take a photo in the parking lot. Of course the woman said yes and after paying, where [y/n] had left almost fifty bucks as a tip, Spencer had to park and wait till they had made the photo and given an autograph.

 “Okay, now drive before it goes viral. I wanna eat that stuff before it gets cold.”, she told him, taking a sip of one of the milkshakes.

“That was nice.”, she shrugged and then told him her address, telling him she´d scream when they reached it.

 *****

 Lo and behold, no twenty minutes later they parked in front of [y/n] mansion, next to another, more run down car, belonging to Philip. The mansion would´ve made Rossi´s mansion cry. At least twice as big and the property was enormous. In contrast to [y/n], it was very light and minimalistic from the outside and the inside.

 “Most rooms are empty. Too big.”, she explained walking straight into the open living area, that had a large terrace with pool and a view over the Hollywood hills. She put the paper bags filled with food on the large kitchen island and sat on a barstool.

“You could sell it and buy a smaller one.”, [y/n] shrugged and took out a burger, starting to eat it.

“Philip says I´m gonna grow into it.”, she answered, mocking the tone of voice her manager had probably had.

 Spencer watched her type something on her phone and a minute later Philip came into the room.

 “Hey, where were you? I got worried.”, he asked them and [y/n] handed him a salad.

“It´s the one you always have.”, he smiled at her.

“Thank you. You´re so nice.”, she shrugged at his words, not really caring.

“Yours is in here too, dog.”, she now told spencer.

 Ah, yes. She was being bitchy again. Spencer had only waited for it to happen. He said nothing, but walked up to the white kitchen isle and took the bag she pointed at.

 “Milkshake, burger, fries. Fast food essentials.”, she stated, finishing her small cheeseburger and getting up to her fridge, taking out a beer. She held it to Spencer who declined and then to Philip who did the same. “Lame asses.”, she chuckled, opening it and standing at the counter, watching Spencer eat. “So you´re here for…?”

“Technically it would be the easiest for all of us, if I just stayed.”, she raised her brows.

“Staying like, in my house staying?”, he nodded and she shook her head. “No chance. I enjoy my solitude.”

“[y/n]. If it´s easier for the agent and better for you…”, she sighed, opening a drawer and taking out some pills, swallowing them with her beer. “Fucking hell. But don´t expect me to be considerate of you.”, the rockstar told him.

“Should you consume them with alcohol?”, Spencer asked, taking a bite of his burger and she shrugged.

“I´m going to sleep…you guys…do what you want, I don’t care…”

“Do you need me to do your laundry?”, Philip asked and [y/n] shrugged again, it seemed to be her favorite motion. As she walked down the hallways and Phillip yelled after her. “Don’t forget that you have a gig tonight, [y/n]!”

“THAT`S WHY I`M GOING TO SLEEP NOW, DUMB ASS! WAKE ME UP WHEN WE NEED TO GO!”, she yelled back, followed by the smashing of a door.

 “She´s a nice girl.”, Philip said in the middle of the silence, as Spencer took place on one of the barstools.

“Like a car crash.”, the man in his fifties chuckled.

“I know she´s difficult, but in here she´s good.”, he pointed at his heart. “She has suffered a lot of losses in her life.”

“Then, just as a random thought, you should get into therapy before she OD´s.”, Spencer answered sassy.

“I know what you mean. But as long as she doesn’t want help or overdoes it…she has a system.”, Spencer let his head fall back and groaned.

“You know about that fucking thing?” “You too?”, Philip asked back in surprise. “Profiler. Took me no longer than the nap in her car, to figure that out.”

 Yes, a small lie from Spencer, but it sounded better then: Oh yes, I was addicted to dilaudid once. I had a system too!

 “Tell me, how does that train wreck of a system work?”, Philip leaned back from his salad.

“Well, she takes her painkillers in the morning and smokes some cannabis to get out of bed. When we´re touring or she has to be at shootings, interviews or anything else that needs her to focus, she only smokes and takes the pills all day, alcohol in water bottles is a new one though.”, Spencer sighed and thought if he even wanted to know more.

“And when she´s alone or not busy?” “Then she does the harder stuff.” “Harder stuff like cocaine, LSD…?”, Philip nodded. “Nothing with needles though…she´s scared of them.”

“She will not always be, if she continues like that.” “I know. That´s why I do my best to keep her busy. She even has her own recording studio here, knows how to handle everything herself. I thought it might make her spend more time making music than getting high. I also go out with her a lot, to a point where my wife starts to get jealous.”, he laughed bittersweetly. “Have you ever been to Disney World, agent?”, Spencer shook his head. “I take [y/n] there once a week, because she likes it there. I spend more time with her there then with my own daughter.”, [y/n] was famous, no chance people wouldn’t notice her.

“Does she even get to do anything there?”

“Not often. She mostly meets her fans there, but she loves that a lot. She is really sweet to them too, they mean everything to her.”

 That was the first time Philip had said something that was true about [y/n]. She had, not once been mean to a fan. The complete opposite actually. She had been nice and thoughtful, going out of her way to make the woman at the Drive-Through happy and was nice to Luke.

 “I know she was a little mean to you today, but she also bought us food, seeing it as a matter of course. There are two sides to every person, like a coin.”, Like a coin, just that [y/n] sides flipped as quickly like one too. Philip sighed and got up from his barstool. “I´ll show you around a little, if you want to.”

 Spencer nodded, getting up, following the short man around the house.

 *****

 [y/n] had been right.

It was way too big and many of the rooms were empty. When Spencer asked Philip about the necessity of such a big mansion, he told him, that he had hoped to motivate [y/n] to have a family one day. But now the only rooms in use were her bedroom, one of the five guest bedrooms, which Spencer got to stay in, the open living area with kitchen and living room, the recording studio and a little library. The latter made Spencer a little jealous. In the middle of the room even stood a white piano with notes on it. [y/n] also had a lot of books, all dusty, because she never read anymore. He would´ve killed to have his own library…she probably didn’t even value what she had.

 When they returned into the living area, Philip gave Spencer some spare keys, beginning to clean up a little and putting the food in the fridge. [y/n] didn’t lie, when she said, she only had alcohol at home. JJ came over and brought Spencer his go bag, asking him how it was going. Of course he said he was doing great, but couldn’t help but rant to her about [y/n]´s behavior.

 “Well, she is an addict, Spence. You know how erratic some drugs can make you.”, he nodded.

“Yeah, but she really tries pushing me and then, one second to the other, she´s nice and polite. Have you talked to her bandmates?”, JJ laughed.

“Way too long. We had interviews with them and then Luke just couldn’t stop talking to them, he has also taken about a million pictures with them and facetimed Penelope so she could meet them too.”, Spencer chuckled.

“Sounds like they had a good time. Anything else happened? Found out something?”

“[y/n]´s mother was an addict and left the family when she was younger. When she found out her daughter was famous, she got back in touch with her, to borrow money. [y/n] didn’t care and even got her to live with her, in one of the guest bedrooms. She overdosed a few months ago, since then [y/n]´s addiction got worse.”, Spencer´s eyes got wide.

“She didn’t die in the guest bedroom though, right?”

 Just as JJ wanted to answer, [y/n] walked in. Philip walking behind her with a duffle bag.

 “She died in the bathroom and she didn’t overdose perse, she drowned after falling unconscious in the bathtub, while being high.”, she answered cold, seeming to have overheard their conversation. [y/n] grabbed a beer from the fridge and continued calmly while taking some colorful pills. “I found her. The bathroom that it happened in is always locked. Don´t worry.”, Philip fidgeted a little with his hands, looking for his keys.

“Uh-Uhm. Agents? We need to go. The concert…”

“You coming too?”, [y/n] asked, looking at JJ and she shrugged. “We could also invite the cute one…Luke. It´s about 20.000 people so two more won´t hurt…right Philly?”, Phillip nodded.

“You´re all invited. SSA Prentiss as well.”, he said and JJ smiled at them.

“Thank you. That´s very nice, but I´ll have to talk to them first.”, [y/n] shrugged at that and drank her beer.

“You have my number, just call when you know. We start half past eight.”, Philip then took the empty beer bottle from [y/n] and threw it away. “Show time.”

 *****

 Half an hour into the concert Luke had shown up, completely hyped.

 “What did I miss? We had some ex-staff members to talk to. Did they already play ‘Going to Hell’?”, Spencer nodded. “Argh, dammit. Doesn’t matter, that song´s amazing too.”

 During the whole concert Spencer watched [y/n]. The music wasn’t that bad, a little harsh, but it was mix of hard and alternative rock after all. At least that´s what Penelope said, when Luke started facetiming her. After the last costume change, Spencer pulled [y/n] aside. He asked her to not be so ‘touchy’ with her fans. Since she would kneel down and hold their hands. He tried telling her about the risks of having the unsub in the audience, but she only laughed.

 “I´ll be as touchy as I want, bitch.”, he started to frown.

“At least don’t stagedive. Luke says you always do that and the risk of the unsub use-“, she interrupted him, wanting to go on stage.

“Fuck off, dog.”, he held her arm, trying to reason with her.

“Can you ple-“, she tried pulling away, like an angry child.

“No.” “Stop being so fuck-“, [y/n] interrupted him again.

“Stop trying to fucking babysit me.”

“I just want to hel-“, she ripped her arm away. “Yeah, fuck you too.”, the rockstar answered, not letting him finish and walked back on stage.

 Philip walked up to Spencer, having seem the ordeal of him trying to talk to [y/n] and him now  driving the heel of his palm into his eyes. This girl gave him migraines.

 “What happened?”, Philip asked and Luke answered for Spencer.

“He told her not to stagedive.”, Philip laughed a little and shook his head.

“Oh yeah. Never tell her what to do. She hates that and then does it out of spite.”

“You don’t say?”, Spencer answered sarcastically.

 On stage [y/n] took her microphone, saying something to her bandmates and then smiling sweetly, while talking to her fans.

 “This next song is for my lovely new babysitter, who thinks he can tell me what to do.”, the crowd started booing and she laughed. “I know, I know. But it looks like he doesn’t know how things work around here…So I think we have to help him out a little.”

 The music started to play and Luke patted Spencer´s arm.

“She dedicates ‘Heaven Knows’ to you! Penny have you heard? She sings ‘Heaven Knows’ for Reid!”

“NO! SHUT UP!”, the blonde on the phone squeaked.

 He and Garcia started to freak out while Spencer watched [y/n] clapping her thigh and stomping to the beat.

“Jimmy's in the back with a pocket of high

If you listen close, you can hear him cry

Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

Sing it!”

She lifted the mic to her audience she started to sing for her.

Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below, way down below, way down below

“Judy's in the front seat picking up trash

Livin' on the dole, gotta make that cash

Won't be pretty, won't be sweet

She's just sittin' here on her feet singin'

Oh, Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

Go!”

Again her fans obeyed her, Luke and Penelope freaking out next to Spencer. If it wouldn’t have been a moment, were he had to fear which move she had planned next to unnerve him, he might have even enjoyed this song and the involvement of her fans in it.

Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

“Sing, oh Lord, tell us so, we belong way down below”

She now looked at him for a moment, while her audience sang. Before, again, walking around the stage, touching her fans hands.

Oh Lord, tell us so, we belong way down below

Way down below, way down below, way down below, way down below

“I've had better days, man, I've seen better days

I've had better ways, man, I know better ways

One, two, three and four, the devil's knocking at your door

Caught in the eye of a dead man's lie

Show your life with your head held high

Now you're on your knees with a head on low

Big man tells you where to go

Tell them it's good, tell 'em ok

Don't do a goddamn thing they say”

Spencer was surprised how well her fans knew her lyrics. She would just have to point at them or lift her mic and they would instantly sing were she stopped. Not missing a beat.

Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

Oh Lord, tell us so, we belong way down below

Way down below, way down below, way down below, way down below

“I've seen better ways, and I know better ways

I've seen better days, man, I've got better days”

[y/n] now stood at the edge of the stage, back turned to her audience. She smiled directly at Spencer, fingers held like a gun to her head.

“Gina's in the back with a pocket of high

If you listen close you can hear the cryin'”

At the last word she mimicked shooting herself and let herself fall back into the crowd. Her fans got wild and continued her song, while Spencer certainly not in a long time, if ever, felt so much spite and frustration against a woman, other than Cat Adams.

Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

Oh Lord, tell us so, we belong way down below

Singin' oh, Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below

Oh, Lord, tell us so, we belong way down below

The crown placed [y/n] back on her stage, where she walked up to her bandmates again, waving at Spencer and Luke with the sweetest smile.

Way down below, way down below, way down below, way down below, way down below

Way down below, way down below, way down below, way down below, way down below

 *****

 After the concert and the encores she and the band got behind stage, where Spencer for the least thirty minutes had waited to give her a piece of his mind. As [y/n] giggled and walked up to him and Luke. He grabbed her arm, a little harsher than planned.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”, she blinked at his yelling, answering with her innocent eyes blinking and a mocking tone.

“What´s the prob, dog?”

“What´s- Do you really care so little for your own safety?”, Hank came up to them, having seen Spencer´s grip on the girls arm.

“Hey! What´s going on here? [y/n], are you okay?”, Spencer quickly let go of her.

“Yeah, the dog is just pissing himself because I stage dived.”, he quickly took a deep breath.

“I´m not pissing myself, [y/n], but I told you not to do it. What would you have done when your stalker would´ve been in the crowd and lost it? Nobody would´ve been able to get to you fast enough and help!”, Hank looked at her in disappointed shock.

“Is that true, [y/n]?”, the black haired girl ignored her friend and just continued arguing with Spencer.

“Well, maybe I don’t want anybody’s help!”, she hissed at Spencer.

“Then why are we even here?”, Spencer hissed back. “BECAUSE I BRING MONEY! Else the label would let me rot in a fucking corner! GOD! You are ruining my after-show-high. I hate you!”, [y/n] yelled and Spencer tried not to yell back, tried to be the bigger person, only hissing back at her.

“Oh, trust me. That feeling is mutual.”, she swallowed hard and then turned around, stomping away.

 *****

After half an hour waiting, Spencer got a call from Philip, telling him that [y/n] refused to see him again and would be sleeping at his house tonight. He told him, that he should just let himself into the mansion and eat what´s in the fridge. It wasn’t from use, to try talking to [y/n], when she was that angry. Tomorrow Philip would call him and bring her back into Spencer´s care.

Spencer did as told, Luke driving him to the mansion, telling him that it wasn’t his fault. He then got into the large, empty mansion and grabbed himself a well-deserved beer. Being alone in this big house was depressing. After his third beer he stopped, walking into his room.

He pulled his blue and gold sobriety token, he had gotten for being clean ten years, out of his bag. Thumb rubbing over the golden X in the middle of it. He actually had deserved a twelve year token by now, but since prison didn’t actively attended the meetings anymore, having grown past it. Yet, he still kept the tokens he had, close to him.

They reminded him of his achievement, reminded him to be proud at himself.

Spencer never wanted to fall back into the dark hole he was in, when he was addicted, and even when [y/n] would throw tantrum after childish tantrum, she wouldn’t cause him to relapse. He was stronger than this. Stronger than her.

To be continued...

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[forthiswholeworld]

for @cursed-or-not because we’re thriving on each other’s clownery (page break bc this got Too Long to inflict on unsuspecting dashes) 

They’ve had Cas back for four days when Dean realizes something is wrong.

For a paralyzing moment, he stumbles on the thought, feels the fear of it choking him as he freezes in the doorway with a mug of coffee in his hand. He watches Cas blink dazedly at Sam’s debriefing on the rugaru in San Antonio and wills himself forward, wills his mind not to go straight to darkness and loss and cosmic consequences. Cas flashes a ragged smile as Dean sets the mug in front of him, and it occurs to Dean that maybe this is less about cosmic consequences than it is humanity. 

Now that Dean thinks about it, he can see it: the circles under his eyes, the weary slope of his back-- the things Dean had attributed to resurrection rather than humanity. 

Cas is human, though, and Dean thinks he needs to remember that before he remembers that he was gone. 

Cas needs food and laundry detergent and coffee and sleep, and now that he thinks about it Dean is absolutely sure he hasn’t seen Cas touch his bed since he got back. 

He doesn’t bring it up; they’ve been here before. They’ve come back and kept secrets and spent sleepless nights trying to fix things before, and heart-to-hearts have never gotten them anywhere. 

Instead, Dean drinks three pots of coffee and waits.

It’s 2:07 AM when he hears the echo of footsteps in the hallway. He swings open the door and tries to look like he hasn’t been waiting in ambush as Cas freezes.

“Dean,” he says, voice rough and a little frantic, and Dean is reminded of the days he’d wake up to Cas blithely watching him from the foot of his bed. (The days when Heaven filled the space between them and Dean didn't understand the difference between being a human and being human.) 

He watches Cas’ eyes flit away from his gaze and smiles brazenly. “Trouble sleeping?” 

Cas shifts on his feet. “No,” he says like he’s not the worst liar in the entire multiverse.

Dean holds his gaze for another beat before breathing a sigh. “Cas.” He settles back against the doorframe to scrutinize him. “What’s up?” 

Cas swallows. His eyes trace a scuff on the floor. “It gets so quiet here at night,” he mutters, and Dean understands.

He works his jaw as he realizes. He thinks he should’ve recognized the signs. He should’ve seen the tired eyes and haunted glances and known then, because Dean doesn’t know what it’s like to come back from nothingness, but he knows what it’s like to close his eyes and see hell.

He watches Cas’s gaze flit from the floor to the wall behind him and settle just above Dean’s left shoulder, and he’s not consciously aware of deciding anything but he’s inhaling to say something, and he guesses it better be good because there’s not a whole lot he can say to heal emptiness. 

“Sleep in my room,” he says, and he’s not sure which of them it surprises more.

“Dean—” Cas starts, and Dean knows he’s going to refuse, but there’s a millisecond where his gaze catches on Cas’s and there’s something heavy in the space between them, and Dean knows what it is but he’s always refused to put a name to it.

Cas swallows as he looks away. “As long as you don’t mind,” he says, and Dean also tears his gaze away before he can do something dumb like consider the vulnerability of it. 

“Come on then,” he mutters as he heads back into his room. “You can take the bed.”

“Dean—” Cas protests like Dean knew he would, and Dean narrowly avoids rolling his eyes.

“We’ll both take it then,” he says before he can ponder the sheer idiocy of it. 

Cas hesitates beside the bed, but Dean thinks he must be either too tired or too apathetic to argue, because he swallows and steps forward. 

Cas is careful as he pulls back the comforter and settles in; he’s careful not to take too much blanket or too much space, and they both lie stiffly on their respective sides of the bed until Dean decides he can’t take it anymore and clears his throat a little obnoxiously. He hears Cas huff a laugh. 

“You said it was too quiet,” Dean says softly, and he’s grateful for the darkness because he thinks he’s wearing a damningly fond expression. 

He thinks he feels Cas relax as he mutters, “that’s on me, then.” 

The stillness doesn’t feel so stifling after that, and he hears Cas’s breathing start to even out. 

He can feel the thrum of caffeine in his veins as he watches the ceiling. Even in the dark, he can see the outline of the ceiling fan, the trimming on the wall, the chair in the corner. He can hear Cas’s breathing, feel the warmth in the space between them, and he realizes he has no idea what emptiness is. He wonders how long it’s been since Cas closed his eyes without seeing it. 

He lies awake for the next three hours, but the rise and fall of Cas’s chest is steady and even beside him, so the caffeine overdose is a small price to pay. There are no windows in his room, but if there were he’d be able to see the first hazy traces of sunrise filtering in by the time he starts to drift off. 

Cas is gone when he wakes up. 

He staggers out of his room just before noon, and Cas doesn’t quite meet his eye as he wordlessly hands him a plate of pancakes, courtesy of Sam and Eileen, but Dean thinks the circles under his eyes look a little less absurd, and it’s enough. 

The next night, Dean leaves his door open. 

He isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but 11:00 rolls around and he’s just getting ready to turn out the lights when he hears a tentative knock at the doorframe. He looks up to see Cas in the doorway. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cas mumbles, and something about his awkward stance and fragile uncertainty makes Dean’s chest ache. 

He thinks this is where he becomes brash; this is where he scoffs a laugh and brushes off this heaviness like neither of their shoulders are bowed under the weight of what-ifs. This is where he flees back to the safe side of the lines they’ve drawn. 

He swallows. “You wanna come in?” 

Cas stills. “I--” his eyes flit to Dean and then away in a millisecond. “No. I just--” 

“Cas,” Dean interrupts, and he guesses he’s being reckless instead of brash and can’t say whether it’s for the best but he can feel the thrill of it in his veins. “Get in here.” 

Cas watches him for half a beat, probably just as surprised as Dean is that he’s managed not to be a defensive asshole about this, and then he swallows. “Thank you.” 

Dean thinks he absolutely doesn’t deserve a thank you, but Cas shuffles in and hesitates at the side of the bed and before he can say as much he’s pulling the comforter aside to make room. 

Dean falls asleep earlier tonight; he thinks it has something to do with not being hyped up on three pots of coffee and the thrill of reckless, stupid ideas. He’s not sure when Cas nodded off, but he wakes up at 3:42 to the sound of gasping, panicked breathing. 

“Cas?” He asks with a sleep-worn voice but he’s halfway across the bed, reaching for Cas’s shoulder before he can get a response or take half a second to consider how horrible an idea this is. 

“Dean,” Cas breathes, and Dean isn’t sure if it’s a question or an answer or a prayer but Cas’s breath mingles with his as he says it and something in the fragile space between them finally shatters as Cas leans into the touch. 

Dean pulls him into his chest, holds him there and tries not to let the ache of it convince him he’s going to regret this.

Cas clutches the back of Dean’s shirt like it’s all that’s keeping him tethered to this world where things are allowed to make noise and wake up and see light, and Dean rests his palms against Cas’s shoulders and wishes he had the words to promise he’s holding on just as tight. 

Dean isn’t sure how long it is, whether it’s two minutes or three hours or an eternity, but Cas’s grip on his shirt loosens, and he breathes less stuttered exhales, and he rests his chin somewhere in the crook of Dean’s shoulder and closes his eyes. 

Dean leans slowly back against the headrest and thinks he’s never been very good at this. 

The intimacy of it is familiar—the weight of an arm over his stomach, the heady tangle of limbs, the needy warmth— that’s always come naturally to him. It’s the tenderness that gets him. It’s the brush of Cas’ breath against his neck, the softness of ten years of fear and loss and a word that Dean can’t say as easily as he should. It’s the ache where the rhythm of his pulse screams something between I want this forever and I’m so afraid.  

Cas is gone when he wakes up. 

Cas is gone, and Dean’s arm is stiff and he wonders if it will ever be enough just to hold an angel haunted by empty nights. 

That night, he tells himself he isn't waiting for the knock. 

He tells himself he’s not waiting, but he hears the shuffle of bare feet in the hall and a single rap at the door and a millisecond later he’s swinging it open. 

Tonight, there’s no apologetic hesitance or fumbling for words.

There’s Cas, standing plainly in the doorway and there’s Dean, dropping his hand from the doorknob and standing too close. There’s the tilt of Cas’s head as he searches Dean’s face for something Dean knows with terrified certainty he’ll find, and there’s Dean’s gaze flitting to his mouth for a stupid, breathless moment. There’s the part of Cas’s lips and the desperate beating of Dean’s heart, the distant electric buzz of the lights and the hitch of his breath as Cas leans forward—

There’s the cluttered breath and scrape of teeth as their mouths crash together.

His lungs stutter on the drag of stubble and chapped lips and tired warmth, and because he never thought he’d be allowed to, he pulls Cas in, clutches the front of his shirt and crowds him up against the doorway until they’re pressed together and they can both feel the desperate rhythm of his pulse. Cas’s fingers ghost over his jaw and something in Dean is absolutely dizzy with the realness of it. 

He doesn’t know how long it is before Cas breaks away but he feels ready to shatter. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cas says, and Dean breathes a ragged laugh into his shoulder. 

There are still things he can’t say, words that form in his chest sit and like a lump in his throat and will probably stay unsaid for just a little while longer, but he lets his arms circle Cas’ waist and murmurs “sleep in here, then,” and he has to bury his face in the crook of Cas’ neck to hide a stupidly fond smile.  

Cas breathes a soft “thank you” against his temple as Dean pulls him toward the bed, and Dean can hear the worn tiredness in his voice and thinks that might be all there is for a while but for the first time in their lives they have time, and it’s enough. 

It’s enough, he thinks, and he pulls Cas against his chest and holds onto him until there’s no empty space between them. 

[camilliar]

recs for someone new to omgcp

[February 2021.]

Reading, or not reading, OMGCP fics has come up in a couple of conversations I’ve had recently with artists newish to the fandom (ie. @jovishark; @decafffff), who are making OMGCP art (!!!) but haven’t started exploring fic -- but maybe want to? Which of course reminded me that I’ve never bothered to make an actual, concrete recs list for this fandom. So, I mean. Here is one.

The approach is, what do I think about when I think about OMGCP fanfic? What comes to mind, what stands out to me? I have excluded some very popular fics. Some of these I just don’t think are very good, and others I do think are good, and/or I enjoy them, but I don’t see why you’d need me, specifically, to recommend them. I am thinking of a story like maybe i’m waking up, which I discuss below because I link to a podfic of it. It has a lot of merits, to be sure, but it’s the second-most-read fic in this fandom by hits, and it’s got thousands of comments, and it’s by an author whose work is relatively widely praised and circulated. I am not sure what telling you more about this fic will add to the conversation; if you want to find and read it, you inevitably will. I’m happy to, say, answer asks about these kinds of fics, or talk more generally about them via DM or whatever. Feel free.

Also, I don’t think there’s a point to pretending to be objective about fanfic; this list has a perspective and that perspective is mine. In this fandom I largely read stories that navigate the tension around Jack, Bitty, and Parse, in various permutations. This is not to say that I’ve never read fic about the frogs, or that I have no interest at all in other pairings, but I am by no means an expert on Dex/Nursey and can really only speak to the one fic about them that sticks out to me because it goes beyond being merely Dex/Nursey and does something else. This is just to say that I am sure there are great and interesting fics about other things and ideas--but I’m not the person to hear about those from.

Likewise, I’m not super interested in stories that really reproduce that which is already in OMGCP. I like Zimbits--albeit maybe not in the ways or for the reasons most fans would--but I do not really need to see endless iterations of the same story about them falling in love and being cute together. I don’t think these stories are bad or they shouldn’t exist or that they have no merit by default. Still, I don’t need fanfic to give me more OMGCP. I need fanfic to complicate, to comment on, and to transform OMGCP. Many people don’t work like this! Totally okay! But I can’t rec you fics that do that.

What I have noticed, however, is that over time there appears to have been a shift in how people do write fic for this fandom. (Other than, you know, increases and decreases in activity pending the status of the comic, pairings going in and out of vogue, and so on.) Early on, say during Y1 and Y2, the comic was about the group of friends having a cool time at college together; about whether the burgeoning attraction between Jack and Bitty would manifest and, if so, how; and, especially, Jack’s past coming into fuller view for Bitty and how it would have to be dealt with in order for a relationship between them to work. YMMV on how great the comic executed there, but as Y3 went on these themes increasingly disappeared from the story. I think this means a lot of fic written over 2015-2016 or 2017 has one kind of tone, and was written mostly around these questions; after that, it feels like a new crop of writers and a new crop of ideas started circulating, that is, either embracing Jack and Bitty’s canon relationship and accepting its relative straightforwardness in text--or deconstructing it, imagining what readers aren’t seeing, or how problems not dealt with in the comic would manifest later. People who have read my fic know which of these I’m mainly interested in exploring.

All of which is to say, looking at what I’m reccing here, when the fics were posted or when I first read them probably has a lot to do with why they stick out to me so much. Because there’s no real culture of fanfic criticism--and I mean that in the positivist sense of broad evaluation not explicitly for fault and merit but rather, for context--I think it’s really hard to keep this in mind. But I’m obnoxious and I can’t just be easy about things.

Fic recs

In alphabetical order, somewhat unsorted; if a stand-alone fic has a summary I’ve included it, but in other cases I’ve recced a couple of conceptually related fics or series, which I’ve tried to just describe or explain as opposed to copying the summary off AO3.

There are so many more fanfics I think are great and worth reading! In an ideal world I’d come back and add more later, or create a secondary list that’s more along the lines of “if you like this, read these,” or whatever. But, being realistic, this is a starter kit. I’m open to talking about fanfic.

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7-0-2 by Idday; Friends in Low Places and Sorry for the Blood in Your Mouth; I Wish it was Mine by blue_rocket_frost | I’m not sure it would be correct to say that I don’t like Parse/Tater, or that I’m not interested in Parse/Tater. I’m not interested in Patater a priori; I think it could be interesting, with teeth. These fics stick out to me when I think about this pairing, because they feel different. Accusations of a preference for just linking any two white men who happen to be hanging around have validity, but because of what hockey is and how it works and who’s hanging around it, it’s not exactly a leap to imagine what kind of gritty spark the friction between two closeted NHL players would create. A little violence in your sex? A little sex in your violence.

A Sight Worth Seeing by sadtomato | A four-fic Jack/Bitty/Shitty/Lardo explicit BDSM series. Either you want that or you don’t. It’s nothing hardcore, and not properly a four-way, really; more properly a kind of voyeuristic round-robin. There’s a more open and egalitarian view of sex here than I really get from the characters in the back end of the comic. It’s an expansive, propulsive view of sex and relationships that’s really nice to see. I love Lardo's detached coolness, and Bitty as a smooth operator; if you’re looking for some kind of Dom/sub dynamics world, this really isn’t it, but it’s a lively exploration into the sexual dynamics in a group of friends that’s super close to the good-times vibe you get from Haus scenes in the first couple years of extras.

call me son (one more time) by Summerfrost, Verbyna, and blithelybonny | This is a series, incomplete, and you will love it or be massively put off by it. I mean that as a compliment. I love it. The premise is, Bob Zimmermann and Kent Parson have been having sex since Kent was, like, 19. Everyone in this story has been chewed up: by themselves, by each other, by hockey. Plainly, this is a pretty bleak view of what OMGCP, as a story, is supposedly offering. If you want fic that is dark and glamorous, treading the toxic melange of substance abuse, sex-as-sublimation, and so much money you can’t possibly throw all of it away without trying, this series has that sick-inducing shimmer to it. But, again, its strength is its examination of Kent Parson, textually and meta-textually, as someone to be projected onto. Bob, Alicia, Jack, and Bitty all impute certain feelings of their own onto him, displacing their own issues to a character who’s centralized in every fic but defies neat or total comprehension. Some critiques I’ve read of this series feel it’s too dark, and I’ve also seen it argued on FFA that an overwhelming amount of praise heaped onto these stories has made it tough for other writers to make headway in writing Bob/Kent fic. But I’m also not sure you could engage with Bob/Kent fic without going down this road at some point? I’m sure there are ways to scale it back, but ultimately it’s a story about how hockey’s violent, homophobic, old-guard gatekeeping has continued to set the terms for a younger and ostensibly less toxic culture. I fully embrace PWP fics that tread on the power dynamic without fully excavating it, but buried within any PWP is the fact that a 53-year-old man is ensnaring a 19-year-old, no matter how much the latter is, realistically, into it, and legally empowered to consent. Not to mention the dynamics of it being a 53-year-old man who is the father of the 19-year-old’s ex-boyfriend, and a 53-year-old man who is an eminence grise in the field the 19-year-old is trying to make a career in  The sexual element--the vaguely incestuous nature of it--is making textual the subtext of how hockey works, actually: objectification of teenage bodies as older men’s capital.

Coach Z by thistidalwave | Just before the 2009 NHL Entry Draft, tp prospect Jack Zimmermann overdoses on his anxiety medication and is admitted to rehab. His future turns from a clear-cut road to the top into an uncertain path filled with therapy appointments, ignored text messages, a group of boys who aren't there to teach him a lesson about himself, and, of course, hockey. | I keep reccing this fic because it has 360 comments on AO3 but nobody, as far as I can tell, has ever read it; it never appears on rec lists. This isn’t the kind of fanfic I usually go in for, but I can’t help being charmed by it. This is a character study in the truest sense, a kind of Mighty Ducks-but-better view on what Jack’s time coaching peewee hockey might have been like. I have no interest in kids and my own aesthetic is maybe a little darker than this, but I admire this story because it injects vibrancy into a period of Jack’s life that OMGCP has left largely unexplored, and so has the fandom. We know nothing about what made Jack want to go to college, nothing about how he spent his days in between juniors and Samwell. It posits a very sympathetic and patient Jack/Parse dynamic, showcasing the exact kind of ragged teenage push-and-pull that would have led to the circumstances we see in Parse I-III. The outside perspective Jack needs is largely present in an OFC who’s not a love interest. Super unique, somehow both engrossing and low-key.

#dirtbags by angularmomentum | A series that is a Kent Parson/Claude Giroux fuckfest with feelings. I’ve long suspected that Parse is popular in part because he is the character who most easily elides OMGCP with the actual NHL, or rather, NHL fandom; I think he made it appealing to write OMGCP fics where the NHL is a factor. Case in point, this series, which is basically “what if Kent Parson was a real hockey player and therefore part of NHL RPS”? I have only read some NHL RPS, so I’m not the person to assess accuracy, but what I do know is superstar IRL hockey players take turns here as the caricature fanfic versions of themselves, and since Kent Parson is already that, it’s great how seamlessly he integrates into their social fabric. Rambunctious energy peppered with regret and loss, but ultimately this series is farcical, and it doesn’t take its sentimental ending too seriously--which, good.

fated to pretend by nighimpossible | 5 Jack/Kent fics that Ransom and Holster dramatically reenact for the Haus + the truth. | As a fic format, 5+1 doesn’t usually work for me, but this one isn’t just front-loaded with five too-knowing vignettes; it then wraps up by using its +1 better than you might expect. Sometimes I talk about economy of fic, and this one exemplifies it. A zero-waste fic.

go ahead and move along by originally | "Leave, Parse," Jack says. Again. Or: Kent finds himself stuck in a time loop. | Kent Parson is trapped in a Groundhog Day scenario on the day of Epikegster. I’m sure you can imagine, just from that, what happens. And yet I think this fic is super entertaining, reserving some key surprises. What this story is doing is something a lot, and perhaps even the majority, of great Jack/Parse fic wants to do: digging into the question of just why this can’t work in comic canon. Most often this is approached from the past, by writing teenage Jack/Parse deep-dives that examine their lives mid-juniors, or by writing AUs where enough circumstances are shifted that it does work, or via future fics that posit enough growth has happened, and enough things have changed. But this fic makes Parse live the same bad day again and again, testing multiple theories about just how dependent on circumstance and incident real life actually is. Another day, another tone, 10 minutes sooner, not at all--you just can’t know why it didn’t work until you exhaust every possible variable. I worry that this rec has sucked the life out of the story, though--it’s so fun!

I Saw a Life and Strange Lovers by @bluegrasshole | Most AUs in this fandom seem to retell the story in a new setting or with some big detail change, following OMGCP’s rhythm beat-for-beat. I think of this as, “It’s the plot of Check, Please, but” -- they’re doing high school football? They’re acrobats? They’re a/b/o? They’re in a DIY punk band? And so on. These two stories are not that! They’re both 1950s AUs, each deeply felt, and yet hugely different from each other. I Saw a Life is about displacement and fragmentation, two sides of a similar but incongruent social critique; Strange Lovers is a finely wrought social drama about coal mining in Nova Scotia in the 1950s, centered around historical events. I suppose a theme on this rec list is something like, “I don’t even like this, but” -- yes, okay, I don’t even like Dex/Nursey, but--! This fic is so overwhelmingly complete, the AU laid out so carefully that the story breathes with all the background details informing the writing that aren’t actually, in the story; you just know they’re below the surface. (With the exception of one investigation of Jack’s character in a short, separate fic.) I Saw a Life, meanwhile, really tests the limits of the notion that Jack and Bitty are soulmates--not by calling it into question but by asking, rather innovatively, how the setting and place of the comic itself activates that.

Les Hivers de mon enfance by staranise | What do you do when hockey is the language of prayer for your soul, and also the toxic thing that almost killed you? 2009: Jack Zimmermann takes a mental health year. God knows he needs it. | Here’s a fic by someone who’s no longer around so much, but she felt ubiquitous in 2016-2019 OMGCP fandom. Before any of that, though, she wrote this one lovely fic about Jack’s pre-Samwell recovery. The author is Canadian and really irritated by hockey culture, and I think this fic benefits greatly because she is clear-eyed about Jack’s being caught in an exploitative system; it’s hockey he’s in recovery for, in a way. There’s an epistolary element that works for me, too. I read this early on in my time in OMGCP fandom and it really stuck with me.

Lysistrata? I Hardly Know Her! (by which I mean everything) by @tomatowrites | It feels somehow like cheating to recommend OMGCP fanfics by my OMGCP BFF with whom I make an OMGCP podcast where we talk about OMGCP. You know the fics I really want to rec, like truly the ones that speak to some kind of shared depravity, are the ones where Jack is miserably mpreg for the second time and accidentally lets his kid see Kent Parson’s Long John Silver’s shrimp scampi promo spot, which obviously would get twisted into a self-hating three-way. How many times do I have to rec this fic? As many as I need to, is my feeling. If you don’t know, Long John Silver’s is an American fast-food chain that sells, like, fried pollock sandwiches; it is nautical-themed; I have never eaten there; I don’t know where there is one; I don’t eat fried fish. (Shrimp, on the other hand?) All of which is to say that it takes a real genius to investigate a premise that far out. And while a lot of people almost certainly will start reading this humanity’s depths-themed sex scene and back the fuck out, readers with refined taste will note that Kent, the point-of-view character, is right there with you, despairing that he can’t help himself. And so long as you’re in that story collection, honestly, you’ll love petite gems like Jack is transmasc, Jack and Shitty play hockey in 18th-century England, and oh, right, he’s from Georgia. Tomato holds the distinction of being probably the gamest author I know in this fandom, just really like fearless in her pursuit of any range of concept she’s pushed to. (I can push her to?) See, for example, a sublime bandom AU; Bitty is cancelled for buying a maybe-unethically exported Roman fragment of a youth’s torso; or, god, the masterwork that is this future fic series where Jack keeps relapsing and Bitty exiles him to their guesthouse. Do I think you need to read a fic where Bitty is snide about the teen prostitute whose baby they’re adopting? Yes, I mean, he would be snide, don’t tell me he wouldn’t. I could go on, but my main thing here is, if I have to pick just one, I’m going to pick this Lysistrata fic. The premise, literally, is that Bitty reads the Lysistrata and it gives him ideas. Like most of Tomato’s OMGCP fic, it’s a stripping away of the comic’s polite fiction that Jack and Bitty could possibly attain the ideal it reaches in the comic without some kind of messy, efflusive breakdown. Life is like that, you see! Tricky. Like a lot of people, although it’s tough to say precisely how many, I have always intuited that maybe Bitty is kind of a natural top? But obviously when you meet him, as a literal virgin, it’s hard to see how he’d go from zero to self-actualization so neatly. This fic floats a theory, and it has a fun little side plot for Whiskey, something I never thought about or needed before Tomato built it out herein. In conclusion, BONUS: Dex’s gay lobster novel.

only fools rush in and the light of all lights by decinq | This person wrote of the nature of the wound, one of the early, formative Jack/Bitty fics that was oft-recced when I was getting into the fandom in 2016. It forms part of a larger series that deals deeply with how Jack has been shaped by his struggles (? I hate this word) with homophobia and his own mental health. It’s a picture of the character as you might have imagined him much earlier in the comic’s run. The formatting is atrocious and he author’s flair is what Tomato would call “AO3 house style.” It’s a voice that works great for her writing. I think it’s at its best in these shorter fics; the former is about Parse and Shitty stumbling into a relationship almost accidentally; the latter, an eerie PBJ vampire fic. I had begun writing a fic where Parse is a vampire early on in this fandom, only to read this and immediately quit, because you only need one, and this one’s all I need. The Parse/Shitty rare pair fic shares its exuberance with hockey RPS when it’s good: here’s how fun it can be when you’re young, rich, and jocular. And I don’t even like accidental marriage AUs, they’re usually boring, so that says a lot. By all means, read the wound fic; read the entire series. But these are highly unusual.

OVERDOSE and Oomph and a little spin-o-rama by jedusaur | None of these are long, or plotty, and they’re all a little experimental. OVERDOSE is an AU set in a world where you know how you’ll die, but no details; Oomph, a little fic where Jack hears hockey pucks talking to him. This is the kind of stuff I used to think I’d find in fandom forever, coming out of Lotrips lurking in the 2000s: short, zany bursts of energy that surprise and delight. a little spin-o-rama peers at Kent’s character through the grim reality of being the hypertalented superstar stuck on a dead-last team. All three are sparse and stylish in a way that’s really smart, practically economical.

Sowing Season by @agrossunderstatement | Parse and Zimms, Zimms and Parse. Kent Parson's life, from the Q, through his early years with the Aces, to Jack's senior year. Canon divergent. A story of love, loss, moving on, regressing, hockey, and found families of all kinds. | Effectively a novel, digging into Kent’s personal history, mostly concerning his life in juniors but expanding into his present, overlapping with the plot of OMGCP. I think there is room enough for endless speculations on what went down pre-canon; this one offers a fuller life for Kent than nearly any others, digging into him as a whole person rather than as a satellite to Jack or the plot of the comic. Which isn’t to say that the Kent/Jack stuff isn’t dealt with here; it explicitly is. But the fact of Kent Parson’s life, if we can begin to imagine it beyond mere text, would exist before, after, and alongside Jack; he gets to juniors without Jack, presumably, and he is the captain of a hockey team without Jack, and Pinkerton lays the foundation of Parse’s character within a junior hockey that Jack also inhabits, more so that Parse existing for Jack, so to speak. And I’m not implying this latter tactic is wrong; I have certainly employed it, and others have employed it to great impact and effect. But, still, the title of this series tells you what you ought to know: Kent and his story are the potentiality of OMGCP, up to a point; seeds being planted. Young hockey players, similarly. The question implied there is, what will be reaped? And the answer to the latter, in a sense, that reaping is a sort of violence. Which makes this series sound pretty heavy, but it’s not -- more like, realistic.

(tell everyone) you were a good wife by @queerofcups | The biggest problem with pretending that he doesn’t know that Kent Parson is fucking his husband is that Jack can’t tell Kent how grateful he is. | The ne plus ultra of PBJ triangulation; I’ve been squealing to the writer about how good it is since August, begging for behind-the-scenes insights, and I’d only do that if I really meant it. The precarious social fabric stretched across these three chapters is fraying before the reader’s eyes. The details are delicious, and I don’t want to spoil them, but they sing in chorus with the plot. My favorite OMGCP fics, honestly, remove the romance narrative guardrails that keep things in the comic itself humming along. I think Dann’s take is to ask who in this comic has power and what they would end up doing with it. (Or not doing, from another angle.) At one point, early on in its telling, OMGCP looked like it was going to be a story dealing with the compounded traumas of hockey’s discontents. Then, of course, it wasn’t. This is a fic that steps back and asks what the fallout of that oversight would be. But that’s just the moldering core of this fanfic; it’s actually embroidered, like I said, with glittering detail. The color of the suit Bitty wears to his wedding is burned into my brain. The gray manicure of a woman Jack knows. The ingredients in a cake. This is one of those fics I still haven’t reviewed because the thought of stacking everything I could say about it into mere AO3 comments is inadequate.

when you’re ready by megancrtr | The Aces’ director of communications gets the call at 3:13 a.m. Jack Zimmermann has withdrawn from the draft. | “What happened at the draft” is so mythological it gets asked in the comic proper, and I’ve never counted how many fics attempt to answer this question--from Kent’s point of view, even--but it’s gotta be, oh, hundreds. This story replays the situation from the perspective of an Aces staffer who just wants to do her job, and gets at the jarring discordance between the plot of OMGCP in its quest for social justice and the business of actual hockey. Important context is that this story was written around the time the comic was playing out the end of Y3 and start of Y4, and Bitty pointedly asked Jack the question, “why can’t we?” This story reframes the question as literal, rather than rhetorical. A sterling example of fanfic being a gloss on its source.

BONUS, podfics

hockeyed up | There are many things on Jack's mind. Namely: hockey, hockey, Bitty, hockey, anxiety, hockey, hockey, anxiety, Bitty, hockey, hockey, anxiety, and hockey. | A fic read aloud by its French-Canadian author. Also a relatively early OMGCP fanfic; composed while the first semester of Y2 was posting, the story suggests a version of OMGCP that was in some ways more and in other ways less complex than what it would turn into not long after. The real power of this podfic, however, is that it’s read by the writer, so you can hear the intended emphasis in every line. Also, because she’s French-Canadian, Sophie’s intonation is what I picture when I read or write dialogue for Jack.

maybe i’m waking up | It’s almost funny. All he ever wanted was to play hockey, to play in the NHL, to win the Cup. This—Samwell, the team, the Haus—was supposed to be just a detour, but now it feels more like a destination he failed to realize he’s already reached.(Or: Jack signs with the Falconers, graduates, and leaves. It's the hardest thing he's ever done. What comes after is even harder.) | Don’t get too excited; this isn’t finished. A podfic of probably the best-known, most-recced fic in OMGCP fandom. Striking for its use of metatext woven into the story, this is one of several early longform Jack/Bitty fics that posits that maybe Jack has a lot more development to undergo before he can really, truly, be okay--or be okay enough to be with Bitty? To be honest, this story strikes me now as too long, but the parts in it that work are effective beyond that which fanfic demands. Meanwhile, this audio version only covers six chapters, but it’s so slick, so well-realized, so true to the story. Podfic as art.

my own dear friends | Ever since the day he met Jack Zimmermann, Shitty has seen it as his solemn duty to aggressively love him. (He just didn't know how aggressive the love Jack needed would be.) | There’s previous little Jack/Shitty in this fandom and a lot less quality BDSM,

the city’s ours until the fall | Kent has been, historically, good at this—forgetting about things until suddenly he doesn’t, and then it’s like the scar has never been there in the first place, just the wound. (Or: Kent Parson lets himself be happy, after all this time.) | I’ve never read this fic and I never will. I cannot imagine how, no matter how good it is, it could compare to the version that lives in my head, with Kent’s voice so totally realized. Vocal fry and pathos, a languid energy that I still think about when I think about Parse.

the model home | It’s going to be better, and that’s great, but sometimes Jack thinks, why can’t it be good right now? | j/k j/k, this is a self-reminder to finally one day review this.

[feysandfeels]

Which TS songs remind you of the different couples in SJM’s books???

Boy do I ??

You are a blessed soul for asking me this, and know that I adore you. 

There is now a part II to this.

Feysand:

Begin Again: “I've been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does Is break and burn, and end But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again” Baby Feyre finding that love is not toxic, that love is supportive, that love can be wonderful. “You said you never met one girl who had As many James Taylor records as you But I do” but think of is as “he said he never met a girl who wasn’t afraid of his power, but i do”. Also also “Walked in expecting you'd be late But you got here early and you stand and wave I walk to you” because Feyre’s used to T*mlin’s mediocre ass but Rhys surprised her by being a decent human and treating her with respect, which makes her realize that she was starved for respect and that T*mlin was not giving her what every decent human being should get from the get go from their partner.

Ivy: Feyre slowly falling in love with Rhys, thinking about Rhys in the Spring Court between Night Court visits Also throughout ACOMAF how she battles with her ever growing feelings for the Lord of the Night, while feeling guilty about T*mlin, because they *just broke up*: “Oh, goddamn My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand Taking mine, but it's been promised to another Oh, I can't Stop you putting roots in my dreamland My house of stone, your ivy grows And now I'm covered in you” and “I wish to know The fatal flaw that makes you long to be Magnificently cursed He's in the room Your opal eyes are all I wish to see He wants what's only yours”.

End game: I can practically see Rhys singing this in the shower thinking about Feyre, when she decided to work with him and him thinking like “YES THIS HAS TO BE A SIGN”. His reputation precedes him and in rumours he’s knee deep, him and Feyre would be a big conversation, he has enemies, he has heard about her and she has heard about him. He thinks “she’s so dope that he might overdose”. She’s been calling his bluff on all his usual tricks so here’s the truth from his red lips!!!!!

Dress: “Even in my worst times, you could see the best in me Flashback to my mistakes My rebounds, my earthquakes Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me And I woke up just in time Now I wake up by your side My one and only, my lifeline”. Need I say more? I think not your honor. 

Call it what you want: “I said you don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?” That’s Feyre’s whole arc, I rest my case.

Nessian: the happiness I feel about the fact that these two are together is just enough to make me smile on a Monday

False God - The song literally opens up saying “We were crazy to think Crazy to think that this could work Remember how I said I'd die for you” HELLOOOO?? NESTA THINKING ABOUT THAT SCENE IN ACOWAR?? but also feeling that she’s unworthy of Cassian and that there is no way in hell that he will love her with all that she is.

Don’t Blame Me - The power of this song lies in the I unapologetic- powerful-full on I give myself to you and I will do it over and over again energy it has. And this is the energy that Nesta has for Cassian (even when homegirl really tries to pretend otherwise lol boo you tried). The “through your love I found salvation” religious aspect of Don’t blame me is Nesta, because through Cassian’s love and presence she found the perspective she needed on herself. Also this book was a religious experience for me. Jesus fuck.

Sparks Fly: From Cassian to Nesta, with love. First of all Cassian would be a diehard swiftie (all of the bat boys for that matter, merch a the concert, what will we do if we get invited to the rep room?? fans. Az woud be like the quiet yet “no, speak one ill word of Taylor and that’s your end, she did nothing wrong she was framed and I have evidence”). Second of all “The way you move is like a full on rainstorm And I'm a house of cards You're the kind of reckless that should send me running But I kinda know that I won't get far” That’s him alright, that’s him knowing that Nesta is a force to be reckoned with and he wants nothing nothing but to be in that storm and live within the force of nature that she is. Thirdly “My mind forgets to remind me, your a bad idea You touch me once and it's really something You find I'm even better than you, imagined I would be I'm on my guard for the rest of the world But with you I know its no good And I could wait patiently But I really wish you would” 

Elucien: This is an Elucien blog. 

Lover - In all honesty wanted to give this song to Feysand, because they are my main otp and this song is the highest of the high from Taylor, but I can’t deny the fact that this song screams Elucien. “With every guitar string scar on my hand” I think is a beautiful parallel for Elain and gardening, “My heart’s been borrowed, and yours has been blue” this speaks of Gr*yson and Jesminda, “I loved you three summers now but I want them all” that’s Lucien speaking ma’am. “Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?”, both of them about the bond. “And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me and at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover” we all know Lucien has a mind for dirty jokes and sass and Elain would always save him the sit next to her because he is the one who truly saw her and, in his distance, was the presence she needed while she figured it all out. Finally, The fact that the song has very clear wedding tones I think fits the headcanon, that more than a mating ceremony, Elucien would have a wedding, because it feels like something Elain would feel more comfortable with. 

Treacherous -“I can't decide if it's a choice Getting swept away I hear the sound of my own voice Asking you to stay”..... mmmmmm is this or isn’t it Elain getting closer to Lucien, but still wondering if it’s the bond or her, yet nonetheless surrendering to the fact that she wants him to stay. “This slope is treacherous This path is reckless This slope is treacherous And I, I, I like it” Elain doesn’t want an easy love, to simple do as the bond suggests she wants something that has twigs and branches and where she needs to question herself and truly ask what she wants out of life and this relationship. Also the softness of the melody juxtaposed with the vulnerability, brings a soft rawness that is Elain. 

King of my heart: Neither of them expected to feel like they could love with all the hope and unapologetic free falling feel characteristic of first loves, yet here we are. They rule their kingdom inside the room because they are discovering their feelings for each other away from prying eyes and people that have expectations on how they should work with the mating bond and all that. “Late in the night, the city's asleep Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep Change my priorities The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury” Again, with the love away from everyone, feeling their world shift around what they are starting to feel for one another. “Is the end of all the endings? My broken bones are mending With all these nights we're spending” did we say healing arc through love and support an “not expecting anything to come off this, but I just want to see you well” à la sjm?? I THINK WE DID.

Emorie: I’m working with crumbs here, delicious crumbs that will make a delicious emorie cake, but crumbs nonetheless.. I need more and I need it now.

I think he knows - My girl Emerie crushing hard hard haaaaaaaaard on Mor.

Cruel Summer - “I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you And I snuck in through the garden gate Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh) And I screamed for whatever it's worth "I love you, " ain't that the worst thing you ever heard” this is prime PRIME PRIME ANGST, we will get from these two.  

Gwynriel: this is an edit because I'm not a hoe for these two (yet...trust me once I see Az heal this is the tag where you will find me) and I did not know which songs might fit them and then when I posted it I was like WAIT WAIT I KNOW.

Gold rush - Gwyn talking herself out of her crush on Az after finding out about the whole necklace and being like “I don’t want a gold rush”.

Daylight - Az is a Taylor hoe first, spymaster second. She just makes him feel things. But in all seriousness “Like daylight It's golden like daylight You gotta step into the daylight and let it go Just let it go, let it goI wanna be defined by the things that I love Not the things I hate Not the things that I'm afraid of, I'm afraid of Not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night I, I just think that You are what you love” this is Az healing and being in better place where he can reflect on how he used to relate to love and romantic relationships, he now understands that love is not black and white but golden. He stepped into this notion of love and through it he found a beautiful relationship with Gwyn, he wants to be defined by the love he feels for her and the love he feels for his family, not by the things that haunted him, not by his mistakes, not by his trauma. He is golden, he is daylight, shadows and all he is daylight. 

Az + Elain: As a romantic end game they are not my ship, but I do stand by my pre-acosf position that these two would be really good friends

Out of the woods -  Where we stand after acosf I say that it is not far fetched that they might hook up and then realize that it’s not for them and that experience helps them access a new part of their healing: “They lost each other, but they found themselves”. The anxiety that this song mirrors is the anxiety of them knowing something doesn’t quite *fit* right, that they are both in turbulent times emotionally and this relationship is not giving them the peace they thought it would. They are paper airplanes, because they know that it’s not the right call for where they are in their own journeys if they want to heal properly and that neither will get what they truly want from the other one. The monsters who turned out to be trees, they are in the woods in this relationship, they were built to fall apart.. are all images that speak of the dynamic we could see of them, they try it doesn’t work and then after, when they are in better places mentally they will look back and be like “we dodge a bullet there didn’t we”.

Bonus: His necklace hanging around her neck, the image is clear there and so is the commentary. 

Az + Mor: formerly known as Moriel, the ship that used to reign my heart

Breath - This song is entirely from Az’s perspective once he and Mor talk about, well, everything. This is not how he had planned it, this is not how he wanted this to go, but “people are people and sometimes it doesn’t work out, but it’s killing me to see you go after all this time” referencing letting go of the romantic feelings he had for her. They were a crutch for him and now he has to face life and the things that torment him about it, without the protection and comfort his crush on her offered him. “And we know it's never simple, Never easy Never a clean break, no one here to save me You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand,” regardless of what you all want to think, they do love and know each other but shift in their dynamic will mean an adjustment for both of them... it’s not a clean break. “Never wanted this, never wanna see you hurt Every little bump in the road I tried to swerve”, also Idc about what you all think, Az never never never wanted to hurt Mor, if he knew his behavior was in someway affecting her he would have done something, and I think from the aftermath of him going after Eris on ACOWAR we can see that... also this might allude to him actually knowing that Mor is a lesbian and he has tried to make sure she feels safe around him and knows that he has her back agains the whole world if need be, regardless of her lack of romantic feelings for him. 

Feyl*n: honestly who knew there would be so many songs that would fit these two. Such bops for a crappy dude like T*mlin.

Exile - “I never learned to read your mind (never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (you never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)” He never even tried to learn to read her mind, he never turned things around and she gave so so many signs. The way he looks at Rhys like he’s his understudy, but no sugar he’s the principal actor and you got fired.

Getaway car - and I oop. Because that is essentially what they were both to each other. Feyre needed someone to give her security and financial stability, T*mlin needed someone to break the curse: “It was the best of times the worst of crimes”.

Bad blood - LOOOOOL. They used to be mad love and now they have bad blood.

Tell me why -  Imma just leave a collection of quotes here that well allude to them through the first act of ACOMAF: “I took a chance, I took a shot And you might think I'm bulletproof but I'm not You took a swing, I took it hard And down here from the ground, I see who you are” Feyre seeing T*mlin for the abusive person that he is, from the ground.. where his behavior put her. Also “I'm sick and tired of your reasons I got no one to believe in You tell me that you want me, then push me around And I need you like a heartbeat But you know you got a mean streak Makes me run for cover when you're around Here's to you and your temper Yes, I remember what you said last night And I know that you see what you're doing to me Tell me why” The if he loved me, why did he do it and the “it’s not a question of if he loved you but how” conversation she has with Rhys.

I could go on and on forever placing all T-Swift songs around acotar characters, but I think this is getting longer than we all anticipated.. or did we? we all know I am not ✨concise✨. Anywho, thanks for sticking around.

Besos!!

BOOOONUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSS:

Obviously, Invisible String is for all my mated/soon to be mated boos, and I think Peace is a song that can apply to both Feysand and Nessian from Rhys’ and Nesta’s perspectives respectively. 

[honey-milk-depresso]

Happy Birthday Yuuri! (Finale)

Merry Crisis! 

┊ ┊ ┊. ➶ ˚

A knock on the door was heard.

Yuuri turned to the sound, facing away from the slightly frosted windows that emitted the faintest cold air that cooled her face, lilac eyes lingered one last time at the snowy weather as she turned to face her door creaking.

From the opened door stood Aepper, accompanied by Grim on his shoulders. He gave a light smile, waving towards his friend and Grim hopped off, making himself comfortable on the left of Yuuri on her bed

“Henchman 1! Be grateful that the great Grim has arrived to celebrate your birthday personally!” the fluffy monster grin, to which Yuuri lightheartedly chuckled.

Aepper couldn’t care less, rolling his eyes, plopping himself right next to Yuuri.

(Happy birthday, and Merry Christmas,) Aepper smiles, as so did the pale blonde haired girl.

“Thanks a lot. Gosh, I think I still have cream on my face now that I noticed,” Yuuri stated, using a finger to wipe away whatever that was on her face. She had a blast, having fun throwing pie and having pie thrown at her face without anyone’s judgement.

It felt... nice while it lasted. She could eat almost anything she wanted without feeling or being restrained. But now she’s gotten a cake overdose, and so did her other peers sharing cake after cake with her.

“Gosh...I wish this day would never end.”

(Because it’s your day?~) Aepper teased, making the girl blush.

(Don’t worry, I don’t mind celebrating everyday for a close friend~) he smirks.

Darn it! My own former crush having so many advantages against me! Why did I like him like that back then?

“N-no!! Well, maybe a little but....” Yuuri calmed down a little, staring off into the distance.

“But... everyone was happy and having fun. Back at home, on my own birthday while all the fansigns with my fans were heartwarming, when I get out, my parents didn’t really do much except make me practice for my next album, maybe inform me of a photo shoot, or whatever. And no one else was happy about it, they still had to work during the holidays, on Christmas, and I guess my own birthday. It felt a little like a taboo...” Yuuri looks down, her lilac eyes holding a gloomy gaze at the floor. 

The peppermint boy’s own eyes softened, now concern over his friend. Grim frowned with a slightly worried expression he tried his best to mask it (obviously failing-).

“B-but..!” Suddenly realizing the gloomy atmosphere she’s created, startling Grim and making Aepper blink.

“I’m happy here now! Everyone’s happy and they don’t feel like it’s a chore going to my birthday!!” 

Aepper smiles, before he stifled into a snort.

(Well, of course we’re always happy celebrating your birthday.)

“Yeah! Unlike those guys! That’s just because of your parents!”

Yuuri smiles akwardly.

“Let’s... not blame them, shall we..? Instead,”

Yuuri closes her eyes, standing up before she twirled around to face her Ramshackle dorm mates.

“Let’s spend our Christmas together!”

┊ ┊ ┊. ➶ ˚

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Happy birthday Yuuri! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

[cherry-interlude]

Lana Del Rey Unreleased Ranking (3)

This is a re-ranking of Lana's unreleased songs, after making a first a few years ago. This is all my opinion, which I don't mind anyone disagreeing with but don't come for me for it - honestly, I like every song, despite any criticism, and this ranking is very vague. It's based on objective and subjective opinion.

This is the third of five posts, with the middle songs.

Dreamgirl

Purely wholesome and dreamy, Lana adds some very fifties “shoo-wops” to play a fifties starlet whispering, her vocals soothing and soft along with the looping piano that guides the song.

Jimmy Gnecco

Breathless over the brisk guitar, Lana gushes over Jimmy – mixing her adoration of her lovers with wannabe-starlet fangirling. It’s one of her best acoustic tracks as she smirks and requests a trip to the park.

Elvis

Lana’s acoustic dedication to her icon Elvis Presley is memorable despite how stripped back it is. It could have been cleaner but Lana’s sorrowful desperation to be close to this man who she is such a fan of works well in being decent output from her.

Boarding School

It’s a difficult listen, considering Lana’s nostalgia is for a “pro-ana nation” and a school where “makig love with your teachers” is revered, but it may just be a satirical look at her time in boarding school when she was younger. I don’t enjoy listening to such worrying topics being handled in an upbeat song but the song itself has well-written lyrics and a great instrumental.

Television Heaven

This song is incredibly sweet, with lovely lyrics, dreamy verses and a distinctive pop feel, but it is definitely a strange mash of instrumentals. It’s not too jarring but it does make the song fall lower in ranking. It feels indecisive as it goes from sugary pop to a slightly darker feel in the choruses, and the lyrics aren’t the most imaginative in Lana’s library of tracks.

Be My Daddy

Lana’s full on sex-kitten in this song that opens with twangy guitars and her hushed “what’s up?” as she greets her potential “daddy”. With dirtier lyrics that she’s “open like a Christmas present” and how she’ll “fuck you”, Lana avoids keeping the sex in just the vibe of the song.

Break My Fall

Another song made for another artist, Lana this time sounds like she’s doing her own track. The pop sound is still ideal for actual music charts but Lana pulls the song off well, playing a strong woman far removed from the tragic women of many of her songs. It’s strong in quality and doesn’t stray into more experimental territory where many of Lana’s unreleased songs reside.

Hit and Run

With three versions to pick from (the poppy original, the Born To Die style slower version and the demo Criminals Run The World that’s a little more overt about Lana’s violent intentions), all three of these songs have something special about them. The pop version is bouncy and chaotic, perfect for a wild spree of gun fights and car chases. The slower version is much more seductive and measured, but a little too reflective compared to the manic power of the upbeat version. Criminals Run The World ranks much lower, not as smooth compared to Hit and Run but still with that insanity that makes Hit and Run a wild ride.

Heavy Hitter

With a jazzy introduction, Lana gives us a glamorous tale of a star having an overdose (somehow she makes it glitzy). However, following the suggestive chorus in which Lana asks her man to open his butterfly doors of his car (to drive her to get help, somehow delivered with seduction rather than horror), the lyrics get lost in Lana’s generic praising of herself and her wicked ways. However, it’s a staple of Lana’s unreleased music, even if I do skip after the (if you think about it) harrowing first verse and chorus.

Behind Closed Doors

The instrumental is a little bit all over the place, but it does work when Lana details her ill-received romance to her lover, then jumps right in the chorus to eagerly tell him how much she enjoys sleeping with him.

Gangsta Boy

Lana is inspired by Betty Boop as she croons and gasps her way through the track. The vibe is great, though the music falls a bit, but Gangsta Boy is playful, light-hearted fun.

You’re Gonna Love Me

Lana may be raw in her vocals and basic in her instrumentals (only a guitar) but Lana takes control, self-assured she will make the listener adore her. Her confessional whisper that she might just want to be loved gives this song a knowing edge despite the pondering questions and realism-on-the-edge-of-pessimism feel tone.

Living Legend

Lana’s Living Legend was intended for Ultraviolence, and whilst the song fits in it is definitely one of her more slumbering songs. Yet her sentiment is strong, her lyrics thoughtful and thoroughly enjoyable. All of the versions bring something a bit different but it is underlined by great song-writing.

Hey You

Lana has fun greeting a potential lover with this track and I have as much fun listening to it. The chorus is sparse and repetitive but Hey You is all about grabbing your attention rather than going to deep.

Is It Wrong?

Claustrophobic and guided by a smart riff and technological glitches, Lana pulls off the perfect unhinged groupie as she questions whether or not she is wrong for wanting the star of her dreams so much. The glitching is great for really seeing how Lana teeters on the edge of sanity for this guy she can’t resist, going from being the starlet to the foaming-at-the-mouth fangirl.

Playground

Lana becomes a rapper apparently in Playground and hits back at anyone who doubts her and her music. With a cloying chorus that compares the music industry to a playground of bitchy comments and school yard, Lana’s verses are smooth and her references overall decent. It can be a little bit clunky in places but it doesn’t take itself too seriously.

Motel 6

A cute little dance track which namedrops Jim and her sister, Chuck, Lana brings the party to her favourite motel, downplaying her glamour to throwback her ‘lore’ and her old life pre-fame. Though it’s very much just describing one night rather than anything complex, it’s harmless fun.

Dynamite

Like the explosive dynamite itself, this song is punchy, restless and powerful. Lana layers this dominating track with innocent references to ice cream and pillow fights whilst also not holding back from the sexual references.

Afraid

Neat and mournful, Lana finally breaks off from her toxic partner. Lana is either sick of being worried for the future or terrified of her partner, and its reflective sadness as she plans to go back home still leaves hope that she will be able to be happy.

Wayamaya

Rolling calmly like a beach wave, Lana takes us straight to Hawaii and paints us an image of handsome surfers and Mercurys. Wayamaya is simply a soothing, short, cute little track that keeps very much surface level.

Hawaiian Tropic

Plinky music paired with non-stressful verses and imagery of Hawaiian shirts, this is the (in my opinion) better version of Every Man Gets His Wish (which shares the same chorus). The subtlety of this track compared to Every Man Gets His Wish helps to convey the hurt feelings a lot better, with the nostalgic feel and mournful longing in the vocals.

Dum Dum

Lana plays the alcoholic star who name drops Scarlett O’Hara and Bugsy Malone as part of her identity. These lyrics are pretty witty and the song snappy but, like some of her unreleased music, is a bit too overproduced and not cohesive. The verses and choruses don’t quite gel which doesn’t make for a song that flows well but with tweaking it could be even better.

Hollywood’s Dead

Lana fits perfectly into the era of fifties with this mid-20th century driven track. It sounds perfectly in place for the decade she frequently romanticises (with a modern twist) and Lana’s crooning, tearful references to her icons drips with glamour.

Fake Diamond

For an anti-romance song, Fake Diamond is quite upbeat. Lana complains of her ‘lover’ who is one way with her, a different way with others, whilst comparing their relationship to all manner of Lana-themed aesthetics (diamonds, movie projectors, etc.). Comparing herself to a child, she practically has a tantrum in the chorus, stamping her feet lovingly as she demands he loves her. I do think this song is joyful, making fun of her inattentive lover whilst keeping one step ahead of his games.

I Must Be Stupid

Lana’s live unreleased track lets Lana enjoy her life despite the hurt that surrounds it, showing strength in the face of heartbreak and other such topics in her music. It was performed post-Lust For Life, an era in which Lana embraced the light side rather than simply the dark.

Live Or Die

The version that is a little bit more lowkey and, in some ways, mature in that it matches a lot of her early albums sound is good but it’s not my favourite. There’s the heady, ultra-pop second version that has plenty more sexy references, a little meow (iconic) and an overall vibe of just having fun on the run. The former version is a bit more serious, but the second is – though less good in terms of production – full of soul.

Velvet Crowbar

Velvet Crowbar is a song that shows the dark side of fame and bad boys, namely the way they self-destruct to the point that their adoring lovers (already addicted to these gangstas of course) are falling with them. This song is a warning to these destructive souls that they aren’t invincible, and an equal warning to the people that love them that they might just fall apart and lose them. Lana puts her emotion across so well, with her stark lyrics, anxious guitars and growling third chorus. Even her more flowery imagery doesn’t cover up the overt fear that runs through this song.

Your Band Is All The Rage

Probably one of Lana’s saddest songs (which could be a great deal many since she knows how to tug heartstrings), Lana lets go of her rock star lover despite still loving him in this acoustic track. She makes soulful promises to be there when he needs him, her love lingering until he wants her back, and utilises the country music theme to her advantage.

1949

The studio version is my favourite but the charm of the original, acoustic demo is unmatched. Despite the controversial inspiration for this track, Lana puts us straight in the world of the 1950s, with American motels and Kmart. It has a note of sadness – perhaps because of the unfortunate tale of Lolita that much of this song seems based on – but it works as one of Lana’s aesthetically pleasing and classic tracks.

Because of You

The spoken intro is a little bit cringe but the song is lovely. Lana plays an immature brat who fell in love with a good man who essentially tamed her (a little bit questionable for some in 2021). It’s got some of her most flowery imagery and it details how her relationship bought out the best of her. The casual comments she throws in throughout the song give this a real bedtime story feel, though this song is anything but sleepy.

Resistance

Frustrated but fun, Lana’s catchy and upbeat Resistance brings to mind surfers and sunny days set in the noughties. Even though she’s furious with the guy who’s causing her so much trouble it still, for a change, stays perky and pleasant. A song that needs more attention, it’s the type of song that gets people singing and dancing along to it.

Dangerous Girl

With a rock-feeling patriotic opening, Lana launches into a track about her prowess as a dangerous girl, like a deranged beauty queen with a gangsta on her arm. It’s simply fun, complete with wolf-whistles and an impression of a siren.

[growsagain]

Heya! I've been a long time fan (and am BEYOND excited to see you making a comeback WOO), and I really wanted to ask what got you through the early days of making kinky content; I've been really struggling to commit myself to making belly/gas fetish artwork, but I seem to be caught in an endless loop of being really excited about it, making an account, posting some stuff, but then getting embarassed about it and deleting my account before it has a chance to go anywhere! Did you ever struggle with anything like this when starting out or have any advice to someone looking to make content for this type of communuty? Best wishes to you!

Thank you so much for your lovely message and I’m so sorry it’s taken me a few days to reply, at the moment everything‘s so hectic as we plan for a really rough move but afterwards I’m going to be able to make soooo much for content so it will be worth it!

I really get where you’re coming from, and yes, I’ve definitely been there. It‘s a complicated answer and please feel free to drop by my asks again if you would like to talk about this more and I’m happy to talk more privately if it’ll help, but I’m going to post this openly since I hope it might help someone else.

I think what it comes down to is being ready, and that’s something you can’t rush, as frustrating as it is. Before I started making content as gurgle goddess I’d tried twice before, the first time I posted content on yahoo groups (yeah, that was a looooong time ago) then I posted belly noises without video on yt back in late 2006, and for a while both times it was fine and I was enjoying it and then one day I would freak out and drown in shame, and then I’d delete everything and pretend the whole thing never happened.

the problem was that I was just so ashamed of my fetish. I was ashamed of something I wish I had accepted all along because when I just came out and told people no one actually batted an eyelid. No one cared! No one mocked me or deserted me and a couple of people told me they thought it was cute or sweet! it was soooo not the disgusted reaction I had expected. And that’s not to say there aren’t assholes out there who will attack us in this community for no good reason and call us disgusting etc but I’d bet a lot of them are covering for their own discomfort at finding something they’re into and are trying to fight or ignore it, and as for the rest they’re the same kind of assholes that attack *anyone* for something they like, a fandom, a video game, a tv show, a band... basically it’s about them having a need to attack people for enjoying something rather than the thing they’re attacking.

Here’s a bit more about why I started making my own content as gurgle goddess, I’ll post it under the cut since it’s quite long. tw for mentions of suicide

not long before I started making my own content I had come out about my fetish. I’d kept it quiet for 32 years. I was in a bad place in my life, stuck in an abusive relationship, feeling so bad about myself in general, feeling like there was no way out of endless darkness. I’m not sure how frank I’ve ever been about this in my fetish stuff but I was absolutely on the edge of taking my life, and by on the edge I mean I stood up to go and take an overdose when my homestuck notifier (I know, I knoooow) went off on my laptop and I thought ‘I’ll just read this first’. There’s a lot more to that story but the important part is that I jumped on tumblr afterwards to see what others were saying about the update and I started reading and reblogging a whole bunch of posts, and somewhere in that mess of a night I thought to myself if something as small as an update on a webcomic can still make me feel excited then there’s got to be something worth holding on for, so I did. And a big part of that was to throw myself to the mercy of tumblr, which I’d just started using regularly. I forced myself out of my comfort zone, to open up and talk to people, I made friends, and four months to the day I decided to live I met Lucy. And the rest, as they say, is history 🥰

but between those days, one day in January 2013, i‘d received some anon asks from someone who said they had an embarrassing kink and wanted advice to dealing with it but wouldn’t say what it was, even though they were on anon. I told them I‘d share mine if they shared theirs. I don’t think they ever did but people started sending me guesses and they were all waaaaay off the mark! So I gave a couple of clues and after about an hour of various people guessing it someone actually did, and I’d said at one point I would ‘fess up if anyone guessed it so I stayed true to my word and did just that.

I was literally shaking. In my head it had become such a massive deal. After hiding it for so long and feeling so much shame I was imagining everyone unfollowing me and mocking me forever. In fact, two of my followers confided they had similar fetishes and others confessed their own. Two of them even hooked up through having the same kink that night! It was kind of crazy. And the next morning I just kind of felt... wow. I really did that, huh??

I’d been doing erotic cosplay for a couple of months as a way to try to accept my body which I hated and when my frustration at there being a lack of the kind of content I really wanted to see out there it felt like the natural step to make it myself. But this time I made the decision that if I was going to do it I was going to do it full-face and all. I hoped it might help others who had kept their fetish to themselves to stop feeling ashamed too.

I think for me I had reached a point where everything in my life was so dark and so low all the time that when I began to pull myself out of it and find some happiness I didn’t want to have to hide away any more or pretend to be someone I wasn‘t. For the same reason I began to look at my gender issues and work out who I really was, buried beneath three decades of what other people told me I was.

keep trying. Keep starting, even if you feel the need to stop again. Keep creating, keep enjoying it, it’s a fundamental part of you and I promise you it gets better. many of us in the community have freaked out and deleted everything, most of us more than once. But it’s worth it to keep trying, because one day you’ll be ready. You’ll be in the right place. maybe that day’s today. Maybe tomorrow. But it will come.

I promise it’s worth it. Good luck 😊💙

[peachy-beomie]

Fellas, is it Gay to Kiss The Homies? <TEN-CENTRIC>

Genre: Light Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Kunten (Qian Kun x Ten Lee) and implied (Ten x Everyone) [ALL SHIPS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE PLATONIC]

Word Count: 1455

Warnings: Fluff overdose, might give you diabetes /t

Synopsis: Ten just really likes kisses and he wants to give them to his friends. That’s it.

A/N: I wrote this wanting it to be Platonic!Kunten but tbh it may have gotten away from me a little bit so believe what you want ig

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30021543

Ten has always been overly affectionate. In the eyes of Weishennies, Winwin and Yangyang bear the brunt of it. On variety shows and lives Ten can sometimes be found floating around one of his two didis or entirely attached to them. It’s become a joke among fans and members, the way Ten calls Yangyang baby while the maknae responds with countless protests and whines. But something fans are unaware of is that off-camera, the Thai male’s affection extends to all the members. Ten is known to demand touches from most any friend in reach. Even Kun, despite the pairs’ constant bickering. The WayV members have grown used to Ten’s insatiable need to hold and be held. There’s a silent understanding between the 7 roommates. All the boys know that comforting Ten is just more of a physical thing. Each member understands, and some have even become fond of the actions. Most surprisingly Winwin. Though he seems like a total skinship anti, he’s all smiles whenever Ten envelopes him in a hug. 

For the endless love and acceptance of his bandmates, Ten feels so incredibly blessed. But even in such a wonderful situation, there are things Ten can’t have. And lines he dare not cross.

To Ten, there’s nothing inherently romantic or sexual about his lingering touches. To him, spooning with his friends is his way of showing platonic affection. Obviously some things are reserved for romantic/sexual partners: making out and things of the like. But the lines between friendship and partnership are far thinner to him than most. He hasn’t told his friends about his affinity for kisses, having only recently come to terms with it himself. All through his life he’s had these fleeting urges to kiss his friends, and he’d always passed them off as intrusive thoughts. But lately, these urges have become more persistent. When his members are especially kind to him, he feels his attention float briefly to their lips, wishing to give them a small peck. It’s always a peck. A forehead kiss, eskimo, cheek, knuckle, nose; always something innocent. A mere grazing of lips to skin. No matter how innocent the intent or the action, Ten can’t help but feel completely and utterly ashamed. 

Friends aren’t supposed to want to kiss each other, he chides to himself. The dancer already feels like enough of a bother asking to cuddle and hold hands, he fears that by taking the extra step, he’ll lose all 6 of them entirely. So he pushes these feelings deep down, and continues on, hoping the others don’t notice his worry. 

Unfortunately for Ten, Kun prides himself on being in tune with his members’ emotions. Kun first realizes something is wrong during one of the group’s rare off days. He and Ten had opted to stay home, the younger practically BEGGING him to continue watching Doctor Who with him. The two eldest boys have been watching it together for a couple months, and have already plowed through 2 seasons (that’s quite impressive considering how packed their schedules are). Since it’s nearly impossible to refuse Ten anything, Kun finds himself lazing the day away on the couch, carding his fingers through the soft brown locks strewn across his lap.

“Fuck. Everything,” Ten says after they finish the season 2 finale. “Whoever made this episode is a monster.”

Kun giggles, leaning down to wipe stray tears from Ten’s cheeks. “You knew it had to end eventually Tennie.” 

“YEAH BUT THAT WAS SO M E A N!” Ten removes his head from Kun’s lap as the older laughs harder. “It’s not funny!” The Thai man pouts, only eliciting more laughter. 

“Aw you poor thing,” Kun teases, pushing himself off the couch and holding a expectant hand out to the pouting brunette. “C’mon you big baby. Let me make you something to cheer you up.”

Never one to turn down free food, Ten trudges to the kitchen and sits down at the table while his ge gets to work. Ten watches Kun work for 15 minutes before turning to the table and placing a bowl of noodles in front of Ten. The younger looks up at the singer then, an almost indecipherable look on his face. In those few seconds of silence, Kun sees hesitation in Ten’s eyes, an uncharacteristic moment of pause. It’s like Ten wants to do something but he’s restraining himself. Then all too quickly, the look is gone. Ten thanks Kun for the meal before scarfing it down. 

Kun doesn’t bring it up then, or when he sees the same look directed at Hendery the next night while they’re playing Monopoly. He waits a week before finally confronting the boy, having seen the same hesitant gaze 5 or more times by now.

He decided to confront him after their biweekly Just Dance tournament. Kun and Ten were on a team together and kicking everyone else’s asses. After winning their 4th consecutive battle they’d hugged victoriously. When they pulled back, Ten had “the look” written all over his face. And without warning, he pecked Kun on the nose.

Oh.

Ten stood straight in horror, he didn’t even give Kun a chance to say anything before bolting out of the room. The 5 other members followed him with eyes full of worry and concern. They’re only semi-placated with Kun’s promise of “I’ll talk to him.”

Kun opened the door to Ten and Hendery’s shared room to see Ten facing the wall dejectedly, curled tightly into his blankets. The older made sure he moved softly and quietly, not wanting to spook the boy. He sat himself on the bed across from Ten’s huddled figure, not missing the other boy’s flinch. Kun lays down behind the boy, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“I’m not mad Yongqin, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kun uses Ten’s Mandarin name, knowing the younger loves the way it rolls off his tongue. “I just want to understand, ok?” The older rubs soothing circles on Ten’s arm with his finger.

“I’m sorry,” Ten whispers, almost imperceptibly quiet. 

“Qinqin I told you there’s nothing to be s--”

“No but I am sorry,” Ten says, turning himself in Kun’s hold to face the older, but still not making eye contact. “I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I could tell it was bothering you.” Kun says, raising the eyebrow of the dancer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kun confirms. “So do you have a crush on me?”

“Not at all,” Ten says honestly. He fiddles with his fingers between their parallel chests rather than meet Kun’s gaze. “I just… hhh I don’t know how to begin to explain it.”

“Take your time.” Kun assures which Ten is exceedingly grateful for. Kun has always been patient and level-headed that way.

“It’s kinda like… you know how you hug your friends? To show them you care about them?” Kun nods easily. “Well, for me… kissing is kinda equivalent to a hug with a friend. It’s just...my way of showing affection I guess,” Kun nods again, taking in every word Ten says. “It became apparent a few months ago. But I didn’t want to bother you guys with it, so I kept quiet. And I know it’s weird and it’s really no big deal if you don’t want to I can--”

“Ten.”

“Yeah, It’s too much isn’t it? Can we just pretend this never happened? I’m really sor--”

“Ten.”

“Look Kun don’t worry about it. It’s really fine. I just want to--”

“Yongqin.”

Ten finally ceases his baseless ranting. Kun rubs up and down the boy’s upper arms.

“Ten it’s fine. I never said I disliked it. If platonic kisses are something you want… something you need,” Kun smiles lightly. “Then I don’t see a problem with that.”

This time Ten actually does look Kun in the eye, cat-like eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

“Just explain to me what you need Yongqin,” Kun whispers understandingly, and for some reason it makes Ten blush a little. “I’m all ears.”

Ten was left completely dumbfounded. He had just proposed something… crazy.... and yet Kun isn’t running. He doesn’t seem weirded out, or scared, or disgusted. He’s still there. 

“U-um…” Ten starts. “Just… small ones, I guess. Like cheek, nose, knuckles, forehead, hair, that kind of stuff,” Kun processes all this again. “A-and pecks on the lips are nice sometimes… i-if that’s not too much.”

Kun shakes his head and smiles, “Sounds good to me!” And to punctuate it, he places a small kiss on Ten’s forehead, setting the boy’s cheeks aflame once more. 

“T-Thanks,” He says genuinely.

“Of course Tenten,” The older contemplates giving him another kiss for assurance, but he decides that he shouldn’t overwhelm Ten too much just yet. “Anything for you.”

KUNTEN PIC OF THE DAY:

I call this one: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH