#just having thoughts about her ability to blend in anywhere
Text
01 — better than revenge
summary: “she’s not a saint, no, she’s not what you think. she’s an actress.”
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn
warnings: fluff, angst with a happy ending, Lila is a real piece of work here, VERY CANON COMPLIANT, Spencer’s a bit of an ass :(
wc: 10.4k
a/n: special mention to @astrophileous for beta reading MWAH
SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST
“Hey kid, wheels up in thirty.” Derek nods towards you, dropping a case file on your desk.
You raise an eyebrow, flicking open the case file to the first page. A small laugh of disbelief leaves your lips. “Ooh, Los Angeles, media capital of the world. What’s the occasion?”
“Three murders, all shot in the head executional style.”
Your face falls into a grimace as you grab your go-bag and tuck the file under your arm, following the rest of the team to the jet. “Spence and Gideon are there already, right? Talk about timing.”
Elle can’t help but grin at your words, slinking an arm over your shoulder. “Looks like you’ll see loverboy a lot sooner than you think.”
A shriek of betrayal leaves your lips as you throw her arm off of you. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“Sure you don’t,” JJ all but cackles as she boards the plane, grinning the entire way.
“I’m gonna kill you,” you grumble, dropping your things on one of the seats in the jet. “Seriously, I mean it. I know how to get away with murder.”
Hotch raises an eyebrow at you, his gaze that of a disappointed yet amused father. “Not the brightest thing to say while you’re in a room full of FBI agents.”
Elle lets out a ‘hah!’ as she sits across from you, crossing one leg over the other as she grins. “Get comfortable, buttercup, six hour flight and you’re not going anywhere.”
“Assholes.” You roll your eyes teasingly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you turn to your case files. “And it’s not like that.”
“Oh, of course not,” Elle snickers, “you’re just friends.”
You throw a pen at her and it bounces off her leg harmlessly. “I can smell the sarcasm.”
“You’ll be smelling more of it,” Derek laughs, ruffling your hair. “Sit tight, kid, we’re in for a long flight.”
Once everyone was settled and the jet was high in the air, the team began to look through the files with Garcia on speaker as usual.
“First two victims, Wally Melman and Chloe Harris,” You recite dutifully, glancing over the grotesque crime scene images. “Seems like they were both killed in public places.”
“Chloe was killed while walking her dog on the beach in Santa Monica which she did every morning, and Wally was killed outside of a massage parlour,” JJ reiterates, sitting down with a cup of tea in her hand.
“In Culver City,” Derek adds.
“Which he went to every Tuesday,” Elle continues.
Derek looks to the rest of the team, a thoughtful look on his face. “Well, if he knows their schedules, maybe that means he follows his victims for a while.”
“And not a single witness. So we know this UnSub can blend in,” Hotch mutters. “Regardless of the location, he has the ability to hide in plain sight.”
“So, he’s meticulous.” Elle nods, her eyes drifting from Hotch to the case file.
“The media is calling Natalie Ryan’s murder the biggest celebrity homicide since Sharon Tate,” JJ adds, looking through the images of the newspaper clippings that were sent to her laptop.
“Great,” You muse, although frustration is clear in your voice. “What does that mean for us?”
Hotch lets out a sigh. “That everybody will be watching.”
***
“This guy is an assassin?” Detective Kim asks with disbelief as the rest of the team reiterates their thoughts once they were in the police department.
“When you look at the victimology, there’s no obvious links,” Morgan points out. “All the kills were clean except in the instance of the last victim, Jeremy Collins.”
You nod, tucking a strand of hair as you reference the case files. “There’s absolutely no evidence left at the crime scene. Labs have found zero DNA, no manifestation of psychosexual release, and from what we can tell there’s no detectable signature of any kind. These kills are straight forward, almost like he’s on a mission.”
“Remember, our profiles are formulated not just by what’s present at the scene but also what’s absent,” Gideon says to Detective Kim.
“From all the evidence that we’ve gathered, we believe you’re looking for a Type Four Assassin,” Elle explains.
“Type Four?”
Spencer immediately jumps in to explain, gesticulating throughout his explanation. “Type One’s are political assassins like John Wilkes Booth. Type Two’s are egocentrics looking for simple recognition.”
“Type Three’s are psychopaths,” Hotch continues, “cold-blooded killers who leave far messier scenes. Type Four, our UnSub, suffers from a major mental disorder and is frequently delusional.”
“The closer we come to figuring out that delusion, the closer we’ll get to finding the UnSub,” Reid points out.
Everyone is left to their own thoughts and you look over to Spencer, a soft grin on your face. “How was your father-son bonding time?”
Spencer gives you a pointed look, but a soft laugh leaves his lips. “It was… fine.”
“Fine? Out of everyone on the team, Gideon chose you to present a talk about behavioural analysis and profiling to the LAPD. You love conferences. C’mon, give me something!” You nudge his shoulder gently.
“We uh.. we went to an art gallery the other day. We met a movie star, so that was cool…” his cheeks are dusted with a soft pink as he talks and your curiosity only increases.
“A movie star, huh? Look at you, mingling with the high and mighty.” You poke his cheek with a laugh. “Tell me about them.”
He flushes at the contact, clearing his throat. “Um… her name is Lila Archer. Have you heard of her? She’s–”
“Reid, (L/N), we’re meeting with someone,” Derek cuts in, nodding towards the both of you.
You blink in confusion as you follow him to another room. “Suspect?”
“Someone received a note,” Derek says quickly, glancing over at the note in Elle’s hands. “On a newspaper clipping of the latest murder.”
“Lila?”
A blonde woman was sitting in the next room over, her legs crossed over as she waits. Her eyes light up in recognition and she stands up. You can’t help but be impressed as you give her a quick once over. She’s gorgeous, exactly what you expect from a famous movie star.
“I’m Agent (L/N),” You say gently, moving from your spot next to Spencer and holding your hand out. “This is Agent Morgan and I’m assuming you already know Doctor Reid. I understand that you received a note this morning?”
She wearily shakes your hand, her blue eyes flitting between you and Reid. “Yeah.”
“We just have a few questions to ask. We know that these things are sensitive, but we promise we’ll try to make the situation as easy as possible for you.” You shoot her a kind smile, excusing her weariness for fear or anxiety. “Is that alright?”
“Sure.” She respond curtly, shooting a smile towards Spencer before walking past you.
“Uh… okay?” You let out a little laugh in confusion and Derek raises an eyebrow at you.
“What was that about?” He asks, frowning.
You shrug your shoulders, watching as Spencer leads her to an empty desk. “Trust me, I have no idea. Maybe she’s just nervous and wants to talk to a familiar face.”
Derek hums in thought. “Maybe. But usually victims like this are more willing to speak to someone of the same gender. It’s strange that she was so direct to you.”
“She’s been through a traumatic experience. If I got a newspaper clipping with a message written in blood, I probably wouldn’t be too thrilled meeting new people either,” You defend, pursing your lips. “She’s probably just… scared, right?”
He doesn’t respond, moving to follow Spencer and Lila further into the police department. A few questions were asks about her relationship with the other victims, only to find that she was in fact the connection between the other victims. Wally Melman was a producer who Lila met with a few times to discuss a role, only for him to cast Natalie Ryan instead. Chloe Harris looked an awful lot like Lila, so it was likely that the UnSub got rid of her in order to ‘ice-out’ the competition.
“(L/N), may I talk to you for a moment?” Hotch asks quickly, waving you over.
You blink in confusion but nod, walking over to where he stands by the desk. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“I want you to try and get as much information from Lila as possible.” He gestures to where Lila sits in one of the victim waiting rooms. “This is your area of expertise. Try and find out if there’s any distinct information that she’s given to anyone so that we can track the UnSub.”
“Got it.” You offer a smile, fixing your shirt as you agree. “I’ll update you if I get any new information.”
You make your way over to where Lila was sitting, trying to look as friendly as possible. “Hey, Lila. Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”
She glances over you for a second, looking you up and down before shaking her head. “I’m fine. Where’s Spencer?”
Your brows furrow at his words. “Doctor Reid…? He’s currently going through the timeline of events with our colleagues. In the meantime, I was hoping to ask a few questions, maybe shed some light on the entire situation.”
She raises an eyebrow before nodding. “Okay.”
“Alright…” you clear your throat, taking a seat across from her. “You mentioned that you receive a bowl of red anemones on the seventh of every month. Do you mind… telling me why you like those flowers so much?”
She shrugs dismissively, running a hand through her blonde hair. “They’re pretty. I like the colour.”
You nod slowly, writing that down in your notes. “Well that’s understandable; they’re very beautiful flowers. But they’re a little uncommon as a favourite flower, don’t you think? If you like the colour, a more common favourite flower would be poppies or roses… are you sure there isn’t another reason? The meaning behind red anemones is forsaken love and death… does that intrigue you at all?”
She scoffs, “are you trying to accuse me of something?”
“Not at all,” you say quickly, “I apologise if it comes off that way. I’m just trying to find out as much as possible about the entire situation. For all we know, those flowers could have been sent by the UnSub.”
A short silence lulls in the room as well as an awkward tension. So, you try to take things from another angle.
“I love hydrangeas,” you say gently, a small smile on your lips. “I like the way they’re always bunched together and the colours are beautiful. Only a few people know that I like them though. My close friend and colleagues, my family… do you remember telling anyone about your favourite flower?”
She’s quiet for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know.”
Your face falls and you press a little more. “Are you sure you don’t remember? Maybe… maybe your manager, or a friend of yours?”
“I said ‘I don’t know’, okay?” She snaps, her hands balling into fists as she glares at you. “God, it’s not that hard to understand.”
You lean back in your chair, your gaze hardening. “I understand that this is difficult for you, but any information–”
“I don’t have any information!” Lila huffs, her hands placed in her lap. “Are you stupid or something?”
“The likelihood of these people being murdered because of you is incredibly high,” You say sharply, shutting your notebook. “If you’re withholding information from us it could prove detrimental to the investigation. I’m only trying to do my job. Asking you questions is part of my job.”
Her lips twitch at your words and she scowls. “I already told you I don’t remember.”
“Not remembering and not knowing are two different things, Ms Archer.” You place your card on the table. “If you remember anything, please give me a call.”
You get up from your seat, heading to the door, only to see that it was wide open with Derek and Spencer standing at the doorway. In seconds, Lila’s gaze softens and she runs out of the room, sniffling as she does. Your gaze follows her as she runs out of the police station, a look of disbelief on your features.
“What the…”
“Seriously (Y/N)?” Spencer demands, a frown on his face.
You gape at his words. “What are you–”
He cuts you off, running after Lila. Derek raises an eyebrow in their direction before turning to you.
“You okay, pretty girl?” Derek asks gently, patting your shoulder.
“Honestly? I have no idea,” You confess quietly, biting your lip. “I’ve never seen him get so…”
“Upset? Angry?” he finishes, a small laugh leaving his lips. “You and me both. Look, kid, it’s not your fault. She was clearly being dismissive of your questions and she needed a reality check.”
“It’s not like I’ve never spoken that way when interrogating someone before,” You point out, brows furrowed in frustration. “Even then, Spencer has never had an issue with it. I just– I don’t understand what’s got him so worked up.”
Derek can’t help but laugh. “You’re a profiler. Isn’t it obvious?”
You pause for a moment, thinking through their interaction. “He has a crush on her, doesn’t he? He likes her. Of course he does. Brilliant, now he’s involved.”
Derek pats you on the back sympathetically. “Come on, pretty girl. We’ve got a job to do.”
***
Despite your original hesitancy, Hotch asked you personally to go with the others, meaning that you had no right to refuse. Well, you could, but that would mean throwing Elle under the bus and she would be much more helpful at the precinct than on set. So, before you could fake being sick and bail the investigation, you, Derek, and Spencer went to check out the set of Lila’s movie, hoping to better observe her interactions with her costars and the staff.
The inside of Lila’s small trailer is hot. Incredibly hot but relatively empty. As you look around, you gather that she’s either a minimalist or just didn’t have to spend a lot time in the trailer at all. Lila sits in front of the little group, wearing a robe to cover her costume: a cyan sequinned bikini set that she looked absolutely criminal in. Her hair has been styled in a classic blowout and you wonder how much time it took to get it to look so effortless.
“I’m not stopping my life,” she says, her voice almost stern as she steps out of the trailer and back onto the set.
You purse your lips as you glance at the paper in the plastic pocket, now labelled as ‘evidence’. Apparently it was taped up to the door of her trailer. Your eyes shift to Spencer who’s gaze doesn’t leave the door that Lila just walked out of for much longer than necessary. Neither of you have spoken since yesterday’s incident.
You hum thoughtfully, as you pull out your notebook, glancing at the notes you’ve been making. “Well, I guess the only thing we can do is talk to the people on set. Maybe they saw something. I’ll see if I can find out who has access to Lila’s trailer.”
Spencer nods in your direction. “Yeah, that’s… that’s a good idea.”
One of your eyebrows quirk up. “Okay…? Why do you sound so surprised?”
He flushes under your scrutiny, clearing his throat as the three of you begin to walk out of the trailer and towards the set. “I’m not! I– I’m not surprised. You’re good at your job.”
“You didn’t seem to think that yesterday,” You respond lightly, your tone petty and passive aggressive, gaze flickering between the cameras and lights on set.
Derek coughs awkwardly before excusing himself and entering further into the set leaving you and Spencer alone outside by a vending machine. Spencer falters at your words and he runs a hand through his hair. The harsh Los Angeles sun beats down against your skin and you fiddle with the notebook in your hands. In turn, he fixes up his sleeves, rolling them up to his elbow, giving you a clear view of his forearms and large hands.
“I’m sorry,” He says softly, chewing on his bottom lip. “I didn’t– I was out of line.”
“You were,” You agree, your gaze shifting between the chilled bottled drinks in the vending machine and him. “Buy me a drink and we’ll call it even.”
A boyish grin grows on his face and he nods, pulling out his wallet. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, awesome. Iced coffee?”
“You know me so well,” you respond with an equally large smile, poking his cheek. “Thank you!”
He presses a few buttons, grabbing a Cola for himself. You can’t help but laugh, giving him a pointed look. He quickly moves to defend himself, “It’s a hot day, okay? An exception.”
“An exception,” You repeat, trying to hide your smile as you crack open the lid of your drink and take a sip. “What happened to ‘Cola has 50 grams of sugar in it. That’s the equivalent of eating two full bars of milk chocolate’?”
He pouts at your words, opening his drink and you watch as a few bubbles rise to the top of the bottle. He takes a swig of his drink, sighing in content. “Shut up.”
You laugh again once you officially enter the set, nudging Spencer with your arm teasingly. He nudges you back, rolling his eyes and poking your cheek. You retaliate by doing the same, swinging your drink as you walk.
Before you could do or say anything else, Derek taps your shoulder. “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.”
Spencer’s brows furrow. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just wanted to cross reference answers,” Derek dismisses.
“Let me pull up my list,” You respond helpfully, grabbing your notebook. “Hey, Spence, do you mind canvassing the rest of the crew? See if anyone pays any special attention on Lila?”
He nods at your words, moving towards Lila, sipping on his drink. In the meantime, you turn towards Derek, a curious look on your face.
“Little Miss Madonna has been glaring at you since the moment you entered the set,” Morgan says quietly, his gaze flitting to where Lila was making coffee.
You practically snap your neck as you look up in her direction, watching as she quickly fumbles to make herself a cup of something. You turn away and you could practically feel her gaze burning against your scalp. A frown makes its way onto your face and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. You glance over to where she and Spencer were talking, blanching when you watch as she takes a swig of his Cola.
“You don’t mind, do you?” You hear her ask as she drinks and Spencer hurriedly shakes his head.
A quiet scoff leaves your lips and Derek nudges you with a look that reads ‘behave.’ You lift your hands in surrender and follow him over to where Spencer now stands by himself, Lila gone to talk to some other staff member.
“An exception, huh?” You ask Spencer, referring to his aversion to germs and sharing food. Your tone is mostly teasing despite the underlying bitterness beneath it.
“Shut up.” He mutters quietly, cheeks hot from embarrassment of being caught.
Derek snorts, clapping his shoulder before moving on.
***
The next day, you were going over the evidence that was provided by the LAPD. Considering that it was a relatively young case, there weren’t copious amounts of evidence, meaning that there were still untied strings to go through. The entire situation proved more difficult than necessary; no one seemed to notice anything amiss when it came to Lila and her relationships, and considering that the actress wasn’t very forthcoming with the information she knew, you were hitting dead-end after dead-end.
Although geographical profiling was more of Spencer’s expertise than yours, you figured it wouldn’t do anyone harm by triangulating the previous three murders. He was standing beside you, his presence not unwelcome as he guides you step by step on how to plot an understandable and accurate profile. Hotch had asked him to coach you through the entire situation and explain his point of view, as well as his thought process when it came to geographical profiling. With a comfort zone now clearly expressed, you were discussing probable suspects on the phone with Garcia.
“Will Hunter… currently the town hermit, previous criminal record of armed battery and robbery,” Garcia recites, and you pull up his file.
“Mm… maybe? No, I don’t think so. His crimes don’t match the UnSub’s profile. He seems to be messier, uh, tending to use bats and knives than a clean shot to the head. And the profile suggests that the UnSub is able to blend in with the crowd.” You hum in thought, turning to Spencer.
“Hermits like Will Hunter wouldn’t be able to do that,” He explains to Garcia, putting his file into the ‘unlikely’ folder.
Garcia sighs in frustration and you can hear her furiously type away on her computer. “How about–”
“Hold that thought,” Elle says quickly, cutting Penelope off apologetically. “(Y/N), did you know Lila’s here?”
You blink in confusion, slowly shaking your head no. “She’s here? I didn’t get any calls from her.”
Elle shrugs at your words. “She looks like she’s going to burn a hole through your head.”
Your brows furrow and your gaze shifts to the blonde woman through the office window. She has her arms folded over her chest, a scowl on her face, before her cheeks burn in embarrassment of being caught. Spencer follows your gaze, his face lighting up at the sight of the actress. It’s almost as if he has selective hearing when it comes to his celebrity crush, clearly not hearing the part where Elle points out that Lila has been glaring at you the entire time.
“Can we talk outside?” You ask Elle quickly, getting up from your seat, not taking no for an answer.
Spencer opens his mouth to say something before he shuts it, watching as you drag your other co-worker out of the room. Your attention shifts between Lila and Elle, your brows furrowing.
“What is it?” You ask, your back turned towards the actress. “Why is she here?”
“She gave me a list of people who know what her favourite flower is,” Elle says quietly.
Your ears go red at her words, your eyes practically bulging out of your head. “Excuse me?”
“She called me yesterday,” she explains, handing you the list of people. “She said that she remembers who they were and came in today to give me a list of people.”
You scoff in disbelief, throwing your hands up in the air in frustration. “I gave her my card.”
“She called and asked for me.”
You scoff again, rolling your eyes. “Oh, so suddenly she can remember everything when she talks to you, but nothing when she talks to me? She’s not very slick.”
The door behind you opens, revealing Spencer who has been listening in the entire time. His jaw is clenched and a frown is etched upon his features as he looks at you accusingly.
“Maybe she just didn’t remember,” he points out harshly as you and Elle re-enter the room.
An incredulous look makes its way into your face. “Excuse me?”
“She didn’t remember, and now she does,” Spencer says, and from the corner of your eye you watch Elle slowly leave the room once more. The door closes with a soft click.
“That doesn’t change the fact that she went to Elle and not to me,” you respond, trying to keep your voice even and your words clear. You take a deep breath in an effort to calm yourself down.
Spencer scowls at you. “Maybe she has every right to go to Elle after you snapped at her the first time you tried to talk to her.”
“Are you– are you being serious right now?” A humourless laugh leaves your lips as you glare up at him. “Look, Reid, I’m sorry that I’m not her biggest fan and that I don’t kiss the ground she walks on, but I was doing my job. A job that I believe I am quite good at. It’s not like speaking harshly is unheard of when it comes to the retrieval of information.”
He flinches when you call him by his last name but he stands his ground. “If you were so good at your job, you wouldn’t have to speak to her that way,” he argues, and you can see the vein in his forehead begin to protrude.
His words sting and bite you and suddenly you feel your resolve snapping. “You know what?” The words are slow and deliberate as they leave your lips, and you jab a finger against his chest. “I get that you have a crush on her and that you’re finally going through puberty but that does not mean that you can ignore the job you are currently on.”
He swallows thickly and he opens his mouth to retaliate but you push your finger against his chest once more.
“I am not finished.” Your voice is low with frustration and annoyance as you scowl, glaring up at him. “I don’t care who you’re attracted to or who you want to sleep with. I don’t give a damn if that someone is victim in the investigation because it’s not my problem. I do, however, have a problem when you undermine my ability to do my job and do nothing to fix it.
The worst part is the fact that you’re my friend. You’re supposed to be supportive and helpful and– and– and understanding.” Your mouth is moving quicker than your brain can register and you’re stumbling over your words as you snap at him. “I’m supposed to be able to go to you if I’m going through something. I should be able to talk to you if someone or something is bothering me, but now I’m just afraid that you’ll call me crazy and then criticise me all over again.”
His face falls and he looks at you like a kicked puppy as the words slowly sink in. He reaches out to you, his hazel eyes searching your face but the only emotion that you’re showing is anger. You push his hand away, the frown set on your eyebrows. It’s only then when you realise that Garcia has been listening into the conversation the entire time, your heart lurching to a stop when you hear her cough on the other side of the line.
“Um… is now a bad time to say that I didn’t get any other hits for the profile?” She asks tentatively through the speaker, and you feel your face burning.
“I need air,” you announce to no one in particular, before grabbing your files and storming out of the room.
Elle catches your arm on the way out, her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “(Y/N)-“
“Hey. Sorry.” You bite your lip, loosening the grip you have on your papers. “Where’s Hotch?”
“With Derek and Gideon,” she says gently. “Lila got another note and we’re going to check on her manager. Do you want to come with?”
You exhale before nodding. “Yeah. That’d be good.”
“Okay.” She squeezes your arm gently, her eyes flitting between you and Spencer who was inside the conference room, pacing back and forth. “Is… everything alright?”
“Honestly? No.” You offer her a wry smile, shoving your files into your bag. “But it’s fine.”
She chuckles a little in disbelief, leading you to the black SUVs outside. Derek and Gideon were already there, waiting patiently for the two of you while Hotch has already left in another SUV. Apparently the ‘no profiling each other’ rule was thrown out the window as soon as they saw the state you were in, and Derek quickly makes his way over to you.
“(Y/N), are you–”
“I’m fine,” you snap, before closing your eyes tightly and letting out a deep breath. “Sorry, Morgan. I’m okay, just had an argument with Reid.”
At that, his eyebrows shoot upwards. “Since when did you call him ‘Reid’? And what do you mean you had a fight with him? He literally can’t say no to you.”
“Yeah, that was before a Miss Archer walked into the room,” you mutter bitterly. “Shot a literal arrow through his heart. She put her name to good use. I never stood a chance.”
“Hey now, don’t say that,” Elle says, climbing into the SUV. You follow closely behind and she continues. “He’s just confused right now.”
You can’t help but scoff. “I really doubt that.”
Gideon starts the car, looking at you through the rear view mirror. “You’re a profiler. What do you really think?”
The words die at your tongue and you deflate into the seat of the car. You hate to admit it, but Gideon is right. You should be able to figure out exactly what Spencer is thinking. After all, he’s your best friend– you shouldn’t have to be worrying about guessing games when it comes to him.
Hotch is the first to arrive at the manager’s office, watching as your group pull up in front of the building. Once everyone clambours out of the car, they enter the building, a sigh of relief leaving them as they enjoy the air conditioned lobby. With a flash of a badge, the receptionist is quick to tell you which floor and room number Michael was in.
“Floor 11, Room 03,” you mumble to yourself as you scribble it down in your notes.
The elevator ride is silent and you rock back and forth on your feet as the lift begins to rise. Your head is spinning with thoughts and regrets as you consider the harsh words that you spat at Spencer’s face less than an hour ago. You must not have been hiding your frustration well because Hotch finally says something.
“Is everything alright?” He asks, much like a father would when their child is having a tantrum. It’s fitting.
You shrug. “I will be.”
“Is it to do with Reid?”
You cough awkwardly, glancing back at the notes in your hand. “That obvious?”
Derek snorts from behind you. “Yeah, a little.”
“Everyone knows you’re in love with him,” Elle adds, a teasing lilt to her voice.
“I am– I am not in love with him!” You all but shriek, shooting her a half hearted glare and you stutter out a response. “I mean, I– uh– I like him but–“
“You are a horrible liar,” Derek cackles and you groan.
Hotch and Gideon watch amused at the interaction, and the latter finally pipes in.
“Profiling isn’t something you can just turn off,” he explains to you, his tone gentle. He reminds you of a grandfather giving advice to their youngest grandchild, and a small smile makes its way onto your face. He continues to speak, “it’s subconscious and it becomes a habit. The only time it stops is when you either need it most, or when you don’t want to see anything.”
The elevator comes to a stop on the eleventh floor and Michael’s office wasn’t far away. The writing on the frosted glass reads ‘1103, Michael Ryer & associates, talent management’ and Elle raps on the door.
“Hello?”
“Mr Ryer?” Gideon calls.
She knocks a few times again before opening the door entirely. “Michael–”
You’re met with Michael Ryer, dead in his arm chair and shot to the head, just like all the other victims. Despite having faced these circumstances before, you still feel sick to the stomach as you stare at Michael’s lifeless body and soulless eyes. It’s unnerving.
“Up until now every victim was a person who could be perceived as a threat to Miss Archer,” Hotch comments as they enter the room, pulling out his phone.
“Yeah, but Michael was a friend,” Elle says with a frown.
You look up from your notes. “He was a threat to the stalker.”
In less than twenty minutes, the LAPD dispatched forensics and evidence teams to the office. Lila and Spencer were on their way back to her house, deciding that it was best to deny the stalker access to her. You rifle through Michael’s belongings: his schedules, his files… everything until you come to one particular manila envelope.
“Morgan, Elle, look at this,” you murmur, pulling the photos out of the envelope. “Pictures of Lila… nude.”
A flash of a grimace passes along Elle’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. “He was probably paying someone to keep them out of the press.”
“The name on the file says Joe Martinez,” Derek mutters, turning the envelope over.
The name must have struck a chord, because Detective Kim’s head immediately snaps around to look at you. “Paparazzo?”
You blink. “You know this guy?”
“Yeah, I deal with him a lot,” Kim responds, his face stoic.
“We should follow that lead,” You comment, tucking the photos back in the envelope and looking over at Detective Kim and Derek. “I’m ready to go when you are?”
After an okay from Hotch, you, Derek, and Detective Kim make your way over to the Joe Martinez’s place. After knocking on the door to his place multiple times, Derek decides to open it in the way he knows best: by kicking it down. You grip your gun, holding it out in front of you as you travel through the hallways.
“Clear!” You yell out upon pushing another door open, seeing nobody inside.
“(Y/N), you need to check this out,” comes Morgan’s call, and you follow the direction of his voice
Pinned above a small desk are picture upon pictures of Lila Archer. When she has lunch, when she’s out with her friends… it’s almost as if this person has completely documented her life. It’s a little nerve wracking, knowing that someone could follow you and take photos without anyone even realising.
“Hey is that–” you pause, pulling a piece of paper off the wall. “This is Lila’s schedule.”
Derek blinks in surprise. “I’m guessing he’s not supposed to have that?”
“No,” Detective Kim responds, and your gaze shifts to the table.
“Hey, isn’t that–” you feel your heart practically stop as you see who’s in the photos.
“That’s Reid,” Derek mutters.
Kim shifts through the photos. “There’s a whole bunch of them,” he says, pulling out at least five or six print outs. “Is he a target now?”
Derek scoffs, throwing the photos on the table and pulling out his phone, making a beeline for the exit. “Not if I can help it.”
You and Detective Kim follow him out, making your way to the SUV.
“Reid? Hey, it’s Morgan. Listen, you gotta watch your back over there, we just found a bunch of close-up photos of you at this guy Joseph Martinez’s studio. It looks like he could be the UnSub.”
As he speaks you feel your heart pound in your ears. Your head is dizzy with fear and you’re following after Morgan who’s walking unbelievably quickly.
“He has a ton of photos of Lila and Nathalie plus a call sheet for Lila’s show,” Derek continues, the speed of his walk not wavering. “(Y/N) and I are on our way right now but I need you to be real careful until we get there, all right?”
You look down to shove your notes back into your bag when you hear it. The distinct vrooming of a motorcycle engine. You don’t think too much of it, only turning your head to look over your shoulder, your hand finding the handle of the car door. That’s all it takes for the motorcyclist to drive straight toward you and the others, pointing an arm out.
“Gun!” You manage to scream, just before the UnSub open fires, hitting Detective Kim.
You dive behind the car, grimacing when your knee collided roughly against the pavement. By the time you manage to recover and grab your gun out of its holster, the UnSub is long gone. You stare as Morgan fires a couple shots before watching the motorcyclist ride off into the LA traffic, and you turn to Detective Kim.
“You got hit. Where?” You ask, shoving your gun back into its holster.
He grunts in pain, his entire weight on the car as he groans out, “yeah, it’s fine. Just my shoulder.”
“Derek, call for help,” you order, pressing firmly at the wound with your hand to lessen the bleeding. He lets out a cry of pain and you wince. “Sorry, it’s bleeding a lot. Gunshot wound to the shoulder, no exit wound. Seeing as you’re not already dead, I don’t think it hit any major arteries, but it might have busted your collarbone. You’re lucky if that’s the extent of the damage. The shoulder contains a bunch of important and major bloodlines, as well as nerve endings.”
Derek turns to you with a wry smile. “You’re starting to sound like Reid.”
“You spend four years with him, you’ll start to learn a few things,” you respond with a humourless laugh. You continue to press against Detective Kim’s wound, murmuring an apology.
“You should talk to him,” Derek prompts.
You scoff, “we have a detective bleeding in front of us and the thing you’re worried about is my love life?”
“Isn’t the first rule of relieving pain through distraction?” He asks. You shoot him an unimpressed look and he quickly nods his head. “Okay, sorry.”
Ten minutes later, Detective Kim is hoisted into the ambulance. You cringe as you wash his blood off your hands, once, twice, then a third time to make sure everything is gone. Your shirt has a couple of blood spots and you can’t help but frown; you liked that shirt. At least the stain isn’t too big– just a few splotches here and there.
“It’s a good thing you held the wound,” an EMT praises, working quickly to secure Kim’s shoulder. “He shattered his collarbone, but you seemed to have managed to control the bleeding.”
If it weren’t for the circumstances, you would have shouted a clear ‘I told you so’ to both Derek and Detective Kim, but you keep your mouth shut.
Hotch, Gideon, and Elle arrive moments later, speaking to Derek about the detective’s injuries.
“You okay?” Elle asks gently, squeezing your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you murmur, wringing your hands together. “Just a little jumpy. I’ll be fine.”
“We need to get to her house,” Gideon mutters, glancing at the group.
Without another moment to lose, you’re clambering into an SUV, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white. Elle climbs into the passenger seat beside you, her brows knitted together in concern. She opens her mouth to say something but shuts it, watching as you start the car and speed off into the direction of Lila’s house.
After slamming the door shut and gripping the gun firmly in the palm of your hand, you follow Derek through the back entry of the house. You weren’t even sure if it could even be counted as a ‘house’; the place looked like it had at least five bedrooms on both floors. Derek glances at you, signalling to be quiet, then another to keep your eyes on him. A quiet splashing in the pool alerts your attention, and despite his attempts of getting you to not look, you do. And as soon as you do, you really wish you hadn’t.
You are met with the sight of Lila Archer in her bikini-clad glory, in the pool with Doctor Spencer Walter Reid. Doctor ‘pools are incredibly unhygienic, harbouring more than 50 million different types of bacteria’ Reid. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, you watch as their lips touch again and again, his hands cupping her face and her hands arms around his neck.
Spencer pulls away from the kiss, his breath heavy and his head spinning. This is wrong. He’s not supposed to being do this. His brain is short circuiting and it’s even worse when he considers all the germs that could be in this pool. His head spins with the names of viruses and bacteria that could be festering in the waters he was currently in, and then he remembers he has more pressing matters to attend to. Namely the girl who was literally pressing her lips to his.
He pulls away, stammering over responses. “We can’t– we shouldn’t. I’m a federal agent and you’re–”
Lila stares at him, amused, with her hands cupping his neck. “There’s no one here.”
“I’m supposed to be protecting you,” Spencer tries again, anxiety gnawing at his stomach. This is wrong. Unprofessional. Then his mind wanders to you and the nagging voice in the back of his mind urges him to do something.
“There are police out front,” Lila says, kissing him again before continuing, “there are coyotes out back.”
“This is completely inappropriate,” Spencer stutters out, his hands reaching for her shoulders. Her skin is cold from the summer night’s breeze, even more so considering how they’re submerged in disgusting chlorine-filled pool water.
“This?” She presses her lips to his once more. “What’s this?”
“This isn’t–” he swallows thickly, his cheeks flared. “No, there’s this thing called transference–”
Lila pulls away, her stare drifting from his eyes to his lips as she asks, “you don’t like me?”
Spencer blanches at the question. “What?”
“You don’t like me,” Lila repeats, more sure of herself now. “It’s because of her, right?”
He frowns at the insinuation. “‘Her’? Who’s ‘her’?”
“The other person on your team,” Lila says, her words bitter. “You like her don’t you?”
His mouth goes dry and he opens and closes it like a fish out of water. “What?”
“Let me change your mind,” she whispers, bringing her lips to his for the nth time.
Spencer barely has time to react, his hands moving to the side of her face and he imagines that she’s you. But she’s not you and you would never kiss him in the middle of the pool. You would never pull him in by his tie and cut him off when he’s speaking. He pulls away.
“Stop. Stop, Lila, I’m sorry, I have to– I have to tell you something.” His mind is blanking. Why is it that when he needs it, his brain shuts off?
“What?” Lila asks, her lips moving to his cheek and then to his jaw.
“I didn’t want to tell you this before because I was a bit worried.” He’s screaming at himself in his head, kicking himself because ‘why the hell did he just say that?!’ Regardless of the way he wishes he could shut his mouth and run out of the pool, he continues, “I don’t know how to say it but I can’t not tell you.”
“What is it?” She finally pulls away and Spencer lets out a breath of relief.
The relief is short lived because he starts to blab, “Your manager, Michael–”
“What?”
“Gideon went to check on him but he got there too late.” Spencer thinks he’s going to hurl, his mind running a million times an hour and screaming, ‘No you idiot! No, no, no! Out of all the things you could say–’
Lila scrambles out of the pool, clearly distraught, and he reaches out to touch her arm… only to be swatted away with her sobbing and telling him not to touch her. He figures he deserves that and follows out of the pool after her.
“How could you– how could you not tell me?” Lila demands, her tears mixing with the pool water already on her face.
“I was afraid you’d be upset,” Spencer says lamely, water dripping from his trousers and he just wants a towel.
“You– you knew what you knew and… how could you not…?” She’s on the verge of hyperventilating and she looks at him before looking away.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer says quietly, not knowing what else to say.
Lila retreats into her house, shutting the glass sliding door behind her and Spencer can only watch as she throws a pillow at the wall before going up the stairs to her room. He stands there, in the cold, dripping wet from the pool water and he wipes his face with his hand. His gun sits on the table, damp, and he has the urge to scream. Before he could do something exceedingly stupid, the sound of footsteps alert him and he spins around.
“Elle?”
“We found him in the bushes,” she says to Spencer, nodding to the guy being cuffed by Derek.
“I told her she should cut those.” He says dismissively, wiping his gun with a towel. He looks at her and then at you. He swallows thickly, noticing the way your eyes look him up and down, the disapproval oozing in your stare. “I– uh– I fell in.”
“Yeah,” you respond, holding the camera up and a sarcastic smile blossoms on your face. “I’m sure there are plenty of photos of it.”
He sighs, “(Y/N)–”
“Hey, stop shoving me, man!” Joe snaps as Derek pushes him to walk forward.
“You’re a suspect in the murder of Wally Melman, Natalie Ryan, and Jeremy Collins.”
You watch as Joe’s face comically contorts from annoyance to confusion as he jumps to defend himself. “Murder? What? Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”
“Just shut up with the ‘whoa’. We know for a fact that you have hundreds of photographs of Lila Archer and Natalie Ryan on the walls of your studio. You have Miss Archer’s daily schedule on your desk. You’ve been stalking her.”
“Look, guy, hold up. Every paparazzi’s a celebrity stalker,” Joe says and the rest of the group turn to look at him incredulously. He continues to speak undeterred. “If you don’t stalk them, you don’t get the shot, and if you don’t get the shot, you don’t sell no pictures.”
“Yeah, well this one’s gonna cost you,” you hum, holding the camera in your hands and ripping the film out despite his yells of defiance.
Derek steps forward, pushing Joe to keep him walking. “Tell it to your lawyer.”
“Wh– I’m still being locked up?”
“That’s right, at the very least you’re trespassing.”
Elle and Derek walk Joe out of the premises, and you push the pulverised film against Spencer’s chest. He grips it in his hands, a soft ‘oof’ leaving his lips at the contact.
“You’re welcome,” you mutter, albeit a little bitterly, as you turn to follow the rest of your team out.
“(Y/N), listen, it didn’t mean anything,” he says softly, squeezing the film in his fist tightly while the other hand reaches out to you.
You roll your eyes, opening up the sliding door. “I told you, Reid, I don’t care who you sleep with.”
He splutters a little, pushing his hair away from his face. “We didn’t– I didn’t– we didn’t sleep together, you know that.”
“Even more reason why I shouldn’t care.”
His hand grips onto your shoulder, turning you around so that you’re facing him. “But you do. ‘Shouldn’t’? You care. You clearly obviously care, (Y/N).”
“I don’t,” you deny, pushing his hand away. “Reid–”
“Stop calling me that.”
“–it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I’m leaving.”
He grabs onto your arm, stopping your retreat. “Why are you being like this?”
“I am not ‘being like’ anything!”
“(Y/N).”
“Doctor, this is highly unprofessional.”
He has to stop the frustrated groan that was moments away from leaving his lips as he stares at you. His eyes ghost over your frame, stopping directly at the dark red splotches on your shirt.
“What happened?” He demands, taking a step closer. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“Who’s blood is that?”
“Detective Kim’s.”
“What– were you shot at?”
His hands fly to your face, trembling and cold, and you would have thought it was romantic if he didn’t do the exact same thing less than twenty minutes ago with another girl.
“It doesn’t matter,” you dismiss quietly.
“Don’t say that.”
“God, you act as if we’re dating or something!” You snap, pulling away from him.
He stops short, his cheeks and ears reddening at your words. His mind goes blank and suddenly he feels very warm at the idea. Dating you? Every moment he had with Lila in that pool is nothing compared to the idea of dating you.
He watches as you roll your eyes before tugging your arm out of his grip. He wants to cry out again, to say something, but his head just seems to repeat the words ‘we’re dating’ over and over again.
“Just forget it, Reid.” You look to the house and your gaze grows steely once more. “Your girlfriend is calling.”
***
“I want to try and talk to some of Lila’s close friends,” you say to the others after getting off the phone with Garcia. “According to Penelope, there’s a girl named Maggie Lowe on the list that Lila gave us and they’ve known each other since college. Apparently, they spent a lot of time together and Lila helped her get a job.”
“I’ll go with you,” Elle says instantly, climbing into the car. “Why Maggie?”
You start the ignition, backing out of the driveway and onto the main road, following the GPS directions. “They spend almost all of their time together. I mean, she must have noticed something off, you know?”
Elle nods slowly in understanding. “She knows about the red anemones, right?”
“Yeah. And she was the one who found the note taped to the door.” You pause, thinking through the evidence again. “Her apartment is right in the middle of the comfort zone.”
“You think she could be the UnSub?”
“It all seems too convenient. But then again, we didn’t profile the stalker as a woman. There have got to be some inaccuracies or things we overlooked because of the gender,” you murmur, stopping at a red light. “Call Garcia for me.”
The phone rings once before Penelope’s unmistakable voice chimes through. “Speak my pretties, and you shall be heard!”
“Hey, Pen, can you check what vehicle is registered under Maggie Lowe’s name?” You ask into the speaker, parking in front of the apartment.
“Checking, checking… aha! It’s a Honda Motorcycle, she just got it serviced six and a half months ago.”
“That’s the vehicle that the UnSub was driving when they shot at us,” you mumble in realisation. “Call the others, the UnSub might be Maggie Lowe. We’re checking the apartment now.”
“Gideon and Derek are at the art gallery to talk to Parker Dunley,” Elle points out. “I’ll let them know we’re at her apartment.”
There’s a typing on the other side of the line and Penelope chimes in once more. “Bad news, my loves. The cameras report Lowe’s motorcycle leaving the apartment complex half an hour ago.”
“Garcia, call Reid and tell him what we know. Elle and I are going into the apartment. We might find evidence or clues on who the next victim might be.”
With that, you hang up, getting out of the car and running up the stairs with Elle hot on your heels.
“Maggie Lowe?” You call through the door, knocking once then twice.
You’re met with silence and you grimace, deciding to do Derek’s favourite move: kicking the door down. With a crash, the door slams open and you grip your gun a little tighter in your hand. Bathroom, clear. Kitchen and pantry, clear. Lounge, clear. Bedroom, clear– you stop short. Pictures– framed pictures– of Lila hung around the wall. A cork board with newspaper clipping and magazine cut outs were pinned meticulously to the cork backing, each one with Lila’s face and name circled with bold red marker.
“Holy shit…” Elle whispers, holstering her gun and staring at the wall. “This is… this is beyond obsession.”
“You’re telling me,” you respond, putting on a blue glove and flipping through the cork board. “Call the others, Maggie is definitely the UnSub. Someone this obsessed must have…” you pause, filing through the desk on the other side of the room, “… a diary. Each murder was described to detail in each entry, as well as her feelings towards Lila.”
Elle grimaces as she looks over your shoulder to read the diary entries. “Grim.”
You huff out a laugh. “Yeah.”
Above her desk are images of Lila. Every single show she’s been in since Julliard, every time she was mentioned in an article, posters, newspaper clippings of the murders… the entire ordeal makes you feel sick.
Elle sucks in a breath, staring at the desk. “She’s got Lila’s entire life documented.”
“And she’s probably already at Lila’s house,” you mutter, grabbing your phone. “We need to get over there, now.”
***
“The city of angels everything you thought it would be?” Derek asks amusedly, leaning against the wall of the jet as he watches you pour your third cup of coffee in the past three hours.
It’s a couple days after Maggie Lowe was apprehended and the team were on the jet home getting some much needed rest. The aircon was put on full blast and you couldn’t be more grateful for it, enjoying the coolness on your skin in contrast to the hot Los Angeles weather.
“I’m never coming back here,” you quip, your gaze shifting to where Spencer sits. He’s reading a book but he hasn’t turned a page for the past thirty seconds. “If I were to overthrow America, Los Angeles is the first place to go.”
Derek snorts, his eyebrows raising. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” you huff, finally looking at him. “I’m serious!”
“Sure kid. Totally believe you.”
He’s teasing, a knowing smirk on his face as he watches you chug the coffee with a grimace. Your tongue burns and you fill the cup with water and chug that as well, ignoring the amused look Derek keeps sending you. From the corner of your eye you see Spencer reading his book. At least, it would appear that he was reading to someone who didn’t know him. But you know him. He’s been staring into the pages for the past minute now and that alone was enough to let you know that he was paying more attention to your and Derek’s conversation than to the words on the page.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you sit beside Elle who is already fast asleep. You envy her for a moment as she leans against the plane window, blissfully unaware to your mental torment. Stupid Spencer and his stupidly pretty face. From where you’re sitting you can see the back of his head and you glare at that the ridiculous mop of brown on his head.
The rest of the plane ride is uneventful and by the time you make it back to the office it’s already late. It’s nearing one in the morning and everyone begins to head home. Derek is yawning as he leaves the office and Elle has a look that screams ‘Don’t talk to me’. Gideon is long gone and Hotch was in his office, packing up the last of his papers and files.
Spencer is sitting at his desk, combing through the paperwork and stashing a couple pages into his satchel. He bids farewell to Derek and the others before shoving his train pass into his pocket.
“You’re taking the train?” You ask, finally speaking to him.
His eyebrows raise in surprise and he shifts on his feet, gripping the strap of his bag. “Um, yeah. I took the train here, so...”
“Oh.” You nod, glancing at the clock. “No you’re not.”
He huffs out a laugh. “What?”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you get onto a train at one in the morning,” you say, pointing with your chin to the elevator. “You might be a man and all, but it doesn’t change the statistics.”
You know his weakness. Statistics. Facts. Spencer hates the fact that you know him so well.
He relents, getting into the elevator with you. “I thought you were mad at me.”
He hears you scoff, pressing B1 on the elevator. “Just because I’m mad at you, doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you do something potentially dangerous.”
He hates the way your words makes his heart flutter and he continues speak. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that you did,” you respond curtly, watching as the elevator doors open. “Come on, my car is that way.”
Spencer flinches at your tone. “I’m sorry.”
You laugh. “You don’t even know what you’re sorry for.”
“I–” the words die on his tongue as he wracks his brain. “I thought it was because you didn’t like Lila.”
“That’s true,” you murmur, unlocking the car. “Look, Reid–”
“Please,” he cuts you off, his voice cracking as he practically begs. “Please stop calling me that.”
He doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to him as you tug the car door open. “You want me to stop calling you by your name?”
Spencer’s nostrils flare as he gets in the car. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
You laugh again as you start the engine, glancing at the mirrors. “Everyone calls you Reid. It shouldn’t be any different for me.”
He huffs. “But it is different. You’re… different.”
“How?” You challenge, backing out of the parking spot and getting onto the main road. You’ve memorised the route from Quantico to Spencer’s apartment in DC– an almost one hour drive and you understand why Spencer hates driving to and from work.
He falters before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just please don’t call me by my last name again.”
“Spencer,” You try again, missing the visible relief in his eyes, “I’m not mad at you because of something as miniscule as a girl. You’re entitled to your own relationships outside of work.”
“I don’t under– oh.” The realisation dawns on him when he recalls all the words you threw at him at the precinct. “I wasn’t a very good friend, was I?”
“No, Spencer, you weren’t.” You don’t hesitate to say it and Spencer winces at how quickly you agree with him. “You were unfair and let your emotions get in the way of the case. You criticised me and undermined my authority and then you had the absolute nerve to act as if nothing was wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” he croaks out, the lump in his throat getting bigger.
“It hurt, Spencer,” you say, and your voice cracks as well. “It hurt because you’re my best friend and I would have supported you through everything. You know that. And I get that friends fight, but I thought that we wouldn’t fight about something as stupid as who you hook up with.”
“I didn’t hook up with her,” Spencer says quietly, and he thinks he might cry. “I’m serious, (Y/N), I didn’t hook up with her. She kissed me–”
“It doesn’t matter.” Your gaze shifts to him for barely a second before it’s back on the road. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter who you’re attracted to. I just didn’t think it would effect our friendship.”
“I’m sorry,” Spencer says again, holding onto his bag.
You’re quiet before continuing, “ I know you are. I know that. I’m sorry that you thought that you needed to justify your feelings to me.”
He swallows thickly, watching your face carefully. You didn’t do anything to make him feel like he had to justify himself. If anything, it was Spencer’s conscious that made him feel the need to explain himself. The guilt that he felt after kissing Lila was enough to get him to feel sick. The guilt that he felt after knowing how badly he hurt you was enough to make him want to grovel at your feet.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” He mumbles, wetting his bottom lip. “You had– have– every right to be upset.”
“I don’t want to be upset anymore,” You say as you continue to drive down the freeway.
He’s quiet before he finally says, “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
He swallows the lump in his throat and he presses the pads of his fingers into the corner of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
You finally park in front of his apartment, leaning against the chair. “I know. I know, I’m sorry too. I said… a lot of things.”
“I deserved it,” he says, a small laugh leaving his lips as he finally looks at you. “You’re right, I wasn’t being fair.”
You hum, leaning over the console to give him an awkward hug. He presses his nose into your shoulder, breathing in your vanilla perfume. His arms wrap around your middle and he realises how much he missed this. How he missed being close to you.
“I won’t do it again,” he promises.
“I know.”
“I really am sorry.”
“You need to stop apologising.” Your words come out like a laugh and he realises how much he misses that sound too.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says into your shoulder. “Coffees for a month. I’ll even get you those croissants you like, even though they’re really overpriced.”
You laugh again and he smiles.
“You apologising is already good enough,” You say, squeezing his arms. “Now go get some rest, Spence.”
His smile widens at the nickname and he finally pulls away. “Good night. Thank you for driving me home.”
You smile back. “Good night. Don’t mention it.”
The next morning, you find a steaming coffee on your desk and a freshly baked croissant in a brown paper bag. Spencer waves at you and you can’t help the goofy grin on your face as you take a bite into the croissant.
next part →
full work
reblogs are always appreciated!
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#mattew gray gubler x reader#matthew gray gubler#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x reader fluff#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds x reader fluff#mgg#mgg x reader#mgg x reader fluff#spencer reid angst#spencer reid x reader angst#criminal minds angst#criminal minds x reader angst
5K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello. I always thought it was ridiculous for the Cullens to go to school, because they could literally be anywhere. Only if it serves as the best cover for the college and gives the impression that they are real people and didn't appear out of nowhere.
In addition, there is comedic potential. Imagine that Carlisle is called to school because of Emmett. He is close in age and appearance to Carlisle and calls him father. Everyone is looking at them. And they watch it again. It's just a ridiculous situation, especially in the context of a school.
Yeah it really doesn't make much sense. And the thing is it . . . could have just been Edward in school? And sure, that still doesn't make much sense, but he's at least the physically youngest. Bella even says that Emmett and Jasper look more like teachers than students so WHY BE THERE AT ALL?!
It feels like she just wanted them in high school so she put them in high school, but it doesn't make sense. Even the in-universe explanation of "the younger we start out, the longer we can stay" really doesn't make any sense because they could just say they are home-schooled, or don't go out in public in Forks much, or a million other things.
Other than Edward they are physically too old for high school, and having to skip all the sunny days just makes them stand out rather than blend in. It's counterproductive.
The only way it sort of makes sense if it's about building up their tolerance to being around humans, and if they are doing it together they can help each other through temptation, but then you get into the question of "should we be using proximity to children to test our ability to resist human blood?"
College would make way more sense and honestly the story would have worked better on several fronts. Bella's all-in commitment to Edward/vampirism would be easier for me to accept with a few more years of life experience. But mostly her getting up to all these supernatural shenanigans without her parents getting involved would make way more sense. Running off to hide from James; her depression when Edward leaves; running off to Volterra to save him, etc, all make more sense in a world where she's living in a dorm or an apartment or whatever and there are no parents around to be like ". . . what?"
It would probably shift the story from true YA to "New Adult" to set it in college, but there's wiggle room there and it wouldn't meaningfully change the plot, just make the cover story more convenient, and would still be relatable to teens.
And yeah the idea of 23-year-old Carlisle having to be the parent of 20-year-old Emmett at a high school conference or meeting is preposterous. Standing or sitting next to each other it would be hard not to notice they don't look much different in age.
"You're HIS father?"
"He's adopted."
". .. did you adopt him when you were 3?"
"No my also 20-something wife and I adopted a bunch of teenagers barely younger than us just within the last few years."
"Oh, of course, totally a normal thing that happens all the time!"
38 notes
·
View notes
Note
loving acovav and your family systems posts, it puts into words and pulls together so many problems that exist within the ic and relationships in the book xx
though i just have to say it absolutely KILLS me that sjm somehow accidently created such interesting and complex character dynamics (even though there is still a fair amount of inconsistency)
Thank you so much! I was glad to find I wasn’t alone in being baffled/infuriated by the books lol
I think sjm does have the ability to identify the conditions for conflict, but kind of all of us do. Blending families can be hard, involved power struggles. Entering a new world creates cognitive dissonance and grief. People react to trauma differently, and don’t always understand others’ reactions. Romance inside a friend group creates tension. These are things we all know if you think for a moment. But her weakness is that she’s often bad at predicting how people would react to these conflicts, and she definitely doesn’t understand why and how people change.
On the whole, the “themes” she explores are pretty universal. That’s why her premises have so much potential but don’t go anywhere emotionally satisfying. And universal stories are satisfying, that’s why we tell them over and over a la the Hero’s Journey. ACOTAR is Beauty and the Beast. ACOSF is essentially The Taming of the Shrew with more push-ups. But where a different telling like 10 Things I Hate About You says something new about that story- that we are more than stereotypes and can find authentic connections when we transcend them - her conclusions are straight up weird. Like, ACOSF says: be who everyone wants you to be and life gets better. Uh?? In what world is that a hopeful takeaway??
That’s why even her own characters seem out of character, because the inciting events and the reactions they elicit don’t make sense half the time. I think it’s because she doesn’t have equal compassion for her characters (some none at all) so the ones she likes get every motivation for their actions upheld as worthwhile, and the ones she doesn’t like are either two dimensional or have to suck up to the characters she likes for redemption. But she doesn’t recognize that this communicates something, even if it’s unintentional. It’s like she doesn’t realize there’s a subconscious story underneath the surface one, that we can see her thought process through the choices she makes AND the ones she doesn’t.
I know she’s talked about how she puts a lot of her own experience into the books and I think that shows but mostly through her internal and external biases, unfortunately. She only ever affirms her own beliefs through the text, and ultimately says something obvious or straight up distasteful without meaning to (I hope). Other people have detailed her misogyny more thoroughly than I can here, but the disdain for her female characters is so obvious. And that’s not even starting on the racism. There’s a very clear thread of personal responsibility that ignores all the systemic, identity, and cultural factors that make us feel, think, and behave in certain ways.
All this is to say: agree, it’s so annoying because it’s like she had all the ingredients for a cake and somehow made a pizza instead because she likes it more. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know how you got from there to here Sarah, and you seem happy but I still want cake!
Anyway, thank you for the ask, and letting me indulge in affronted literary criticism, which is my favorite thing to do 🤓
14 notes
·
View notes
Note
CYNTHIA X READER!! With a side order of them sneaking away from school and going to the readers house to get high and kissing spontaneously?!!?
worth your while
( note ) : mourning the loss of this wonderful show. here’s me coping.
( pairing ) : cynthia zdunowski x fem!reader
( words ) : 1.9 k
Making it through the halls when that bell rings requires a sort of methodical precision. It takes planning and a watchful eye to know which routes to take and not to take. Depending on your destination and any stops you want to make along the way, the difficulty might vary. But you’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.
The walk from History to English is easy enough. There’s a few twists and turns but you make it just in time to find the person you’re looking for — Cynthia. She’s walking with Nancy, talking with her hands in wild gestures in undoubted criticisms of how confusing the class novel is. You agree, but it’s no time to sympathize over unintelligible classics. You’re running on limited time.
“Careful there, Cyn. You don’t want to take someone’s eye out,” you say, gently catching her arm. She turns around, wide-eyed and slightly startled before her lips stretch into a wide-toothed smile. You try not to lose focus as her eyes soften.
You never thought that shade of blue could make one feel so warm.
“Hey, Nance. Mind if I steal this one away for a sec?” you ask, recovering from a momentary state of hypnosis.
“Nope! She is all yours. If I hear one more thing about Washington Square, I might do something I’ll regret. So, for the benefit of everyone in this school, please do.”
“Nope! She is all yours. If I hear one more thing about Washington Square, I might do something I’ll regret. So, for the benefit of everyone in this school, please do.”
“Hey! At least pretend to be sad to give me away.” Nancy shoots her an incredulous look, arms crossed in a way that scares Cynthia. Whatever for, you’re not entirely sure.
“It’s not like you’ll be complaining—” Nancy starts, or you think that’s what she said. Cynthia’s quick to grab you by the shoulders, abruptly turning you on your heels.
“Okay! Off we go. I’ll see you later, Nance!” Cynthia digs her feet into the ground, pushing you further down the hall. Judging from a few turned heads, you know the two of you probably look ridiculous. You don’t mind. “Y/N! You were saying?”
“We’ll talk later. Come on, we have to hurry.” You loop an arm around hers, turning around a corner. You try to blend into the dispersing crowd as the hallways empty, finding secluded spaces to avoid lurking staff and hall monitors.
“Where are you going? Class starts in a minute.”
“The exit. I don’t plan to be here in a minute.”
“You’re skipping?” You’re surprised to hear the shock in her voice. This isn’t exactly the first time you’ve done this.
“You don’t wanna come with me?”
Cynthis tries to find her voice. Yes, she absolutely does want to go with you. Hell, she’d follow you anywhere. But could she trust herself to be alone with you right now? When she’s still trying so hard to figure out how to be normal around you? When her mind goes blank every time you laugh for some reason she can’t figure out for the life of her?
“I didn’t say that. I just wasn’t expecting—”
“Come on, Cynthia. What do you have next? Science? Learning about… topography or something? We live in California, for crying out loud! We got enough hills out there to learn from.”
You’ll be the death of me, she thinks. And so what if she doesn’t care?
“That was the last unit. We moved on to tectonic plates. You’d know that if you paid any attention.”
“Well, can you blame me? That class would put anyone to sleep. The only thing keeping you awake are the Pink Ladies being there with you. I don’t have the pleasure of keeping tolerable company.”
“Fine. What class are you trying to bail on?” You cross your arms, confident in your ability to earn some sympathy.
“Home Ec.”
“Yeah. That is rough,” Cynthia agrees with a grimace.
“Mhm. I’m learning how to sew, Cyn. We’re pinning fabrics and sewing buttons. I already know this stuff! The boredom is killing me. Killing me!” The bells rings, the last of students filing into classrooms. You give her another pleading look.
“Nobody’s talking you out of this, are they?”
“Nope. Now, take pity on a poor girl and walk her home.”
“Fine,” she sighs, feet dragging as she makes for the exit. You don’t move from where you stand, foot tapping against tiled floors.
“Well, that was just insulting. What happened to enthusiasm? Where’s that Thespian spirit?” She laughs — a light-hearted giggle that turns the thoughts in your head to static. Goodness, she’s really killing your image.
“Alright! Alright, I’m going—” Just as she reaches for you, you hear the tell-tale sound of heels clicking. If there’s anything you admire about Ms. McGee, it’s her punctuality. She never misses a tardy sweep. Instinctively, you lunge forward, grabbing a hold of her jacket in a quick attempt to maneuver you both out of sight. You flinch as your back hits a wall, Cynthia’s weight on your chest doing nothing to soften the blow. You wait for the footsteps to fade, a fist closed over the zipper of her jacket. The metal feels cold against your skin, contrasting the warmth radiating from her chest. It rises and falls under your hand, a steady rhythm to bring you back to your senses.
“Sorry,” you mumble, scared that you’ve crossed a line. Would she run? She was already hesitant to come along. You think it might be better to forget the whole ordeal altogether. “It’s no problem, you know? If you want to go another time, I mean.” You try to finish off with a laugh, hoping it doesn’t come off so awkwardly. “I could always ask someone else to… have a little bit of fun.” You hadn’t meant for it to come off so suggestively, but you decided you’ll bite your fist later and dig your own grave when she’s gone. There’s no way you’re recovering from that humiliation.
“No! No. I’ll go,” Cynthia surprisingly agrees.
“Okay.” You sigh, relieved. “Okay. Good. I’ll make it worth your while.”
_________________________________________________
“How did you even get this stuff?” The stuff in question is a generous stash of weed that, quite frankly, Cynthia’s a little worried about where you’d gotten it from.
“We’ve got a lot of idiots at Ry-Hell, but the lockers are always a fun raid.”
“How are you getting into people’s locker’s?”
“I’m blowing em’ up,” you deadpan. “I’m picking locks, of course. How else am I supposed to do it?”
“You know how to pick locks?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. I’m a woman of many talents.”
“You’re crazy.” You hum in partial agreement.
“Maybe.” You’re a little preoccupied to argue. You’re not sure she’s entirely wrong, either. Cynthia’s lips look a little more vibrant. Her voice rings a little bit louder. It has to be the drugs messing with your perception. There’s hardly anything you’ve missed about Cynthia. Everything she says and does remains embedded in your brain. In a special place it seems to have carved out, just for her. “You know, the hall monitors aren’t doing a great job at monitoring.”
“Hm, I’ll put in a word with Jane.”
“Nah. We shouldn’t bother her. She and Richie are probably busy.” The two of you laugh, both in awe of your friends. How they couldn’t be any more different, and yet they work so well together. How they think nobody notices the stolen glances and smiles they share. Cynthia wonders if it’s the same — if the sneaking around means to you and her what it does to Jane and Richie. If you’re even allowed to feel the same.
“She’s gonna kill me for skipping,” she diverts, shaking the thought away.
“She doesn’t have to know we’re getting high.”
“Oh yeah?” Somehow, she thinks Jane would find out anyway. She indulges you, regardless. “What am I supposed to tell her?”
“We could tell her we’re doing something productive,” you respond with a shrug.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Tell her we’re running over lines. ‘Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.’” Cynthia’s mouth opens and closes, her throat running dry and suddenly aware of how close you are. Her forearm, where she’d rolled up her sleeves, is touching yours. She’s hyper-aware of every centimeter of skin against her own.
“Out of the whole play, you remembered that part?” She turns her head to find you staring at the ceiling in a state of bliss she can’t help but envy. How could you possibly be so calm at a time like this? Can’t you hear her heart ready to burst out of her chest?
“What can I say?” you start, shifting to prop yourself up on one elbow to look at her. “I’m a romantic.” Cynthia would have mourned the loss of contact, but you’re looking at her with a sentiment she’s not sure she’s ever seen before. Somehow, it feels twice as intimate as it did to touch you.
“Right.” She looks away, making you frown. You didn’t want her to shy away like that. Cynthia was made to be admired. You think about her hair, a deep shade of chestnut that glows red in the sun like embers — like the heart of winter fire. Like the bark to keep it burning… the warmth that keeps you burning.
“I don’t understand it.”
“What?”
“How you make me feel.”
Suddenly, the very air around you feels fragile. One wrong move, and it’s bound to shatter. It’ll cut like glass and bleed you both dry, if you let it.
“How— How do I make you feel?” Cynthia’s having trouble breathing, the magnitude of every passing second growing by tenfold.
You, on the other hand, are a little more at peace with the silence. Well, could you call it silence if you’ve filled every moment of it with ramblings about Cynthia and every admirable quality under the sun? How does one even begin to say those things aloud?
“You make me feel… everything. Everything all at once.”
Light floods in through the windows, Cynthia’s brown hair turning copper. You don’t realize that your hand has reached for it, tucking strands of hair way from her face. Your knuckles brush against freckled cheeks turned warm. Cynthia’s eyes bore into yours with curiosity and anticipation that you can’t help but feel the need to satisfy.
Anything for you, Cynthia. Anything.
You close the distance between you, a hand tucked beneath her chin to pull her close. Cynthia meets you halfway, catching your lips with equal fervor.
It’s electrifying. Something long sought after that, now found, seems to fulfill every imaginable want and need you’ve ever dreamt of or — No. This is better than anything you’ve ever dreamt of. There simply isn’t a single person in the world who could fathom something even remotely close to this extent of utter bliss.
You pull away to catch your breath, the ghost of Cynthia’s smile still tangible on your lips. When you find the courage to open your eyes, you’re greeted with a perfectly crooked grin so contagious it draws immediate laughter from your lips.
“What do you think?” you ask through a smile so wide that your cheeks begin to hurt — a feeling you wouldn’t mind enduring, regardless. “Was that worth your while?” Cynthia shrugs but her face indicates everything but uncertainty as she moves closer, inches from your lips once again.
“Hm, I’m not sure yet. You might have to do that again.”
#guys ignore the repeated paragraphs around the cut. tumblr hates me#cynthia znudowski#cynthia zdunowski x reader#grease rise of the pink ladies#rise of the pink ladies
71 notes
·
View notes
Text
Enchanted
This absolutely stunning creation was made by the lovely and talented @/artbyainna on Instagram. I have been so anxious to share it with you - but waited for @tobias-carrick-appreciation-week. I'm so glad it's here!
In my HC, I built on the canon version of their meeting in A Deli...ghtful Meeting. But I've always wondered about the leadup. The moments when life is about to turn upside down in the most delightful way, but we don't see it coming.
The only thing Tobias was willing to commit to was remaining a bachelor. Beautiful, even brilliant women were common in his life, but never captivated him for long. But after a brief meeting with this woman, he could not get her out of his mind. These are the moments before Tobias Carrick's life was turned upside down... and he never saw it coming. This story is told from his POV.
Book: Open Heart Book 2
Pairing: Tobias Carrick x F!MC (Casey - eventual)
Featuring: Aurora Emery
Rating: Teen
Words: 1,600
A/N: The original title was not Enchanted, but as I was writing this, my daughter was playing the Taylor Swift song of the same name, and it fit so perfectly that I went with it. Participating in @aprilchallenge - Love is in the Air.
"Come on, jackass!" The steam was practically pouring out of Tobias's ears as his hand lay on the horn, refusing to lift it until the moron blocking the intersection moved out of the way. The moron finally did… just in time for the light to turn red.
His jaw clenched as he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, reminding himself it wasn't worth becoming this upset over. When his eyes opened, the light turned green, and only two thoughts remained. One: his best friend Kerry was really getting to him with her bullshit relaxation tips, and two, he couldn't be mad at her because they seemed to work.
His attitude improved as he drove off, but the morning traffic didn’t. A woman in a non-descript sedan waved at him as he sat in traffic, her eyes imploring him to wait so she could get out of her tight parking spot. He may have behaved differently a few moments ago, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he waved her on.
Then he had an idea. A parking spot on the streets of Boston? Unheard of. And that spot just happened to be located a few doors down from his favorite deli? That wasn't a coincidence. No, this was divine intervention telling him to reward himself with a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich from Boston Pocket. Without another thought, he parallel-parked his Santorini black Jaguar into the freshly vacated spot with ease.
It was a cool morning for late August, and he promised himself he'd go for a jog after breakfast. After all, God may have felt Tobias deserved that sandwich, but He wasn’t ensuring his toned abs. Nope, that rested squarely on him.
Bells jingled, and a delightful aroma wafted over Tobias as he opened the door. He inhaled deeply to take it all in. Yep, this would be well worth an extended jog.
"Whose next?" A young man barked from behind the counter.
Tobias raised a hand. "Bacon, egg, and cheese on a Kaiser roll. Salt and pepper."
"Want ketchup?"
"Do I look like a heathen to you?" Tobias leered, and the young man's grin made it clear that he shared his sentiments.
"Coming right up!"
With nothing to do but wait, he rested his elbow against the counter to take in the sights. Tobias Carrick had an unrivaled ability to look like he belonged anywhere, and this was no exception. So as he blended into the background, he quietly watched everyone who didn't.
The older woman dripping in diamonds and expensive designer clothes, a little dog resting comfortably in a Louis Vuitton carrier. He couldn't imagine what she was doing here. Of course, she probably knew this dive had the best breakfast in Boston, money be damned. Two high school kids uncrumpled the bills in their hands to find they did have enough to add homefries to their order. Then there was the cute little brunette with her shapely legs well-displayed in a tiny black linen skirt and matching high heels. Her eyes were waiting to meet his as they trailed slowly over her body, and he took the smirk on her cherry-stained lips as an invitation that he was eager to accept. He was about to take a step in her direction when a melodic laugh from the booth behind him created a distraction.
"It sure would!" The beguiling beauty beamed, mindlessly tucking an errant strand of her long, golden locks behind her ear. All at once, Tobis felt compelled to learn what “it” was and what it was going to do?
With the brunette who had held his attention moments before forgotten, he couldn't peel his eyes off this new vision. He stared, spellbound, as she animatedly waved her hands and joyfully conversed with her companion. Tobias Carrick observed for a living, and he had assessed her in mere moments. He was confident that no one could make a ratty, old Henley and a likely decades-old pair of jeans look that good so effortlessly, and that smile could not be faked. There was something so genuine about her, and he couldn’t look away.
He let out a little chuckle when he noticed her morning beverage of choice: a chocolate milkshake with the whipped cream already scooped off. He wasn't sure if it was revolting or adorable. If attributed to anyone else, the prior may have been the victor, but in this case, the latter undeniably won. His breath hitched when she leaned over and wrapped her lips around the straw. Never in his life was he more jealous of an inanimate object.
That solidified it. He had to work his way into their conversation. He was not leaving without her number, but how? He continued to watch her serendipitously, a pleasant smirk on his lips when he heard a loud crash.
The doctor in him took over, and he rushed toward the man collapsed on the floor, but, to his shock, the object of his affection had beat him to it.
"I’m getting his pulse!” The beauty yelled.
Was she a doctor?
“Sir!” Her companion hollered and pointed directly at him. “I need you to call 911!”
“I’m dialing now.”
He watched carefully, ready to jump in if needed, but he was a physician long enough to know that too many cooks spoil the soup, and the two women had things under control. Well, at least one of them did.
“Thank God you stopped me, Aurora!”
Thank God, indeed. He thought, then his eyes widened… Aurora? Could that be?
The paramedics barreled through the front door and made a beeline to the patient on the floor.
“Dr. Emery, what have we got?”
A smug smile came to his lips. It was her.
With the situation well under control, Tobias pulled out his phone and began texting rapidly.
… still want to snag Harper Emery?
… has she been receptive to you?
…. I’ve got an idea…
He looked up from his phone, dismayed to find Harper Emery’s niece and her stunning companion were gone.
“Shit!” he muttered, reminding himself they couldn’t have gone far.
“They were the doctors that just helped that man, right?”
The waiter stood before the abandoned table, holding a tray of food as the server behind the counter nodded.
“At least it wasn’t an eat-and-ditch,” the young man shrugged. “They didn’t eat and only ditched to save a guy's life.”
“Hey,” Tobias jumped in. “Do me a favor. Pack their food up… right away!”
“Were you with them?” the waiter asked.
Tobias pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the waiter. “Too many questions!” He spat. “Wrap the food and give it to me… quick… oh, and keep the change!”
“I’m on it!” The waiter grinned, handing Tobias a brown paper bag in a flash.
The bells that had greeted him upon entering now heralded his exit as he rushed outside. The two women were half a block away, well within catching distance.
“Doctors! Wait!” he yelled. “You forgot your breakfast!”
He had a definitive purpose now, and he knew what needed to be done. Still, it took all his strength to forget about wooing the young Dr. Emery to Kenmore. Every primal instinct within him was screaming to forget everything except getting this angel’s phone number. But when he stood before them, he handed the bag to Aurora.
“Oh, thanks!” The young Emery smiled. “Can I pay you for this?”
“Don’t mention it,” he said with his signature grin. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was charm. “I’m more than happy to treat a couple of heroes to breakfast.”
“Oh, we’re not heroes,” Emery replied. He may have been focusing on her, but his peripheral vision was finely tuned in to her friend, and was she ever checking him out.
“You were really something back there,” he continued.
He was impressed with his ability to focus. After all, luring Harper Emery to Kenmore would be a huge feather in his cap, and getting her niece there first could be just the ticket. This would really impress the top brass, and he had reason to want to do that. There was only one Aurora Emery. Pretty women, were a dime a dozen, right? If this one slipped through his fingers, there’d be another… eye on the prize. Then, she had to go and speak.
“She’s one of the best doctors at Edenbrook,” the beauty chimed in.
“I don’t doubt it,” he said with a broadened smile. God, she sounded like an angel. Focus! “It takes a very cool head under pressure to catch a detail like a cyanosis.”
Somehow, he managed to keep the conversation on point, wrapping it up by placing his business card into Aurora’s hands.
“Let me know if you’re ever looking for a change of pace.”
Less than a second after completing his task, the little head regained control of the big one. His eyes slowly raked over the tall beauty at Aurora’s side. He could feel the heat emanating between them, and he knew she felt it, too, when he saw the delicate blush on her cheeks. OK, she was interested. And when their eyes met, he was careful to not look away. He wanted to ask for her name. Her number. Could he buy her a coffee? Any chance she’d ditch her friend and grab breakfast with him? But he thought better of it and offered an enticing smile instead. He had to play this right, but this was not over.
After exchanging goodbyes, he turned and jogged back to the deli. But when he reached the door, he couldn’t help but look back once more. And was he ever happy that he did. He smiled with delight when he saw her staring right back at him. With his ego fully restored, he gave her a little wink before returning inside.
No. This was not over, and this is not where their story ended. If Tobias knew anything, he knew that he would see to that.
Permatags: @a-crepusculo @animesuck3r @annoyingmillenialnewbie @crazy-loca-blog @differenttyphoonwerewolf @doriopenheart @fayeswiftie @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @inlocusmads @jamespotterthefirst @jennieausten @kingliam2019 @liaromancewriter @lucy-268 @onikalover @openheartforeverinmyheart @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @secretaryunpaid @socalwriterbee @sophxwithers @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction @jerzwriter-reblogs-asks @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @openheartfanart
OH Tags: @alwaysmychoices @annfg8 @binny1985 @coffeeheartaddict2 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @ofmischiefandmedicine @peonierose @youlookappropriate
Tobias Only: @icecoffee90 @kyra75
#open heart fanfic#open heart fanart#tobias carrick#tobias carick x mc#tobias x casey#choices fanfic#choices fanart#playchoices#playchoices fanart#artbyainna#choices fic writers creations#choices monthly challenge#cfwc fics of the week#tobias carrick appreciation week
83 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hi, @vesper-1898, it's me, your Rebelcaptain Secret Santa! The prompt was vibrating panties / modern au, and I admit it did throw me for a loop at first! But once motivation took hold (after I was sick for so many weeks, ugh), I got there in the end! I really hope you enjoy your gift, and I hope your holidays have indeed been merry and bright.
(You can also find this fic on A03.)
and give me your electric touch
Cassian was in trouble.
Or - he would be, when Jyn got her hands on him. Thing was, he didn’t entirely mind the prospect. It was only fair, he thought, after the torture he was currently inflicting upon her, at her company’s holiday party, no less.
He played the dutiful boyfriend role to perfection - mostly because he was totally dedicated to the little firebrand, but also because he didn’t want to raise anybody’s suspicions that something a little untoward was happening. Plausible deniability and all that.
He’d never say something as ridiculous as she ‘belonged’ to him, because a: people weren’t property and b: if she belonged to anyone, it was wholly to herself, unapologetically so. It was one of the reasons that he’d fallen so head over heels for her.
Jyn Erso didn’t need anybody - but she was choosing to share her life with him anyway.
Hopefully, she would take it (marginally) easy on him once the night came to an end and they were blessedly back home.
Doubtful, but maybe.
After making the rounds, catching up with her co-workers he’d become familiar with over the years, Cassian took a seat away from the majority of the action - the drinking and dancing and general holiday carousing - grateful for his uncanny ability to just blend in, an ability that he had been cultivating his entire life.
And it wasn’t because he was antisocial or because he’d rather be anywhere else than at such a tedious function. Because it wasn’t. Tedious. He quite enjoyed most of Jyn’s co-workers and was happy to count them as friends, just as she did.
He simply did not want an audience for what he was about to do, fingers idly tapping at his phone, making it appear to anyone that might look over that he was fully invested in whatever he was doing or whoever he was texting. But looks could be deceiving. From under his eyelashes, Cassian was busy. Watching. Waiting.
Cassian knew that he couldn’t just play with the new toy willy-nilly. He had to wait for exactly the right opportunity.
This game wasn’t the least bit about embarrassing Jyn. No - it was all about the tease. And to be honest, Cassian had needed a little convincing to even take part. Okay, it wasn’t as though he was 100% vanilla, but it had taken Jyn to light the spark of … experimentation.
And boy, had their experiments yielded some positive results!
Cassian still wasn’t the biggest fan of overt public displays of affection … but he only pretended at uncertainty when she inevitably got bored at whatever function they were attending, grabbing his hand with a gleam in her eye to lead him somewhere semi-private so they could engage in some hasty, handsy fun.
And, as it turned out, he really liked it when she took control.
He loved giving it to her, trusting that he was in good hands and that whatever happened, she would take care of him.
If that wasn’t love, Cassian didn’t know what was.
They had thoroughly tested out the remote control vibrating panties Jyn was currently wearing, but this was the first instance of taking their new toy into public and it was … interesting, to say the least.
He found he really rather liked holding off and keeping Jyn on edge, the way he could see her clearly take a breath and surreptitiously look to where he sat, her expression a perfect mix of curiosity and wariness, like she was surprised that he hadn't raised the frequency of the vibration from its low baseline, like she was worried that he had changed his mind and wasn't going to do it at all. But Cassian Andor never backed down from a challenge - especially one that Jyn leveled at him. Meeting her eyes, he gestured toward the phone and mouthed 'my sister' even though that was, perhaps egregiously, a lie.
Even from across the room, Cassian could see the relieved breath that Jyn took, could observe some of the tension dissolve from her taut shoulders, allowing them to drop, her rigid spine loosening enough to let her relax, at least momentarily. He let her relish the feeling for a little while longer, but as she ended a conversation with her boss and seemed to be heading toward the refreshments, Cassian decided that her reprieve was over.
Oh, and he wasn't going to ease her into it. Where was the fun in that? All it took was a series of taps and suddenly, the vibrations increased from a tolerable level one to level five and Cassian felt what could only be described as a thrill race up the length of his spine to see Jyn react in real time, to watch how she practically jumped and shivered and pressed her thighs together in vain to try to muffle, somehow, the heavier vibrations wracking her body. He was impressed with himself for keeping his composure when Jyn found enough of hers to whip her head in his direction, glaring daggers from across the room before remembering that they weren't alone and turning her attention to making sure that nobody had caught on to what they were doing.
Cassian did much the same, once he managed to tear his gaze away from Jyn long enough to scan the crowd and ensure that their little game hadn't been noticed. Only when he was satisfied that they were safe from prying eyes did Cassian tap a few more times and up the frequency from five to seven.
And what a delectable sight Jyn made as her teeth bit into her plush bottom lip and her hands curled into fists at her sides and she wavered from side to side on shaky legs. Exquisite, the way he could see the flush of her cheeks darken all the moreso in the instant before she seemed to realize how openly she was enjoying the toy and their game and pulled herself together, shooting a heated glance at Cassian before making the move to slip away from the party.
He was a smart enough man to realize that she wanted him to follow.
It took no time at all to lock the phone and slip it back into his pocket, and barely any effort at all to slip from his seat and follow the path that Jyn blazed, cordially acknowledging those that acknowledged him first along the way. Soon enough, he ventured into the hallway just in time to watch Jyn disappear into an unlocked room, most likely an office, empty. Enough to hide them away for a while, but not to offer perfect privacy. But then - that just added to the excitement.
He reached the door in record time, curling his fingers around the handle, only pausing to give a cursory glance down one end of the hallway and then the other, ensuring again that they weren't being followed. Once he was certain that they weren't, he quietly opened the door and stepped inside - only to find himself crowded against the door in the instant that he closed and locked it behind him, Jyn's trembling hands pinning him where he was, her voice low as she growled for him to give her his thigh, which he did without preamble, curling a steadying arm around her middle as she parted her legs and positioned herself in exactly the right way to give herself the pleasure he'd been denying her all night.
If Jyn wanted to use him as a toy, well, Cassian was more than okay with that. He could feel heat building under his collar as she began grinding against him, nothing slow or exploratory about the way she circled her hips and pressed down on him, her panting breaths and soft moans more than enough to set his mind racing with thoughts of all the things they could do while they were safely locked away from the world at large. But - this wasn't about him. Jyn didn't have to tell him so - Cassian could prove just how good he could be without being ordered to do it. And he was more than happy to sit back and watch Jyn chase her release, relish in the pink of her cheeks and the perfect little 'O' of her mouth, all the beautiful noises she made for him, the way she clutched at his sweater like he was the only thing keeping her feet on the ground. Christ, she never failed to set the blood in his veins on fire in the best ways.
She didn't have to gasp a warning that she was close, the tightrope tautness of her body was a dead giveaway. And for as much as he didn't want to have to tear his eyes away from her, even for a second, he still needed to glance at his phone momentarily once he fumbled for it in his pocket and retrieved it successfully, the smirk on his lips slowly growing wider as he opened the app once more and jacked the frequency up as high as it would go, rewarded in the way her eyes widened and he gasped something incoherent, riding each vibration wracking her body just like how he imagined a seasoned rodeo rider would.
It hardly took much more than three or four stuttered rolls of her hips and Cassian found himself witnessing Jyn falling, falling, falling into an abyss of pleasure, her body shuddering from the force of her orgasm. He cared little of his own pleasure - and why would he - when this was everything he needed and more, the ultimate gift made all the better knowing that he was partly responsible.
As he adjusted his grip, Cassian was surprised by Jyn surging up on tiptoes to capture his lips in a fierce, possessive kiss, his breathless laughter muffled by her lips pressing against his. His expression must have registered the question on his mind, because Jyn didn't even give him a chance to ask it before she supplied an answer, her voice low and hungry.
"I'm gonna fucking wreck you."
Cassian's eyes darkened in response, and he let his free hand drop to her waist, squeezing gently. Words, who needed words? They both already knew the truth of the matter.
He couldn't wait.
#rebelcaptainsecretsanta#vesper-1898#stuff which lauren writes#stuff which lauren watches#rogue one: a star wars story#jyn erso#cassian andor#jyn x cassian#it's au time!#modern au#felicity jones#diego luna#pretty people being pretty
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
The help and constructive criticism of this by older and better writers is badly needed please. (and thank you <3)
If anyone sees this who knows more than me on the topics related, responses are so welcome, even if you think it may be hurtful, as long as it has a goal that is to get a logical thought across, it's welcome guys.
I am writing lore for a story I'm writing with a few friends (@elli4nna and a friend who doesn't have tumblr, rainatacos on Wattpad)
The situation is very similar to the annexation and removal of Hawaiian royalty by the United States.
This land is known for being cold, had a unique culture, and has blended with the nation that colonized it, the native people, almost none remaining with completely indigenous heritage, feel as though they have lost something, and try to recover it through the passing on of traditions, and know no other way of their culture.
After my main character finishes a journey of the main story, they defeat the larger enemy, and are granted the crown (Return with the Elixir, if you know about the hero's journey) of the lost monarchy of their kingdom, which they are the second heir to, but the other is too old, and fears she would not have the energy for this, and turns it down.
She does not want to completely disconnect from the larger government, (maybe in the future, but she respects that the current king of the colonizers is not his predecessors, and would absolutely allow them to govern themselves, they simply aren't ready.) She would lead a movement to bring back old customs, and use the ancestors knowledge to help those who are mixed with the race of the colonizers, (used to extremely hot climates and have susceptibility to illness caused by the environment) to better thrive with accurate medical care to make sure they can be happy and healthy in their homes. (The constant cold induced pain and other features including horns and skin prone to frostbite from any cold, as well as thinly insulated wings that create almost certain disability in adulthood, and pain in childhood could be treated with elder's more ecosystem-knowladgeable medical abilities.)
She (the new queen) also wishes to bring back traditional games, events, and sports (like winter sports, only available in this area because there is no snow anywhere else habitable in the realm) to raise morale and show that the environment is not something to hate, and that the local deities are not evil for producing snow and ice, because these too can be beneficial, useful, and fun.
She hopes to research into older forms of clothing to reduce cold and be created and worn easier, such as wing covers, (used to get rid of that pesky chronic pain and disability for those with non feathered wings, also, just stylish and beautiful)
The monarchy will function like a non-profit, may be slightly funded by the state and other fundraising methods.
The queen will work and has the option to live in the old palace, repaired and currently used as a governing facility for the colonizer nation. She may choose to live in her old cabin nearby, in the woods, because her partner has dreams of living in a cute and cozy cabin after having been used as a soldier and experiencing a lack of attention from birth, being used as a slave essentially by Heaven's army since early childhood.
She (the Queen's partner) fell from "grace" to live in Hell (I actually started making this area as a play on "when Hell freezes over" then decided to give it some more after approval from rainatacos) with the queen. She hopes to raise a child better than she was raised by the commanders, and I plan to have them save a young child from trafficking so that they can fulfill this dream.
The child will be a witch, therefore the reason they are being used by adult sorcerers as a source of energy to help with the draining components of huge spells. (Called magic trafficking) This develops her magic stronger than others, but she needs the help of a local witch to drain some of it daily before she learns spells to do it herself. That will work like ADHD medication.
The queen had a healthy childhood with one loving guardian (Her auntie, also a witch [who will help with her magic ADHD], knows some of the old ways) The Queen knows how healthy parenting works because of this, and calms the angel's fears of passing on her generational trauma.
If you survived infodump valley just then, I promise that's only in end-of-the-book lore chapters. (Tolkien style)
Again, any and all genuine writing advice from anyone at all (please specify if you have no experience or if you're talking about the ethics and implications of the political movement) ideas are also welcome, although I'm generally more strict on vetoing those.
If you really want to read it, know that I'm pretty young and it is still titled something like "The AU" so it is absolutely a WIP and a first piece of writing. It's on Wattpad at @PseudonymKay. (kind of)
#yes I know it sounds like the idea of good omens but I came up with it way before I k ew that existed#yes I just broke my ankle three ways and had to get two hour surgery#do I count as a real on-line author now?#writing#help plz#help#original character#original content#writerscommunity#writers on tumblr#female writers#writing help
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
運が悪い (OUT OF LUCK) ✱ @lgcyiran
Seojin stares aimlessly at the piece of paper in front of him. The white blends almost perfectly with the sterile surface of the table, only the high contrast words and his black pen jumping out at him. His eyes glance up at the images displayed on the projector — an old, grainy clip of a Kurosawa film playing for them in the dimmed room.
On occasion, he would catch glimpses of a familiar face in the corner of his vision, absently turning to her to mumble something along the lines of, "Mifune Toshiro was so cool in this, don't you think?"; confident she might have the same thought from what he knew of her. He does not think anything of it — the simple fact that those words are the first he mutters to her in what feels like well over a year. Should he acknowledge it, he would find his teeth digging painfully into his lower lip, nails picking at each other.
He initially decided to ignore their seating arrangement at the same table. Fortunately, there is room enough for him to prop his elbows up and conceal himself just a bit more, even as he speaks directly to her when the lights turn back up and the instructor prompts them for group discussion.
"So..." Seojin begins with a clearing of his throat. He looks around the room. Anywhere but at her. Yiran. Why can he not even acknowledge her name? Even in his thoughts? I thought you got over it, Seojin. "So," No one can deny how awkward this is, he shoots back at himself. "What did you think of the film clips? I think old movies really have a different feel to them. Older writing, too..." He would not drone on about how oddly romantic he found haikus and their ability to fit so much into so little. No indulging in his fondness for poetry — not to her.
"Glad there won't be, like, a test on this though... or an essay."
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Idk how to set up a post on here for this so just doin.
White cloth decorated her body, gold, amber, and ruby rings blended like a corona at her sleeves and waist. The brilliant pale skin of her face only serving to draw my eyes to her iris', an image of what something with perfect sight would see when peering at a star. The colors shifting without change around the black dot deep within.
My head remained heavy, shifting just slightly to get a better view of her. The impossibility of her appearance something my senses tried to understand, what was she? Knees placed just beside my stomach, I caught a miniscule glimpse of her expression as she lifted me. Even through my fur her touch felt warm, or an abstract idea of warmth rather. Painfully hot to comfortably warm all at once.
I could only stare, unable to hold my eyes closed. My body didn't hurt in the normal sense, more so the lack of feeling at all causing my mind to try to reply with pain. I couldn't feel her touch itself.
My only sense of where she held me was the shape I was in. My nose close to her chin, resting on her chest, arm around my shoulders, hand on my jaw. My tail touching my neck, my spine curved downward, her arm around my lower back, her hand on my side.
Her expression was of what I could only think of as concern, hesitant concern. Like she thought about putting me back down and leaving back to where ever she came from.
My positioning eventually shifted, my eyes falling closed. Without my sight, I returned to the feeling-less pain. My body far too close to death to have a sense of time, my hearing long since faded to a dull tone, my brain unable to perceive feeling, my breaths reliant on the moving of the air removing my ability to smell, my mouth dry as sand. I had no idea how long I remained in the position, I had only a basic sense of how long I was in the state total. Between two days and two weeks. Longer I would be dead from starvation, shorter I knew I was dying from dehydration. Where I would fall, utterly unknown to me.
Nor did I care. I moved as far from water as I could while I could still move, purely walking until I couldn't. I saw the sun rise twice, but I couldn't remember any more. I didn't even know who she was yet I knew she cared to some degree, like she knew I had done this to myself. Like she knew I gave up.
The needle within my arm something I knew she had done. The dark logs that made up the cabin littered with flowers, herbs, and even dryed jerky hung on a string. I could try to move but without help I wasn't going anywhere, my muscles barely remaining, my skin filled with the sensation of sand or needles under the surface.
She was nowheres to be found. I returned to my normal and slept. Properly slept, thanks to the exhaustion. Each time I woke and she wasn't there I tried to sleep and eventually did again. Little attempts to move beyond pulling my tail back onto the surface or changing the curl of my paw.
I assume it was disappointment on her face when she finally was there to watch me return to sleeping, though she didn't try to keep me awake or get me to move. Even after days had passed, she made no attempt to make me move. Not until the same symptoms returned. Knowing she couldn't force me to eat, she had to try to coax me to.
Holding me standing, moving my limbs, leaving food inches from my nose, eventually pressed to my lips. Each day a more obvious attempt to keep me alive. I couldn't understand why she tried, why she cared I gave up. I couldn't understand why she did eventually pour a broth into my throat even when I tried to bite her. A strong bite wasn't possible, but something to dissuade her from trying.
It was either drown or let her force me to live, making it so I could feel pain and then using it to make me eat. I only grew more agressive as she came near me, helped as my strength slowly returned. I hoped causing her to bleed would finally get her to stop but she didn't. Wrapping her arms in bandages, eventually a metal plate as well.
I couldn't understand why she was forcing me to live and it only served to make my anger toward her stronger. I just wanted to not be and yet she kept going. My strength reaching it's limit and her unphased. There was nothing I could do to stop her.
So I cooperated. Still agressive if she tried to touch me, but enough to draw her attention away. She never left me alone outside the cabin, and if I tried to run I was found soon after. Years of bashing my head against the wall trying to get away from her so I could die and eventually I stopped trying, she couldn't stop me from dying forever but there was only so much I could do to hasten it without causing myself suffering.
So I followed her rules. I kept myself alive, I didn't run. It was all I could do while I waited.
The eerie warmth of her touch returned as she began to pet me as I slept. I don't know why, but I awoke to it with a whine. I hadn't made a sound besides a growl since I was a pup. My reaction to it to only do so louder, more forceful. She seemed to like that, the first I had seen her smile. She'd take to doing it occasionally, laughing when I tried to growl and instead making a weird guttural squeaking.
It took time before I followed her call for me to lay on her lap, strange fingers held together as she patted her thighs. My wet paws barely a thought in her mind as she ran her fingers carefully through and over my fur, when no more loose strands caught her fingers she'd go against the flow. My pores recoiling against the forced angle like thousands of tiny needle shifted over, before returning with help as her fingers ran back down.
When there was downtime this became the normal, with the intention of deshedding me or just absent mindedly combing her fingers through. It didn't feel entirely unpleasant and helped remove the irritation from the loose fur.
I wasn't happy, but she did all she could to make sure I comfortable. The days growing longer and longer, I began to wonder what her voice sounded like. I had no real way to ask her to make some noise, I forgot how to howl if I ever knew and it felt wrong to think of trying. Maybe it was my age, or maybe it was the trauma I subjected myself to, but each passing month I seemed to grow heavier and more sluggish.
I forgot to eat often, only even noticing she wanted me to when she brought me to it. She seemed concerned, her outings became shorter and more infrequent. She only took me along to the garden, but even then only early mornings or dusk.
At some point around winter I felt that same feeling I had almost forgotten, the eerie feeling-less pain. Not from anywhere, but it was there. I could still feel my body, I could still move, as heavy as I felt, but it was there none the less. Her absent minded combing serving the last feeling I felt as I softened into her lap.
She didn't notice, not for a while. Though her reaction wasn't quite the forceful reaction from before, it was quiet and calm.
I was clearly old, finally seeing myself, very old. My black fur now grey, it's soft bristles now rough and delicate. My ears creased, face exhausted and droopy, paws and legs thin. The puff of my tail a solid line hanging over her arm.
I couldn't hear much, almost like it was muffled from water. The crunch of leaves almost like ripple of fluid, the rumble of dirt like a steady breath, and the steps like the beat of a heart.
The filtered darkness of night shifting to a bright white. A burn in my lungs, nostrils, and eyes. It was nearly as cold as an ice bath.
Besides my own coughing I couldn't perceive much. Not for a while, at least.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Thinking about Weresnake!Jacob again. Some thoughts:
Jacob’s snake form has the same coloration as the Common European Adder, the only poisonous snake native to England, so he’s got a dark brown stripe down his back with lighter brown sides. It definitely helps him blend in with the many brown colors that cover London, even outside of Autumn and Winter.
Jacob hates the cold. Despises it with a vengeance. It makes him sluggish and so he’s not as alert when it gets colder. Which, combine that with the chilly air London typically has and all the rain, Jacob does not have a good time after moving to London.
Speaking of which, one of the first things that happens after the Fryes get the train (besides getting the cattle car) is Jacob making sure that every car has at least one heat source. He can now be comfortable anywhere on the train, especially as it gets colder.
Jacob’s snake form isn’t as striking as one would think. Sure, he gets the scales and the eyes and the fangs and even a tail, but not much else changes. He doesn’t get a longer neck or an actual snake head, which saves him a lot of pain, seriously… But he is a little jealous of the cobras and their hoods and he wishes he was a snake that had a hood because those look so cool to him.
One thing that both sides of Jacob share is the ability to unhinge their jaws. Snakes have to do that to swallow large prey sometimes and I can’t help but think of Jacob using that to his advantage in like an eating contest or something. He just stuffs a ton of food into his extra-wide mouth and keeps going. That doesn’t save him from the stomachache or Evie’s wrath later, but it was worth it.
Jacob lays on roofs and suns himself sometimes. Just takes his coat off like he’s at the beach (unless it’s cold) and lays in the sun. This can also extend to fireplaces, but Jacob likes to take in the sunshine more often. Evie rolls her eyes when she sees him doing it but it’s more amusing than anything and so she doesn’t do anything. At least her brother’s having fun.
Jacob stops enjoying the fireplace so much after Roth, though. In the few months that he got to have a place at the Alhambra and learned more about Roth, Jacob was given free reign of the man’s office. This included getting the chance to curl up in front of the warm fireplace, even if he had to restrict himself to a chair to keep away suspicion. After what happens, though, curling up in front of fireplaces gives Jacob bad memories instead, so it takes him a long time to loves fireplaces again.
Evie’s blinded by anger at first in Sequence 9, but once they’ve had a chance to be separated, Evie realizes just how angry Jacob was. There were so many signs that he was on the verge of snapping at someone, maybe even to the point of losing control, because she could see his snake eyes and a hint of his fangs. He was stressed out and angry and he could’ve very well hurt someone if their fight had gotten even more heated, and Evie had been too blinded by her own anger to see that something was wrong with her twin. Jacob may have learned to control himself over the years, but it was as much her responsibility as his if he lost control, because the curse was both of their faults. This leads to Evie being more remorseful and calm later when they talk things out before the final confrontation and Evie can tell how much Jacob appreciates it.
Thankfully for Jacob, he never really has to shed his skin like an actual snake, since his transformations just switch him between forms. That doesn’t stop him from getting itchy every so often and having to pull out a few scales, though.
Masterpost
#my post#Weresnake AU#jacob frye#ac syndicate#assassin's creed syndicate#assassinscreedseries#assassin’s creed#evie frye
7 notes
·
View notes
Photo
VERSE EDITS : FIVE CROWNS !
thousands of years ago, the land on which seven princedoms now sit was conquered. time and history have blended the people so much that these old distinctions mean less... but never nothing. the central princedom of satria holds the most power and its most prominent families have a nearly unbroken lineage; it is not the only princedom for which this skewed system of power exists. eight hundred years ago, the coastal princedom of meles saw its ruling family nearly wiped to extinction by their southern neighbors. power was seized from a bloodline that had guarded their people for tens of thousands of years. meles’ scatterflows were driven into hiding as demana’s tastonis solidified their extended reach. now, for elsie scatterflow, these are just stories and secrets. things she can never share. until the tastonis discover them on their modest farmstead. until five siblings divide into groups of three and flee in opposite directions - north, south, west, anywhere but east to their homeland. elsie and her brother flynn have sought refuge in the incredible walled city of estralia, where they live as elsie & flynn brightmore among the eclectic folk of an artisan’s workshop. following threads that hint at magical abilities they’re only just beginning to understand, a forgotten lineage from a time more distant than they’ve ever thought about, and a repeat of history echoed in whispers about resistance, the scatterflow siblings are about to discover that their story is just one panel about a much larger battle still to come. / suitable for interactions within most general fantasy universes. this verse is based on the lore of an original novel i’m writing; i am extremely protective of it, and major alterations have been made to ensure the safety of crucial points in the story & lore. extremely heavily affiliated with @heroscarred.
psd.
#❪ verses ❫ ⤿ threads in a tapestry.#v.#❪ book ❫ ⤿ five brows upon which five crowns might have rested.#i literally accidentally wrote this book!#i sat down to write a SHORT STORY for becky for valentine's day#and then it was feb 13 and i was like 'well i'm at 87 pages... i think i'd better just keep going'#and i sure kept going
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tiny Beautiful Things: A Review
Are you going through tough times? Are you seeking guidance from someone who has been in your shoes? Look no further than Cheryl Strayed's bestselling book, Tiny Beautiful Things! This 10th-anniversary edition of the book features six new columns and a new preface by Strayed. Rich with humor, insight, compassion, and absolute honesty, this book is a balm for everything life throws our way.
Strayed, also known as "Dear Sugar," had a regular advice column with The Rumpus, an online literary magazine. Her advice column, "Dear Sugar," was a hit amongst her readers who found solace in her wise and compassionate words. Strayed's writing style is gripping and poetic, making her columns a fascinating blend of memoir and self-help.
In Tiny Beautiful Things, Strayed compiles some of her best columns, making it easy for readers to access her wisdom in one volume. The book is filled with heartwarming stories and anecdotes that make for riveting and emotionally charged reading. Tiny Beautiful Things is an easy-to-read book that can be picked up and put down at any time, making it a great choice for those looking for a quick read.
The book is full of amazing stories that deal with all of the struggles that one may face in their everyday life. From relationship problems, to worries about growing old, to familial issues, Strayed has an answer for all. The best part about the book and Strayed's advice is its absolute honesty. Strayed pulls no punches and tells it like it is. Her candidness can be shocking at first, but it's refreshing to hear a truth that we all have been ignoring.
One of the most impactful aspects of the book is how relatable and sincere Strayed is in her advice. Her approach to helping her readers is to show them how she has overcome similar struggles in her life. Instead of giving advice from a place of superiority, Strayed gives advice as if she is having a conversation with her closest friend. Her words come from a place of empathy and understanding, making readers feel heard and understood.
One of the best parts of this book is that Strayed doesn't shy away from any topic. She tackles sensitive issues like divorce, sexuality, addiction, and loss with grace and compassion. Her insights help readers feel less alone in their struggles, and the sense of community that Strayed creates is unparalleled.
In addition to the book's profound messages, it is also beautifully written. Strayed's writing is so poetic and rich that it's almost musical. The words jump off the page, and it's apparent that each column was crafted with care and thoughtfulness. The book is a testament to Strayed's brilliance as a writer, and her ability to connect with her readers on a personal level.
Overall, Tiny Beautiful Things is a must-read for anyone who is looking for guidance during difficult times. It's not just a book of advice columns; it's a book about life, love, loss, and everything in between. It's a reminder that we are all human, and we all experience hardship. Strayed's wisdom is empowering, and her willingness to be vulnerable is inspiring. Pick up a copy today and get ready to be moved by Tiny Beautiful Things.
"Don't miss out on the chance to experience the magic of this incredible book! Order your copy now or start your 30-day free trial of Audible and listen to it anytime, anywhere. Take the first step towards an unforgettable journey – click the button below and get started today!"
Price: [price_with_discount]
(as of [price_update_date] - Details)
0 notes
Text
Excerpt : Stories From the Cosmos
I have a brand new little duo that I'm pretty stoked to start developing. They originate from my original world but, by virtue of their abilities, could technically end up anywhere. I've got their designs but used a base to refine them, so I'll post art of them later once I've had a little more practice with them!
For now, here's the needed info just for clarity:
Shel: An ancient god, born from the explosion that brought reality into tangible existence. Currently, he's a big fan of multiple arms and posses two sets, four total.
Baz: In essence, a minor god of sorts, created by Shel to be a space traveling companion during his ventures across the cosmos. Through some crossing of wires during her creation, she can't form words, but can understand them, and her mind was bonded to Shel's. He can hear her thoughts, though she cannot hear his.
Below the cut is the ~2.7k word short story I wrote for them of a scene idea I had. Enjoy!
This planet was lush, but..motionless. Like something was missing in it. Some spark, some little piece that made it all come together. It functioned, but that was it.
“Like something went wrong.” Shel added with a furrow of his brow. His jaw was set hard and he seemed to be sensing something she couldn’t.
“There’s..I don’t know how to describe it. The magic is wrong here. Like it was broken in some way. Or disrupted.”
We could keep going.
“No, I want to see what’s going on here. If there’s life here that needs help, I’d feel awful passing them by just because we felt a little weirded out.” He took a breath and clapped one set of his hands together. “Put those thoughts aside then, let’s treat this like any other venture.”
Baz nodded but swallowed hard. She couldn’t feel the magic disruption he was talking about. But she could feel something wrong with it. Like it was buzzing. Like it was angry.
They came down on a coastline of an unmoving ocean. It was the clearest spot they could see, the rest of this landmass was blanketed in an unbroken canopy of dull green. As Shel set his lower arms on his hips and looked into the treeline, Baz kicked a stone into the water. It didn’t ripple. Just sank a few inches back into the sand. She shivered at the uncanny sight. Nope, not here. She didn’t want to be here.
“Just a quick look around, that’s all we need. Just to see what’s going on. If there isn’t anything here then we’ll go, okay? Promise.” He looked to her and smiled, but she couldn’t return the expression. She just turned away, staring back at the stone. He sighed behind her and she heard his footsteps retreating.
“Wait here then, I won’t be long. I’ll come get you in a bit.”
And with that he was out of sight, fading from earshot into the thick foliage. She heaved a nervous breath and plopped down on the sand. Despite being in the sun, it was oddly cool here. Not in a seasonal kind of way, but like the sun itself wasn’t very warm at all. She pulled her legs up, setting her chin on her knees. There were no birds in the sky. No clouds either, she noticed, but it still had a gray filter to it. Like the blue wasn’t as blue as it should be. Same with the ocean. Everything here felt..washed out. Like the whole planet was slowly fading.
Something rustled behind her. Shel?
No response. Another rustle and she turned over her shoulder. She couldn’t see far into the treeline. The trunks were thick and they blended into each other as the dim sunlight was quickly blocked by their canopies. She didn’t see anyone, nor any movement. But she knew she heard it. Shel wouldn’t sneak up on her, so what had she heard?
Then, a voice. “Drop.”
A lot happened in a few seconds.
Baz had been hit before. They’d been to planets with no people, only creatures. Creatures that could wield magic and used it with all the grace of a wild animal. They’d been to planets where they scared someone with their arrival, or met hostile people who didn’t care for strangers, whoever they were. Being attacked wasn’t novel.
But whatever this spell was, it crippled her. She was already sitting down but the sheer force of it had her dropping to her side. It felt like a spear was shot through her chest, but she didn’t see anything. Just felt an exponentially rising heat inside of her. A deep burning that drew an anguished scream that made her throat hurt. Fighting the pain she pushed up on one hand and aimed her other forwards.
But the instant Baz had eyes on the fucker, her vision went black.
Before she saw where she was, she felt it. A stickiness that uncomfortably suctioned her already tight fitting clothes to her. The humidity was accompanied by a near unbearable warmth and as Baz came to she became aware of beads of sweat rolling down her face and back. Her eyes felt heavy and, like a pendulum coming down from the top of its arc, fell shut again when she tried to open them. Baz gritted her teeth and growled in her throat. There was little she hated more than a lack of control. And this numb, heavy feeling of her body was beyond aggravating.
“We had to run from the other one, the spell did nothing to it. We’re lucky we got this one.” She stopped struggling against her own body and went still, listening intently to the conversation her mind tuned into. It was coming closer and she tried again to open her eyes.
She got a glimpse of the room this time. It was incredibly dark, but she made out a light coming closer off to her left. There was a light source above her too, from the wall she was leaning against. It was dim, but looked natural. A window?
“So what are we gonna do with it? The big one I mean.”
“I have no idea. We talked about it for a bit but we’ve never really found one of these things that didn’t go down before. It’s new territory. For now, we just gotta hide from it. It didn’t seem too happy we got its lackey here.”
There were two voices and they stopped a short ways in front of her. She tried moving an arm again, immediately ready to fire off a spell. But her fingers barely moved with the attempt and she growled again.
“Oh, it’s awake.” One of the voices said. Then it laughed. “You’re not going to break the paralysis. But we won’t cast anything else on you if you tell us why your partner didn’t go down like you did.”
Okay, so Shel was still out there. Baz didn’t know if he could hear her, but he was evidently far enough that she couldn’t hear him. She tried clearing her thoughts of the anger that was building, trying to project a helpful thought to wherever he was. I’m underground maybe, in a dark building. It’s hot and humid, there’s two people here. I can’t move.
“You should be able to talk just fine. Unless you can’t do that. Would be a fuckin’ shame, then you’ve got no bargaining chip.” The same person said, a smile evident in their voice. The smugness had her grinding her teeth together and mentally slamming her fist against the wall. Baz wished she could decast the translation spell. Shel insisted they always have it going, and to his credit it was helpful far more often than it wasn’t. But her head was pounding now from every word she was hearing out of this rat bastard’s mouth. Who the fuck were they, calling her and Shel ‘it’? Why did they shoot her down? What the fuck was this planet?!
“Well, I’ve got better things to do. Like I said before, it’s paralysed so all you need to do is stay here and call someone if that spell starts to wear off. Someone’ll come get you when we’ve figured out a plan for the other one.”
“Got it.”
A set of footsteps walked away and Baz heard a creak, like someone sitting in a chair. A few moments later, she heard small, dull scraping. It took her a few seconds to pick it apart as the sound of a knife through wood.
“It’s really weird how long it’s been since we’ve found any of you. You two are different looking too. I wonder if something changed.” The remaining person in the room spoke. They spoke quieter, but that softness did nothing for Baz. They, by virtue of being connected to that other fucker, grated on her ears.
“Hm..your energy is rising. Are you trying to break the spell? We’ve been refining that for centuries, it isn’t worth the effort. You’ll just black out trying.”
Fuck, what was this spell? Baz had been hurt before, seriously hurt. But nothing could ever hold her down. And nothing at all could lay a finger on Shel. That was part of the fun of exploring these worlds. There was no physical danger to it, no threat of death and a small threat of damage. They could go anywhere they wanted, see anything they wanted. Every world was their oyster.
So what the fuck was happening now?
“Can you talk? You made noise before. Your kind have always been able to talk. It’s weird if you can’t. Assuming you’re not just refusing, it would be another new thing.” They paused, scraped at the wood in their hands, then continued. “People have been talking about the energy changing. Like something upset it. I dunno about that, but maybe something shifted it. I guess we don’t really know how it works, just that it does. But if it’s been a while since we found new one of you’s, and you both are different, maybe the rumours are true in some way.”
What in the everloving fuck was this person going on about?! Energy? Other people like her? Are there other gods on this world. Or, judging by the way these people were talking, had there once been? It sounded more and more like they were gone for some reason, and more and more like it was the fault of these people.
Baz took in a sharp breath through her nose and tried to fight again. They were right, it felt like she about to pass out. The strain of trying to move even the smallest amount had lights flashing in the darkness of her closed eyes. Her stomach cramped and she tried to not let her breathing pick up pace. She wanted to scream. Just start screaming, hoping Shel was somewhere nearby. But that isn’t how she did things. She didn’t give up, she didn’t give in. And she refused to let these lowlife scumbags break her perfect streak.
“You know,” they started to talk again and the fury that noise sent through her was enough to fuel another attempt to move. “I don’t really think you things are all that bad. Not in the malicious sense. You’re like pests, and that’s not your fault. Just how nature decided things should go. It’s a shame you’ve got such awareness, it makes pest control feel more personal and cruel.”
Okay, that was it! Time to die! Baz’s heart was thudding against her chest and she choked down the sickening feeling rising up her throat. She wasn’t moving, not yet, but the willpower she was exerting to try to was sending her into a tailspin. She was growing rapidly dizzier and she felt her thoughts clouding and nearly gave in to the urge to fall unconscious.
NO! She wasn’t going under, not again. These self important, murderous pieces of shit weren’t catching her off guard again. She wouldn’t be held captive here, she wouldn’t be made to sit here and listen to how little worth they thought she had. She was going to get up, she was going to break this stupid fucking spell, she-
“What the hell?!”
Last words. Her ears rang as the explosion reverberated off the stone walls of the small room. She saw a small, unfinished wooden carving bounce across the floor, rolling through the bloody mess she’d blasted across the ground. Pest control my ass.
Quickly, she scanned the room to weigh her options. She wasn’t locked up, surprisingly. She had been envisioning a cage around her, but in reality she had just been propped against a wall. She smirked to herself and glanced at the upturned chair. Too much faith in your perfect spell, sucker.
She heard voices and running footsteps and spun around to the wall she had been lying against. There was a window above her. Or, more accurately, a wide cut in the stone that led directly outside. It was ground level and looked to be sunset judging by the rapidly fading light. Not having any desire to run deeper into whatever this place was, Baz grabbed a hold of the edge of the opening and heaved her way up, pulling herself through the gap she was barely small enough to fit through. She heard shouts of anger and disbelief behind her but was able to get to her feet and stumble back from the opening just as a spell was blasted towards her.
She was more than done here, they were leaving. She looked around but saw only more jungle in every direction, and no indication of being anywhere near an ocean. The voices were fading, running off down one of the two hallways she saw. She had no clue how far the exit of this bunker was from that room, so with a pivot on her heel Baz took off into the brush and thought as she ran.
She still didn’t hear Shel. If they were far from the coastline there was no telling where he had gone looking for her. Or where he’d gone after the encounter he seemed to have with those cocksuckers. So, with few other options, she aimed her palm skyward and fired off a bright flare from her palm. With a hissing whiz it rocketed twenty, fifty, a hundred feet above the treeline and exploded into a shower of multicoloured sparks. He just needed to get close enough to hear her, and then they could get the fuck off this miserable planet.
Baz had gotten distance on them, but she was still close enough to hear a group of people pursuing her. And it sounded like far more than just a couple of them this time. She tore through the foliage, not even noticing the end of her gloves being ripped away over her clawed nails. From the sky, to her side, she heard a wind picking up. Then as it got closer, understood it to not be wind but rather the sound of something falling through the sky. And a moment later, some thirty feet to her right, something massive crashed into the forest.
Baz skidded to a halt, digging her heels into the muddy earth of the forest floor, and spun her body to face that direction. She grinned devilishly and broke off in a dead sprint. Before her vision even registered she was flying into another person, spun in a circle in their tight embrace. She cackled with laughter and buried her face in the crook of Shel’s neck. He laughed with her, though his fell away before hers in a heavy sigh. He leaned back enough to look at her, one of his upper hands cupping the side of her face.
“Baz I am so sorry. I don’t know where they took you from the beach but by the time I got back you weren’t there. I couldn’t hear you, I had no clue where they’d gone with you. They were determined to take me down to but they got a nasty surprise with that attempt.” He snorted a laugh and she matched him. It was okay, she was never mad at him. But she was tired of this bullshit planet already. Honestly, she couldn’t care less what was going on here. They’d made it clear they weren’t in any desperate need of help and she saw no reason to stick around.
At the sound of encroaching voices and rustling underbrush, Shel nodded. “Agreed. Your call was the right one all along, who’d’ve guessed.”
And with a tightening of his grip around her, Shel threw down a spell that surrounded them in a thick, semi-opaque bubble. On its underside he set a mark that burned itself into the outer shell. With a cocked brow he looked at her. He didn’t need to put the question into words. She grabbed a tight hold of the edge of his jacket and nodded, and at her mark he twisted his wrist and uncapped the spell that burned away the forest floor beneath them in an instant. In moments they were sailing away, up and up through the stratosphere and out of the pull of the planet.
#alawriting#eorde char#original character#writing excerpt#fantasy writing#fantasy writer#fantasy author#fantasy character#short story
1 note
·
View note
Note
okay i saw eric nam ask mark lee (nct) this so i'm sending it to a bunch of people bc i'm curious:
you have to make a kpop super group consisting of at least 5 idols from any existing group, who are the members?
hehe thank you for asking this!! tbh i have thought about this so in depth since you sent this, it’s kind of embarrassing! i … literally came up with two separate groups just because i had too many thoughts about this 😭
exo - baekhyun : i mean… vocal powerhouse!! very versatile voice, so he can fit any concept perfectly. with that being said i think that makes it easier for others to kind of… match him? i hope that makes sense. or rather, it makes it easier for bbh to match others… idk! musically bbh is one of my all time favorite artists so 🫡
exo - chanyeol : is this bc hes my bias and anywhere bbh goes pcy goes? yes. BUT i also love how he can do whatever is needed. he can sing beautifully and is a rapper, there’s no stopping him. and also he’s just a cutie patootie 🤭🩷✨
svt - hoshi : such a wonderful compliment to bbh’s voice. imo they’re honestly quite similar; if you haven’t listened to bbh and hoshi singing love again side by side, please do!!! i was honestly so, so, close to choosing minghao for this bc i think he would’ve been so vocally opposite of bbh it would’ve been nice, but hoshi has this ability to sound so different in songs, but so identifiable at the same time, that i just loved it for this group
solo - lee hi: i think she’d be such a stunning compliment to baekhyun’s and hoshi’s more harsh and powerful vocals and give the smooth, velvety vocal they’d need to make it blend together beautifully
exid - LE : listen… i just love her but i think her rap style would suit chanyeol’s and she definitely has a powerful voice. i think the juxtaposition of her voice and lee hi’s would be so fun to hear in a group setting
literally adding the other “group” i came up with bc i love them too
exo - kyungsoo : smooth, smooth vocals. another performer that can really bend his voice at will! the range is insane and he does it so effortlessly, it’s insane. multi lingual king! pronunciation master!
akmu - suhyun : have u heard her and kyungsoo’s recent duet like… their voices just MELT together. such a fun pop like sound but still having the ability to be soft and angelic?
btob - hyunsik : definitely a hidden gem. beautiful vocal range, i think people tend to forget him since everyone in btob are powerhouses, but he tends to be more on the soft side vocally, but can REALLY belt out some beautiful sound that will really surprise everyone
solo - bibi : hi! hello! miss bibi! versatile queen! she has this ability to add a siren like quality to her voice and along with her rapping i think she’d sound really cool with the rest and also she’s a cutie and we love that
svt - minghao : hehehe i ended up putting him in this one bc it suits him here better.. like bibi, hao has this ability to make his voice sound almost siren like and it’s sooo interesting. if u haven’t listend to falling down pls do that and see what! i! mean!!! that along with just the regular relaxing tone when he sings i think he would really just round the group out and complete them ahhh
#anonymous#💌: liebesbrief#wow how many times can one person say powerhouse and not be talking about mitochondria???#ANYWAY!! i hope this made sense? also… ignore me trying to act like i know what i’m talking abt :) i know nothing abt anything#this was so fun and it genuinely had me thinking a lot!#thank you so much for sending this to me
0 notes
Text
@seekesotsibteadmist asked: 🦝 ---- What things have your muse gotten away with? Do they get sneak away often? 🐻 ---- What are some strange sleep patterns your muse has? Do they sleep a lot, too little, not at all? - hades, artemis
hades’ entire gimmick is stealth and deception, so its safe to say he gets away with plenty. if he were the more nefarious type, he could easily rob people of their valuables and be gone before they even thought to check if it was missing. he’s excellent at blending into the shadows, and can gather up information with ease. i’m also not entirely convinced he didn’t invent the irish goodbye and he’s left many people at a party wondering where he got to. (answer: he went home).
hades really doesn’t sleep much. he just struggles to fall asleep, usually anxious or unsettled in some way or another for a long time and it takes a while to slip into sleep. once he is asleep, he’s actually a fairly heavy sleeper (he wasn’t always, but he is now), and will sleep for a long time if nothing wakes him.
artemis gets away with a lot. she tends to have a lot of people wrapped around her finger, somehow, and those she doesn’t can be easily swayed with a few threats. and if you know anything about artemis, you know she isn’t kidding. she can also be pretty stealthy, given her role as a hunter, so if necessary she can easily slip away from any trouble she may cause.
the weird thing about artemis and sleep is just her ability to sleep literally��anywhere. it helps that she can hear very little, but even still. she could sleep being pelted by rain, through an earthquake, in the middle of a council meeting upright in her chair, on a pile of rocks, nothing fazes her. if she’s tired, she’ll sleep and she will be out in a matter of minutes.
1 note
·
View note
Text
let’s talk about sophie devereaux for a minute.
it’s the cross my heart job (lev 4x09) and sophie undoes her ponytail, drops her blazer, shimmies down her slacks to reveal a short dress (or long tunic), and swaps her black flats for red heels. she has changed her entire look in a matter of moments.
and I just. i love this for her. she tells eliot I always travel with heels. when what she means is I’m always ready for a costume change.
her knoweldge of fashion and trends would have to be as extensive as her knowledge of art. and there’s psychology at work there to—the difference between the femme fatale or the girl friday or the nerdy scientist. when and how to use those personas. but most importantly—how to embody those personas. heels or a badge or a pair of glasses.
so my headcanon is that sophie carries a few essential accessories wherever she goes. a scarf—around her neck or in her hair or tied to her bag. a large hairpin or ponytail for easy updoes. the perfect shade of red lipstick. expensive makeup wipes.
and a pair of heels.
sometimes she rotates items. maybe some extra jewelry, instant dry nailpolish, a hat, tights. the trick is to pack light. have multiple uses per item. dresses can become shirts or tunics. a necklace can be wrapped as bracelets. lipstick can be worn as rouge. a scarf can become a belt.
but sophie also has class. she likes the finer things in life. so her spare earrings might be 24 carat or diamonds. her scarf silk. her handbag the latest designer. she also invests in custom pieces—blazers with hidden pockets. reversible coats. convertible heels.
and yet. the greatest of sophie’s costumes have always been on-the-fly. someone’s glasses, a swiped labcoat, a briefcase. hair up, down, or covered. sunglasses, glasses, or contacts. which means she constantly scoping out everyone else’s clothes. what’s easy to nab. what’s been left unattended. who can I be with those pieces?
she deserves more credit. it’s not like it’s easy work. because she’s not just creating a wardrobe for herself—she’s decking out the whole team. and that means knowing their measurements. what cuts and fabrics are best for their respective roles. eliot and parker need room to move. hardison needs pockets for his gadgets.
and then of course, there’s the question of what clothes the team can share. parker and eliot are around the same height so they often swap coveralls—a pair that’s slightly too small on eliot will be just slightly too big on parker. for when eliot needs to be noticed and parker does not.
on that same vein, hardison and eliot have similar upper body builds. hardison likes to make the fbi or csi or tech coats (it’s just iron-on letters on bulk supply jackets) but sophie’s the one that knows which jackets the two men can swap. which roles they can both play during a con.
even parker and hardison have some overlap. parker has an uncanny ability to blend in with a crowd. throw one of hardison’s caps or hoodies on her and she just disappears.
and then of course there’s parker with herself. despite being the only women on the team they don’t share that many clothes. parker can slip into one of her spare dresses when needed. but their roles are often on opposite ends of the spectrum—sophie is supposed to be noticed. parker is not.
all of these variables are turning in sophie’s head at any given point in the con. she finds clothes that fit with standard personas, clothes that can overlap, and specialized clothes for their many aliases. but also...clothes that fit them.
because there are some codes you can’t switch. eliot’s aways a bit country—regardless if he’s a construction worker or a millionaire. parker can do high femme, but androgyny suits her better. and tho parker’s comfortable showing skin, she’s not with showing cleavage. of being sexualized. and then there’s hardison and his shoes. sophie will admit she didn’t know much about sneakers, but hardison was all to happy to infodump about them. so now she has a special collection just for him.
and then there’s nate. the bane of her fashionable existence. she’s given up on dressing him. his repeated choice of cartoonish bufoons (with hat) inexplicably seems to work. don’t ask her how or why because it defies all logic. she’s just happy when he starts wearing his day-to-day suits pressed and his shirts laundered.
anyhow. just sophie being sophie. a badass chameleon. who knows the difference between buttons and cufflinks. who can tell you when it is and isn’t appropriate to wear a hat. who can tell how much money you make by what watch you wear. who can spot a fake purse a mile away. who’s just a bit more than scary good at what she does.
which is read you for filth the instant she lays eyes on you. and then becomes anyone she wants to be.
#sophie devereaux#leverage#just having thoughts about her ability to blend in anywhere#and passing that on to her team#she just shows up to hq with shopping bags and plunks them down in front of various team members#con or not#saw a scarf I thought you’d like to hardison#a plaid shirt for eliot#all sorts of black spandex for parker#also ngl this whole meta was inspired by her pulling legit high heels out of her bag#convertible heels are a thing and sophie would have every single pair
5K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
emeraldwhale
~🐸froggers🐸~
gamebaidoithuonggo88-blog
Sans titre
not-canon-but-should-be
Conglomeration of Weird Quotes
surrounded-bysea
nsfw
bread--and--butter-blog
Bread & Butter