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juvederm · 4 months

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complaining abt ashley haters

i've narrowed it down to three categories of people who hate ashley

1. climbing class shipper

2. emily stan

3. chris stan

disclaimer: obviously not all emily stans, not all chris stans, not all climbing class shippers, blah blah blah (i like chris, emily is my favorite and i like climbing class so the last thing i'd do is shit on any of these things as a real hater)

the climbing class shippers usually hate her bc she gets in the way of their cute gay ship. they either say they love her (fake as fuck), hc her as a lesbian just as means to not ship her w chris cuz he's saved for josh, or they hate her for killing chris. climbing class shippers don't really know shit abt any of the characters, they severely mischaracterize ashley, josh and chris. more negatively on ashley bc they think of her as the root of all evil. they also view josh as some little accessory or token, only made to be chris's boyfriend and vice versa. seriously, chris and josh are just boyfriends and that's it. no character Or if they do somehow add character it's extremely out of line and horribly written

emily stans hate ashley bc of the bite thing. that's it. even if mike can literally murder emily, it's still ashley's fault. they'll more than likely make shit up abt ashley to fit their narrative, and end up getting most things completely wrong. they also just neglect the fact of like. trauma and mental health. that's not to say emily deserved any of the treatment her friends gave her, because she also started to panic and reel from almost being shot (see the gif of her curling up in a ball) emily stans don't rly gaf abt like the complexities of the mental trauma all the characters had gone thru at that point, and just shit on ashley like she wanted to murder emily herself

and the chris stans act the same way. it's usually men hating on ashley for killing him when it's literlaly your choice to shoot her or not. making an out of character decision for chris gets him punished. they're also similar to the emily stans when it comes to mental health, they don't understand ashley's been through a lot even tho they spent the whole game watching her stress unfold. she's unpredictable, as said by the devs, and yes killing chris was on purpose, he's running at her with a gun, he lied to her, and there was a monster chasing him and who knows if she even thought the thing was real or not. we don't know what's going thru her mind because she's that broken

and i reblogged a post that said something about hating female characters for the same traits a male character has. most people feel sympathy for josh when he reaches his breaking point in the mines and starts experiencing psychosis. josh has been through a lot of trauma and stress, trauma that starts because of the events of The Prologue. but when ashley is under stress and severely traumatized (something that josh is responsible for), she's a whiny bitch. and yes i know their situations aren't exactly comparable, but nobody ever felt sympathy for her after she literally can watch josh get sawed in front of her. even if it was fake, she had no way of knowing. she reacted to it as if it were real and it affected her accordingly.

ashley is jumpy and emotional, she's not like chris who shuts down and becomes more non verbal as the stress piles on. she's reactive, anxious and stressed out. she's not gonna think clearly at all, that's why you see her jump to conclusions. she thinks the ghost thing is real for crying out loud, like she's not in her right mind at all. when josh brings up the spirit board, she sounds unimpressed. but when things get turned up a notch, her anxiety goes through the roof and she becomes very reactive. she goes from unimpressed by the board to apologizing profusely to hannah or beth's "ghost" during the seance

like people hate her for how she deals w her trauma, how she reacts when she literally has never been in a situation like this before, just like everyone else. this is all a new and frightening situation, which is why it's a horror game brah. i swear ashley haters just don't even stop to understand her or even try, they just sit there and make shit up and it's legit so irritating. like gtfo if you don't get her writing or character

side note, i've never met a josh stan who hates ashley (on the topic of climbing class) i don't doubt that they exist but josh stans aren't included in the climbing class category bc climbing class shippers don't even think of josh as a character, like i said, they just view him as chris's boyfriend. actual josh stans who like josh for him typically like ashley in my experience. just felt the need to mention that since i'm like known as josh's number one fan

but also-- emily is my favorite, so me defending ashley isn't me shitting on emily. that's the last thing i'd do. this UD shit gets serious prepare to die behind it <- that's how i defend emily brah. i'm kinda preaching to the choir here bc most of my mutuals like ashley, but i'm just saying it bc it was on my mind

i'm probably gonna get more into an ashley character analysis (and by proxy chris bc i compare their reactions a lot) at some point and just say my thoughts abt her bc i genuinely love her so much i could cry :( i hate seeing such hateful opinions on her bc she's very relatable.

also if it wasn't clear, the root of all this shit has to be misogyny or something like it's crazy to me how the male characters can be as worse as ever and then get off the hook (mike literally killing emily) but ashley is the devil. emily is the devil. like it's so stupid.

anyway rambling over. yes i'm applying for jobs don't even try it

#ashley

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harrywritingsbyme · 3 years

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The Shark Stuffie

Anonymous Said: my life’s been pretty shit recently and I’m so stressed rn and my anxiety is through the roof meaning I can’t sleep either..could you maybe write something small about harry comforting you and coaxing you to sleep with sweet coos💕

Based Off Of This Ask

And This One

A/N: I feel like I haven't written some fluff in a LONG ass time...like the last pure fluff piece I wrote was all the way back in the beginning of January. That’s lowkey due to my vibes being off, my lack of motivation to do just about anything, and the fact that my writing schedule has been rearranged too many times. Either way tho...I hope y'all like this fic, it’s rlly cute and softtt and it’s definitely relatable for many of us. Enjoyy🙃

3.5k wordss

You had a bit of an obsession with animal documentaries. There was just something about them that just drew you in and captivated you. Whenever you watched the films or shows, you were always glued to the screen and utterly fascinated with the creatures being displayed before your eyes. Whenever you watched them with Harry, he’d always tease you about your obsession and being completely glued to the screen, jokingly saying that you were more in love with the animals than you were with him. Which couldn’t have been the farthest thing from the truth of course. But in true Y/n fashion, instead of just shooting his far fetched claims down, you would always tease him back; saying that you were in fact madly in love with whatever animal was on the screen at that moment, and that if he wanted to reclaim his number one spot on your list of loves, he’d have to put in some serious work. And then over the following couple of minutes, the two of you would go on to further the banter, trying to land the snarkiest little remark and “win”...even though it wasn’t even a competition to begin with. Sometimes you two were able to go a good while going back and forth on who you loved the most, Harry or the animals and their documentaries. Other times, and most times for that matter, you two would just burst into a fit of laughs before snuggling up together for the rest of the documentary. You of course rewinding it to play back anything you missed when your attention was on Harry.

Which speaking of Harry, he thought your obsession with animals and the documentaries was the most precious and adorable thing thing in the entire world. He couldn’t (and never wanted to for that matter) get the image of your face lighting up when you watched the documentaries or discovered that a new one had come out for you to watch. He loved how happy and at ease you were when you watched the animal documentaries. On top of the fact that Harry loved how happy you got when watching the documentaries, Harry was slowly growing a little bit of an obsession with the documentaries too. And because of that, not only did he suggest making you guys’ date nights animal documentaries nights, but he also began to feed your obsession by means of plushies. If you two watched a documentary on giraffes, he’d be on the hunt for the cutest little giraffe plushie the entire week after and leading up to you guys’ next date night. And if you were going on and on about a particular animal he’d try to find the cutest plushy to get for you to add to your collection. Most times Harry was able to get lucky and find the cutest plushy for the animal you were obsessed with at the moment. But there were also times where he wasn’t so lucky. Either the animal was too exotic to be in stuffed animal form, or it wasn’t cute enough for Harry’s liking. He took his job of feeding your animal obsession very seriously.

But either way, plushy or no plushy, you were just happy to enjoy and share your love of animal documentaries with your boyfriend who you loved even more. And Harry, whether or not he’d be able find the perfect plushy, was always going to do his very best to put an even bigger smile on your face. Even if it meant having to get a little creative at times.

Now for the first time in the five or so months you’ve been obsessed with animals and watching the documentaries, you were stuck on one animal; Sharks. You weren’t quite sure as to what was so fascinating about the incredibly deadly creature but you couldn’t get enough of them. You were watching documentary after documentary on them and you even went as far as to find and watch old shark week episodes. You were quite obsessed to say the least. For the past, just about two weeks when you and Harry had your weekly animal documentary night/date night, you’d turn on something about sharks. Which prompted Harry to go out and find the perfect plushies to add to your collection. He managed to find the cutest one online the thought you’d love and he immediately placed his order so that it would arrive as soon as possible. While he waited for that stuffed animal to arrive, Harry figured you’d be onto the next animal. But no, the following week you were still obsessed with sharks. Which meant that a knot her shark plushy would be coming your way in no time. So once again, Harry went back on the “prowl” for the best shark plushies out there, spending the better part of his Wednesday evening looking for the perfect one.

After looking through the pages of plushies, hoping to find one that he could buy in-store, Harry finally found the one. It was a fairly big shark plushy, and from the photos it looked to be pretty cute, and it seemed to be very soft. All of Harry’s boxes were checked off. But the ultimate selling point for it though, was the fact that it was weighted. See, you had really bad anxiety. Your mind was constantly racing, you were constantly worrying about things and what could go wrong, and you couldn’t stop overanalyzing everything and the decision you made. It was hard for you to get rest, even when you were exhausted and in dire need of a good nights sleep. And your preexisting anxiety was only exacerbated by school. One of the things that made your mind and body all calm down in those moments where you were completely overloaded and inundated with anxiety and stress was your weighted blanket. It kind of forced you to take time out for yourself and relax, and feel comfortable, taking your mind off of the stresses that were fueling the fire of your anxiety. It was honestly like a much needed big hug and was absolutely perfect when you couldn’t exactly have Harry, your ultimate anxiety and stress reliever.

And on the topic of school, you were drowning. You were having a very rough week to say the least. Your to do list grew longer and longer as the days passed, and you were pretty sure your anxiety had reached an all time high and was on the path to reaching another record high. This week you had so many academic responsibilities you had to take care of, on top of all the things you had to do and wanted to do when it came to your personal life. You felt like every time you got one thing accomplished, two or three more things were thrown at you and demanded your attention. No matter how hard you tried to put things on a schedule and properly manage your time, a sudden wrench would be thrown into your plans and screw everything up; making your life increasingly difficult to navigate. Just the idea of school caused your anxiety to flare up. So to add everything you had to do for school this week along with your other responsibilities on top of that was quite much for you to handle. You didn’t even have the time, let alone the energy, to even have a proper breakdown and let it all out. You’d simply shed a few tears, take a deep breath, take a sip of your water, and push your feelings of being overwhelmed and tired to the side so that you could get shit done. The only things that brought you some type of relief this week were your weighted blanket, Harry’s comforting words, and you guys’ Friday night date night. And the plushies Harry told you he had for you.

When Harry spoke to you throughout the week and listened to how your week was going and how horrible it was going for you, he made it his mission to give you everything you needed when you came over on Friday night so that you can throw the terrible week you had away and have a relaxing and stress-free weekend. Once Friday finally arrived for you two, Harry spent most of the day just getting everything ready for when you came over. He went out and picked up all your favorite snacks, food, and anything else you liked, along with the weighted shark plushy and a new weighted blanket for you. You on the other hand were laser-focused on your school work and anything else that needed to be taken care of. You wanted to get everything done so that you’d have to spend no time whatsoever over the weekend doing anything besides being with Harry and relaxing your entire being. The only thing keeping you going today was the weekend Harry had planned for you. That’s it. And once you finally cleared your plate later on in the day, you dashed right over to Harry. You couldn’t wait any longer to watch your shark documentary with Harry and your new, no doubt, shark plushies.

When you get to Harry’s place, you practically break the door down and you nearly knocked Harry off his feet from how you ran in and immediately nestled yourself into him. It was nearly five minutes before the two of you even verbally greeted each other. At that moment, you just wanted to be held. Harry was the sure-fire way to calm you down when you were going through a major bout of anxiety. His presence alone made you feel safe and okay. You had your arms locked around his midsection, keeping your grasp on him as tight as possible. Almost as if you were afraid that he was going to float away from you. And Harry didn’t mind this one bit, nor did he hesitate to wrap you up in his arms and just hold you just as tight and close to him.

“Hi” You mumble into the soft fabric of Harry’s hoodie, breaking the silence between you two.

“Hi baby” He softly replies to you, squeezing you a little bit.

“Missed you this week.” You continue on, relaxing a bit more into Harry.

“I missed you too sweets. You had a pretty rough week huh?” Harry coos, continuing to hold you and stroke your back.

“Mhm…m’so tired.” You sigh.

“Well how about we get you upstairs and in a nice warm shower to get you relaxed a bit while I bring everything up. And then we can watch one of your documentaries. How does that sound sweets?” Harry proposes.

“Sounds amazing.” You agree, loosening your grip on Harry in the process.

“Then let’s get you upstairs” He then proceeds to loosen his grip around you as well before guiding you from the front door and up the stairs. Once you’re all squared away and in the shower, Harry moves his setup in the living room upstairs in the bedroom, hiding the little gifts he got for you on the floor on his side of the bed. Harry also lays out some clothes for you to throw on. You had your own drawer and everything, but even though that was the case, you still went right to his clothes. So Harry didn’t even bother going through your drawer for anything. After laying out your clothes and everything you needed for when you’re all done with your shower, Harry orders what you told him you wanted for dinner before you got in the shower. Which ends up being a good thirty minutes. It was just so nice to have some time to yourself and not have to stress or worry about something you had to get done. It was such a relief to be able to just stand under the running hot water and just not have to think. The steaming hot water melted the caked-on stress from the week and just rinsed it away, making you feel so much better than you did when you first walked through the door.

It was also a relief to walk out of the bathroom and into your boyfriend's bedroom with everything waiting for you. When you stepped out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, you stepped into this warm and cozy atmosphere Harry created for you. The bed is all warm and comfy, and extremely inviting. He had your clothes and all your post-shower stuff laid out for you on the bed. Harry even had one of your favorite candles lit on the bedside table. The tv was even on with an array of animal documentaries for you to pick from. Up until he had to rush downstairs to get the takeout he ordered for you two, Harry helped you get all settled in bed. And when he comes back upstairs, this time with the food you (and your stomach) were beyond excited for, you were all done getting ready and tucked right under the covers waiting for him to come back.

Harry quickly shuffles across the room to sit the food down onto the bed before lifting the little basket he filled to the brim with your favorite little snacks up onto the bed, making you even happier than you were already, and hopping into bed with you. He then hands you the remote, giving you the power to choose whichever documentary you wanted to watch, along with a small peck to your cheek, marking the official start to you guys’ date night/relaxing weekend. While you and Harry watch the first documentary of the night together, you’re intently watching the screen just like always as you happily stuff your mouth with the delicious food in front of you. As you watched the documentary, Harry on the other hand couldn’t help but sit back and just watch you. He was so happy to see you all relaxed and peaceful, opposed to being all stressed out and anxiety-ridden like you were when you first came over.

By the end of the first film, you and Harry are completely done with your food and have moved on to clearing off the bed so that you two can cuddle and possibly fall asleep during the next one. Once the bed is all clear and free for you and Harry to move around, you two immediately move in closer and get nice and comfortable in each other before starting the next shark-related documentary.

“Thank you so much for all of this Harry.” You thank him, breaking your focus on the tv and shifting it to Harry.

“Anything for you sweets” Harry coos, turning his attention away from the tv as well. “I hate it when you’re going through it, especially when I cant be there to help you get through. So I just wanted to give you a nice relaxing and calm weekend for you to just feel better.” He explains.

“I love you Harry.” You hum, lifting your head up from his chest to peer up at him. You weren’t able to fully comprehend why and how you even deserved such an amazing boyfriend who always wanted to make you happy when you were sad and not doing okay, and even happier when you were already beaming. He was one of the best things in your life, and one of the few that didn’t stress you out.

“I love you too baby.” Harry whispers, looking down at you and locking eyes with yours. The same way you felt like Harry’s mere existence made everything at least feel better, Harry felt the exact same way. So whenever you were going through it and not doing okay, Harry didn’t take that lightly. He always made sure to do everything in his power to get you to a better place.

When Harry puckers his lips in your direction, you immediately lock yours with them, sucking you both into a love-filled little kiss. It was nice and soft for the atmosphere you and Harry were in, but it wasn’t incredibly slow, nor it did it feel rushed or like it was lasting forever. It was perfect.

“I got you something baby!” Harry whispers excitedly upon pulling away from your lips, tapping at your sides for you to sit up.

“You told me they were plushies.” You reply, excited to see what he picked for you this time. Harry always managed to get you the cutest little stuffed animals so you were really excited to see what he got you this time.

“Yup! And here’s the first one.” Harry says, leaning down to pick up and reveal to you the regular plushy he found for you the first time.

“Oh my goodness! That’s too adorable!” You coo, holding up and looking at the adorable little shark Harry got for you. It was absolutely amazing and you were so so so excited to see the next one.

“Ready for the next one? I think you’re gonna like this one the most.” Harry says, causing you to immediately nod your head in response. “M’gonna need you to close your eyes too.” He instructs.

Once your eyes are closed, Harry leans down and picks up the weighted and fairly big shark plushy before sitting it in your lap. He then grabs the new weighted blanket he got for you and sits it between you both before instructing you to open your eyes.

When you see what Harry placed into your lap, you could instantly feel the tears welling up in your eyes. It was like Harry knew exactly what you wanted and needed. You absolutely loved your weighted blanket and you always used it, even when you weren’t in need of something to calm your anxiety. You also loved plushies, even before you were heavily into animals and Harry was finding you all sorts of plushies. They brought you some much-needed serotonin whenever you were feeling down and they were your little cuddle buddies. So to have a weighted one, a combination of everything that never failed to calm your anxiety down was absolutely amazing and you couldn’t have been more happy and appreciative. That’s why you just couldn’t help it when you started crying. You wasted absolutely no time wrapping Harry in the biggest hug, thanking him over and over for the plushy. But it wasn’t long until you just broke down.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, I had such a horrible week.” You sob into him.

“I know baby.” He coos, stroking your back as you cried. Even though he hated it when you cried, he knew that you always felt lighter whenever you just let it all out.

“I had panic attacks every day and I didn’t get enough sleep and I didn’t eat much either and I didn’t have you there for cuddles. It was so bad.” You cry, your voice cracking at the end, making Harry only tighten his arms around you. He knew it was a bad week for you, but he didn’t know it was this bad. You only told him but so much over the phone.

“Well I’m here now baby and I’m gonna take good care of you and get you back and feeling better.” Harry promises, continuing to hold you as you cry into him. You were so vulnerable right now and he just wanted you, his baby, to feel better.

As you continued to cry, you continued to mumble and talk about just how bad your week was and how much he was doing for you helped you feel better. Eventually, you ran out of words and the energy to speak or even cry. So Harry began to whisper sweet little nothings and reassurance that you’re going to be okay and that he’s going to take care of you. And as he did this, Harry could feel your body heave less and less from the crying and the little hiccups that came along with it. Once you’ve calmed down a little and as the sleep begins to overtake you, Harry then unwraps an arm from around you and reaches over to turn out the light and blow out the candle before pulling the covers higher up over you two. He also pulled the plushy and still folded blanket up as well, just in case you wanted either of them.

“Please don’t watch without me.” You mumble, your voice all nasally and filled with sleep. You were no longer tightly wrapped around Harry, but instead resting on his chest.

“I won’t darling. I just paused it so that we can go back and watch it later on when you’re nice and rested.” Harry replies through a soft chuckle continuing to stroke your back.

“Pinky promise.” You mumble back, lazily lifting your pinky up from under the covers for Harry to hook his around.

“Pinky promise.” He replies softly, bringing his pinky in to hook it around yours, sealing his promise. “Now get some rest baby.” He whispers, pulling your still intertwined hands down and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

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re1d · 4 years

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different lifetime | spencer reid

→ summary: “only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.” - george elio → warnings: maeve’s death, graphic descriptions of murder, mentions of depression and drug use, basically major angst but a fluff ending → word count: 4.4k (ouchie mama she’s a slow burn) → a/n: based on no.74 from the prompt list ; “let go.” “i can’t.” // cassandra stop making spencer cry in her stories challenge : FAILED // also this is my first time using time skips n i kinda dont like it :[[ i hope u guys enjoy it tho !!

Books are ripped from his shelves, and Spencer can’t see straight. Papers fly around him as he relishes in the feeling of the pages cutting into the skin of his fingers. Blood forms and begins to drip, but he can’t bring himself to clean it up. His mom would’ve chastized him in that moment for damaging the worlds with his reckless touch. However, his whole world had just been destroyed as well. Pictures of Maeve traipse through his brain at an agonizingly slow pace; they mock him and wait for him to snap. And, he feels as though it’s finally time to do so.

Spencer screeches into the silence of his apartment, undoubtedly waking up his neighbors and possibly even alerting the police. He tears through his hair with bloodcrusted hands and debates on wrenching it out from the roots. Sitting on the floor in a puddle of sorrow and anguish, Spencer sobs. It’s the first time in his life that he’s been so consumed with grief and guilt that he can’t even muster the strength to stand. He merely clutches The Narritive of John Smith to his chest and continues to fall apart.

As tears run down his cheeks, he denies everything that happened in the last few hours. Maeve is still going to meet him after work next Wednesday.You didn’t cover him with your FBI jacket after she was shot. The blood that poured from the gunshot wound in her head was fake. It was a joke—a painful, stupid, not-at-all funny joke. Tomorrow, he would enter the office, ride the elevator up, and make casual conversation with all of his work friends. Thoughts race through his mind, and he finds himself laughing. Laughing. A voice in the back of his head tells him that he’s in shock, that he’s not well. Another voice tells him that he’ll never be well.

He doesn’t know who to believe.

A rhythmic knock on his door sounds, and Spencer pretends not to hear it. He knows it’s you. Part of him is screaming to let you in, telling him to accept the comfort you’ve come to give him. But, he decides he isn’t ready. Not yet. So, you decide to wait. For Spencer, you’d wait until time itself no longer existed.

Night approaches faster than you think. The sun is a paintbrush as it dips into the horizon and paints one of the most beautiful sunsets you’ve ever seen. It’s merely a passing thought, but you hope Spencer wills himself to see the pleasant combination of warm oranges and deep reds that are smoothed across the dusk sky. Glancing down at your watch, you read the tiny numbers with tired eyes—8:02PM—and, that’s when you realize you’ve been sitting for so long that your butt has gone numb. You register the pins and needles beginning to poke at your backside, but you make no move to stand or to leave. All you do is lean back, your head thumping gently against Spencer’s door while closing your eyes.

Spencer has no knowledge of the countless baskets of goodies from Garcia or the small notes that JJ has left behind after her short visits come to a close. He doesn’t even know that you’re still outside of his apartment. He knows nothing but the monotonous whir of his air conditioning and the smell of Thai food coming from his living room. Spencer tries to focus on anything but Maeve, but his mind is scattered, fragmented. He grows frustrated at the fact that his thoughts are moving too fast to collect. Blood. Bodies. Sweat. Tears. The feeling of your hands on his shoulders. Normally, Spencer is excellent at compartmentalizing trauma, but not this time. Not when his first true love had been so unfairly stolen from him.

Rage simmers inside of him as the clock strikes twelve. He clenches his fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream once more. Instead, he palms for the book nearest to him. With his original, hard cover, full-Russian version of War and Peace in his hand, he swings his arm as hard as he can at his door. Specks of dust fall from the frame at the impact, and a chip is now visible in both the book and the wood. Spencer hears a small yelp from the other side, and finally, something other than grief overtakes him. Confusion and anxiety course through him as he forces himself to stand, grabbing a kitchen knife before launching his door open.

You topple over, crushing his toes under the full weight of your upper body. Profanities are exchanged as your stare flicks nervously between his face and the butcher knife in his grasp.

“[Y/N]?! What are you still doing here?!” He means to sound angry, but the rasp in his voice does the emotion no justice. The weakness in his words is easily detected, and you find yourself studying his features from the ground. You’re profiling him, but you can’t help it. His shoulders are hunched, his five o’clock shadow has turned to six, and his eyes dart cautiously around your face. It’s as if he’s making sure you don’t see the torture his own mind is subjecting his body to.

“Well,” you begin, tone gentle, “I came to see you, but you didn’t open the door. So, I thought that I would wait you out, you know? Just to make sure that if you needed someone to talk to, that I would be there—ready to listen.”

Spencer’s expression is blank, his eyes having stopped their search a long time ago. “How would you have stayed? You have work, [Y/N]. Work that we both know doesn’t stop for time to mourn.” There’s bitter vitriol in his words; he can’t bring himself to care about how they effect you for the time being. But, you don’t mind. It’s only natural. Finally pushing yourself up from the floor, you stare through him and have to fight the need to place a hand on his shoulder, to try to connect with him. The two of you are still separated by the threshold of his door, but it feels as though the Grand Canyon itself is in between.

“Spencer, I can’t even begin to fathom what you’re going through, but—.”

“No,” his retort is clipped, “you can’t. Goodbye, [Y/N].” The door is slammed once again, leaving you stunned to to silence. Sure, you had expected Spencer to be different, but nothing like that. Torrents of rain pound against the roof of his building as dread flows steadily through you at the thought of having to step into it. Nonetheless, you collect your things and head into the office hoping to distract yourself until you’re really supposed to be in for work. The time is 12:54AM, and as you attempt to hail a taxi in the storm, a chill travels down your spine. It’s hard to tell what caused it—the thought of leaving Spencer alone or the copious amounts of coffee you will inevitably be consuming later today.

────

Eight o’clock rolls around quicker than you hope. From the corner of your eye, you spot Penelope and JJ walking in together, their normally bright faces marred with concern. Eventually, the clicking of their heels comes to a halt in front of your desk. JJ takes a seat on top of the files you’re working, moving your recently emptied mug out of the way with a tight smile. Garcia’s crosses her arms with a hmph as she stares down at you. Neither of the women are hostile—it’s moreso agressive curiosity.

“So, [Y/N] ...” JJ’s voice trails off a bit, “You saw Spence?” The nature of the question is pure. Worry is evident in her words, but as you try to answer, nothing comes from your mouth.

Garcia cups your face in her hands, squeezing your cheeks to the point of discomfort. “[Y/N]. All we wanna know is that he’s okay?” She declares, “If you perhaps could comfirm if he has gotten my muffin basket, that would also be nice—but, Boy Wonder’s safety is always first!” The chipper mask she uses to hide the pain is crumbling away, and it’s easy to see.

“Honestly, guys ... He doesn’t look good. Spencer—he, uh, his apartment is a mess, like, books everywhere, three day old Thai food in the living room. I’m worried about him—and, Garcia, he hasn’t touched anything outside his door. It’s kinda like he’s trying to fight reality.” Your explanation is obviously hard for the two women to listen to. JJ’s face is turned down, her bottom lip tucked in between her teeth. Penelope’s colorful appearance seems to dim as words continue to fall from your mouth. She gapes, evidently trying to come up with something to say, but her phone chimes.

“Jeez,” Penelope drags in a sharp intake of air, “this is a bad one. Hotch wants us in the conference room ASAP.”

Sitting around the round table, you take in the information about the case. Two people, a man and a woman, bore holes in the insides of their thighs, exsanguinated. But, there is no other chatter, no normal banter, no tossing around ideas. Only silence, and you feel as though you’re falling. Once you stand, your knees wobble and your hands shoot out to grab JJ’s shoulders. Her presence itself is an ocean of calm as she works to steady you.

“[Y/N] ... maybe you should stay with Garcia on this one? I’m sure she could use the company.” Although not forceful, JJ’s words are more of a command than anything, but you make the executive decision to dismiss them with a shake of your head. As you walk up the stairs leading to the jet, your stomach churns with the intensity of a thousand tigers.

The absolute quietude on the plane is staggering, and until Garcia’s digitalized face appears on the screen, no one dares to say a word. She briefs everyone that another body has been discovered, and Hotch moves directly onto assignments. “[Y/N] and Morgan, go to the ME and see if the blood results have come back, yet. Blake and Dave, head to the newest crime scene. JJ and I will start working with the local PD.”

As you stare out at the clouds, you wish so desperately to be one of them. Oh, to be a big ball of water and ice crystals and not have a care in the world. The sun reflects off of the white, and when you turn away from the window, you can just barely see Morgan’s form sitting in the leather seat across from you. A pensive frown is present on his lips, his eyes tracing your body, looking for something to tip him off as to what you’re feeling.

Eventually, he finds that he can’t pick you apart. It seems as though each layer he tears through, another is waiting to conceal the truth. “Alright, kid,” he starts, a light air of humor in his voice, “I’ll bite. What’re you thinkin’ about so hard over here?” To be completely honest, you’re positive that he already knows the answer.

“Spence.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Morgan crosses his arms in front of his chest. It’s a tic; he does it when he’s upset. You watch him as he racks his brain for something to change the subject to, but the sigh he omits is a signal that he’s going to try to talk to you about him. Alarm bells shriek in your head, and the sound is deafening. You force yourself to resist the urge to cover your ears, knowing that it wouldn’t do anything.

“So, kid. Even though you’re pretty good at hiding it, you need to tell me what you’re really thinking, okay? I know you saw Reid, but that’s not what I wanna know about. Something else is buggin’ you—I can tell.” He’s beating you up with each word. A punch to the gut, a kick to the face, an elbow to the side—it’s relentless. He knows something is wrong, but you can’t tell him that you’ve been in love Spencer since the third month working at the BAU. It’ll ruin you—not your reputation or your future—it’ll ruin you. Your mind, your body, your heart. Even though you ache to tell just one person, your mouth won’t let you. But, your heart seems to win the fight.

“Derek, I—,” you pause, your voice giving out, “I’m in love with him. I’ve been in love with him. And now, I don’t know what to do.” Your colleague searches for words, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. He merely stares, his mouth a thin line. Discomfort settles in the space between the two of you, its thickness is probably felt by the rest of the team on the plane. You catch JJ’s glances at the both of you, but they go unacknowledged.

────

Spencer goes through the third stage of grief alone. Bargaining. The stage where he’s in grave need to talk to someone, he is only himself. His hands shake as he pours a cup of coffee, attempting to use the caffeine to stay awake. As the sun rises, a thought in the back of his mind sounds. It tells him that he’s been wearing the same clothes for the past four days. His sweat, blood, and tears have collected on the fabric, and even still, he doesn’t care.

The only thing he’s aware of is the fact that if he wouldn’t have tried to meet Maeve, she would still be alive. He curses Blake and his innate curiosity, and he curses the fact that his first words to her were, “I don’t love you. Sorry.” He curses the feeling of your jacket over his shoulders and the immense okayness that it brought to him, even while staring at Maeve’s body splayed in front of him.

Looking around at each book on the floor of his apartment, they somehow remind him of her. Some made him want to remember her happily, others made him want to vomit up his heart and cut it into a thousand pieces. If he had only said the right thing, maybe she would still be alive. Maybe they would’ve held each other tight and moved on. Maybe they would’ve gone out for three or four years, and then maybe she would’ve gotten pregnant. Maybe there would’ve been a miniature version of him with Maeve’s smile and his eyes. Maybe he would’ve been happy.

Spencer spits up bile into his kitchen sink. Happy? He’s not even sure he knows the meaning of the word anymore. Grabbing the handle of his coffee pot, he pours and pours until the scalding hot liquid burns through his mismatched socks. Wordlessly, tears brim in his eyes. Reaching down, he plucks off the soaked fabric and merely stands at the counter, staring down into the seemingly endless mug.

His phone chirps and effectively pulls him from his trance. Although there’s plenty of time to walk over and answer it, Spencer just reads Morgan’s caller ID and lets it ring. It goes to voicemail and immediately Morgan’s words fill the empty air.

“Hey, Reid, it's Derek. Listen, I got a work question for you. The unsub's exsanguinating victims and removing their eyelids antemortem. Does that mean anything to you? Hit me back.”

Ideas are weaving in and out of the genius’ head. Trudging over to his couch, he presses the call button and waits for Morgan to pick up. It takes less than two rings before the line clicks and he’s in the presence of someone else for a change. Spencer sits in silence, not speaking until spoken to. He feels like a kid, but truthfully, he doesn’t have enough energy to say more than he needs to.

“Hey kid, you’ve got me and [Y/N].”

“Hi, Spencer.”

The sound of your voice is a drive taken at the dead of night where all you can hear is nature. It’s a thousand waves of calm. Instead of giving you both an answer, Spencer revels in the small greeting. Maybe if things were different, he would’ve fallen in love with you first.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. He debates on slamming the phone back into the receiver, but decides against it. “Have the cornea or pupils been harmed in any way?” Morgan says no. “If he's taking care not to damage the eyes, then line of sight is probably what's important to him.”

“So this guy wants them to see what he’s doing.” Morgan pauses and the whole line goes quiet. Spencer yearns to hear your voice just once more before he hangs up. And, by the grace of a seemingly wrathful God, he does. But, it’s not exactly a question he’s prepared to answer.

“Hey, Spencer ...” You trail off. It appears as though you’re thinking through your next words, but you settle on a simple inquiry. “How are you?”

“I gotta go,” Spencer replies.

The line goes dead.

────

The case ends up being solved with the help of your Boy Wonder. However, as you board the plane alongside him, it’s obvious that he doesn’t feel very wondrous. Plopping down into the seat across from him—similar to what Derek had done—you shoot him a tender grin. JJ’s shoulder rests above your head, and Morgan stands, taking up the whole aisle.

“So,” JJ begins, “I counted—what—five baskets?”

“Seven, but I think Ms. Cavanaugh next door may have taken a couple.” Her laughter mixes with yours in a melody that brightens the atmosphere in the jet. Morgan snickers in the background, but all Spencer is focused on is your smile. A pang of warmth spreads through him for the first time in a long time, even though a frown is turning his lips down. JJ and Morgan eventually migrate to their respective spots—JJ on the couch ans Morgan with his head against the wall and his earbuds plugged into his ears.

You pick up on the scowl on his features and pat the table to attract his attention. He meets your gentle gaze with hesitant eyes. “Why the long face, Doc?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but he can’t even force out a laugh. Spencer succumbs to the monster that guilt presents itself as, cupping his cheeks and pulling down on his face. He tries to rid himself of the grime, the dirt, he feels on his body, but he doesn’t think it’ll ever go away.

“I dunno,” he slurs through exhaustion, “I was just thinking about how I acted when you came over, and I-I guess ... I just wanted to apolog—.”

“Spencer.” The severity in your tone shakes him to the core. His eyes widen as his mouth comes to a close. “Don’t apologize to me. You’re grieving, it’s only natural that you’d be angry. It was forgotten after it happened, okay? I promise you—we’re good.” There’s something you want to add, and Spencer can practically feel the words itching to come out. “And, Spence? If you need anything—anything at all—please, just ask. Please.”

His mind wanders back to his messy apartment, and he ponders the thought of asking you to help him clean. His mouth moves on autopilot, speaking before he even knew what to say. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I could use some help with something.”

“Of course. Name it, Spencer.”

When the wheels hit the ground, you and Spencer sit and wait for everyone else to clear out of the jet. Morgan and JJ squeeze his shoulder on the way out, and Blake shoots him a motherly smile. The sorrow in her eyes is blatant, but it travels to the back of your mind as soon as she passes. Standing up, you gesture in front of you, allowing Spencer an exit before you head down the stairs. He offers you a ghost of a grin, and it makes your heart bound in your chest. You didn’t remember signing up to run a marathon after this case.

The short stroll to Spencer’s Volvo in spent in a surprisingly comfortable silence. It is full of shy glances and small smiles, and you can practically feel yourself falling for him all over again. Climbing into his car, you turn on the radio to a classical station. Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major plays at a low volume, causing you to close your eyes and lean back against the headrest. The old car hums to life, igniting a sense of nostalgia deep in your soul. The drive to his apartment passes by in what feels like seconds, and he takes the keys and moves to open your door.

Giggling, you step out of his antique. The gravel crunches against the bottoms of your boots as you walk next to him up to his door. “So, this is the elusive Dr. Spencer Reid’s humble abode?” There’s a lighthearted teasing in your voice, “It’s cute. I like it. What d’you need me to do?” He cocks an eyebrow, looking around at the books scattered across his floor and he wonders how someone could find beauty in this. And then, he realizes that he’s standing next to you—Penelope Garcia’s closest confidant—and another question replaces it. Was there anything you couldn’t find beauty in?

“Well .... we should probably start with the books, and then, we can move on to the Thai food.” A grimace appears on his face and you laugh at the way it scrunches, “And, after that, we can talk.” The statement is more of a question, but it still makes you unbelievably jittery.

With a nod, you bend down to pick up story after story, every so often becoming enchanted by the bindings that surrounded the little worlds. Spencer crouches and pulls out a vinyl, placing it on the record player and lowering the needle. Once more, Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major fills the air, the static of the record scratching every once in a while. “I noticed that you liked it in the car,” he murmurs, “I’m more of a Waltz in A Minor type of guy, but Nocturne in E Flat Major Op. 9 No. 2 is always a good pick.”

“I just love Chopin, to be honest,” you say, picking up the copy of War and Peace sitting at the threshold of his door, “his pieces are all good, really. They’re all great creating pieces, you know? Like, I could just sit, listen to them, and make up stories in my head for days.”

You’re making up one right now. It’s a sunny day, as opposed to the inky blackness outside his apartment window, and you and Spencer are walking down an ambiguous dirt path. Woods surround you as well as sounds of nature, birds sing and branches snap under your feet. There is no air of danger, and all you can feel is the warm pressure of Spencer’s hand in yours. A cool breeze kisses your cheeks, forcing you to stop and take it in. Spencer comes to a halt, his gaze shifting to you. Smiling, you both move towards each other like plants to the sun. Captivation, charm, magnetism. It’s inevitable, like the meteor that destroyed the first inhabitants of earth so long ago. You move closer and closer to one another; it feels as though you’re floating, you’re gravitating towards him—.

“You know, if you’re that fascinated by East of Eden, you could borrow it,” Spencer’s weak teasing breaks you from your reverie, and you realize you’ve been staring at the front cover for over five minutes.

“Ah, uh, no thanks. Reading Of Mice and Men in high school was enough John Steinbeck for me. Personally, I think he drones on and on about things for too long,” you grin while shelving the book. He hums an acknowledgement and picks up a paper container full of week old pad thai, the smell forcing his head in the other direction.

Soon enough, there are only four, thick novels left, and you two are standing side by side at the bookshelf. You gawk at the number of collections and volumes that reside on the freshly dusted wooden panels, eyes wide. Spencer has one hard cover in his hands. It’s in pristine condition, the white of the jacket glaring at you with a vindictiveness that only the dead can muster. Maeve’s memory is held in between his palms, and it becomes hard to watch him struggle with the thought of having to put it away.

“Spencer ...” Your voice is feathery as it rides on the heavy air, “Let go.”

The words are broken as they fall from his mouth. Tears drip gently onto the glossy cover, and it seems as though The Narritive of John Smith is crying along with him. “I can’t.” A sharp pain pierces your entire being. Seeing him so vulnerable, so fractured, is agonizing. He cries over the story, repeating the tale of his whirlwind romance over and over again in his head. Reaching out, you urge his hands towards the only remaining space on the shelf. The book slips in effortlessly, and Spencer collapses to his knees in front of it. His hands are limp by his sides and his head hangs low between his rounded shoulders.

You lower yourself to meet his figure on the ground. He doesn’t move, his spirit completely dulled. As you ghost your hands over his back, he leans into your touch. After depriving himself of physical contact for so long, he wallows in the feeling of your fingers rubbing soft patterns into his skin. Spencer allows himself to sink into your embrace, inhaling the sweet combination of vanilla and jasmine.

For some time, Spencer cries into your chest. He apologizes through his sobs for the darkening spot on your work shirt, but you quiet him each time with a shake of your head. The atmosphere in his apartment lightens to the point of comfort as you do nothing but hold him. It’s poetic, really—something that you’d listen to a Chopin piece to.

“In a different lifetime,” Spencer’s hoarse whisper is barely audible over the quiet buzz of his air conditioning, “I would’ve fallen in love with you first.”

You contemplate his statement, mulling it over in your mind with a giddy optimism not quite suitable for the situation. He can tell you’re thinking over his words, but he doesn’t comment on the length of time you spend with them. A significant amount of time passes before you offer him a small nod that he feels when your chin collides with the top of his head. Smoothing a hand down his curls that are already slicked with grease, you open your mouth to speak.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” you murmur, hugging him closer, “I’ll be waiting. Always.”

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