#But like chunks

[likesdoodling]

First only text post I have ever done!

This is kind of a disclaimer? Maybe? I guess?

So I started doing art stuff on here primarily to post my dsmp comic 'The Adventures of Steve and Orphan' which my predictive text still remembers perfectly btw-

I finished said comic a while ago, (like... I dunno.. Last year around March or something?) and I planned on putting it all together when I was finished to make a more cohesive read, since I definitely wrote it to be read in order.

That was before.. Ahem. Stuff happened. Like. The recent wilbur stuff, not the June 2022 stuff. Definitely wasn't going to do it straight after that,

Anyway. The main characters are Steve and Orphan because of that video Technoblade did with Ranboo where he said Steve was the real main character/should have his own series, plus him telling dream in prison that Steve was coming to rescue him. I thought this was hilarious, so that's when I started my comic thing.

(I'm kind of a Technoblade fan. Can you tell? Genuinely the only person on dsmp that I watched live, plus all his dsmp vods and YouTube videos, and no I do not have a problem, my obsession has just shifted to different fandoms)

It is of course, ✨Fiction✨ so I'm probably going to post it anyway, this is mainly just to figure out if any of my tumblr followers actually care about the dream smp, since it was mainly my Instagram folks who followed me for that stuff, since ascendance of a bookworm and bsd fans are a lot more active on tumblr.

Anyway. My main reasoning is that I want to still post Technoblade related stuff, fanart etc. Because he was the inspiration to finish one of the biggest projects I ever undertook, drawing wise, and it's the best way I can think of to try embody the 'Technoblade Never Dies' spirit. Ya know?

So expect to see the collected Adventures of Steve and Orphan soon!

:D

It's all from Steve's perspective btw

And there is a bit of a jump in quality when I took a break mid 2022 for obvious reasons. It is so weird to think that it's been nearly two years... Who knows. Maybe I'll post it as an anniversary thing or something. Eh. I probably won't bother waiting that long. I want to do a full on art piece for the anniversary if possible anyway.

Honestly, I haven't gotten more than 20 likes on a single picture on Instagram since I finished said Steve and Orphan comic, so you guys clearly have superior taste in anime. But then again, Steve had some pretty good unintentionally funny commentating skills so who knows. He thinks he's inspiring. Like Master. Orphan might laugh, but Steve is clearly a wonderful teacher.

If you don't want anything to do with the dsmp, then you probably haven't read this far honestly. I kind of doubt any of you guys are interested, but yknow. Just in case.

Doin sarcastically commentated comics was/is kind of my thing. And the Adventures of Steve and Orphan is a prime example of that.

That's it for now, cya!

#dsmp #The Adventures of Steve and Orphan #Yeye #Twill return #Soon #probably #Dsmp comic #Will be coming soon #Like #I've already finished it #But I'll post all of it in one thing #Or maybe three #There's like 60 panels #So probably more than one #But like chunks #Not tiny snippets #Ya know? #Technoblade Never Dies #o7

[pangur-and-grim]

I'm turning 30 this month, and for some reason have become suddenly interested in material possessions. like what if,,,,,,,,my couch was nice. what if my sheets were nice. is this what happens to you??

#this bougie furniture store was having an extreme New Years sale #and it sent me out of my mind #like......wait......I could have that?? I could have NICE coffee table and NICE chair??? really? #a good chunk of my savings mysteriously disappeared shortly after.

[harbingerofsoup]

there’s death of the author and then there’s whatever the fuck is up with danny phantom

#danny phantom #death of the author #most of the lore is fan made #a decent chunk of the fandom hasn’t even seen the show #one of the most beloved side characters isn’t an actual character #because we made him up based on a like 2 second clip #he’s not even the only widely accepted fan made character #because we spawned more from him #and we ba sing se-ed ourselves about phantom planet #dannypocalypse is also a thing #it doesn’t have anything to do with death of the author #but it’s important to me that we’ve pulled off a successful fandom apocalypse #every year since i think 2017

[shootingstarrfish]

shoutout to that one post about barbatos casually adopting powerful beings i couldnt stop thinking about it

#third barbatos in a row.... but whos counting haha :D #listen i was working on maid belphie and then clip studio paint crashed when i was almost done and i lost a good chunk of progress #sooo im processing my feelings through barbatos or whatever #aka hes pretty and i like him :) #obey me #my art #omswd #digital art #obey me nightbringer #obey me art #barbatos #obey me barbatos

[willowparkfanclub]

the black pauses in the show when a book chapter ends.... cinema like oh my god

#literally had to pause when i realized like THAT IS SO FUCKING SMART #breaking it up into chunks like that just GAH SO GOOD #pjo #pjotv #percy jackson #me yapping

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 6; ghoap x reader) parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

-

Johnny cleans up the lamp in the morning.

He might as well, being on second watch and all. Ghost wakes him up at the ass crack of dawn with a gentle kick to the ribs (gentle for him) before rolling over on the couch and going right to sleep. It’s routine for them to fall into sleep like rocks sinking in water, but the waking up is never quite as graceful. Johnny snorts awake and whips his head around sharply from side to side before confirming that he’s just in his girlfriend’s apartment and the asshole that woke him up is just his ornery lieutenant. 

“I better not hear any fuckin’ jabber,” is all Ghost says before closing his eyes. Johnny chews his lip to keep the grin off of his face.

He tries to keep it down after that. For the first couple of hours, he sits up against the wall and scrolls on his phone. That keeps him occupied until any lingering exhaustion is flushed from his veins.

There’s a broom and dustpan in a small closet in the kitchen where his girl also keeps the garbage bags and compost bin that he uses to sweep up the mess, and he tries to make as little noise as possible while he cleans up. The glass makes a tinkling sound as it’s swept up though, just loud enough that it inevitably wakes his girl up.

She comes creeping out of her room late into the morning, the shop not due to open for another hour or two. The late weekend opening hours mean she usually gets to sleep in. 

Weeks back, it used to be something that Johnny got to do with her as well, cuddled until she’d suddenly pull away, then waking up to her swallowing his cock, peeking under the bedsheets to find her pretty head bobbing up and down his length. Groaning and palming her head to press her lips down to the base, eyes rolling back at the sound of her gagging around his length, the base of his dick a mess of come and drool. 

In the present day though, she clears her throat. Johnny blinks and refocuses on her. 

Her eyes flit to Ghost’s still form on the couch and when they dart back to Johnny, he raises a finger to his lips. Let the man rest. It’s the least Johnny can do for him after he dragged him back to his girl’s place to make amends. She hazards another cautious glance at Ghost—his lieutenant lies still as a statue on the couch, motionless like he isn’t even breathing—before pursing her lips, displeased. 

In the light of day, his previous anger feels cleansed. He understands now. They’ve gone about this all wrong, topsy-turvy. He’s been chasing his own tail and making a mess of things for far too long now, but Ghost’s voice is clear in his head now. It settles him.  

So when his girl goes to open her mouth, maybe thinking that she can whisper softly enough so as not to wake Ghost up, he steps forward quickly and covers her mouth. 

She squawks behind his hand. Again, he shakes his head. Any sound would be too loud for the man slumbering on her couch. 

Johnny can feel her swallow behind his palm and it almost makes him salivate. His fingers twitch on her cheeks like he might press them into the soft skin and make her lips pout. 

“Not here,” he murmurs, almost mouthing the words.

He waits until she nods before removing his hand. Then he leaves to go dump the dustpan filled with glass into the trash. 

She corners him in the bathroom after that and it’s all he can do not to come in his pants. It’s not his fault he’s been trigger happy since Ghost tugged them off on the sparring mats and came on his stomach; he’s been pent up since the last time he saw her. There’s still flakes of dried come on his belly. He only half resists lifting his shirt to look. If his girl knew, she’d be mortified. 

He wonders if she’d be more upset that he let Ghost beat off on him or that he didn’t clean up his mess. 

Johnny lets the bird guide him to the toilet, letting her shove him down onto the lid.

“Ah, hen, ye really wanna do this now?” he teases, spreading his legs and wrapping his hands around her waist to reel her in, slipping up her shirt at the same time. 

He almost moans when she slaps him across the face, biting his lip when she gasps right after, surprised at her own actions. “Oh—fuck—I’m so sorry—”

He clicks his tongue, lips curling up into an impish grin. “Dinnae worry, baby. ‘M tougher than I look.”

It’s a small mercy that she’s too agitated to really look him over because if she were to direct her gaze even slightly south, she’d find Johnny’s shaft straining against his fly, hard enough to pound nails the second her hand touched his face. He swallows a groan and his fingers tighten, sinking deeper into her flesh. 

“I didn’t mean to—Jesus, it doesn’t matter.” He loves that when she gets frustrated, her bottom lip juts out. It makes him want to sink his teeth into it. “When your…boss or whatever…wakes up, can you please take him and leave?”

“Leave?” Johnny repeats, blinking up at her innocently. 

“Yes. Leave,” she says, stressing the word. He hums and strokes his thumb over the soft skin of her stomach, pleased that she hasn’t yet told him to take his hands off her. Sweet little bird. “We kissed and made up. That’s what you came for, right? So the two of you can get going once he wakes up.”

“No breakfast?” 

She looks distinctly unimpressed. “There’s a coffee shop down the block.”

“Aye, I ken, baby,” Johnny croons, pulling her in closer, smiling when she squeaks and braces her hands on his shoulders, his face almost cradled between her breasts. He turns his head to kiss one, mouth lingering over the cotton of her shirt, tempted almost to bite and rip it. “It’s jus’ that…seems an awful like the second Simon and I take off, you’re jus’ gonna go right back to cold shouldering me. Sure you’re nae jus’ putting on a little show for me now?”

Her fingers grip him by the fabric of his shirt. “Johnny—” She yelps when he bites the inside of her breast, snarling when she tries to pull away. “Okay, okay, okay, I got it—”

“That’s right,” he says with a content sigh, pulling back just the slightest bit. “You’re nae going anywhere. Not until we’ve talked this out, nice and civil.”

When she stares down at him, wide-eyed, like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing, it’s a rush like he’s never experienced. He feels right in the flow of things now, his head on straight for once. 

“What’s there to talk about?” she mumbles, and he almost melts. “I’m not mad anymore.”

“Nae mad? Then why’re ye trying to kick us out?”

“Because I’m busy, Johnny,” she snaps. “The shop’s opening in an hour and I don’t have time to babysit the two of you.”

“Ye willnae even notice we’re here, hen, I promise. Fuck, I’ll even help ye out—make some deliveries, go shake anyone down that still owes ye—”

“I don’t shake down my customers, Johnny—”

“Whatever ye need, baby.” He drags his palms up her sides, pulling up her shirt with his hands. Her tits pop out like ripe fruit dangling in front of his mouth, puffy nipples begging to be sucked on. “Simon and I will be right here. Ye can use us however ye want.”

He stares at her nipple while saying that, unconsciously leaning forward until his lips graze her skin and his tongue pokes out. She doesn’t budge, just curses under her breath and lets him rub his tongue over her beaded nipple, shaking in his hold. Johnny bets if he pulled down those little sleep shorts of hers, he’d find a wet little cunt begging for a fat cock to fill her up. 

It’d take nothing for him to pull them down and give her what she’s asking for. The love of his life is tucked away beneath a layer of flimsy cotton and begging for him to give her some love and affection. Johnny hasn’t kissed her in God knows how long—a week? Two? He’d probably find her swollen and aching beneath her shorts; could get her to come just by dragging two fingers up the seam of her. 

He knows what Ghost would say though, so he drags his teeth over her nipple just for the pleasure of feeling her flinch and then pulls back. The bird blinks down at him with hazy eyes when he helps readjust her shirt, pulling it back down to cover her gorgeous tits, a damp spot on her shirt over the nipple he just had in his mouth. 

“We’re not going to…?” she asks, letting the question dangle in midair. She says it without thinking—clearly, because the second it dawns on her that she just asked if they were going to fuck in the bathroom with Johnny sitting on the toilet, she looks horrified with herself. It’s beyond endearing. 

“No’ with Simon in the other room, baby. Wouldnae be fair for him to have to listen in.”

He doesn’t tell her that fairness in this case doesn’t mean cruel. It means that it wouldn’t be possible. 

Still, he needs to shoo her out of the bathroom to tug one out into the toilet bowl. Johnny would be half tempted to jerk off onto her mirror just to leave his mark where she could see, but he has some manners. 

He gives himself a nice, leisurely tug with the help of his girl’s expensive hand lotion. It’s not as viscous as the lube in the gallon tub on his nightstand back at the barracks, but it’s a good substitute; makes his hand glide nicely over his shaft.  If he closes his eyes, it even smells like her, like it’s his girl giving him a morning reach around, and part of Johnny wonders whether he was too quick to kick her out of the bathroom. Ghost wouldn’t begrudge him a quick and dirty jerk.

The thought dissolves the longer his hand flies over his dick though. Hard to think about anything outside the present moment when his hand is braced against the wall and his orgasm barrelling towards him. When he comes, it’s with a deep, shuddering grunt, not even bothering to muffle the sound. He hopes his girl hears him from the other room. He hopes it makes her squirm and ache. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, another voice takes him by surprise.

“Johnny. You’re on breakfast.”

Ghost’s voice is gruff in the early morning hours, abrupt. Rarely could it be classified as gentle, but it’s like chert rattling in a leather bag after hours of disuse. Especially since it comes out of nowhere, the man asleep one moment and awake the next. Johnny’s worked with him long enough to not flinch at the sudden sound of his voice, but his girl hasn’t; she yelps when his voice comes unbidden from the couch, big body suddenly upright like he’s been awake the whole time. 

He’s no cook, but Johnny can rustle up eggs and bacon like any other self-respecting serviceman. On deployment, they used to rotate cooking duty every night, no one skilled enough to take over the post permanently. Still, Johnny eyes Ghost worriedly when he takes a seat across from the bird at her little kitchen table. It’s not a table meant for two grown men, just a small wooden thing with four chairs, only enough for one on each side. It means that Ghost’s knees knock against hers when he takes the chair across from her, forcing her to curl up into herself, tucking her legs under the chair. 

He stares her down. Menacing eyes. Not the kind of man you want sitting across from you, no matter the circumstances. It makes Johnny anxious to turn his back on them when he has to crack the eggs into the pan, checking over his shoulder religiously. The whites go crispy at the edges before he remembers to flip them over.

“You work downstairs in the flower shop,” Ghost says bluntly, breaking the silence. His first words to Bird all morning. Not a question.

“…Yes,” Bird answers gingerly. Her palms are clamped over her knees, sweating likely. “I own it.”

“Since when?” He doesn’t blink before firing off another question.

“Um…two years.”

“Where’d you work before?”

“In…in London. I was a shopgirl there though—”

“Where’s your family from then?”

It goes on that way for a time, an interrogation with no rhyme or reason. Even Johnny has to wonder at Ghost’s intentions—knows that there’s no shot that Ghost hasn’t already done a background check on her. Why interrogate the bird then? Why rattle off question after question in such quick succession? Why make her tremble and look down at the tabletop and stutter out her answers and fidget under his stare—

He notices Ghost’s hand slip beneath the table to grip his length, spreading his legs to help readjust.

Ah. Mean bastard. Of course he’d get off on making her squirm.

The bacon burns. Johnny can’t help it. He listens attentively to her clear voice—softer in the morning hours, still sleep-laden and flowery—whispering out her life’s story, dick getting hard behind the kitchen island. He bites his lip to hold back a moan when she trips over her words. Thrusts forward to rub his bulge against the underside of the island when she chews on her lip, relieving some of the pressure. It drives him mad that there’s a wet cunt going unsatisfied just a few feet away. 

Ghost shoots him a sharp look as if he can hear his thoughts. “Johnny.”

He turns around to flip the burner off.

#there are like 2 more parts to come btw - it's not done yet. im just doing 2k chunks #ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/soap/reader #soap x reader #soap x you #soap/reader

[captainsparklefingers]

*shows up fourteen years late to Tumblr with very cold Starbucks* So that Sherlock show is pretty good, huh!

#context: mom wanted to watch Sherlock because Hulu recommended it #and it occured to me that I'd never ACTUALLY watched Sherlock #I've seen the special and like clips and chunks but that's it #(no offense tumblr but I think you might have scared me off a but) #and suprise its actually good! #sherlock #bbc sherlock

[satelliteduster]

oh my god i forgot to post my absolute favorite strip from gay comix (issue #2, 1981)

#this collection is full of so many hilarious vignettes #between the fictional and biographical they range from hilarious to saddening but theyre all candid looks at #lgbt life in the 60s 70s and 80s #id recommend it if you're interested in older underground work #edit: for ppl who notice the opening blurb i will say this: #1. Many artists in the underground comix scene (yes the lgbt ones too) delighted in being overly provocative for the sake of it #hence the cringeworthy 'political unity is not the goal' line #2. i worried abt this too when i started going thru the issues but there are quite a few strips and comics focusing on the trans experience #that said. there are unfortunately not a lot of transgender artists involved in this collection #3. given the preceding two points i think its fair to say that a good chunk of the strips in gay comix just. Suck #but like they actually said it's important that we're capable of recognizing that a full 40 years down the line #so we can actually learn something from the life experiences the mistakes and even the lack of perspective tht sm of these artists displayed #nocturnal writings

[skyberia]

set your gasoline heart on fire

#persona 5 #goro akechi #akechi goro #artists on tumblr #drawings #experimenting w painting with large brush sizes only. so the art looks like it has chunks in it #also an experiement on just pretending this outfit looks cool in any way shape or form

[uncanny-tranny]

I recently had to do a project in one of my psych classes, and man, I knew that CBT was used for every little thing, but seeing over and over, "do CBT! CBT is the best for every mental illness!" was so jarring. I'm absolutely biased because of my own experiences, but I just don't think it's as universal a treatment model as it's touted.

If you didn't benefit from CBT, it's not because you're lazy or didn't try hard enough or lacked intelligence or foresight into your own needs. Frankly, it's a therapy model that (I think) shouldn't be the only readily-accessible model and among the only therapy models covered by insurance. Some of us should not be treated in a CBT model and that's okay. It's not a sign of poor character or unreasonable demands, and if you don't think it's a model that works for you, then it's your right to express that!

#mental health #mental health advocacy #it was just so annoying because every resource i could access for this project often ONLY recommended cbt and #that just doesn't seem helpful for a good chunk of people #because i know i never benefitted from that model of therapy #obligatory: i am not against this therapy. me having a negative experience with it is not indicative that i believe it should be abolished' #if it works for you: KEEP DOING IT. cbt is not inherently harmful for MANY people and it's a good and valuable tool for many #but the overemphasis of cbt as the Only Therapy Model You Need sends this message that YOU failed... #...if you don't miraculously recover with that therapy model. it often feels like you'll Fail Recovery/Therapy and you're now a Bad Person #i've tried for over a decade to stick out cbt with a dozen therapists to boot. so i think i know a thing or two about my experiences with it #and overall its an unimpressive model (for me) as someone whos had a history with abuse and miscellaneous mental knickknacks rattling around #it's also frustrating because i genuinely like psych and i love learning about people #it's just. i'm tired of only being exposed to cbt (because i hate it honestly) #i feel similarly about cbt as i do with sigmund fucking frued #anyway i just want other insane people (affectionate) to remember that they deserve to not beat themselves up over this #if you're an insane person reading this: i love you i love you i love you i love you #i will share a slice of cake and homemade bread with you <3

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 4: Deranged Bedfellows

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.5)

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #mdzs au #lan wangji #nie huaisang #Yungmeng Jiang training arc AU #This is the *first* part of what was supposed to be a much longer comic (LWJ's morning routine in full). #I'll finish the remaining part as a reblog to this post! I just think this is the funnier chunk. #Lan Wangji absolutely is the kind of person who has a perfect internal alarm clock for when it is time to get up. #He already has a dedicated sleep schedule. He is accurate within 10 seconds of 5am every day. #I think the Jiang disciples are most likely used to waking up around 6:00-7:00am #But the allure of having a guaranteed time keeper getting you up in the morning is worth the earlier hour. #I imagine they started outside lwj's door and slowly moved closer as the weeks went on. #Now LWJ has to cope with being way too warm in the night from all the extra body heat. #LWJ is not a fan of this but they scamper off immediately after he wakes up and they at least show initiative to follow routine. #NHS joins in only because he is a chronically heavy sleeper and needs this level of intervention to get up early. #His boldness would be a death sentence in the cloud recesses but here? Whole new game. #Yungmeng Jiang isn't a lawless land. It's just a land with different laws. #And one of those laws is to forcefully domesticate the catboy coded Lan boy through any means necessary. #Completely different tangent: I drew the thumbnail for this before I did comic 134. I then realized they had the same visual gag. #So I had to space this one out so it didn't seem like I repeated the waking up joke. That's my secret and all of you have to keep it. #And in my land the law is that snitches get itches (telepathically transfers hives onto your body)

[avotuli]

this isnt about nightmares or fear, this is about love

#the terror amc #the terror #come closer i am a normal tv series #i wont rip your heart out in chunks and make a home inside #james fitzjames #jfj #fitzjames haha more like fitzgender #i have never read p&p is it any good #my art

[sleepy-light]

Human ver ???? butler and maid ????

#tadc #buttonblossom #pomni x ragatha #tadc pomni #the amazing digital circus #tadc ragatha #ragapom #ragatha x pomni #jesterdoll #I know there’s a good chunk of you who would love to take pomni’s place #I see you #sleepy.png #why does pomni look like Rae Taylor 😭😭

[rockoblanco]

honkhonk ! 😳

#like just a chunk #in my ‘im just a unit !’ era tbh #have a good day everyone :3 #take care of urself!!! #me #yo #my face #Rocko blanco

[icarryitin]

Pretty

spencer reid/gn!reader

i realised i’ve done a lot of introspective narratives about Feelings™️ but not a whole lot of interaction so pls have some as a treat ilu🧡

masterlist

word count: 1.9k // warnings: there is so much pining in here it could be a forest

You can’t sleep.

Sheep have been counted over, and over, and over again and still, it evades you. For a day where you’d been looking forward to nothing more than collapsing into bed at the end of it; you’re not best pleased. It’s a rough case as it is, you don’t want to be sleep deprived on top of everything else. But it just isn’t happening.

You count seventy three individual little swirly panels on the ceiling before you decide to get up. A walk might go a fair way to unravel your nerves enough to get a couple of hours, at least you hope it will.

With your jacket thrown over your old college hoodie, you don’t bother changing your sweatpants for jeans, and just slip your feet into your boots. Garcia would be outraged at the clashing colours. The look won’t win any best dressed awards, but at this time of night you’re more concerned with clipping your holster in place. You’re not taking any chances. Especially not with the victimology of this case - although you do have the advantage of knowing the Unsub is out there somewhere. It’s still not an overly comforting thought. But you’re out of options, it’s this or counting the rest of the ceiling panels and, frankly, you’re sure you’ll go blind if you have to stare at plaster swirls for much longer. So you tuck your phone and room key into your coat pockets, and leave the dingy little room behind for a while.

The hotel is, thankfully, almost completely dead, save for the night manager dozing at the front desk. Faded carpet plush under your feet, you’re quiet as you descend the stairs to the lobby and its dimmed lights. The world is dark outside the front doors and you hesitate. Is it really the best idea? To walk around in a city that’s home to a serial killer whose victims bear a striking resemblance to yourself? No, no it’s not. Especially not at, you tug your phone out of your pocket to check the time - jesus, two o’clock in the morning.

“Hey, you.”

It would honestly be wrong to say you’re not expecting his voice - if you were to guess which of the team would still be up and about at this time of night, you’d pick Spencer. It’s a no-brainer.

“Hey, me. Couldn’t sleep either?” Your smile is more strained than you mean for it to be when you turn it to him in response, he must have just come back, snuck in unnoticed while you were glaring at the time on your phone. He’s similarly dressed, coat huddled around mismatched pyjamas, another victim of case-induced insomnia then. His eyes are tired, they are more often than not these days. Yours aren’t all that better.

There’s a comfortable moment of silence where you just exist together, in the hushed quiet of the hotel lobby. Breathing in the calm of the night. It almost makes up for the chaos you know awaits the team in the morning.

“Is it nice out?” You ask, toeing the carpet with your scuffed boot.

“You’re not going for a walk, are you?”

“I’m armed, genius, and I’m twice as scary as anything out there.”

Spencer just huffs your name through an exasperated sigh and looks at you as you waltz past him with your hands in your pockets, turning at the waist to watch you go.

“So come with me.” There’s the vaguest hint of a teasing smile on your lips as you walk backwards towards to the front doors. He’s still not moved when you spin on your heel to push them open and walk off into the night - but you could live a hundred lives and still know the footsteps that follow you down the concrete steps anywhere.

He’s not exactly intimidating, but having him by your side in the small hours makes you feel safer than the weight of the gun at your hip ever could. You try not to think too hard about what that means.

“How many ceiling panels are in your room?” Your breath puffs out in a cloud, words winding around each other in the chill of the just about morning.

“A hundred and nine, if you count the ones that are cut in half.”

“Damn, I gave up at seventy three.”

“I’m not sure how much I believe that, I’ve never seen you give up on anything.” Spencer kicks a pebble into the road at the same moment your feet stop working.

To think he’s paid enough attention to you to notice a thing like that. Maybe you should expect it, especially being part of the team that studies human behaviour, but it still takes you by surprise. The idea that he could, would want to, notice things about you. It’s borderline dangerous. Stubbornness isn’t cute - you’ve been accused of being like a dog with a bone when it comes to your theories more than once. But the way he says it so casually yet so reverently, like it’s something to be proud of, like it’s something he admires. You just about manage to get your legs to cooperate before he can realise you’ve fallen a step behind.

He offers his elbow to you, an uncharacteristic first move, and you almost don’t know what to make of it. Spencer doesn’t initiate contact, ever. Or at least, you’ve never known him to unless it’s to check your tac-vest, and yet here he is. Hands in his pockets, sticking his arm out for you to take. You’re sliding your own arm through his before you even really realise it. Well, it would be rude not to wouldn’t it? When he’s offered so kindly?

In the name of safety, presumably. When there’s a killer on the loose and you just so happen to fit the victimology. Keeping you close is a precaution. You steer the conversation towards the case, if neither of you are resting then you might as well be trying to unravel the latest psycho’s motivations. Another precaution, although a little selfish this time around, to save your heart from falling even further for the man beside you.

“Statistically, people who are attractive are targeted more often that those who aren’t. This Unsub isn’t exactly going against the grain, he’s picking pretty victims.” He rattles off the thought as though it doesn’t threaten to stop your heart in your chest.

It was Spencer who’d pointed out the striking similarities between you and the victims in the first place.

“Doctor Reid, do you think I’m pretty?” Your scandalised gasp matches the hands you press against your chest in faux-shock. And, for once in his life, he doesn’t seem to have any words. He just stands there beside you, gulping like a fish. You like him too much to leave him squirming any longer than he already has.

“I, uh-“ He scrambles for a response.

“Because you’d be right, I am pretty.”

The answering chuckle you get is enough to encourage you to link your arm back through his.

“What you’re saying is,” You press on, shaking off the moment, giving him the time to recover, “There’s no shock factor. Single bullet to the head, dumped unceremoniously with the trash. There’s nothing that says ‘hey look at me’ about this guy.”

Spencer hums in agreement, suddenly very interested in his shoes as they traipse along the drizzle dampened pavement beside yours, and the conversation lulls. But you don’t mind. It’s never an uncomfortable silence with him, it never has been. You’re both more than content to just exist in the same space together - his is a calming presence, for all his nervous energy. There’s never any expectation to be anyone but yourself when you’re around him, no judgement, no pressure.

You’re more than happy to trundle along beside him between the streetlights, dodging puddles, the weight of your linked arms nestled comfortably between you. Except, you’re a profiler. So, for all his valiant efforts to keep your suspicions to a minimum, they’re just not quite effective enough. One glance at his face confirms that he’s thinking far too hard about something. You let your shoulder knock into his, your elbow in his side jolting him out of his thoughts.

“You’re doing it again.” It almost feels blasphemous to disturb the peace that’s settled over you.

Spencer releases his lip from between his teeth.

“There’s something we’re missing.”

“We’ll find it. With fresh eyes in the morning, I bet it smacks us right in the face.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you, and you’d have to agree with him there, but the furrow of his brow relaxes at your gentle reassurance. That’s enough for the moment.

A car door slams up the street and makes you both jump. For all the security the gun at your hip awards you, you’re still a little on edge. It’s just you, Spencer, and the door-slammer on the street - though the stranger seems to be so absorbed in his own world that he barely registers the pair of you. While you’re both fairly confident that the man walking towards you isn’t the Unsub, Spencer tugs you closer into his side by your linked arms all the same. He makes sure he’s solid where he stands between you and the passing stranger, even though you both know he wouldn’t stand a chance in that fight with his lanky frame. There isn’t a bit of you that minds the protection. Something catches in your chest, blooming, warming you from the inside out. It’s dangerous.

You’re not sure when you looped back onto yourselves, but the shadow of the hotel looms and suddenly there’s plush carpet under your feet again. Part of you is glad that your chances to embarrass yourself tonight are numbered. He’d be kind enough not to point it out if you did, though.

The elevator is too close to the front doors, there aren’t enough storeys to pass to get to the floor commandeered by the team, and your rooms are the first in the hallway. Doors opposite each other, the irony of the parallel isn’t lost on you. But it’s so rare that you get to spend time with him without any external pressures of a case or the prying eyes of more than a few colleagues. It feels a little unfair that the time has gone so quickly - an hour, your phone confirms when the screen lights up as you fish around in your pocket for your room key. There’s that pang in your chest again, the one that makes you feel like an impatient child. You know you can’t have him the way you want, you know why you can’t, you know it would probably end in heartbreak for everyone. But god, do you want him. It’d be worth every painful second.

Spencer’s voice across the hall stops your hand, room card outstretched halfway to the scanner in your fingers.

“For the record, I do.”

He’s chewing his lip again.

“You do what?”

You know what he means. He knows you know what he means. But neither of you will admit to it out loud. So it just hangs there, in the air between you, as you stand in front of your respective hotel room doors for a moment longer. And then he’s in his room, and you’re swiping your own keycard through the slot, and you’re shut away again. No less wired than you were when you left - but it’s hard to find it in yourself to worry about the sleep you definitely won’t be getting tonight, there’s no doubt about that.

Because Spencer Reid thinks you’re pretty.

if you’re reading this then thank you i love you i owe you my life i can’t wait to put these guys in more situations 🧡🧡🧡

#i rly thought i was gonna get this posted on friday and then decided i hated half of it huh #i still don’t know if i like chunks of this BUT we move #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #lou writes #the canyouniverse

[bixels]

Bit of a weird question, but what is your overall least favorite thing about MLP? 

Sparity.

#magicalgrimm #ask me #there’s a later season episode (post spike getting wings) that Tulli and I could not finish because it was so awful #where rarity’s feeling lonely without spike who’s grown up and moved on from his crush on her #so she gets extremely clingy and manipulatey to get this. teenage boy to pay attention and worship her again #and rarity gets visibly jealous of spike spending time with another teenage dragon girl #it’s extremely extremely creepy. by FAR rarity’s absolute worst rock bottom moment #actual textbook groomer behavior #and even worse the episode kinda shits on rarijack where rarity tried to replace spike with applejack in helping her #but aj fails and fucks things up and isn’t right for the job. so the episode implies spike is a better match with rarity than applejack #it’s just all sorts of wrong eugh. #sparity just sucks so bad I can’t believe a good chunk of bronies still ship them or consider them a viable ship #I’m fine with spike having a kid crush on rarity it happens with kids #but the more the writers just kept teasing and toying and baiting it. overstayed its welcome #especially because they have no chemistry. spike doesn’t have a reason for liking rarity other than “hot woman in her mid-20s’