#this is wildly self indulgent if you cannot tell

[yuly]

↬ Scent of Bliss ↫

Aaron Hotchner x female reader

Summary: A short story where we explore the many scents of Mr. Hotchner through reader’s eyes :)

Warnings: brief mention of field violence and Hotch’s face injuries, otherwise just fluffy relationship stuff

WC: 1.1k

A/N: please enjoy this self-indulgent fluff while I cook up some angst 💋

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Your sense of smell has always been the strongest of your senses. Scents mean more to you than the average person, and you attach meaning to everyday smells.

You have an affinity for perfume; it brings you unexplainable joy each time you add a new one to your collection. Your favourite compliment is, by far, anything about your scent. You’ve never been one to gatekeep by any means. You’re always eager to talk about the perfume you have on, its scent profile, the lotion and body oil you’ve layered with it, and where to shop for it.

Your hypersensitivity and obsession with smells bleeds into every aspect of your life, including your relationship with Aaron. His fresh, woody scent with soft vanilla undertones was the first thing that caught your attention before you even laid eyes on him. The first time you spent the night at his apartment, you took the chance to find his modest but expensive cologne collection. He caught you giggling like a schoolgirl in his bathroom with a bewildered expression. “Honey, everything ok?”

You praised him for his excellent selection before promptly scolding him for storing perfume in the bathroom, citing a multitude of reasons why this was unacceptable. With a warm smile and a look of endearment, Aaron swiftly moved his collection to the bedroom.

Perfume aside, Aaron has a warm, soft, natural and manly scent that you cannot get enough of. Add a bit of sweat, and you lose every last bit of decorum.

Aaron’s smell right after working in the field is your dilemma. An unsettling blend of gunpowder, rusted metal and sweat that you’re certain is not his cling to him afterwards. Aaron shows his love for you through touch, so more often than not, he engulfs you in a hug immediately after coming home. You fight to breathe through the cluster of uncomfortable and hounding smells while maintaining your composure. You have no idea how to approach the subject, so you silently suffer through it.

Aaron is a profiler. His entire career is analyzing behaviour, and he has been silently taking note of yours for quite some time now. He notices that sometimes when he comes home to hug you, you melt into his touch, embrace him with so much tangible love, and kiss him sweetly. Other times, you tense up and awkwardly hug him back, your face is stiff, and you seem pretty uncomfortable overall. You still kiss him, although it’s always a quick peck, and you slowly back away from him afterward. Your wildly inconsistent behaviour confuses him and breaks his heart a little, and try as he might, Aaron is stumped for the cause behind it. His nagging mind tells him you must be tired of the relationship and that you’re too shy to speak up about it.

When Aaron returns from a case where he earned a few scratches to his jaw while taking down the unsub, he’s exhausted, and the only thing on his mind is falling asleep in your arms. You are on the verge of tears as soon as you see his scratched-up face. He hugs you while you fuss about antiseptic cleansing and using the correct material band-aid. You can instantly pick up notes of rubbing alcohol, dirt, and gasoline off his clothes. You freeze before hugging him back with stiff arms and a sad little peck on the cheek before quickly withdrawing.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” he asks gently.

“What? Nothing’s wrong, let’s get these cuts cleaned up, and you can eat dinner.”

“Y/N, stop. I know something is bothering you.”

You fidget uncomfortably, eyes connecting with everything else in the room but his.

“Aaron, I don’t know how to say this without hurting your feelings.”

He feels a pit in his stomach, he hates seeing you uncomfortable. “I promise I can take it, Angel.”

You find it increasingly difficult to continue the conversation with the aggressive smells assaulting your nostrils. When you remain quiet and take a few steps back, Aaron decides to do the hard part for you.

“Y/N, if you’re tired of our relationship or need a break for whatever reason, you can tell me.” His tone is reassuring. He’s hurt, but your well-being is a higher priority for Aaron.

You gasp, looking up at him with wide eyes, incredulous at his implication.

“What? Aaron, what are you talking about? I’m not breaking up with you, please what-”

To your dismay, he leans forward to hold your hand, “I’m sorry. I thought that’s what you were afraid to tell me.”

“Oh my goodness, no, Aaron, I-” you sigh, “you smell bad. I can’t take it.”

Your confession makes Aaron Hotchner’s jaw drop. “What?” He asks, utterly baffled at your statement.

“No, no, you smell good! I mean, you always smell so good, baby, just sometimes after work you come home smelling like smoke, and gunpowder and all these things, and I hate it. It puts bad images in my mind, and it’s hard to get them out, Aaron. I’m sorry.” The thought of hurting his feeling makes you pout.

“No, Angel, I’m so sorry for traumatizing you. I should’ve known since you’re so sensitive to smells. How can I make this better?”

You look up at him with a shy smile, “straight to the shower after work, and keep your work clothes in a separate pile. I’ll wash them separately for you.” He gives you a toothy smile and has to stop himself from pulling you into his arms.

“I love you, and after this shower, I’ll show you just how much I love you.”

You giggle as you follow him into the bathroom, standing outside the shower as he scrubs away the grime from work. “silly boy, did you really think I was breaking up with you?”

He chuckles under the shower head, “I had no idea what to think, Y/N. You drive me crazy, but I’ll be your smelly old man as long as I get to be yours.”

You break your own rules, jumping into the shower and hugging him as he’s mid-back scrub, careless about the fact that you are fully dressed.

He hugs you back, and his deep chuckle rumbles through the bathroom as he pulls you in for a kiss, “my sweet, silly girl.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Let me know what you thought! ♡  

#aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction

[wroteclassicaly]

Oh PLEASE write more plus-sized fics. I'm big too, and it literally is so healing to stop trying to not think about it, and just deep dive directly into the whole thing and explore it. Y'know like what's hard or negative about it and how it hurts, but then also what's good about it and what you wish you were freer to feel positive about. And then, obviously most importantly, to have your blorbo love you and want you and the body that you're in, no qualifiers.

Like with Steve, I'm a total sucker for the idea of him, like, telling himself he wasn't into big girls back in high school (because in his Douchebag King Steve era, there were certain things he was "supposed" to not like), and then he falls very deeply in love with someone who's plus-sized, and he's a complete convert. Like, doesn't even look at skinny minnies anymore. He is strictly a "meat-on-her-bones" kind of dude from now on.

But Eddie, on the other hand, I feel has not only known from the get-go that he's into big women, they're actually his preference. He would get all the lyrics to Fat Bottom Girls tattooed on his heart if he could. His #1 goal in life is a big tiddy goth GF. He thinks fat women are hot, and he is looking specifically for a fat woman to fuck. He gets actively offended when he hears about the mean things that people say about plus-sized bodies - he straight up cannot understand why it seems everyone else doesn't think they're as beautiful as he does. He wants to hold his fat girlfriend up, like, lion king style and show her off to every person that exists until they are shamed by how much hotter she is than them that they never show their face again. He loves them. He loves fat girls.

Are these headcanons wildly self-indulgent? Yeah, yeah they really are. That's the point. And I love it. I love writing about it, I love reading about it, and I totally support people doing it as much as possible. Like, PLEASE go ahead and do more 🥰🥰🥰

I can definitely agree to most of this ❤️💯

#asks

[belovedblabber]

This is my very self-indulgent post about how I think pre-Resurrection Augustine was super in love with John and pining wildly and then finally confessed it at the last moment before he was killed. Will people care about this post? No. But I’m doing it for ME. And for @i-hardlyknowher who said she would like to read this post if I ever made it and thus served as the catalyst for me deciding to indeed make this post here on this Monday night 

(Also the whole vibe between pre(and post)-Resurrection Mercy and Augustine and Mercy, John, and Augustine as a trio is its own super interesting thing that deserves its own post because oh my god are they SOMETHING (that I am enamoured with) but in this case I am just talking about my decision to start passionately asserting that backstory Augustine was quietly pining for John and only confessed right before he died because I like tragedy and drama and I like constructing elaborate little ideas in my head)

ANYWAY

Setting aside (for now, I’ll circle around to it later) their dynamic that I am obsessed with in HtN, let’s look at the first mention we get of Augustine (or rather A— but we’re gonna just call him Augustine) in John’s backstory extravaganza:

It’s very sweet that A. Augustine apparently had the chops to go anywhere, but chose to stick with John (and I love the fact that John seems almost awed when he says this) and B. that John relied on him to handle shareholders and meetings. Idk, I just think this little bit is sweet. 

Moving on:

Augustine (apparently very frequently) checking in on John to make sure if he’s okay and worrying about his sleep, if he’s doing drugs etc. I think the “you know you can tell me” is my favorite thing here.  It’s just sweet. I love that Augustine is so concerned and so gentle about it (to be clear I also love Mercy’s ‘oh my god you are on amphetamines and coke’ approach to worrying sdfgh). But yeah, I think that Augustine’s “you know you can tell me” suggests a closeness, and also a devotion and confidentiality on Augustine’s part. There’s a lot there, okay? Also it makes me emotional.

Continuing:

See this is just simp behavior, in my opinion. That’s all I have to say here.

Next:

Again I just love how Augustine is so consistently the one worrying over John in this very particular way. It all seems very tender and intimate, and also like, listen, I am choosing to read it as the actions of someone who is very very in love with his increasingly off the rails best friend/partner in sciencecrime.

Moving on to the highlight of my little thesis here:

Listen. Listen. First and foremost “their hands in my hands” “We’re together. We’ll go together.” I cannot cope. The vibes these three have. The way they were together from the start, the DEVOTION. Who they were before, and who they became and how it all got so twisted and broken and undone. It makes me want to go insane. But anyway, Augustine. The first time I read this chapter/interlude (it’s my favorite part of the book go figure) I immediately went ‘he was confessing his love to John.’ And I have just doubled down on that. Clearly. Anyway, I really do like the reading of Augustine pining after John and confessing that he’s in love with him at the last moment. And I think that it is a perfectly valid reading. And come on. The tragedy of it is tasty. “A—telling me something,” what if what he was telling him was that he was IN LOVE with him and had been for a long time?? What if that?? And John didn’t even hear it, and doesn’t even know what Augustine was telling him. Just that it was “something.”

And the fact that in the next moment Augustine was shot right in front of Mercy and John really adds to the flavor of all of this, it must be said. 

And then of course there’s the fact that Augustine doesn’t remember any of this. Chef’s kiss, love it, absolute tragedy

Also I will point out that Augustine was the first of the gang that John chose to resurrect. Idk. There’s something there. 

ANYWAY I have a bunch more to say about all of this as it pertains to how it feeds over into HtN (and also a lot to say about my thoughts/speculation about the whole memory wipe thing John pulled on the gang) but I am putting it under the read-more because otherwise this post length gets a little long. So, if you for some reason want to go further down the rabbit hole of my Pepe Silvia moment I’ve got going on over here, feel free to peek under the read-more

Hi. We still don’t know the extent of the memory wipe John did on his friends. Was it literally everything? Was it just events leading up to the end? Was it selective pick and choose bits and pieces? How much did John take? I want to know! Based on my reading it sounds pretty extensive. It seems like a lot, if not all was taken (John says “none of them will have to remember anything,” and then replies in the affirmative when Harrow asks “To forget...everything?” so it seems like he really did a number. I hope we get to learn exactly what he did, and what the aftermath was in terms of what his friends were like when they came back etc. But regardless, Augustine certainly, at least from my understanding, doesn’t remember the events leading up to his death, and his memory loss likely goes much farther than that. So at the bare minimum he doesn’t remember how this all ended and he doesn’t remember telling John his feelings. And at the other end of that spectrum he forgot a LOT more, very possibly to an extent that he wouldn’t even remember falling in love with John at all. In HtN we have John telling Augustine “Augustine...if the man you were—the man you were before you died, before the Resurrection—could hear what you just said to me, he’d tear your throat out.” Which then gets a “Thanks for confirming that,” from Augustine which to me suggests that this memory wipe was more than just the events leading up to John’s no good very bad nuclear situation. It suggests it was a lot more. Even that it may have been everything or almost everything (and if it was an entire or almost entire memory wipe, was ANYTHING left? Did they still remember how to be people? How did they retain the gist of who they were? How were they rebuilt? Were they like Nona at first?)

ANYWAY point being, the fact that Augustine can’t remember his confession (and probably a whole lot else, as speculated on incoherently above dfghj) makes this all the more tragic. 

To wrap up...whatever this all is, I want to talk about John and Augustine in HtN a bit. Like I said above, I lean towards the idea that the memory wipe was more across the board. But clearly he and Augustine (and Mercy oh my god) still have like...those bonds are there. Mercy and Augustine in the present of HtN have like, a twisted bitter tragic version of the dynamic they seemed to have  pre-Resurrection (according to John’s recollection), and there’s still this very...complex situation vis a vis their dynamic with John. 

This post is about John and Augustine so to focus on them: Augustine very clearly lays out to Mercy that he is John’s favorite, that if she [Mercy] killed him [Augustine] John would never forgive her, but if it was the other way around Augustine notes that John would forgive him pretty quickly. Augustine also calls John by his name a lot more than Mercy, which I just think is interesting. I think it could be said that whenever Mercy calls him John (rather than My Lord or some similar address) there is a relevance or character reason to her doing it. Anyway, we also see a lot of comfortable familiarity with John and Augustine. How much of this is an act of Augustine’s part, given what we know about his plotting against John and what he knows about John? Hard to say. But to whatever degree the Augustine we see in HtN may be putting on some sort of act, it’s clear that the dynamic he shows with John is a dynamic that they’ve had over the past ten thousand years, and that that dynamic, with all of its familiarity and fondness and love, is not something fake or put on, but is rather a dynamic that has existed for such a long time in earnest but has now been, on Augustine’s side, twisted by what he knows. I think HtN Augustine is a weird mix of like, he hates John and has actively plotted against him but there is still that familiarity and that love that has been poisoned by what Augustine has learned about the man who he very clearly loves in this deep and broken way. We see that very clearly in some stuff I’m going to ramble about below (also I just think it’s funny that Augustine’s best strategy for ‘distract John so Harrow can kill G1deon’ was ‘threeway.’ Like come on man I feel like there were other options wtf). 

(And also then take all of the above stuff about their HtN dynamic within the wider tragic context of  their dynamic pre-Resurrection, aka what this entire post is technically about) 

But anyway. I really do want to know the details of that memory wipe and the aftermath. I love how we see echoes of their pre-Resurrection selves in present day HtN Augustine and Mercy, but they’ve been so twisted and broken by time and grief and betrayal (and that’s not even getting into the memory fuckery).

ALL OF THIS IS TO SAY that I think the context we get from backstory recollections in NtN adds a lot of interesting flavor to John and Augustine’s dynamic and interactions in HtN. And also that if you go along and enjoy the ‘Augustine confessed his love right before dying’ reading that I’m having so much fun with, it is its own tasty little flavor packet situation.

Like, this:

“be the man I want you to be,” etc. Augustine wants John to be a man he’s not. Even at this juncture, he still wants that. He’s held the burden of learning about John’s lies for so long, and then of course just got sucker punched with the cherry on top shortly before this scene, but he still desperately wants John to be ‘the man I want you to be.’ Love it. Who is that man Augustine? Who is the man you want him to be, and why? Where does that want come from? 

Then there’s this exchange:

I love this so much. Augustine apologizing for raising his voice. John’s quiet “Don’t worry about it.” There’s so much going on here that I truly do not have it in me to articulate but just...look. Look at it

Ok now I am actually almost done. This:

John offering Augustine forgiveness. 

“Augustine lifted his eyes to the Lord.” (I just love this line, it reads like a religious text, it reads like a passage from a hagiography. Which is intentional I’m sure. Saint Augustine, after all).

“No, John,” he said.

Honestly that ‘no, John,” moment is one of my favorite parts of the entire book, and I dearly wish there was fanart of this whole scene, and of this moment, going around. If I could draw comics you KNOW I’d be doing this scene.

Anyway I just love that offer of forgiveness from John. As if HE has any right to think he holds the power of forgiveness here (it’s also an interesting flip from his seeming, and I think genuine, desperation for Mercy’s forgiveness shortly before this. I don’t think that was an act on John’s part, I think he can just flip on a dime and totally change over without the previous emotions and actions having been insincere. And I think that’s way scarier than just ‘oh he was faking.’)

And I love Augustine, who has loved John for ten thousand years (and loved him before that too, and (if you want to go with my reading of it) died telling him he loved him, being offered forgiveness and making that final choice of “No.”

It’s very tasty

Final point is this:

I love the visual of them locked together swirling down through the river and I love the delightful poetic beat of Augustine lashing them together to try and wrestle John (and himself) down to their doom in hell. They’re going together. He’s made the choice to doom himself so long as he can take John down with him. John, who he’s loved (and hated?) for so long That’s capital T Tragedy BaBY!  Also it’s high camp drama

Anyway what do you think a good ship name would be for them I think Jaugustine is funny

#nona the ninth #nona the ninth spoilers #the locked to #john gaius #augustine the first #mercymorn the first #harrow the ninth #ntn #ntn spoilers #htn #tlt #the locked tomb series #this is probably my most incoherent post yet huh

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Blue Castle chapters 12 and 13

Combining these two chapters into one post, because I didn’t get a chance to post yesterday. And these two pair well together: chapter 12 is Valancy reflecting on her life and the dinner party and chapter 13 is the rest of the Stirlings doing the same. Their conclusions, of course, are wildly different.

I don’t have much to say about chapter 12 that wasn’t covered by all of you lovely folks yesterday. I think the point about Valancy never having been able to see beauty out her window until now is really insightful -- the view hasn’t changed, but Valancy has.

Mild non-explicit spoilers: Valancy’s musing about Uncle Benjamin writing her out of the will is definitely something, given what happens with the will later.

Speaking of Uncle Benjamin, we transition into chapter 13. It only just now occurred to me that Valancy is refusing to see a doctor because she’s worried that a doctor will disclose her heart condition to the rest of her family. I assumed she was just being contrary for the thrill of it, and that may be part of it, but of course she doesn’t want to see a doctor. That would ruin everything.

“Don’t worry, Mother,” said Valancy, lightly but quite respectfully. “It isn’t likely I’ll do anything very terrible. But I mean to have a little fun.” Valancy is at heart a good girl who likes being a good girl. She doesn’t want to be loose or take up smoking and swearing, or any of the other horrible things that one might imagine of a person cutting loose for the first time. She wants to get to keep her dust pile and, to pull from a different fandom entirely, to eat eggs without permission. And that, to her family, is full insanity and tantamount to death.

I should very much like to know what Dr. Marsh thinks of all of this. I didn’t have a terribly high opinion of him previously, but this chapter does shine a new light on his character. He apparently was willing to validate Cousin Gladys’ neutritis -- and I am perfectly willing to believe that she is suffering from pain of some kind, even if “neutritis” seems to have been a nebulous catch all term for “unexplained pain” -- but she doesn’t seem to be taking anything for it other than her Redfern product of choice. Redfern products don’t seem to do any harm, as far as snake oil goes, so he in essence seems to have told her, “I believe your self-reported symptoms and if you believe this product helps with your symptoms then you should continue taking it.” Which, frankly, is decent doctring.

Especially because he married in to this family. He knows all these people, even if they seem to be a distant enough branch that they’re not expected to attend family functions. Dr. Marsh appears to have taken a path of less resistance when it comes to his in-laws but, crucially, as we see in this chapter, that path does not include indulging their every whim. He hears about Valancy doing some honestly fairly unremarkable things and refuses to join the Stirling conviction that this means she should be locked up. I’m interested in the phrasing he uses when telling Uncle James that he can’t have Valancy committed (”He pointed out to irate Uncle James—who would have liked to lock Valancy up somewhere, out of hand—that Valancy had not, as yet, really done or said anything that could be construed as proof of lunacy—and without proof you cannot lock people up in this degenerate age.”) is what he actually said or if it’s Uncle James editorializing. And, if those were his words, is that what he himself believes, or does he just know Uncle James and thought this whole thing would go faster if he conceded a couple points before standing firm on the one that mattered.

#blue castle book club #blue castle chapter 12 #blue castle chapter 13

[queerfictionwriter]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Okay, first of all, you are a joy. Secondly: this would be so much easier if I was less fucking prolific, LMAO. So yes, I'm late to this party, but in my defense, I had to winnow down nearly 200 fics from a decade of fanfic writing to get here.

And, uuuuuuh. Yeah, sorry, I "cheated"--you're gonna get my five(ish) favourite Steter, and five favourite non-Steter fics bc LAWD this was hard to pick!

Steter:

The Devil You Know - this was the first fic where I think I deliberately skewed dark--but the point of this fic, for all that it's kind of dark and extremely messy, is that "you do not have to reach some arbitrary standard of 'good enough' in order to be good to or for someone".

Better Than Okay - the fic where "ace" does not mean "sex-repulsed", and "ace Dom" isn't an oxymoron. I love this one bc it focussed on communication and mutual meeting of needs, and because it points out that a label alone cannot tell you everything about how a person thinks, feels, and relationships.

thick series - this 'verse is always fun to think about, re-read, or revisit and write more of, bc Chaotic Dumbass Stiles & genderqueer Butch Daddy Peter are hilarious and a delight

Starving Faithful - this is an ABO fic that smashes religious trauma and sexuality together in ways that I find really meaningful, and also hot. I have a lot of feelings about this one and am really proud of how it turned out.

Unorthodox - soft, loving kink in a long-term relationship that doesn't look like what everyone thinks kink is

In Good Faith - this was a collab with the wildly talented @asarcasticwitch, and every moment working on this joint gift with her filled me with glee. Every time I open that fic I need a few minutes to stare at the art.

Non-Steter:

Ruined - this is literally just sexy Stetopher shenanigans ft. girl Stiles and trans Peter, and I still love everything about this one years later

(Un)Gilding the Lily - my contribution to the collection about the "feminine" product so horrifying, there was no other option except ruthless mockery. Everything about the creation of this one was the best kind of ride.

Come Out in the Wash - the first Stalion I ever wrote, and my favourite of them to re-read for how human this one feels, especially when it comes to sex partners who are disabled

not broken, she's just a baby - AKA "the Kinky Stargent". I love this one so much, and the velvety-soft D/s in this one might be the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written

What I've Been Looking For - AKA The Yoga AU. Stetopher. It took me over 4yrs to finish this, and it might be the fic I'm proudest of.

#K speaks #fanfic #my fic #my fanfic #my writing #fandom #fandom life #long live fandom #writing #writing community #pocket friends #hey it's Shey #Steter #Stiles Stilinski #girl Stiles #precious baby #full of sarcasm and murder #Peter Hale #precious murder cupcake #all hail the trash daddy #Stetopher #Chris Argent #can you say 'daddy'? #hello competence kink #Steterica #Erica Reyes #Stalion #Deucalion #shameless self-promotion

[faerunsbest]

these are naturally still eldora and havarti(nikur)

i drew some here on the ipad which is wildly different from my ugee and csp.

i have created in my own mind some nice self indulgent lore for them

a good while back a brother worked upset a disguised hag of notable strength and power who left her with a curse of hunger similar to vampirism but not quire. it skipped her and went to the baby she was carrying, immediately she ran off to find some cleric dr or wizard to lift the curse. the curse was mostly pulled out of the daughter they where expecting but instead fully embedded itself in the twin they didnt know was there.

the woman attempted to keep them but was consistently reminded that they where 'foul things' and eventually took long ride out to a dead monastery and left them there.

perhaps 4 closing on five in years. they didnt know what to do, especially not nikur (later called havarti) he cried and cried and eldora tried hard to make it better.

they shouted into the night for their mother to come back, instead something deep inside the buildings halls answered. an old relic of a diety long forgotten and near formless with age.

she cannot stand the sound of them sobbing so whispers songs until they sleep, and when they wake they hear her telling them where to find what they need and as time goes on she becomes more whole and complete, as the faith they have in her is true and strong. and with little to compare her to they adore her as their mother.

nikur despite how anyone may treat him always operates under the thought of 'if i don't like it why would they?' he doesn't talk to hide his voice, which perpetually sound like a mob speaking.

his teeth are short silver needles clustered tightly in his mouth, he has a black forked tongue and no heart in his chest.

Eldora is in body mostly normal, but she bleeds black and cant be touched by 'unblessed' things. that is direct contact to her skin. people with evil hearts don't count for some reason.

being in a monastery there where many old scrolls and thing left behind, things eldora took up on her own, she trained herself to move like the pictures in the scrolls and books and learned to read by hiding in the walls of the local school and watching the teacher.

when young her hair was black, but nikur kept losing sight of her and would cry every time, so she dyed her hair pink so he could find her anywhere she was.

eldora has two hearts in her chest, one hers and the other nikurs and he doesn't protect it enough. hes soft and helps people freely when his sister isn't around, and has been attacked for it several times.

eldora is kind and sweet but only to her brother, otherwise she is defensive and mistrusting, bitchy even.

if you can get past that shes ride or die.

#artbyale #sketch #art by ale #art #bg3 #oc #baldurs gate 3 #tav #needless lore #loredump #ill clean it up later

[godstrain]

Rex’s Gardening Service here.

Loamy Soil:

Your passions outside of role play seep through in your writing; you bring an intellectual edge to your words, and it’s very satisfying to see. You’re also a very sweet person, and I hope you get to know you better.

Sunlight:

I’m just so impressed with your portrayal of Albert Wesker. This is a character I’ve loved for well over a decade, and yet I find myself loving him more and more through your muse. You don’t pull any punches, but you also don’t— hesitate to get down and dirty with his trauma and his struggles. Don’t ever change.

Drizzle from the watering can:

Tell us a self-indulgent headcanon that you have about your muse.

th,,, h

holy shit rex im going to fuckn cry???? what the fuck this is so sweet of you!!!!

but im going to get super real here.

honestly, when i first jumped into the RE rabbit hole, i was worried that i wouldn't be able to do wesker justice- and you know my track record of muses well enough from seeing me in the pokemon fandom lmao- and it's not like i haven't written characters that are sorta wesker-adjacent before, because i have, and still there was this lingering doubt which i will guess is due to the fact i had also never really been in a horror franchise because i had so much that i was afraid of. fear, i have found, really does hold people back, and i basically had to supreme exposure therapy myself and even then i was having a time.

that was ... may 5th, 2023. the day i decided to bite the bullet and make wesker a blog and write a character from a franchise i literally knew NOTHING about. and that's not often my style. i am a perfectionist at heart- proud and rather critical of my work, wanting to always put out my best and show that i know exactly what the hell i'm talking about. i'm a researcher and scholar just as much as i am an artist and writer- i accept nothing but 100%, and in the past, i would spend countless hours doing research before writing a goddamn thing, i'd comb through my rp partner's blogs for metas so i could make something unique for their portrayal (and that is something i still do and will always do), and then when everything was in place, i'd post a goddamn reply. i usually read at least 5 scholarly articles about a topic that i want to tie into a muse before writing a meta. i put my professional resources to use to bring life to my fiction.

but with wesker, i just went headfirst in. i didn't master the lore. i skimmed a wiki page and watched a few clips from various iterations of his character. i took a look at his tag on tumblr and twitter (and promptly was like mkay can't handle this right now). i read the wiki page a little more closely, and then i took the leap of faith, hoping that all the things i had learned from past characters and all the knowledge i had accumulated and all the experiences i've had working in the inpatient psych unit would be enough. i am not the type to leave anything unattended. this was wildly unlike me.

and i am so glad i did this, and more than that i am so, so honored that you have found more things to love about wesker through my portrayal. the portrayal that didn't get the same perfectionist treatment before it even saw the light of day. wesker, whose lore i have explored rather extensively in the ... what uh. 3 months i have been writing him- there's so much i still have to learn, and so much i want to explore. i see art as it should be: a mirror of life and society. the truth is, albert wesker could be anyone. that pain and suffering and horrible upbringing is a thing that happens. he's so painfully alive in that way. it's hard to look at the truth like that, but i also sure hate ignorance, in myself and in others. we cannot learn if we do not see. so i don't hold my punches, and i don't hide the aspects of him that i know sometimes would be cut out. there's so much i have learned from writing wesker- about how i write, what i expect of myself, and how i can better myself in so many ways, and i never expected to learn through this.

so thank you. thank you so much for this, it means more than i could possibly put into words.

on the note of self-indulgent meta analysis, i want you to know that i picked "wilde" for wesker's original surname because of my love for oscar wilde. it's a common theme in my metas where i will throw in something as a treat for myself like that. i picked cambridge, ma, for his birthplace because i live nearby, and there's something about having a character you love "nearby" that is??? sorta serotonin inducing. you know, in the style of tolkien's desire of dragons- "I desired dragons with a profound desire. Of course, I in my timid body did not wish to have them in the neighborhood. But the world that contained even the imagination of Fáfnir was richer and more beautiful, at whatever the cost of peril." and for me, i guess it's something like that. i keep the things i find the most interesting close in some form, yeah?

#chounaifu #writing is hard ╱ out #ONE DAY THERE WILL BE ASSOCIATED WITH MY NAME THE RECOLLECTION OF SOMETHING FRIGHTFUL‚ OF A CRISIS LIKE NO OTHER BEFORE ╱ META

[wild-karrde]

Happy Fandom Friday!

I have to, once again, recommend your series One Step at a Time. This story is the perfect blend of domestic fluff, painful trauma, and found family. Not only is the general plot so engaging to read, these characters are PHENOMENAL. From learning to rely on one another, to the individual struggles each character endures, the reader gets to explore the highs and lows of life in a post-Order 66 world, as well as experience the emotional relief of finding a family. Intricate and tragic backstories; a badass, protective clone father; intense fight/escape scenes; soft, touching conversations. It’s ALL here. And you’ve done a marvelous job at writing it.

ALLI I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE THIS AND ALSO YOUR COMMENTS ON EVERY CHAPTER. I love the found/chosen family tropes so much, and this fic just scratches that itch for me and has wound up being WILDLY self-indulgent, so it makes my day when readers love the characters and the story as much as I do. I am blowing you kisses and hugs over the interwebs for these kinds words and for the rec. THANK YOU!!!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

#FANDOM FRIDAY #creator appreciation #fic rec #fanfiction #fan fic #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #clone OC #jedi OC #pantoran OC #twilek OC #OC Chuckles #clone pilot chuckles #OC Chuckles Ayyshu #OC Arni #OC Arni Ayyshu #OC Nita #OC Nita Ayyshu #found family #fluff #whump #angst

[pinkseas]

[parasocial bestie] I HAVE TO BE FRFRFR WITH U IT TAKES JUST AS MUCH PRACTISE. AS WRITING I THINK. altho with my current experience in Writing thats not walls of texts of Ramble and Self Indulgence i be thinking writers wud have it harder esp vocabulary.... like man how u words how do u get the pacing right YOU DID GOT IT SO RIGHT HAVE U ANY IDEA REREADING UR TWO SILLY FICS + VIOLENCE FIC STILL GETS ME IN TEARS or i am just that of a sucker to specific emotions in general SKDFJHSDKJFH LIKE IDKKKKK like holy facken shit it took u a decade and my first attempt at just Writing even 500 words it felt like forever...... turns out intense eyeballing on chunks of words in great fics do not work like i do to improve in art nods nods [takes notes] yes that is my only way of even Understanding how art works LMAO

"words of someone who would KILL to be able to accomplish this tone and such in So Many Fewer Words but who does Not Know How To Do That so ten hundred billion words it is" HAHRGKADFKSDJH I WONT STOP UUUU ALTHO ITS A BIG BEEG STRETCH I WILL ALWAYS SUPPORT YEW WITH MY LITTOL ANON HANDS SHIELD U WITH MY COOL ANON SHADES....... in these cases u shud not stop someone from burnout by blocking da way u shud JOIN THEM AND PUSH ON TOGETER AND DAS A MOTTO

NO BUT THAT SILLY GENUINELY MAKES ME A LIL SILLY A LIL UEUEUEUEUEUE i didnt expect that extra comment like srsly cus like UHUHUHUHU IM GLAD U THINK THAT WAY and i honestly think its either a natural response to me or not cus me with my own circle of close friends we'd always support each other in ways it's on equal respect depending on what need to be treated like yknow?? altho by default we're all nice to the other its always a main thing not to let another person's slip ups slide, bad moments carry them away or get our egos inflate so hard so that sort of morals we had tgt kinda ingrained on me to treat any other person like dat like its normal... im nawt gonna lie to u i used to be Way more insensitive and impulsive before and our exchanges coulda been wildly different if it werent for my own besties and it helps me gather!! more besties out of my safe space!!! LIKE YEAHGHHHHAHHHH KDSJFHSDKJH AND IT GOT ME TO U!! AND I WANNA BE GENUINELY NICE AND SUPPORTIVE TO U WHEN I CAN EVEN BEHIND THESE LIL ANON SHADES!!!!!!!!!!! cus its always been. a normal human thing 2 do. like yknow. and i am not gonna keep contradicting myself when dats something id want to influence on my stories and silly lil brainrots too anyways i also got a lil silly but idc ilysm <333333333333333 AND U DESERVE ALL DA KINDNESS FROM ME AND ALL UR BESTIES TOO :muscle_arm: x2743573495 cus i am sending this ask thru pc sob

vocabulary 🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿🗿 my bestest friend my worstest enemy im so srs it is Everything to me and also i cannot stand it. horrible. awful. beautiful. perfect.

YOU CANT JSUT TELL ME YOU RTEREAD THEM ILL FUKINGCCG EXPLODE OH MY GODFDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD i need to write violence fic part 2 and maybe even a part 3 where its not the same little world and the violence is scaramouche himself hunting dottore down ohhhhh that'd be so lovely but also i dont think im good enough or creative enough with gore to do that thought justice im gonna be SO fr. YOU CANT JUST SAY THEY GET YOU IN TEARS I WILL FUKCVINFG EXPLOFDE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

dies. dies. dies. anyways. i will never forget being like 11 or 12 years old and roleplaying warriors cats on my kindle <- genuinely my introduction to writing for fun outside of just school stuff. i wrote for YEARS and then i all but stopped writing for Also Years to the point where i genuinely thought i just. couldnt do it anymore. gone. i barely managed anything no matter what i tried and i got sooo frustrated and also just didnt really enjoy it? but thats bc my mental health was fucking horrific and the better i started doing the more i started really writing who would've thought LMAO no bc like 2?? years ago ??????? id basically given up !!!!!!! and then there were a couple tiny fics and then photosynthesis and i was like oh. i Can still write and i Do still have so much fun with it. and now i am unstoppable amen

writing is weird bc reading fics CAN help but i think reading books helps better? and its this constant state of like. ive heard with art that tracing genuinely helps, ofc you cant claim it for your own or anything but there's that sort of muscle memory and learned proportions and the practice of doing the same thing over and over again i think is a good thing? i think ??????? and in writing you rly cant copy anyone word for word and get anything out of it, it doesnt teach you anything it doesnt get you any further there's no sort of muscle memory connected with it. but what ive done a lot is looked at writing i rly loved and been like. okay so if i wanted to do this how would i accomplish it? i cant guess other writers thought processes but i can figure out how id reach a similar end goal ig ?? and in my own writing if im failing to accomplish what i want its a matter of ok, what DO i want, what if i change pov, what if i change the setting, what if i change the circumstance, etc etc which i think you could probably do the same thing in art if smth felt off or wasnt looking right ?? maybe ??? idk at this point my writing is a massive patchwork quilt of countless other authors and fic writers and a surprising amount of my own experience and ive noticed a lot of repeating elements in my own writing whether fics or original content and i dont really know How i got here but here i am. and ON TOP OF THAT actually seeing fanart ALSO helps my writing because ill see an expression or design or setting or anything that i really love and immediately start thinking of how to describe it in words yknow ???

im literally rambling so much today this is so fucking awful. awful day for the pinkseas community or at least pinkseas herself god help me

JOIN THEM AND PUSH ON TOGETHER............ UR LITTLE ANON SHADES............................. crying shaking sobbing bawling ily so fucking bad :((((((((((((( /pos we r pushign forward Togehter...

my rly close friends and i are the same way its SO so so lovely, having that constant respect and support and helping each other grow and learn its soooo. dsfmgndfmgfd. and trust me i also used to be a lot more insensitive and impulsive than i am now but ive learned sm and my own friends have helped sm and !!!!! we are soooooooo handshake emoji rn 10 million handshakes for us

UR SENDING IT ON PC AND IM ANSWERING ON PC </33333333 no bc organizing my thoughts on my phone is the worst ever but on my pc i dont have a bunch of heart emojis to spam at my fingertips its so sad....... sometimes when i rly wanna include them ill save as a draft and just put the emojis in and post it on my phone LMAO

#parasocial bestie tag #I WAS GONNA DELETE LIKE HALF OF THIS AND THEN REMEMBNERED WHAT U SAID ABT DELETING STUFF #and like this isnt rly writing thoughts or ideas or anything so idk if it coutns but #i am Strong i will Not delete my silly rambling i will simply press on

[buggie-hagen]

Sermon for First Sunday of Advent (11/27/22)

Primary Text | Romans 13:11-14

-----------------------------------------------------

Dear People of God,

Advent is the season where we are reminded of the arrivals of the Christ. There are three Advents, or arrivals, of Christ. Past. Present. And future. In the past, we recall the birth of Christ, God coming down from heaven to earth, to be our gift. This includes his arrival into Jerusalem where for our sake he would be crucified. That is the Advent of the past. The Advent of the future is when he will come to judge the living and the dead. No one knows when this will be. Though this thought is fearful for some, know that for the believer the arrival of Christ in the future is one not of fear, but of hope. That is the Advent of the future. Third and finally, there is the Advent of Christ in the present time. Here we remember that God in Christ comes to us now through the preaching of the word. He comes to us whenever we hear the words of forgiveness of sin through faith in Jesus Christ. That is the advent of Christ in the present in the word and sacraments, where God meets us.

Today we will focus on the Advent of Christ in the future. When Christ will arrive in clouds of glory and will judge the living and the dead. We are informed that indeed the time is coming soon. St. Paul says, “Salvation is nearer to us now than when we first became believers” (Rom. 13:11). That is to say, what we now have by faith we will one day have also with our eyes. Faith trusts God’s promise in spite of all experiences to the contrary. There may be a thousand voices telling you that God is not trustworthy, that he will leave you to the dust because he doesn’t care whether you stand or fall. One way or another each one of us will face what is called the time of trial. No matter what happens to us, no matter what darkness befalls us, no matter what opposite experience we go through,…God’s promise, God’s goodness will yet prove true. The Lord will not fail you. As the hymn goes, they may take our “house, goods, honor, child, or spouse; though life be wrenched away, they cannot win the day. The kingdom’s ours forever.”  And even now he has prepared a table for you in the presence of your enemies. Nothing in all creation, nothing that you experience, can take God’s love away from you in Jesus Christ. He has given his promise and you have it by way of his death and resurrection. His promise will not deceive or mislead you because God cannot lie. For the time being, we have the promise in faith. Our eyes have yet to catch up to God’s reality. Of course, no one knows when this time will be. Not even the Son. Only the Father. Every generation has thought that the world is so terrible now that the end must surely be upon us. Truth is, the end has beenupon us, it has been so since the ascension of Jesus into heaven 2,000 years ago.

St. Paul compares the Advent of the future to the difference between night and day. He says, “The night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy” (Rom. 13:12-13). When Christ comes in the future it will be like the morning. It will be like a brand new day. It will be like that feeling you get when you watch the sunrise. In the meantime, we live in the twilight. The sun is not yet up, but the glow shows that it is on its way! So what happens to the works of darkness? Listed from Romans: reveling: that is, living wildly, rebelling against all others but the self. Drunkenness: that is, being a slave to alcohol. Debauchery: that is, being excessively self-indulgent, self-serving. Licentiousness: that is, acting as if one has a license to do whatever one wants sexually apart from the divine institution of marriage. Quarreling: that is, being quick to fight with others instead of being quick to forgive. And then, jealousy: envying others in what they have, forgetting that our value comes not from what we have, but from the Lord alone. None of these works of darkness will last through the dawn. All of these, like snow, will melt away at the coming of the Lord.

When it comes to the season of Advent, do not be deceived into thinking it’s about our own preparing of the way. For most will treat Advent as something we do to prepare for the arrival of Christ. But that is a major problem. It assumes the arrival of Christ is in question unless we do our part. Rather, the future advent of Christ will come whether or not we are prepared. In fact, he will come when we least expect it. Do not put your faith in your good work. Put your faith in Christ and his works. For St. Paul writes, “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires” (Rom. 13:14). To make no provision for the flesh means do not let your desires drive you around like a donkey.  Instead, “put on the Lord Jesus Christ.”  For in Christ, God gives you a blanket. It is warm, cozy, comfy. This blanket will protect you. It will keep you safe in the time of trial. It’s a token of what is yet to come. The blanket of Christ that God covers you with is his promise, that in him you will be safe. It is this Blanket of Christ where God covers you with his kindness, his forgiveness, and assures you of a life eternal filled with every ounce of his goodness. This blanket God covers you with covers you with the righteousness of Christ, which is the only true righteousness in the world. A word from Martin Luther “it is not for you to work or to begin to be godly… there is no other beginning than that your king comes to you and begins to work in you.” Christ has already arrived; Christ will arrive in the future. Christ arrives to you now in his holy word. The Advent of Christ will come about no matter how strong or weak you are. And truth be told, God’s strength grows in your weakness. Peace be within you, dear people. Peace is God’s gift to you in the future, in the past, and in the present.

[oldgooddaysoldgooddays]

113

On Sunday M and I change it up and I drive to south east London, rather than his usual journey to my studio. This suits me, my legs and upper back are telling me no, even if my inner workaholic is telling me yes Something about driving in perfect weather feels wildly indulgent - I purchased this car to shield myself from bad weather and rampant disease transmission - but fuck it. I used to rebel against my parents, now I just rebel against myself. M’s neighbourhood is a battleground of early 20th century apartment blocks and glassy new-builds, seemingly erected in a rush as though meeting some imagined climate change deadline. Some look occupied, and who can blame a young man in finance with an expensive bicycle looking to squeeze in a view of the river before the fall. We walk past a small garden called, creepily, “Twinkle Park” and M says he has been thinking about flooding a lot. I tell him I don’t, but make a mental note to remind V that when she builds our women’s retirement commune in the countryside, to put it somewhere forgiving and high up. I say that Twinkle Park sounds like it was either named BY pedophiles or it’s a park FOR pedophiles. FPBP. I keep hearing people refer to child porn by its acronym, CP, and wonder why, when the syllables are the same both ways We smoke in a church yard in Greenwich and I notice how dry and brown the grass is everywhere since the heatwave, and how many confectionary stores London has, and how many candidates there are for Love Island walking around on a Sunday. We pass a bronze statue of Peter The Great, made to look inhumanly tall - far above NBA height - yet with a tiny head. M sits in the bronze throne next to him and I take photos. He notes that there used to be a dwarf beside Peter The Great, which has mysteriously been boxed up. Was this an act of municipal political correctness? And if so, does the censoring of a dwarf not have the opposite effect vis a vis body positivity? Are we to pretend Peter The Great did not, as one Reddit thread I find says, “find small people absolutely hilarious”? That he didn’t keep dwarves for entertainment purposes, have them leap naked from pies? I cannot stop picking at the skin on my arms and chest, and I test in my brain how realistic it is to tell people in New York next month that these are mosquito bites. Somehow I think if I’d slashed my body with a razor it’d be easier to explain, when in truth I can’t even self harm well. M is patient and doesn’t draw attention to my compulsion, even when the hand holding my cigarette burns the skin the other hand is picking at. He plans to stop by Uzbekistan en route home from Korea and I envy his traveller’s spirit. There is also something nice about international Grindr scrolling as a way to meet a local I mainline cold brew and M tells me Kate Winslet married a relative of Richard Branson who legally changed his last name to “Rocknroll”. We talk about Brendan Fraser’s weight gain being mostly in the neck. I explain a game we would play on Halloween when I was a child where you have to eat a donut suspended on a string from the ceiling, he had never heard of such a thing. We speculate on what earwax is made of. Plan to visit Bekenscot model village next weekend. On the way home I disobey my Waze and get caught in unfathomable traffic over Blackfriars bridge. Plus I drove in the congestion zone, the price of which is a hefty sum leaving my bank account via direct debit. I notice I have cold brew residue around my mouth in my car mirror. I keep it, own it

[vampire-cookie]

puppy mint and kitty aloe :3

#cookie run #mint choco cookie #aloe cookie #my art #digital art #procreate pocket #aloemint #mintloe #this barely counts as that ship but fuck you i do what i want #.yknow everyday i forget ppl prolly see them as cishey #[laughs in knowing] #queueden #this is wildly self indulgent if you cannot tell

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The More Loving One

Masterlist

Summary: Professor Reid finds himself falling for a student. 

A/N: This fic is based on this request. I changed a few things up, but I hope you like the finished product!

Long time, no see! It seems like forever since I got to sit down and just enjoy writing something. And enjoy this, I did. I approached this one a bit differently than I usually do, but I like how it turned out none the less. I hope you all enjoy my take on the Professor Reid arc. The first poem I use in this fic is titled The More Loving One by W.H. Auden, and the second is from a collection of Perry poetry.

Also, I recently hit 2k followers, which is absolutely unbelievable. I can’t even begin to explain how thankful I am for each and every one of you. This fic is my love letter to you. Thank you all so much. 

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: a few swear words maybe?, teacher x student relationship, age gap, exhibitionism (sorta?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4k

           For as long as Spencer can remember, he’s always had a predilection for the finer things in life.

           Spencer attributes the origin of his preferences to his upbringing. In his childhood, before his mother’s disease got the better of her, she exposed him to all sorts of literature. While he ventured to read all types of writings, he’d always been partial to tales of extravagance. A young Spencer Reid sought refuge in the profligacy of it all, as it was so starkly different from his own reality. Forced to bear the burden of household and a sick mother from an early age, Spencer’s own life left little room for reckless indulgence.

           Now, as a single adult male, Spencer makes it a point to give himself up to the finer things as often as he can. Spencer isn’t a rich man, nor is he careless with what hard-earned money he does have. He simply likes to treat himself to the occasional five-star meal, and even more frequently, posh clothing and rare books. Walls lined with hundreds of antiquarian novels and a closet full of Comme Des Garçon cardigans are where the indulgence ends, however, and until recently Spencer was content with this.

           But when she strolls into his life on the very first day of his teaching career, Spencer knows that his small luxuries will no longer be enough to keep him satisfied. The part of him that longs to have only the very best roars to life as he takes in every perfect inch of her. She stands before him, the embodiment of divinity and grace, looking like every fantasy he only dares to conjure up in the late hours of the night. A litany of cliches from every piece of romantic literature he’s ever read spring to the forefront of his mind in the instant that her eyes met his, but there is nothing stereotypical about the way her gaze banishes the air from his lungs. It is as jarring as it is intoxicating. He never wants to look away.

           Unfortunately, she doesn’t feel the same. With a light flush of her cheeks, she turns away from him, and in an equally unfortunate turn of events, she proceeds to shuffle down the aisle and into the second row of seats to the right of the podium. The realization that washes over him feels like ice water in his veins.

           She’s a student. Worse even – she’s his student.

           Spencer wrenches his gaze from her as if he’s been burned, and the fiery shame of his embarrassment makes him tug at his collar. As he struggles to stave away the lingering heat in his chest and even more embarrassingly, the tightness in his trousers, Spencer chastises himself. His own carnal urges often go ignored, a fact that is glaringly obvious as he cowers behind his podium in an attempt to hide his arousal. He feels more than a little bit pathetic. No self-respecting thirty-five-year-old man gets hard just from gazing upon a beautiful young woman.

           When Spencer pulls himself together enough to start his lecture, he positively forbids himself to look her way. It is hard to fight the urge, but every time he catches his eyes wandering to her, he reminds himself that she is an indulgence he simply cannot partake in. No matter how badly he wants to.

--

           It doesn’t take long for her to notice him noticing her.

           In the early days of the semester, she manages to convince herself that the stolen glances are but a figment of her overactive imagination. That, or an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking. But as the semester stretches on and the professor’s eyes linger more and more, wishful thinking gives way to a startling realization that she isn’t alone in her attraction. Professor Reid is, to her complete and utter astonishment, just as taken with her as she is with him.

           This is all but confirmed when a slight brushing of the hands during an exchange of papers leaves them both with flushed cheeks and pounding hearts. Both of their heads snap up, two sets of eyes meeting in a prolonged stare that results in an understanding of sorts. It’s mutual, this thing blossoming between them. She can see her own hopes reflected in two velvet pools of brown – can see the longing, the desire that burns within them. Her heart soars, as she imagines his does, and she accepts the papers with a smile.

           She also imagines that, if he could, he would tell her to wait for him. He would tell her that, for now, their relationship must stay strictly professional.

           This doesn’t stop them from sating their cravings in other ways.

           She makes it a point to stop by during office hours at least twice a week. Her visits always fall under the guise of her studies, but within minutes their hushed conversations stray from the professional and towards a more personal nature. She learns of Spencer’s mother and her condition, of his unusual job and his coworkers that were more like family. In return, she tells him about her upbringing in southern California, as well as her dreams of becoming a criminal psychologist. They never go as far as to discuss what will happen when the semester comes to a close. It is an unspoken agreement that the end of the semester will find them in each other’s arms. All they have to do is wait.

           Spencer can’t voice his affections with words, but he more than makes up for this with his actions. Without fail, every Monday following the very first clandestine brushing of hands, lavish bouquets of flowers arrive at her workplace. Each bouquet is always paired with a notecard inscribed with a brief explanation of the meaning behind that week’s flower of choice. Cherry blossoms to pay homage to her beauty, plumeria to symbolize their new beginning, agrimony to convey his thankfulness that she is willing to wait for him.

           Her favorite bouquet arrives four weeks before the end of the semester. As she steps through the doors of the bakery, a vase full of nine red roses sits atop the counter. The sight of them nearly takes her breath away. She pauses for a moment and runs her fingertips across the velveteen petals before plucking the notecard from its place.

           This week, Spencer chooses to forgo the explanation in favor of a messily scrawled poem;

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

that, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

we have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn 

with a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

let the more loving one be me. 

           That evening, Spencer receives his first bouquet from her. On his desk sits an arrangement of pale pink ambrosia.

           The meaning isn’t lost on him, but if it were, the note that sits next to the vase makes her intentions clear.

We never had to force love.

We were drowning in it from the moment we met.

--

           Spencer is horribly frustrated.

           A mere twenty feet away from where he stands, the notoriously garish and wholly unprofessional PhD program director is gesticulating wildly to the young woman that stands trapped between him and the hors d’oeuvre table. To find Professor Van Wesep in such a position is not uncommon, due to his penchant for trying to charm (terrorize) the prospective female doctoral candidates. The man is practically a walking harassment complaint waiting to happen. Spencer would abhor Van Wesep even if he weren’t the only thing standing in the way of him and his lover.

           At long last, the semester has drawn to a close. The lonely nights spent longing to hold her in his arms are a thing of the past. By the time the sun rises again, Spencer will no longer have to wonder what her body will feel like pressed against his. He’ll be thoroughly acquainted with every inch of her, and she with him. The thought sends a thrilled chill down his spine.

           The torturous foreplay they’ve been engaging in for the last four months would have surely broken a lesser man. Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted on more than one occasion to have her during one of her frequent visits to his office. Some days, when her visits came later in the evenings, just as the sun began to dip low in the sky, her eyes would glisten in such a way that told Spencer her thoughts were none dissimilar to his own. That glimmer of lust had him holding on to his restraint by the skin of his teeth.

           And here they were, on the last evening of the semester. Final grades had been submitted and were released hours prior. Spencer would have been content to skip this event altogether, in favor of more… recreational activities, but his lover insisted on attending.

           Initially, Spencer assumed her insistence lay in her desire to mingle with her future peers and mentors. Her true intentions come to light when she breezes into the room clad in a pair of sleek, designer pumps. Her lips, painted fire engine red, curl up into a playful smile at the sight of a slack-jawed Spencer Reid. The devious glint in her eye twinkles sinfully in the light.

           Tonight isn’t a social call at all. Tonight, she wants to play with him.

           And play she has.

           From the second she arrives all eyes are fixating on her celestial beauty. Peers and mentors alike trip over themselves in their haste to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment. She works the room flawlessly, leaving a trail of smitten men of all ages in her wake.

           The most smitten is Spencer himself, because he’s the lone recipient of countless heated glances, as well as more than a few knowing smirks. She well aware of what she’s doing to him, and she takes pleasure in watching him squirm.

          Spencer intervenes when Van Wesep makes the ill-advised decision to reach a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. He barely has the time to withdraw his hand before Spencer is upon them.

          “I apologize for the interruption,” Spencer casts a faux apologetic glance at his colleague, before settling his gaze on his target. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I speak to you for a moment?”

           She looks positively gleeful. Perhaps Spencer should have intervened hours ago.

           “Absolutely, Professor Reid.”

           The honorific sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He definitely should have stolen her away earlier.

           The two of them say their goodbyes to a confused Professor Van Wesep, whose imploring eyes follow them as they hurriedly slip from the party and down the hallway.

--

           “Where are we going?”

           Spencer leads her down a long corridor, far beyond earshot of the other guests. Pushing her into a dark corner, he positions her between himself and the cold wooden door of an unoccupied office. The only sounds that can be heard are the distant thrum of the music and the eager pants falling from his lover’s lips.

           Spencer pulls her into a searing kiss, one hand tangling in her hair and the other finding purchase on her waist. He worries for a moment that he’s being too rough with her, that he should have taken a more careful approach to their first kiss, but she assuages those worries when she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm. Her hand reaches between them and clutches his tie, then she’s pulling him closer and whining wantonly against his lips. Spencer takes this as an invitation to slip his tongue inside and he finds himself letting out a low groan when he tastes a hint of strawberry.

           Spencer pulls away to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

           “Oh, I think I do, Professor,” she laughs, breathless. “Probably just as long as I’ve wanted to do this.”

           Spencer jolts forward when her hand slides down to cup him over his trousers.

           “Could’ve done that a lot earlier if you hadn’t insisted on teasing me for the entire night,” Spencer growls through gritted teeth. He’s more than a little proud of his ability to string together a sentence with her hand working him over with slow, steady strokes.

           He trails a line of kisses across the underside of her jaw, before taking her earlobe and nipping it lightly with his canine. Spencer’s actions are rewarded with a full body shudder. He dips his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat and her hands ball into fists against his dress shirt.

           “Spencer, please.”

           Spencer hums and pulls back to look at her. The hand in her hair lowers, and he trails a thumb across where her nipples are hard against the fabric of her dress.

           “Yes, my love?”

           Her eyes flutter against the weight of her arousal, and Spencer twitches in his pants. The sight of her with her hair disheveled and her lipstick smeared on account of him is a heavenly thing. He doesn’t know how he ever deprived himself of such a splendor.

           “I want you. Right now.” She punctuates her words by pulling him down into a frenzied kiss. One of her hands tangles itself in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other busies with tugging his shirt out of his pants.

           “Right now?” Spencer taunts, mouth against mouth. His hand trails down the side of her breast, caressing her rib cage and her hip before stopping at her upper thigh. Spencer’s fingertips toy with the tops of her lace thigh highs. “But anyone could walk by and see us.”

           “I don’t care,” she argues, fumbling clumsily as she struggles to undo his belt buckle.

           Spencer’s wandering hand dips below the hem of her dress to explore the silky-smooth skin of her inner thigh. She’s soft here, too, he thinks to himself as his hand travels up, up, up. He stops just short of where she wants him most and she lets out a despairing cry.

           “You wouldn’t mind someone walking by and seeing you with your pretty legs spread wide for your professor?”

           Spencer brings life to his words by lifting her leg up, hitching her thigh around his hip and pressing into her. The silk fabric of her dress rustles as he pushes it up and out of the way.

           A breathy moan tumbles from her lips as he rocks against her, dragging his arousal up and down the front of her lace panties. The friction is maddening in that it provides only the smallest bit of relief. It’s not enough for Spencer, and judging by the way she desperately pushes down the fabric of his pants, it’s not enough for his partner, either.

           “Need to get these off now,” she murmurs against Spencer’s mouth. An eager hand tugs at the elastic band of his underwear.

           Spencer places his hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Not so fast, baby. Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.”

           Her fingers clamp down on Spencer’s wrist, guiding him to the sodden lace between her thighs.

           “Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” she whimpers as Spencer’s fingers take appraisal of the drenched cloth. “In fact, I think four months of foreplay is sufficient enough. Wouldn’t you say?”

           “Maybe so,” Spencer muses, voice muffled as he sucks at the skin of her neck. “But I’m not willing to chance hurting you our first time together. You’re entirely too precious to me.”

           Spencer captures her lips in a kiss so sweet it has her sighing into his mouth. When he pulls away, he fixes her with a smile.

           “You’re not particularly fond of these panties, are you?”

           Her eyebrows pull together. “No, why?”

           Spencer pulls at the flimsy fabric harshly and it gives way under the force of it. He reaches back to stuff the thong in his back pocket.

           “That’s why.”

           Spencer’s lips come down against hers at the same time his middle and index fingers drag across her slickness. His foresight pays off when his mouth muffles the sound of her cries. As confident he is that they won’t be found, a cry like that would certainly have drawn unwanted attention.

           The swipe of his thumb across her crest paired with the gentle pressure of his fingers dipping into her heat is enough to make her legs buckle. Had it not been for Spencer pressing her against the wall, she surely would have fallen to the ground in a trembling heap.

           “I could get lost in you for hours,” Spencer groans, curling his fingers inside her in such a way that makes her clutch desperately to his shirt.

           “Spencer, oh my God,” she keens. “I need you, please.”

           “You have me, my love,” Spencer whispers the promise against her parted lips. “You’ve had me since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

           Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers until the telltale tightening of her heat warns him of her impending climax. He has to bite down on his lower lip to regain his own composure. The feeling of her tight and wet around his fingers is almost too good.

           “Spencer, I’m getting close,” she whimpers.

           Spencer continues until she’s on the cusp of tumbling over the edge, until one more pass of his fingers against her crest would surely seal the deal, and then he’s removing his hand and taking a step back.

           “Spencer, what the fu-,” she pauses when he promptly shoves his pants and underwear just enough to free himself from their painful confines. “Oh.”

           A dazed smile makes its way to her face as Spencer presses himself against her once more. He sweeps her up into a kiss comprised of pure, unadulterated desire, before pulling away and smirking deviously at her.

           “Jump.”

           It takes a moment for her pleasure fogged brain to make sense of the request, but as soon as it does, she complies without question.

           Spencer’s hands grip her thighs firmly and in one swift thrust he sheaths himself into her fully – an indulgence so grand that all others dull in comparison. Now that he’s had the finest, felt it wrapped around him like warm velvet, he can’t imagine a world in which he must live without it.

           “Spencer!”

           Spencer swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound than her crying out his name as their bodies come together for the first time. It’s synonymous with a siren call, he thinks, because in that moment she could lure him to certain death and he knows he would go with a smile.

           His lips seek purchase on the exposed skin of her chest as he buries himself in her paradise again and again. The sharp sting of her heels digging into his back with every thrust brings out a sort of primal urge in him, spurring him to rut up into her like a man possessed.

           “You feel perfect,” Spencer groans out against the flushed skin of her neck. He presses a soft kiss to where her pulse bounds just beneath the skin before pulling away and locking eyes with her. “When I’m old and gray and can remember nothing else, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember how it felt to kiss you for the first time – how it felt to touch you. How it felt to worship you and make love to your body.”

           Spencer’s voices catches, thick and overwhelmed with emotion.

           “I’ll remember how it feels to love you.”

           Her breath catches in her throat and sharp pang of panic burns hot in his chest. Had he misinterpreted her affections? Did she not burn for him in the same way? Perhaps the ambrosia meant nothing. Spencer’s movements falter, and for several torturous seconds he’s nearly paralyzed with fear.

            She silences those fears with a kiss.

           “Oh, Spencer,” she sighs as she presses her forehead against his. “I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend.”

           Spencer resumes moving in and out of her, but the frenzied feeling from before is replaced with something else now. Something softer, but no less passionate.

           “Yeah?” he inquires, searching her eyes for any trace of insincerity. He finds none, and it’s a relief. Any hint of falseness in her claim would surely lead to a heartbreak he could never recover from.

           “Yes.” The word trails off into a moan. “I love you, Spencer Reid. I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop.”

           Spencer’s heart jolts and he whines pathetically against her mouth. “I’m counting on that.”

           “I’m close, Spencer,” she pants, her breath hitting his face in warm puffs. “Don’t think I can last much longer.”

           “Me, too.” Spencer nudges her nose with his own. “Reach between us and touch yourself, my love. I want us to cum together. Can you do that for me?”

           She nods, and the hand that clung to his right shoulder dips in between them to rub tight circles against her crest. Spencer doubles his efforts when he sees her eyelids flutter closed, and the resulting tightening of her core leaves him panting hard.

           “Spencer, I-” her breath catches in her throat as Spencer delivers a particularly strong thrust. Her head falls against his shoulder, her soft moans of his name like heaven to his ears.

           “Cum with me, baby,” Spencer grunts out desperately. He needs it like he needs air to breath and water to drink. And once he has it, he knows he’ll need it again and again.

           She gives it to him with a muffled cry of his name and he’s instantly swept away, drowning in the blissful way her body sings for him. His body follows her lead, shattering completely under her fingertips.

           While he’s been through similar acts with previous partners, those instances always felt impersonal and clinical. The caresses and whispered words were all a means to an end, an end that usually left him feeling lonelier and emptier than when he started. But right now, as he feels the beat of her heart pressed against his own, he swears he couldn’t feel fuller - full of adoration, full of affection, full of love. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and everything Spencer didn’t know he was looking for.

           A raucous round of applause erupts from the direction of the party, startling the two of them. Spencer feels her laugh against his neck.

           “It’s almost as if they were applauding us for a job well done.”

           Spencer presses a chaste kiss to the crown of her head.

           “As they should. That was sensational.”

           Spencer carefully pulls out and lowers her to the floor. He wastes no time in tilting her chin up and capturing her lips in a reverent kiss. Spencer hopes his lips convey his gratitude.

           The two of them pull apart and set to making themselves presentable. Their efforts prove to be in vain when Spencer points out a dark purple love bite nestled into the crook of her neck. She counters this by taking note of the smudge of red lipstick on his collar.

           “What an adulterous pair we make, Professor.”

           Spencer rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not your professor anymore.” He bends down and places a kiss to her lips before taking her hand in his.

           “I suppose you’re not,” she muses as they meander down the corridor. “Whatever shall we do now?”

           As the two of them step out of the dark hallway and reenter the party, Spencer smiles to himself. Visions of wedding rings flit through his mind. Spencer supposes he’ll have to take a break from the posh clothing and rare books in favor of saving his money. He’ll buy only the finest ring for his future wife, after all.

           “I have a few ideas.”

-

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taglist: @90spumkin @moon-light-jukebox​ @whxt-to-write @calm-and-doctor @jessalyn-jpeg @pinkdiamond1016 @itsametaphorbriansblog @eldahae @itsmytimetoodream @kasaikawa @shadyladyperfection

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #professor!spencer #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler fanfic #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #smut #professor!reid

[ac3id]

The Artist and His Majesty| 18+

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓎 0 / 5 | fantasy au. 

chapter i , chapter ii

pairings: yandere! emperor! shigaraki x female! reader.

warnings: [series] dubcon, exhibitionism, size difference, degradation, masturbation, bondage, reader is also kind of delusional, death, violence (not on reader). (there are more but i can’t think right now.]

↪ for chapter 0: none !!

summary: you come to the big city in hopes of starting your career as an artist but things take a shocking turn when you’re recruited as the court painter for the royal palace.

↪ for chapter 0: a strange man approaches you, offering to buy your painting to which you oblige. little do you know that it kicks of a series of unfortunate events ending with you being trapped in shigaraki tomura’s clutches forever.

wordcount. 

a/n: finally !! i started this series. high-key inspired by these two dresses in my wardrobe and @ana-list‘s this  drawing ! seriously it’s literally everything. also thank you once again for proof reading this @the-grimm-writer ! 

taglist: @shigaraki-is-my-master, @deathmemeiverse, @n4dhii, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @mstssister, @nereida19, @prince-zukohere [dm to be added/ removed.]

“That’s a beautiful painting,” a rough, scruffy voice calls out, jerking you away from your daydreams. Your grip around the color canvas resting in your arms tightens as you glance behind your shoulder to see a well-built man standing right behind you. He’s tall and a lot older than you, he has short grey hair which falls right before his eyebrows along beautiful, matching grey eyes. A cigar hangs lazily from his lips as he occasionally huffs on it, blowing clouds of smoke out his mouth. He’s dressed in expensive robes, a choice of style only people better off could afford. You can’t help exachaning a covetous glance between his expensive suit and your sloppy, knee-length, light green dress. “Thank you.” you murmur shoving him an appreciative look, hoping he’d leave you alone. When you come to the city to complete your studies in art, you mother, father, family and friends had warned you about men like these. Rich, snobby men who liked to lure in young, naive girls. Whispering praises of how they are the most unique on the planet so they pull their guard down form them to take advantage of the helpless beings. 

“Can I take a better look? It’s the Emperor, is it not? Your painting. ” You hesitate before turning back to him. Not a lot of people had seen the King to be. He lived humbly in his castle, trying his best to not indulge in the affairs of the common people. “ Yes,” you hold up the slightly small canvas (courtesy of you being broke the entire week and not being able to save up to buy a bigger canvas). To even get an idea of Shigaraki Tomura, you had to go through many people. Not a lot of people had seen his face, he had always kept it hidden under a mask. No one knew why he did so but the many conspiracy throes suggested it was something to do with his personal grief.

 You had heard many stories about him. Some made him look like a spoiled brat with a demeaning, ignorant personality who didn’t care for others and as the rumors said: self destructive habits which lead him to tear the skin of his own neck down whenever he got anxious or frustrated. 

Others portrayed him as a strong, confident man and a reliable leader who cared for his comrades. You did not know which one of the two personas brought him your attention but you couldn’t complain. Tomura had caught you under a spell, and despite never meeting him (and knowing full well you never would), you were still ready to sacrifice your life for him. He was your King even before he had taken his crown, to you he looked like a shining bright light ready to enlighten you. To you, he was a god. And as years passed by, he grew from a caterpillar into a cocoon which was ready to burst open as a butterfly into the beautiful, mysterious world. And it was happening today, Prince Tomura Shigaraki’s Coronation ceremony. After the passing of All For One, it was his turn to take the crown and fulfill his duty as the ruler of the nation

 The entire city was busy, bustling with people. Families, friends and everyone in between gathered around the huge castle walls as they waited for the ceremony to begin. They waited patiently, filled with excitement and joy as they waited to catch a glimpse of the new great King. You were among them. You had come down to the centre of the city with your friends, waiting alongside many to catch a glimpse of the new ruler. The painting which nestled in your hand was something you were hoping to sell today, to a shop or anyone who wants to have it. It was a beautiful painting which had taken you several days to complete, and dare you say it, you were quite proud of it. From all the things you had heard about Tomura, you had managed to sketch him decently. Long white, wavy hair reaching till his shoulder, skin white as snow. He sat proudly on his throne wearing a cape with his vermillion eyes peering through your soul. His face was scarcely detailed as you did not have much idea about it but he still looked ethereal. With little scars running both his eyes and a comparatively larger one on his right. Chapped lips with even more scars running over them wildly, he was not conventionally attractive. No one would call him a pretty boy yet there was something more, something alluring which attracted  you to him. His beauty was rare, not in the grasp of many but if it was grasped and held close to the heart, it was hard to let go off. And you found him attractive, very attractive. 

The man took a good look at your painting, examining it carefully and for a second you really thought he had seen the mysterious Prince. “It’s quite similar to him,” he sends you a friendly grin and you notice a tooth from his front missing, leaving an uncomfortable gap. “Have you seen him before?” he asked and you shake your head, no. He gives you an amused expression, “I must say, you are very talented, miss…?” you complete your name with a nervous smile. “And you are?” you ask. 

You realised that you were getting a little too comfortable with the stranger and it could be a really bad decision but you can’t help but give him the benefit of the doubt as he behaves like a gentleman you can find yourself to trust. “Kagero Okuta but I like to go by Giran,” he says with a lop-sided grin. Giran, you’ve heard the name before but cannot recall where and how. It sounds so familiar but you just can’t grasp it, he looked wealthy so you assumed he was a Noble and that made you even more curious as to why he was speaking to you.

 “What are you planning to do with that painting?” he asks, diving a closer look and admiring its features. “I must say, you’ve got it quite accurate but,” you stiffen, your hands growing cold as your heartbeat picks up. You realized your painting must have some complications, drawing a man you had never seen before purely out of your interpretation was a hard and a bold task to do. But to have someone who had actually seen the King for himself pinpoint your mistakes sent a rush of anxiety through your veins.

 “He’s not that bony.” He completes and you gulp nervously, looking down at your painting in disappointment. Your eyes are filled with disappointment,  all of the time and effort you spent making the piece all for it go in vain just because you missed a small detail. Giran notices your remorse and speaks up, “But that’s quite alright. He looked just like that until a while ago,” he hadn’t meant to offend or hurt you. He still believed your painting was the most beautiful thing he had seen all day.

 “What do you mean?” you ponder, giving him a perplexed look. He leans  in closer to you as if to tell a secret, “let’s say the King has been working out behind closed doors.” you blink in confusion. It was a strange thing to say, exactly how well did this man know the Emperor? Who was it that you were talking? 

“Who are you?” you can’t help but question, bewildered by such a character. Giran says nothing. He just stares at you with his lips curled into a snappy smirk, holding his cigar between his lips. He was not going to tell you anything. Without wasting time, he quickly changes the topic. “What are you going to do with that painting?” he repeats, his voice growing impatient.

 “I am planning to sell it,” you feel a bit taken back. The friendly aura which had Giran had now disappeared for a reason you could not conclude. “Sell it? To whom?” the intruding nature of his tone starts to make you uncomfortable, there’s nothing more you want to do other than get far away from him. Yet you still find yourself answering him, “To anyone who wants it.” he hums at your response, his eyes holding a mocking glint. “Wouldn’t you like to give it to the Emperor himself?” you frown, was he mocking you? 

“That’s well...impossible.” you reply, stretching your neck awkwardly. “To you, maybe.” 

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes, this man was really testing your patience. A part of you tells you to ignore him and walk away but as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a bag of coins worth much more than you could ever earn in a month, he has you hooked yet again. 

“Hey, let me buy that painting, would yer’?” 

.

..

..

“What is the problem now?” Giran takes a seat around the round table. It was late after the Coronation ceremony and the Royal palace was already facing problems. Giran was disappointed but definitely not surprised. After all, he was their personal problem solver and broker. “It’s not that big of a deal.” A curt and hard reply cut him off.

 “It actually is, Shigaraki Tomura.” a voice speaks, coming from a man dressed in a black suit with a long, flowy robe covering his entire body. He stands taller than the other two men in the as his head is replaced with a wisp of smoke. He was none other than the trusted and talented magician of the Royal family. With eccentric features and an ability to wield strange magic, nobody knew where he came from. There were many rumors about him; that he was once a normal, handsome man cursed by a witch that turned him into a hideous monster or he simply was a ghost. “What is it, Kurogiri?” Giran rephrases his question, directing it to the other man. “We need a new painter,-” 

“Servant.” Shigaraki corrected. He stood in front of the giant windows glancing over his city as his men talked about hiring a new painter for the castle. He couldn’t care less about such tedious tasks, he had his focus set on greater things like expanding his territory, taking back stolen land. 

“What happened to Mr. Kyo?” Giran asked, Shigaraki rolled his eyes at the mention of the name and clicked his tongue, “His Majesty eliminated him.” Giran stops himself from laughing out loud. He was certain once Shigaraki would take over the throne incidents like so would double the instant. But he was expecting it to happen so soon. “And why was that?” 

“He was breathing too loud, like you are right now.” 

A cold silence broke over the room as Giran counted his breath. Kurogiri looked nervously at Shigaraki who still had his back turned to them. The longer the pause grew, the dreadful the atmosphere became. Shigaraki’s threat strung the air loud and clear and Giran was afraid to speak again. “What we are asking for is that-,” Kurogiri started in a calm, slow tone easing the tension in the room. “-we need a new court painter. Do you have any names?” 

The murderous sent in the air magically disappeared as a grin stretched across Giran’s face. 

“Aren’t you in luck?” He says, running a hand through his hair before taking a puff out of his cigar. “Does that mean you know someone?” Kurogiri questioned. Giran hummed, “You see, I met this beautiful painter today. She’s extremely talented and I know for a fact she will love working for the castle.” 

“What’s the name?” growing impatient, Shigaraki asks. “Oh, it was,” Giran pauses for a moment to recall. 

“Ah yes, Y/N L/N.” 

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[mindibindi]

They are destroying Rebecca’s character this season and this Sam bullshit is the final nail in the coffin for her. What the f*** are they doing to their female lead ??

Well, I suppose this is the danger of offering resolution early in the piece and why so few television writers do it, particularly when it comes to romantic relationships. Because then there is the looming question of What Happens Next. So many writers prove that, while they may have the imaginative juice to create, they don't have what it takes to re-invent.

Whether you understand her as the protagonist or the antagonist of the first season of Ted Lasso, Rebecca's big revenge plot drove s1, gave it a clear narrative arc. This inaugural season likewise gave her character a clear and compelling arc. You could posit that, while Rebecca's pain drove season 1, Ted's pain is meant to be driving season 2...? But whatever Ted is going through does not have as clear-cut an objective so it is not giving the same sense of cohesion or direction. Within her s1 arc, we got to see Rebecca feel angry, frustrated, victorious, smug, thwarted, conflicted, heart-broken and vulnerable. Last season gave Hannah Waddingham so many opportunities to show the range of her skills as an actor and I still hope she wins an Emmy for this performance. But I doubt she will be winning any awards for her performance this season.

Most situation comedies stick to the same situation, snapping their characters back to where they were at the beginning of each episode. Certainly, this formula can become repetitive and dull after years. Ted Lasso received a great deal of praise when it broke this formula by offering resolution at the end of its first season no less. It broke the no-hugging-no-learning mantra of so many sitcoms when it allowed Rebecca to learn from her trauma, come clean and literally embrace Ted as a valuable part of her life. Since her character went on the biggest journey of the season, the question of What Happens Next was always going to be more significant for her than it was for any other character on the show.

Season 1 of Ted Lasso made me fall in love with Hannah Waddingham and the character of Rebecca Welton. But as much as it pains me to say it, in s2 she is nothing like the problematic powerhouse we met in s1. Her friendships with Keeley and Higgins continue on nicely enough. She's had some good moments with characters she had little interaction with in s1, like Roy and Nate. And it was great to meet her mother and god-daughter. But this fleshing out of the character is mostly work around her rather than work that propels her forward in any meaningful way. I understand that some people may be content just to watch Rebecca living her best life after the intensity of last season. But, for me, the pursuit of heterosexual romantic love by a woman to the exclusion of all else is a problematic aim since women have been told for centuries that securing a man is the single most important thing they can achieve in their lives.

Rebecca wants love and doesn't want to be alone. She's stated that, that's canon and that's fine. But romance seems to be Rebecca's ONLY aim, her single focus. We haven't seen her do anything in her role as club owner except make a phone call and look sharp, which I admit she does well. The woman looks INCREDIBLE. But if you are in your right mind (at least in my opinion), you are not expecting this amazing woman to end up with a pretentious windbag, a hot booty call or a wildly inappropriate youngster. So it all seems a bit aimless, purposeless. All of this dithering about with wrong dudes is just a waste of time when we have limited time with these beloved characters. We know we are only getting three short seasons of this show and I don't want to spend a full season watching a previously complex female character stare at her phone, only ever prompted into (questionable) action by her cute best friend. And I DEFINITELY don't want to watch...whatever the fuck they think this thing is with Sam.

Frankly, I am still flabbergasted that they have chosen this path. They genuinely seem to think that their audience will enjoy this as some hot romantic adventure...? And hey, a small but vocal minority are. Some diehard fans are trying to hold onto their faith with white knuckles. And the rest of us are just over here in compete and utter shock at the suddenness of the decline in this show's quality and ethics. The latest justification some fans are rather desperately grasping at seems to be that Rebecca's actions stem from her trauma. Now...okay. Trauma can be responsible for many things. But not this. Trauma can make you act in v strange ways but I don't see the connection here. I can clearly see how Rebecca's trauma from her first marriage dictated her actions towards Ted in s1. That is a very clear line to draw. I can see how, after her disastrous marriage, her judgement may be off and she may go for someone like John Wingsnight: someone safe, solid and appropriate. Again, a clear line to draw. I can also see why she would indulge in fun, shallow sexual relationships with the waiter in Liverpool and her booty call from bantr. All normal, understandable behaviour for a woman in her situation. And a v clear narrative line for the writers to draw. No problems there. Her actions in each of these cases can be traced back to Rupert and his abuse. But I cannot for the life of me draw a line between Rupert and Sam. As a traumatic reaction, that does not make a shred of sense to me.

It's true that sometimes those who have been abused become abusers, not that I'm saying Rebecca is abusing Sam in this scenario. What I am saying is that most trauma survivors will go out of their way to avoid becoming anything like their abusers. Most survivors try their damnedest to break the cycle of abuse, not perpetuate it. Most victim-survivors will act, sometimes even to their own detriment, to spare others from being impacted by their pain and trauma. Trauma and abuse does not break your moral compass. If anything, it makes it stronger. Trauma and abuse heightens your sensitivity to what is right, just and honest. Having seen Rebecca ultimately unable to follow through in her trauma-inspired revenge plot on Ted, it does not make sense to me that she is blindly (without any of the nuanced inner conflict of s1 Rebecca) allowing her trauma and abuse to lead her into a situation that not only emulates her ex-husband's hurtful, unethical behaviour, but endangers what is now supposed to be so valuable to her.

All the press for s2 as spruiked Rebecca as a dating disaster but enthusiastically committed to her club. There is a huge difference, however, between charmingly, comedically 'messy' and inept to the point of self-destructive stupidity. I just don't buy her as this dumb. Yet here she is, after all her dealings with the savage British press last season, endangering the reputation of herself, her club and one of its most vulnerable players. Oddly enough, the Rebecca we saw in s1, with her many layers and nuances, seems to me to be a far more moral (not to mention interesting) rendering of this character. This Rebecca was motivated by injustice, she had an acute understanding of what was and wasn't right. It's why she conceived of her revenge plot and also why she ultimately dropped it. It is one thing for writers to propose that there are multiple steps on the way to healing. It is one thing for them to lead a character into a dark forest full of conflict and complication. But, from what I can tell, some people don't know the difference between a dark forest and straight-up bad writing. And it really fucking shows.

#ted lasso #rebecca welton #hannah waddingham #sam obisanya #ask #whoops another long post without a cut #sorry not sorry

[halloweenhoneylover]

serendipity

summary: spencer cannot wait to propose, but you accidentally beat him to it (spencer reid x fem!reader)

word count: 5k

warnings: some language! some minor angst!

author’s note: this is 100% based on one of my favorite episodes of new girl (google doc name is winston bishop type shit), also this is mega self-indulgent so if u don’t like dinosaurs and/or ferns i’m sorry :/

You let out a satisfied hum. Everything was quite nearly perfect. Presently, you were sitting on a bench next to the little duck pond in the park by your apartment, and you watched as tendrils of the weeping willow grazed the surface, sending gentle ripples across the water. It seemed to glow in the dappled sunlight. An adorable duck family was nestled into some of the reeds, and your heart was happy as you watched the mother tending to her ducklings. This was your favorite spot in the entire city.

“Hey, Spence?” Your head rested on his shoulder as he read one of the Ray Bradbury novels that he loved dearly. You weren’t sure which one he was on now; he’d been determined to read his entire collection this weekend and had been flying through.

“Yes, dear?” His eyes didn’t leave the pages, but you didn’t mind.

“What do you call a group of ducks?”

“There’s a couple names actually. It can be called a raft, team, or paddling; it’s a matter of preference.” Finally, he shifted his gaze toward you, and he couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The flush of your cheeks and the wisps of your hair, he was so incredibly enamored, he loved you so much. And he was so excited to let you know so soon, but not quite yet.

“I think I like paddling.”

“Yeah, me too.” Shutting his eyes to revel in this moment, he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Hey, Spence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you wanna get married?”

What.

Spencer floundered in the absolute contradiction of feelings that he found himself submerged in in that moment. Ice flooded his veins, and his face heated. His blood pressure skyrocketed, and oh God, it’s not supposed to happen like this. Yes, he loves her terribly, and yes, he absolutely wants to marry her, but he had a plan! An incredibly intricate and thoughtful twenty-two step plan that was going to take place over the course of the next month. It was all laid out in an entire binder in his desk. All he could muster in response was an extremely eloquent, “Uh—well, uh—”

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you finally lifted your head to look at him with the biggest heart eyes he’s ever seen, and he can’t help but feel so, so guilty. “I just thought, why not, you know? Spencer, I love you a whole lot, and I’m pretty sure you love me a whole lot too. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want the rest of my life to start right now.” 

“No.”

Judging by the look on your face, that was clearly not the answer you were expecting. “No?”

“Uh, yeah, no.” God, stupid dumb idiot, telling the girl you want to marry that you don’t want to marry her. What’s the point of having 187 IQ points if you use exactly none of them when it actually matters?

“No, you don’t want to marry me?” Your heart dropped into your stomach and was falling further and further every passing second.

“Wait no, hold on—” 

“No, I get it,” you choked out, hastily standing up from the bench. “Actually, I don’t get it, but that doesn’t really matter, I guess.” You jammed your arms into the sleeves of your jacket, so you could get out of this moment as soon as humanly possible. Holy shit, had you been blind-sided. “Um, I think I’m gonna go hang out with Penelope, might spend the night, I’m not sure. Enjoy your book.” And with that, you were speeding down the path out of the park.

“Wait, (Y/N/N)!” Spencer tried to gather his belongings to run after you, but you had a head start, and he couldn’t gather all of the books in his arms fast enough. Leave the books!!! Go after her!!! But you had already turned the corner and were out of sight.

With his books finally secure, Spencer sprinted in the direction of your shared apartment. He needed to fix this. And fast.

———

Morgan sat at his desk peacefully looking over the plans for a house he was renovating when the phone rang, and he couldn't help but internally groan at the sound. If Hotch is calling on his weekend off, so help him God, he would hang up and chuck the phone out the window.

Instead, he was met with Garcia’s voice, which was so loud he had to pull the phone away from his ear. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, mama. Let’s take it down a few notches.”

“Alright, fine, babycakes,” she hissed, and Derek was shocked at the unfamiliar venom in her tone. “Would you please be so kind as to explain to me why your dear friend Reid is the most evil, most reprehensible, most despicable—”

“Garcia, what are you talking about?”

“You mean that little rat boy hasn’t come crawling to you explaining his crimes?”

Despite his infinite patience for her antics, he sighed quietly. “I’m in the dark, baby girl, but I’m sure whatever Reid did, it can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it can be that bad! He told (Y/N) that he didn’t want to marry her.”

“He did what?” Derek’s eyes were practically popping out of his head at the news. There’s no way that happened.

“He said that he didn’t want to marry our precious lily flower (Y/N)! I love that boy, but now, (Y/N) is here bawling her eyes out on my couch, and I don’t know what to do!”

His heart broke a little at the thought of his friend being so devastated, but he couldn’t help the roaring confusion that plagued him. Derek knew that Spencer was planning to propose to you; he’d seen the binder. He’d even been recruited to help with Steps 4, 9, 10, and 18! 

Oh.

And that’s when Derek had a sneaking suspicion as to what had occurred. “Penelope, were his exact words ‘I don’t want to marry—” But his attention was drawn away from the phone by a knock on the door.

Speak of the devil….

“Garcia, I gotta go, but tell (Y/N) everything’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna have a word with our boy.”

“Oh my God, is he there with you?! That little bastard—” He hung up before her words could become any sharper, and the knocking became frantic.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming!” He jogged to go unlock the door. “You’re gonna knock the door down, kid.”

The door swung open to reveal Spencer, huffing and puffing with a red face and a binder in arm. “Morgan, I am the stupidest man to ever walk the Earth.”

“Did you run here?”

Ignoring the question, he pushed past him with an agitated step. “I am a complete idiot, a dumbass, if you will.”

Morgan shut the door and crossed his arms, walking to stand opposite Reid who had sat on the couch with his head in his hands. “Yeah, I might agree with you on that one. Garcia called me, told me (Y/N) is crying on her couch ‘cause you told her you didn’t want to marry her, which I know is not true.”

“I didn’t say that!” he cried, gesticulating wildly. “Not exactly. She asked me if I wanted to get married—”

“And what did you say?”

His hesitation was palpable. “...No.”

“Yeah, I’d say that constitutes dumbass behavior, especially because I know you only said that because you have your proposal all planned out, and you want it to be perfect.”

“Morgan, you don’t get it,” he implored, the desperation evident in his eyes, and Derek finally started feeling a little bad for the kid, an inkling of sympathy squirming in his gut. “No one deserves the most perfect proposal more than (Y/N). No one. You know how she’s always felt unwanted, and she’s told me that she felt like she always has to ask for love, and I couldn’t let her feel like that with me. I had to make sure that she had a special proposal because she’s special. And I want her to know without having to ask that I want her more than anything else in this world.”

Reid looked down at the toes of his scuffed Converse, hoping that he hadn’t permanently fucked up his best chance at happiness, and Morgan’s expression softened. “I know, kid. And I’m not trying to rub salt in the wound, but you do know that this was not the best way of letting her know that she’s wanted and loved?”

“Yes, I know, Morgan,” he muttered, voice breaking around the slug in his throat. “I wasn’t thinking.”

A sigh. “No, you weren’t. But I’m gonna help you fix it.”

Reid looked up with wide eyes. “Really?”

“You both deserve to be happy...even if you make some pretty stupid choices sometimes.” 

Reid didn’t think he’d ever felt so grateful for his friend, and he offered a smile in gratitude. “Thanks. But I don’t even know where to start.”

Quirking an eyebrow and returning with a grin, Morgan picked up the binder from the table where it had been set. “I’ve got a couple ideas.”

——— 

“How is she doing?”

“Erm, it’s not looking great,” Garcia responded.

She was openly hostile when Reid had called her (he’d never been on the receiving end of Garcia’s wrath (so few people had been), and he was sure that was something he never wanted to experience again), but she’d finally restrained herself and offered a little empathy (not a lot though, she was too loyal to (Y/N) for that) when he had explained himself. However, when she’d been informed of the plan to apologize, regain your love and trust and to maybe, just maybe, ask for your hand in marriage, she had wholeheartedly avowed her support and pledged her help despite still being a little miffed at boy genius’ idiocy.

“She’s been sitting on the floor of the bathroom for an hour listening to Landslide on repeat and crying, so I would say she’s, um…not well.”

Spencer winced at that, and he felt physically sick at the thought that you were hurting because of him. His heart clenched unbearably, and he wished so badly that he could take back his words and just say yes, but unfortunately for him, time is linear, and he was just going to have to do his best to fix things.

“I just need a couple more hours to get everything ready.”

“Well, hurry up, pretty boy! I love our girl immensely, but if I have to hear Stevie Nicks mourn the passage of time and love one more time, I will lose my mind.”

“Garcia, please, just be patient.”

She groaned. “You’re lucky I love you.” And with that, she hung up.

——— 

You huffed a sigh, clutching to your chest a shiny pink pillow covered in sequins and giving Garcia the biggest puppy eyes you could muster. “Please, Penny, let’s not go out to dinner. Let’s just stay in and order Cheesecake Factory; you love Cheesecake Factory!”

“You’re right I do, but I love you more, and right now, you need to get up and get some fresh air!” The almost excessive amount of peppiness in her voice and her refusal of Cheesecake Factory was slightly suspicious, but you didn’t really have time to consider it as she dragged you up off the couch and to the door.

“Okay, counterpoint: what if you went out for dinner, and I stayed in and wallowed in self-pity?”

By the look on her face, you knew your evading tactics were not going to fly. She tutted slightly and said, “You’ve got to know I can’t let you do that. I’m legally obligated to stay with you until you feel better, that’s the deal when you’re friends with me.” She grabbed your coat, holding it open for you. 

Reluctantly, you sighed and slid your arms in, grumbling, “You’re too nice for your own good.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, but let’s get a move on!” And with that, she herded you out the door.

——— 

It was a nice dinner, the two of you out on the town, and for a while, you were granted the solace of distraction. Garcia took you into the city, and somehow it felt a little easier to breathe there under the streetlights amidst a bustling Saturday night crowd. You nestled together in some street corner diner, ordering an absurd amount of food and jabbering on about anything and everything. If she noticed the moments when you fell silent, eyes distant and glassy, (and she definitely did), she never said anything; she just offered a new topic and redirected you from the very sad place that was thoughts of Spencer. And you would latch on eagerly, seizing the opportunity to forget.

So, you spent the evening with late night waffles and french fries and milkshakes and the unending source of cheer that was Penelope Garcia, and by the end of it, your mind didn’t immediately redirect to that morning’s tragedy, which Garcia would define as a success. Together, you found your way back to her car, and you tumbled into the passenger seat, your eyelids immediately fluttering shut. Penelope grinned and drove off.

When you woke again, you were engulfed in bewilderment and not just the regular post-nap disorientation. “Penny, why are we at the National Mall? This is the opposite direction of your house.”

She tapped her acrylics on the steering wheel and nervously surveyed the street in front of her, trying to escape your prying gaze. “Uh—no reason!”

Too exhausted from your day of grief and distraction to be suspicious of her terrible lying, you leaned your head back against the seat, watching the glow of the streetlamps as they roved over the interior of the car.

Garcia seized this movement to set the next part of Reid’s plan in motion. “Hey! You know, what’d be fun is if we went to the Natural History museum! There’s nothing better to cheer you up than dusty old dinosaur bones.” (She didn’t necessarily understand the appeal, but she was trying her best.)

A small chuckle escaped you. “As much as I’d love that, it closed at nine, so we wouldn’t even be able to get in anyway.”

Garcia’s mind thundered furiously as she tried to come up with some way to get you in that freaking building. “Let’s just walk past! Take a peek through the windows, see what we can see!”

Something in you sensed that she wasn’t going to let this go, so you relented as she finagled some sort of street parking that was definitely illegal. You could barely get your seatbelt off before she was dragging you the stone steps, the massive corinthian columns looming. You squeaked a quick Penelope! and tried to keep up. Entirely ready to give up and head back to the car when she tried the door, your mouth fell open in shock when it gave way with ease. 

“Oh, look! It’s open! Let’s go inside.”

She didn’t wait for you to respond before she was ducking in the building, and you followed, completely and utterly baffled. Stumbling into the atrium, you were met by a receptionist at the desk. She smiled warmly, “Miss (Y/L/N), I presume?”

You nodded slowly before turning to Garcia whose devious smirk was undeniable. “Penny, what is going on?”

She grabbed your hands and looked at you with tears in her eyes. (Where the hell did those come from?) “Just remember that you’re a very forgiving person, and that sometimes the smartest of us can also be the most stupid.”

Furrowing your brows at that slightly cryptic message, you went to respond when the receptionist stood and said, “If you would, miss, please follow me.”

And so you walked with this stranger through the empty halls, the click of her heels echoing. It was odd to see a space that was normally flushed with people completely empty, and you studied the walls as you walked. “Um, may I ask what’s going on?”

The receptionist grinned, “I’m sorry, but I’m under strict instructions from Dr. Reid to not reveal anything.”

Strict instructions from Dr. Reid. You gasped a little at that, and your thoughts raged with possibilities of what Spencer could possibly have planned. If this was an elaborate attempt at an apology, you were a little overwhelmed; the little dispute this morning absolutely did not necessitate a response of this degree. Sure, you were disappointed, and you needed time to deal with it away from him, but you weren’t mad at him, not really. You had talked about marriage and knew that it was something you both wanted, but you had never discussed when. If he wasn’t ready to marry you quite yet, that was fine; you’d adjust. You were pretty sure you’d wait a whole lifetime for him. Besides, you had sprung it on him quite abruptly, and you knew Spencer and that he was not always well-equipped to deal with monumental change, and how could you blame him for that? You’d wait as long as he needed. 

“Here we are!”

Her words broke you from your thoughts, and you looked up to realize you were at the Hall of Fossils. (You had always been fond of the dinosaurs.) Glancing at the girl, you asked, “What do I do now?”

She laughed a little at that. “Just go inside. Take a look around.” And with that, she turned around, leaving you to wander the exhibit. 

So you ambled easily through the prehistoric relics and fossilized memories of a past Earth. It was rather haunting, the eerie silence and the illuminated dinosaur skeletons. You peered down at one of the explanatory plaques and instead found a blue post-it note. COLD. A grin wormed its way onto your face, and you jogged a little to the next plaque. GREENHOUSE GASES—WARMER. Spencer was always one for a game. So you zig-zagged through, collecting post-its. GLACIAL PERIOD—COLDER. CRETACEOUS WARMING. EOCENE KIND OF HOT! 

With the last note, you looked up and gasped yet again. Spencer was standing in a sea of different plants and flowers placed throughout the central clearing, and donning his signature tight-lipped smile and your favorite of his cardigans, he gave you a small wave. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Your response was breathless, and now that you had met his eyes, you couldn’t tear yours away. A weight lifted from your lungs, it was such a relief to see him, and you hadn’t realized how much you had missed him in the hours you spent apart until you could breathe properly again. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He chuckled at that, but the tension in his shoulders never released; he was clearly anxious, but for what reason, it was hard to say. 

An amusing gleam in his eye, he replied, “Same to you.” 

“How did you get into the museum after hours?”

He took the moment to examine the toes of his shoes, replying delicately, “I have friends in high places.”

“Ah, Dr. Reid, I always forget that you ruled the world of academia before your time fighting crime.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “Do you remember our first date?”

You gave him a tender smile, and his racing heartbeat eased ever so slightly, you just had that kind of effect on him. “Well,” you began, “I remember you were wearing that cardigan, the one that I love, and I was so nervous I thought I was going to pass out—”

“I was definitely more nervous. I was so anxious I forgot who Carl Sagan was at one point.”

“I’d forgotten about that!” You giggled at the memory. “But I remember being in this room, and we were making stupid dinosaur puns, and I believe I told you that you are dino-mite….”

He nodded meekly with a subdued grin. “I think that was the moment I fell in love with you.” Meeting his eyes once again, you felt the wind knocked out of you. The utter honesty you found radiating from his soft golden irises hurt your heart, and it was impossible to not believe him. He fell in love on the first date, how sweet and lovely and perfectly Spencer is that?

You took a breath and began to walk closer, skimming a hand over the lush greenery around you. “You know, the last time I was here, I didn’t remember there being so much flora.” 

As if he had forgotten the miniature forest that surrounded him, he surveyed the plants surrounding him. There was a sea of succulents and ferns and honeysuckle and peonies and almost every other plant under the sun. “Yes, they’re a new addition. And if I recall correctly, it seems that lots of your favorites have made an appearance.”

“It does appear that way.”

He reached out to gently lift one strand of a nearby fern. “I believe you’ve mentioned before that you would ‘take a fern over a flower any day of the week.’”

“That would explain why they seem to be taking over the windowsills of our apartment.”

“True. Did you know that in the Victorian floriography, the fern represented sincerity and humility? So maybe if somebody had made a stupid mistake and they were trying to let someone know that they were really sorry, they might give a fern to say that they know they were being an idiot and they felt really bad for what they did.”

You laughed airily, “No, I was not aware of that fact.”

He closed the gap between you, reaching to tuck an errant lock of hair behind your ear. He simultaneously managed to pull a small bouquet of purple-ish flowers from thin air, causing more laughter to bubble from you. The laughing is a good sign, he thought, grinning. Keep going! “To really drive the point home, they might also give some columbine which represents foolishness.”

You looked up at him, your expression bright. “Oh man, this guy feels really bad.”

“Yeah,” he agreed before his words took a more somber cadence. “Yeah, he does.”

Your face softened. “Spence—” 

“Um, before you say anything else, (Y/N), I just need to let you know how sorry I am for this morning. I love you so, so much, and I never want you to doubt that, and—”

“Spencer, slow down. Really, it’s okay! I’m not mad.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not angry with me, but it’s not okay because you still deserve an apology. A good apology. So,” he took a deep breath, “I am so very sorry for my actions and for letting you think for even a second that you’re not the most important thing in my life, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you that I want to marry you when you asked because I do. I really, really do.”

Something warm and elated simmered in your stomach, and you beamed at him. “I’m glad because I wanna marry you too.” But before you could get too caught up in the moment, you remembered your earlier thoughts. “I don’t want to push you in any way, though, or make you commit to anything before you’re ready because marriage is kind of a big deal, and I’m happy to wait. Spencer Reid, I’d wait for you forever.”

“I don’t want to wait.” He shook his head and began digging in his pocket. 

Your eyes widened in shock and spluttered, “Spence, seriously, if you’re not ready—”

“I am ready.” Finally, he found it and pulled out a small velvet box, looking you dead in the eye. “(Y/N/N), I have been planning this for so long because I wanted it to be perfect for you. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and I wanted to give that to you.”

His admission gave you pause. “Wait, you’ve had this planned?”

“I’ve been planning this for months! This isn’t me trying to fumble around and fix my mistake. I have a binder and everything, you can ask Derek. That’s the only reason I said no!”

“You said no because you had a binder for your proposal plan?” you teased.

You both broke out into laughter at that.

Recovering his breath and trying to suppress his ever-growing grin, he said, “No, that’s not why. The only reason I said no earlier is because I needed to show you how much I wanted to say yes. You deserve the best, you deserve every star in the sky and every beautiful thing on this earth, and I wanted to make sure I gave that to you when we decided to spend the rest of our lives together because I want to be enough for you.” Trying to swallow around the slug in his throat, he continued, voice breaking slightly. “This is me giving you all the love I have to offer. You’re it for me, (Y/N). And frankly, I don’t want to spend another second without you.”

He settled on one knee and opened the box, looking up at you with the gentlest gaze and a pounding heart. The wetness of your eyes matched his, and you gave him a watery smile. “I’m saying yes now. I would really, really like to marry you, (Y/N/N), if you’ll still have me.”

“Of course, you absolute dork.” Yanking him up from the ground and grinning like a madman, you grabbed his face and pulled him in for the messiest kiss. He clutched your waist and held you as close as he could possibly manage. (His desire to never be parted seemed to be coming to fruition in the sort of melding of bodies that was occurring.) Clashing teeth and knocking noses, it was hard to settle things when neither of you could stop beaming. Overwhelmed by the complete and utter joy bubbling up in his chest, Spencer hugged you tightly before spinning you in a circle, both of you devolving into boisterous giggles. 

“Wait,” he murmured. “I forgot to give you the ring, I still need to seal the deal!” To which, you responded with another peal of laughter (something he thought he would never tire of hearing), as his trembling fingers floundered for the ring.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, but I’ll take it either way.”

He finally secured, and taking your hand in his ever so gently tenderly, he slid a glimmering emerald on your finger. 

“Oh, Spencer, it’s beautiful.” He let out a sigh of relief. With light confusion, you asked, “What’s the sigh for, handsome?”

“I know you wanted a special ring, but when I went ring shopping with Derek, there was nothing I thought you’d like, so I special-ordered one from this shop that was going to be your size and everything, but that ring wasn’t going to be ready for a couple weeks. So today, when I knew I had to propose tonight, I ran to that vintage store you love and came across this one, and I thought you’d like it, but I wasn’t sure it was gonna fit, and—”

“I love it,” you looked at him, trying to will him to understand the depth of your sincerity. “And it fits perfectly!”

“How serendipitous.” He thought his face was going to split in half, he was smiling so wide. He couldn’t stop looking at the ring on your finger. How could one silly little rock make tears well in his eyes? Nonetheless, the sight of it made his heart race and his stomach churn with unrepentant butterflies because looking at it, he knew the girl he loved more than anything else on the planet, his favorite person had chosen to spend the rest of her life listening to his rambles and laughing at his jokes and sitting next to him by the pond in the park. The listless dream that had seemed so hopeless and romantic finally came to fruition in that shiny green stone, so no, he would not stop staring. 

“Indeed,” you mused, subtle and irresistible risibility fizzing in the silence that followed. You contemplated for a moment before asking, “What do we do now?”

A thoughtful frown graced his lips, and then he shrugged. “We have the museum until midnight. We could just wander for a bit.”

Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and you tugged on his sleeve, your excitement palpable. “I’ve always wanted to be in a museum when no one’s around at night! Oh my god, Spencer, it’s just like Night at the Museum!”

He quirked a brow, and a sly smirk turned up the corners of his mouth. “Does that mean I have to protect you when the dinosaur skeletons come to life?”

You scoffed, “Please, we both know that I’d be the one protecting you.”

Another devolution into giggling. It seemed to be your thing tonight.

“Fair enough.” 

“Also, do we get to keep all of these plants?” His eyes remained glued to your flushed face as you peered around the room. He wasn’t ashamed to admit just how besotted he was, shamelessly beaming at his fiancée. 

“I bought them for you, so yeah.”

“Sick! Our apartment’s gonna turn into a little greenhouse!”

He extended a crooked arm to you, to which you looped yours in his and proceeded to set off on your museum adventure. You learned your head on his shoulder as you walked, completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.

“Hey, Spence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you very much.”

“I love you too, dear.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #anyone else obsessed with winston bishop? #i'd die for him #also can anyone tell that my fav literary device is polysyndeton #bc i feel like i use it way too often :/ #actually i don't care! #bc i love it #also i counted three allusions in this bad boy if u find them all u get extra credit :) #jkjkjkjk #i hope all of the three people awake rn enjoy this