#just not in to it. so if anyone who Does drink alcohol wants to correct something please do

[mental-jhinstability]

JhinThresh server encourages my High Noon obsession, more at noon

Another ramble by a gay cowboy, about gay cowboys, for my gay (cowboys in spirit) friends.

Some NSFW, nothing directly explicit but there's some level of detail. OOC as always but I've been informed I'm based so... hopefully it's based this time, too?

This specifically is about them being drunk. To start, I headcanon Jhin as an emotional drunk (imagine him getting all emotional about his horse loving him too and practically crying in front of a probably sober Thresh who finds this adorable and jealousy-inducing, because Jhin should giving HIM all that attention) and Thresh as a more relaxed drunk--as in he gets a little more loose-lipped. This will also involve my bartender High Noon Jax, because why shouldn't it. We all know these idiots cannot do anything about their feelings without being beaten over the head with a lamp.

More of another "things I wanna write but probably won't" than a headcanon ramble, but whatever. Jhin comes in to the bar, and Jax already has his first drink (of four) ready by the time he's even at the bar. And, of course, being the weirdo bartender; Jax is already asking him if he's asked out Thresh yet. Giving advice, teasing him. Jhin doesn't respond much, just finishes his drinks and gets out as quick as possible. But now there's an issue; he's a bit drunk and now he has Thresh on his mind. Given that I said he's a more emotional drunk earlier, this is a much bigger issue than he thinks it is. He just heads to the barn, because really what else is there to do when you're a drunk cowboy (aside from fucking and/or killing)?

Thresh is there. He watches as Jhin cries over his horse, talks to it. He's jealous for a few minutes. The horse is getting all this attention, and not him? And then Jhin asks his horse what he should do about his “weird feelings” for a certain man. He doesn't mention Thresh's name, but now Thresh is even MORE jealous. Who's this other guy stealing his victim slash weird crush? Unforgivable. I haven't really imagined much past this, and I'm no good with smut, but Thresh probably gets a little drunk himself, reveals himself to Jhin, who is now cagey and cold to Thresh due to not wanting to admit the guy he loves was him, and then Thresh fucks him because he's jealous. Maybe involving a riding crop. And Thresh's chain/rope/thing. And possible admission of feelings. Who knows.

And a second part… flirting. Their flirting is really weird, because they don’t. They just do a LOT of homoerotic touches and things for each other. Both of them realise this, but neither rationalise it correctly and think the other doesn’t think it’s homoerotic. They think they’re enemies/rivals/begrudging friends, despite both of them feeling attached to the other. I went over the physical homoerotic touch aspects in both of my previous rambles, but I guess I’ll go for other ways here.

Thresh tends to braid Jhin’s horse’s hair the same way he always does it. He doesn’t do a particularly good job and Jhin always scolds him and says “that’s not how you do it, you fool” etc etc until he’s giving Thresh a lecture on how to braid hair. This goes on until Jhin ends up just grabbing Thresh’s hands and “guiding him” (aka just doing the whole thing for him) through it. Thresh knows full well how to braid hair after the first time; but he continues to do it just so he has Jhin’s full attention. As I’ve mentioned he cannot rationalise this in a normal way (“This is torture because I’m taking his time and energy away from more important things, to make him easier to break”) and neither can Jhin. He likes teaching Thresh but he’s not sure why (it’s because he likes feeling in control, as well as the feeling of having Thresh as a captive audience) and instead chooses to think it’s just because he likes being correct. It’s flirting, just nonverbally.

On the same note, Jhin tends to make an effort to argue with Thresh over things. Anything, regardless of how monotonous or how pointless the argument is. He likes getting an anger reaction out of Thresh. He finds it hot (which he mistakes for just being an adrenaline addict; they’re not all buddy-buddy so he figures it’s only natural to get worked up by your enemy/rival getting angry at you). He gets genuinely upset when Thresh doesn’t react or argue back or even concede. He wants something other than constant teasing or silence, and when he doesn’t get that something, he gets a bit fussy and usually ends up touching Thresh in some way to rile him up. Sexually or non-sexually, it doesn’t matter. It gets a reaction and he gets to touch Thresh, so it’s a win-win.

If we combine the two, drunk flirting. Jhin gets emotional, so with enough provoking from Thresh usually you can get a flirty comment—albeit vague and a bit unorthodox—from him. He still tries to maintain a mask of indifference or hatred towards him when drunk but he falls on his face and ends up letting a few things, whether they be emotions or words, slip. Thresh, being loose-lipped, is usually the one to end up very explicitly flirting with Jhin when drunk. Compliments his body, calls him cute and pathetic, says he wants to hear him scream. He, of course, has some level of plausible deniability with these comments when sober, but when drunk he doesn’t tend to defend himself. He never admits it’s flirting, but he’ll not say no. Oh also they both get horny when drunk so if they’re later in to their homoerotic rivalry they probably fuck. Up to you.

Also… please read the tags of this post. There’s a few little related side tangents in there, if you’re interested.

#jhinthresh #i feel like they also flirt thru doing things for eachother without saying anything #jhin cleaning thresh's stuff. thresh making sure jhin's riding helmet is somewhere very visible (usually on the floor just to piss him off) #just to serve as a little reminder to be safe. though i mentioned how he rationalises that last ramble post #he's worried about his little bf </3 #i have no idea how alcohol works if you can't tell. i have gotten tipsy about once and i've been able to drink for... how many years now #well over a decade #just not in to it. so if anyone who Does drink alcohol wants to correct something please do #i'd also like to apologise for any spelling errors/weird mistakes i didn't catch #i nearly died today so i'm a little shaken LOL #anyway shoutout to jamie (can i call you that) for encouraging the High Noon Virus #he was the one who got me in to jhinthresh albeit indirectly so to me he's a bit like a celebrity #well. all of you are kinda like that to me. you are so cool #but every time someone says they like my little headcanon rambles it's like !!!!!?????!!! #so thanks y'all <3

[cobragardens]

Notes on the Scene in Job's Basement

Crowley is not tempting Aziraphale here. He's experimenting on him.

Getting Aziraphale to sin, or even getting him drunk, is not Crowley's intent in this scene. Eating food, taking pleasure in food, drinking alcohol, and even being drunk are not sins in most of Judaism or Christianity (and they're certainly not sins in British Christianity, regardless of any church's doctrine). When Aziraphale turns down alcohol, Crowley just suggests he try food instead; so it's not important to Crowley what Aziraphale tries, but it is important to him that he try something.

This scene is also the first time (chronologically) we see that Crowley likes to drink and likes to be drunk.

We know from

and from

as well as from Book Omens and Word of God that angels have no instinct beyond curiosity pulling them toward eating or toward gender. From this we can reasonably presume they have no instinct toward Beverages either.

That means that in this moment--

--Crowley is very likely the only metaphysical entity he knows on either side of the divide, or even knows of, who has ever experienced a physical pleasure.

And he probably has some Lingering Questions about it, like we all did the first time a physical pleasure blew our minds. Like,

Is it this strong for everyone?

Is there something wrong with me?

Am I going to hurt myself if I do this, like, a lot?

And it's not like the poor creature can ask anyone, because the answers for humans aren't necessarily going to apply to him.

So when he sees an opportunity, Crowley gets that one angel he knows who'll talk to him to try a human thing, and then he watches to see if physical pleasure hits the angel as hard as it hit him.

And that's why he looks so creepily pleased when it does.

Apparently it is this strong for everyone and there isn't anything wrong with him. Now he can relax and get sloshed without worrying, and he even has someone to talk to about how rad human stuff is.

A Dip Into Speculation

We know because we're shown this isn't the first time Crowley has gotten drunk that, watching Aziraphale, Crowley understands what he's seeing. I think it's really interesting that Crowley doesn't laugh at Aziraphale at any point during this scene, and he doesn't correct the way he's eating, either.

Maybe it's because this is what it was like for Crowley the first time. Maybe he got so drunk he passed out and woke up in a puddle of his own sick. Maybe he got so drunk he passed out and didn't wake up at all, and there was Paperwork and he had to get used to a whole new corporation just when he'd got the hang of having legs in the old one. Maybe somebody had to show him how to use a fork or whatever they had going on for eating utensils in Ancient Mesopotamia. I distinctly remember having to learn as a small child to chew with my mouth closed. There is every possibility Crowley doesn't consider the way Aziraphale is eating to be worthy of ridicule because whatever Crowley did the first time was worse.

Maybe he wants to leave Aziraphale set up for later embarrassment over his table manners. Aziraphale was a judgy bitch about the wine.

Or maybe it's something like Let him have this one. There can be rules to it later; let him just enjoy it, once, like a little kid with both fists in their birthday cake.

Maybe it's desire. There is some textual evidence for this. Once Aziraphale learns to eat properly, the way he does it is very attractive, and we know Crowley loves watching him do it.

I don't think it's overreaching even to interpret David Tennant's physical performance of Crowley watching Aziraphale eat as one of sensual or erotic pleasure. I mean--

I'm not saying it absolutely has to be erotic, but it's not a reach, or even a full extension of the elbow, to read it that way.

There's another meta somewhere [I'll link it when I find it again; if you know this meta, please drop it in comments!] that discusses how this exchange in Job's basement is filmed like an erotic scene.

Like Crowley, we all want to kiss this face.

Aziraphale isn't eating prettily, but he's eating lewdly, ravenously, desirously, and it's lit like romantic sex, not like gluttony. Whether that's funny or poignant or hot may depend on the viewer. Here's how Crowley's handling it:

Srs tho, any frame of this scene could have been painted by Artemisia Gentileschi.

Or maybe--and this is my favorite of the available interpretations--maybe this is what it was like for Crowley the first time and he doesn't interfere because he wants Aziraphale to come out of this as someone who's had the same experience Crowley's had so Crowley won't be so totally alone in having had it.

#good omens #good omens s2 #companion to owls #good omens 2 #good omens job's basement

[avis-writeshq]

02 — haunted

summary: “something’s gone terribly wrong, you’re all i wanted.”/“you’re not gone, you can’t be gone.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst warnings: rated 16+ for alcohol, religious talk (inaccurate portrayal of Christianity), vomit, INCREDIBLY CANON COMPLIANT ‼️IF YOU WERE TRIGGERED BY S2 EP15 REVELATIONS IN CRIMINAL MINDS, DO NOT READ THIS‼️ wc: 10.1k a/n: another special mention to @astrophileous for beta reading and hyping me up!! love you loads zahra 🤎 (she's also doing an AMAZING derek morgan series that i have the honour in beta-in so if you have time please do check it out!! it is an absolute work of art) SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

There is never a dull day when working at the BAU. After weeks of cases and paperwork, a night out was exactly what everyone needed. A place to get drunk, have fun and unwind– and O'Keefe's was the exact place to do just that.

“You know, you can at least try to look like you’re having fun,” Emily muses, nudging your shoulder. 

Emily joined the team soon after Elle had resigned, and as much as you missed your friend, you enjoyed Emily’s company. She’s too observant for her own good; grinning at you from across the room whenever you have the slightest interaction with certain people. She’s a brilliant addition to the team, much to your chagrin, but you know it’s all in good fun. Well, all in good fun for her.

You shoot her a playful glare, sipping on your drink. “I am having fun!”

“Liar,” Emily says instantly, grinning at you. “C’mon, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you deny, “I’m just tired. Things have been… busy to say the least. I’m just glad that the team is getting some R&R. Well deserved, might I add. How are you? You know, with joining the team and all that.”

She smiles in your direction before downing a shot and shrugging. “It’s been good! Yeah, everyone is so… welcoming. It’s nice.”

“Different to a desk job?” You ask with a teasing lilt in your voice. 

Emily laughs softly. “Yeah, totally.”

Your gaze shifts to where Spencer is sitting, for once enjoying himself in such a crowded area. He’s talking to two strangers at a table, his hands gesticulating as he explains something and the two people seem thoroughly amused. 

“So… Spencer, huh?”

You frown. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Emily laughs, “You’re staring at him with heart eyes. Anyone can tell. Except for him, apparently.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“For a profiler, you’re a horrible liar.”

You let out something that sounds akin to a dying cow, turning your attention back to your drink. Your attention wavers and it shifts back to Spencer who is enthusiastically talking about something to the two amused guests. He grins at them as they drink, his own cup still full. Derek is thoroughly enjoying himself as he dances with a group of girls, and you can see Aaron and Haley dancing together on the floor as well. It’s wholesome, seeing everyone in their casual wear and just having fun.  

“You should talk to him,” Emily tries again, nudging you. “I’ll buy you a drink if you do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re bribing me to talk to my best friend?”

“I’m bribing you to give me entertainment,” she corrects, laughing.

“You’re horrible,” you tell her, smiling, as you walk past her in Spencer’s direction. “I expect that drink to be delivered to me.”

“Deal!” She calls after you, downing a shot as she watches you. 

Spencer smiles when he sees you make your way over to him, shuffling his chair to the side to give you more room. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, pulling your seat closer to him. “Having fun?”

“I should be asking that to you,” you respond, smiling. The two people he was once talking to take their leave, giggling about something you couldn’t quite make out. “I didn’t mean to scare away your company.”

He immediately shakes his head at your words. “I’d rather talk to you anyway.”

You can’t help the silly grin that spreads across your face or the way your cheeks heat up and you cough. “Well, I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

Spencer laughs, his hand gravitating to your knee and he squeezes good-naturedly. “You exceed them.”

You think he’s trying to kill you and you swear you stop breathing as you choke out, “I’m glad.”

It isn’t long before Emily makes good on her promise, and a waiter appears on your left. He presents a drink to your table, the glass adorned with a lemon rind and a raspberry, and you eagerly take a gulp. 

Spencer frowns a little as he watches you drink. “Aren’t you going to question who it’s from?”

“I know who it’s from,” you respond cheerfully, letting out a contented sigh. You offer the drink to him, moving the straw so that it’s pointing in his direction. “Want some?”

He eyes the pink drink suspiciously. “What is it?”

“It’s a Pink Bikini!” You chirp, sipping the drink again. “Like… coconut rum, raspberries, and lemonade. It’s good, Spence, you can barely taste the alcohol.”

His nose scrunches at the idea of coconut rum. “I dunno.”

“You’re not gonna get drunk from one sip,” you protest happily, a little tipsy. “It’s good! Besides, how do you know you’re not going to like it if you never try it?”

“You’re literally drunk right now!” He points out, laughing a little and moving the drink out of your reach. “Give it to me.”

“That’s only because I had a couple drinks earlier,” you argue, lunging for the glass. You’re quick but Spencer is quicker (and taller), and he chugs the drink before slamming it back onto the table. “Spencer!”

He grins at you, smacking his lips as he plays with the paper straw. “I’m protecting you, (Y/N). Who knows what you would’ve done if you drank any more.”

“You’re insufferable,” you chastise half-heartedly, “I was thirsty.”

“I have water,” he says, fishing a plastic bottle out of his satchel. He cracks the lid open, taking a sip himself before passing it to you. “Drinking even moderate amounts of alcohol can lead to dehydration. Drinking water slows down this effect, allowing the liver to metabolise the alcohol that was already consumed. This also means you won’t have as bad a hangover tomorrow morning.”

You beam at him, taking tentative sips from his water bottle. The fact that you’re drinking from the same bottle as him is not lost on you, nor the fact that he finished your drink by using your straw– your lipgloss stained straw– and he didn’t even bat an eye. 

“What would I do without you?” You croon, handing his bottle back. 

“Probably die of dehydration,” he responds, taking one last gulp of water, before returning the bottle back to his bag. 

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” you laugh again, beaming at him. You’re not sure if it’s from the drinks, but you can feel your cheeks begin to flush. Did it get hotter in here?

“Hey, sorry to be the bearer of bad news but we have a case,” JJ pats your shoulder sympathetically, frowning. “Horrible timing, but it’s urgent.”

You all but whine. “But I’m tipsy.”

“I’ve got aspirin in my bag,” JJ says, “you’ll be fine.”

“Stupid serial killer,” you huff, getting up from your seat. “They owe me a day off.”

*** 

“You know it never fails. Just as I’m getting my groove thang going, bam! We’re back at the BAU,” Derek says, pouring himself a much needed cup of coffee and sitting at the roundtable.

Spencer shrugs. “You know, statistically, a case doesn’t come in with any more frequency if you’re at a party or gathering than if you aren’t. It’s a… trick of the mind. We merely remember the ones that came in that way more.”

“Besides, how long does it take for you to get your ‘groove thang’ going anyway?” You tease, sipping from your own cup of coffee, and Emily cackles from beside you. 

“Only when he’s sleeping,” Gideon comments, walking into the conference room and taking off his coat. 

Hotch’s brows raise in a mixture of surprise and concern. “Where were you tonight?”

“I told you, I went to the Smithsonian,” he grunts as he sits into his chair.

“You missed a good time,” Emily insists, smiling.

“I had a good time,” Gideon responds, his attention turning back to the screen where JJ was getting ready to present the latest case. 

“Well, that’s definitely over,” she says, flicking the screen on. “Georgia. The Kyles– Dennis and Lacy– were murdered an hour ago in the suburban Atlanta home.”

Hotch’s brows raise in surprise. “An hour ago?”

JJ nods. “Police were on the scene unusually fast.”

“Why?” Derek asks, leaning over the table.

“One of the UnSubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims.”

You huff out a laugh in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“From inside the house.” JJ purses her lips, gesturing to the transcript that was printed out in their files. “According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there before the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there.”

“‘Sinners’?” Hotch echoes.

JJ nods again, a grimace painted over her features. “The 911 centre is going to send Garcia the tape.”

“How fast was the police response time?” Spencer asks, glancing at the screen.

“Four minutes, twenty-six seconds. During which time Raphael was able to do…” JJ clicks a button on the remote and an array of gruesome crime scene photos popped up onto the screen. “This.”

“In four and a half minutes?” Emily asks incredulously, frowning. 

Garcia immediately turns away from the screen, clutching her mug closer to her chest. You can’t help but cringe as well from the violence presented in the photos: blood everywhere, smeared across the walls and floors of the house, and the victims lifeless. 

“Mr. Kyle is a dot-com millionaire. His company is one of the largest employers in the community. There’s going to be media coverage. Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed.”

Another image appears on the screen, this time a page of the Bible placed into a plastic evidence bag with a certain section highlighted. 

“Revelation, Chapter 6, Verse 8,” Hotch reads for the rest of the team.

Derek can’t help but scoff. “They’re killing sinners.” 

“These guys are on a mission. And mission-based killers will not stop killing,” Spencer says with a wince. 

“‘And I looked, and behold, a pale horse, and his name that sat upon him was Death,” Hotch begins, eyes trained on the Bible page.

Gideon continues, his voice quiet and grim, “And Hell followed with him.”

*** 

You sigh tiredly as you slump into the seat beside Spencer, playing with the cap of your water bottle. The sky outside is painted in oranges and purples as the sun begins to rise, and you try to hold back the frustrated groan when you see the blaring ‘4:22AM’ flash on your watch. 

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks quietly, looking over at you.

You shake your head, running your fingers through your hair. “I just… I have a bad feeling about this case. There’s something… off about it.”

He hums in thought, “we’ve dealt with religious motives before, though.”

“I know but just–” you huff, leaning against the headrest. “It’s just weird. I mean, usually if one of the UnSubs were partnered with someone who was a liability, they’d eliminate them. But that’s just not happening here.”

“Don’t think about the case,” Spencer says gently, resting the palm of his hand flat against your knee. “It’ll be fine, trust me.”

When you don’t respond, he pokes your cheek gently shooting you a lopsided smile. “Hey. It’ll be okay.”

“I hope it will be,” you respond quietly, moving so that your cheek is pressed against his shoulder. “But you saw those images; what the UnSubs can do in less than five minutes. I know it’s nothing we haven’t seen before but–”

“(Y/N).” He squeezes your knee again and you flush as he continues to speak. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be back home before you know it. Trust me.”

You nod, although you can’t shake this feeling off. “Promise you’ll be safe?”

Spencer smiles at you. “Promise.”

*** 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you mutter, turning away as the video of Mr. Kyle being murdered plays on repeat. Your stomach churns at the mere mental image that pops up in your mind, and a chill run downs your spine. 

The case is a lot more gruesome than you expected it to be, especially when it came to the team’s attention that a video of the murder was circulating the internet. The video was currently being played on loop, with the voice of the UnSubs playing out of the computer. You thought you saw it all but this was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

That is, until Spencer stood from his seat. 

“Agent Franks?” He whispers, looking towards the lead detective. “Does this building have wireless internet?”

Agent Franks nods. “Yeah. Why?”

Spencer swallows, gesturing to the computer. “That camera’s on right now. The computer has connected itself to the internet; it’s streaming a video feed somewhere.”

Hotch’s concern only deepens, along with the frown on his face. “Can we trace the stream to the destination?”

“If we keep it open, Garcia might be able to–” Spencer begins, only to be cut off by a beeping from the computer.

In bright red lettering, the words: ‘THE ARMIES OF SATAN SHALL NOT PREVAIL’ flash against the black screen before turning off.

“So, they’re controlling it remotely?” Hotch asks, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is that even possible?” Emily asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah, you can totally access someone’s computer remotely. It’s actually done a lot today when a mortal calls for tech support. Instead of giving you instructions the tech can work on your computer from wherever she is,” Garcia explains through the phone. 

“And they maintain the access even after the work is done?” Hotch asks.

“They’re not supposed to, but I suppose you could install a Trojan horse.”

Spencer turns to Gideon. “Something left in the computer to be turned on later. It’s the same way that websites get pop-up ads onto your computer.”

“Garcia can you check the Kyles’ phone records and see if they called tech support in the last six months?” Hotch requests as he flips through the Kyle family’s folder. 

“Right-o. Oh, and if you get me the laptop I can search the drive for anything implanted there.”

Hotch nods. “As fast as we can.”

“By the way, this video? It’s gone crazy viral.”

Gideon frowns. “What does that mean?”

“That means it’s the most downloaded video on the entire Internet. Worldwide. And judging by the responses people seem to think it’s pretty cool.”

“Call us if you find anything on the Kyles’ computer,” Hotch mutters, before the phone hangs up.

“Honestly, they probably don’t even realise that the video is real,” you say quietly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I mean, you see a video on the internet. The last thing you’d think is that it’s actual people being murdered.”

“They probably think that it’s marketing for a horror film or something,” JJ adds on, but the look on her face is just as disgusted.

“Well, the UnSubs were right about one thing,” Derek mutters, nodding grimly. “The world is pretty screwed up.”

*** 

After hours of going through files and trying to find a paper trail, you’re left with a mountain of paperwork in front of you and sore eyes. You press the pads of your fingers against the corner of your eyes, slumping over the table. 

“Hey.” 

Spencer’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and you peek a look at him. “Hm?”

A takeaway cup of coffee is placed in front of you and you immediately perk up. He chuckles softly, patting your head. “You looked like you needed it.”

You spy the name written across the paper cup and frown. “It’s your coffee.”

“You need it more than me,” he says honestly, smiling. “Besides, I’m okay.”

You take a tentative sip of the drink, the sweetness of the sugar overwhelming the bitter taste of the coffee but you don’t mind it. Instead, you didn’t actually mind it; especially because it’s from him. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. “We can share it if you want.”

He shakes his head ‘no’, turning back to the files on the page. “Where did you get up to?”

“Nowhere special. Agent Franks is right; there’s nothing in any of the files relating to knife fights that are remotely similar to the case,” you say, slumping against the table and leaning your head on your arm. “I’ve got six or so left to go through but I’m not getting much luck anyway.”

At that moment, JJ enters the room, holding another cream coloured file. “What if we were looking at this the wrong way?”

Hotch turns to her. “What do you mean?”

“I looked for unsolved home invasions. Three months ago there was a prowler called in directly outside of the Kyles’ house.”

Your brows knit together at her words and look up at her. “A prowler?”

JJ nods. “The witness was walking his dog in a nearby park. Going back to his car, he saw a man in dark clothing go over the back wall and start sneaking up to the house. By the time the police got there, the prowler was gone.”

“Only one man?” Hotch asks. 

“Apparently.”

“Was the witness able to describe the man?” Spencer questions.

JJ looks into the papers before shaking her head. “If he did, it’s not in this case file.

Hotch looks at JJ then back at the corkboard. “Is there a name and address to the witness?”

“Tobias Hankel,” JJ reads. “Lives about an hour from here.”

Hotch lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. “It’s a long shot, but he might be able to give us a description. Why don’t you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr Hankel, and see if he remembers anything.”

You immediately frown, perking up at his words. “I can go too, sir. There’s a safety in numbers.”

“You’re exhausted and we need you here,” Hotch says, immediately shutting your suggestion down. “We don’t need three people to talk to a witness.”

Your face falls and your stomach churns. “I understand that, sir, but it’s late and wouldn’t it be safer if more people go?”

“We’ll be fine,” Spencer reassures, squeezing your arm. “We’ll be armed and we’ve got our phones.”

A small breath escapes you and you nod slowly, chewing your bottom lip. “Okay. Be safe.”

He smiles. “I will.”

JJ snickers lightly, turning to Hotch. “Be safe,” she echoes, grinning.

Hotch can’t help but chuckle as he returns with, “I’ll be so safe.”

“Oh shut up,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “I’m gonna kill you.”

JJ grins. “But how will that keep us safe?”

You throw an eraser at her shoulder in response and she laughs loudly, walking out of the room. Spencer squeezes your arm again, rubbing your shoulder through the fabric of his jumper before following after her. 

It isn’t long before the lead detective rushes into the room, his words flying out of his mouth. “Agent Hotchner, we got another murder.”

*** 

“Tobias Hankel is the UnSub.”

Five words is all it takes for your world to come crashing down around you. Hankel? The UnSub? Your mouth is dry as the head detective explains about the dogs and you think you’re going to throw up. Your mind spins and your chest pounds with anxiety because oh God, what’s going to happen to the others? 

“We sent Spencer and JJ there,” you whisper, your throat closing up. You tug desperately at your collar, trying to breathe. “Oh my God, we sent them there. We sent them there.”

“Hey, hey,” Derek is quick to ground you, gripping your shoulders firmly. “They’ll be okay. It’s Spencer Genius Reid and Jennifer Bad-ass Jareau. They’ll be okay.”

You shake your head firmly, pulling away from his grasp and clutching your head. “I should be there with them. I should have gone with them. We don’t know what Tobias is capable of, Morgan, something could have happened to them.”

“We’re dispatching police now,” the detective says, getting off the phone. 

Tears spill from the corners of your eyes and you try to keep your breathing steady. It doesn’t work. The room is spinning and you can’t see straight. The words your team are trying to get through to you fades into background noise and you let out a choked sob. 

“They could be–” Your words don’t make it off your tongue and you turn, gesturing to the black screen that was once playing the video of the woman and the dogs. “Oh my God.”

“(Y/N),” Emily holds your shoulders tightly, her words a mixture of firmness and care as she tries to snap you out of it. “They’re going to be okay. We have to go there now.”

“They can’t be gone. Spencer can’t be gone,” you say, more to yourself than anything. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go. We have to find them.”

The others don’t need to be told twice. You get into the passenger seat with Emily, trying to calm your breathing. One hour is too long. Why does Tobias have to live so far away? You press the palm of your hand to your mouth, the lump in your throat getting bigger. Hot tears fall down your cheeks as the world becomes a blur of flashing lights and you try not to cry. It’s your fault. You should have been there with him. There’s safety in numbers. Why didn’t you trust your gut?

“Don’t do that,” Emily says sternly, gripping the wheel tighter. 

You can’t bring yourself to respond, merely shaking your head adamantly. 

“Stop blaming yourself,” Emily tries again, glancing at you for a second before turning her attention back to the road. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should be there with them.” Your voice cracks pathetically and you wipe furiously at your eyes.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have.”

She looks at you again. “Stop. You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.”

The rest of the car ride is silent. You’ve learned that this is the hardest part of the job: losing someone. Losing someone because of a job. It seems ridiculous, considering that it’s something so miniscule in the grand scheme of things, and yet it is the most common factor in divorces. A lack of commitment. Instead of committing to something that actually matters and can’t be replaced, their attention turns to something so lacklustre. If Spencer were here he would tell you the exact statistics. If Spencer were here, you wouldn’t even need to think about the statistics. 

The sound of sirens echo through the once quiet country area and the police officers file out of their cars. You fasten your Kevlar vest over your chest hastily, fumbling with the clasps as you jump out of the car. 

“John, Bobby, take the house with Hotch, Gideon and (L/N),” the captain orders, pointing towards the house. 

Your stomach lurches as Hotch busts the door open, and you move upstairs with your gun pointed out. 

“Clear!” You yell, rendezvousing with Hotch and Gideon soon after. 

“Downstairs is clear,” Hotch says, nodding towards you. 

“Then where the hell is he?” Gideon mutters, looking around the rooms of the house.

The blood rushes to your ears and the air grows thick. You can’t breathe. The house is unmaintained with mould growing in the corners of the rooms and dust gathering on the shelves, the paint on the walls cracking from water damage. Your eyes sting as the air pricks at your skin, and your legs carry you down the stairs and out the house.

“JJ,” you breathe, your eyes wide as you meet the blonde sitting at the back of an ambulance. You pull her into a hug. “You’re okay.”

It’s a different JJ to what you’re used to. She’s always been put together with not a hair out of place. She’s usually so full of life and mirth, bringing a sense of serenity and security when you need it most but this… 

Her blue eyes are red and puffy from crying and she’s shaking miserably against your body. She scratches at her wrists and picks at the bandages, her bottom lip trembling. Her gun is set beside her, not in the holster she usually carries it in.

“(Y/N),” she sobs, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” You demand. “Where’s Spencer?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I tried–”

“Where is he, Jennifer?” You ask, pulling away from her like she burned you. “Where is he?”

She sobs again, clutching her head. “I don’t know, we separated–”

“What do you mean you separated?!” You’re trying not to scream. Your thoughts are running a million miles an hour. Spencer is gone. He’s gone. “Why would you do that?”

Jennifer lets out a wail, trying to explain herself through broken words. “We didn’t– he said– I’m sorry I’m sorry–”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t bring him here, does it?” The words are harsh and low, and you tug at your collar again. “He’s not here, Jennifer! Does that mean nothing to you?!”

“(L/N), that’s enough.”

Hotch’s voice makes you snap your head in his direction and you see red. 

“I told you I should have gone with them,” you snap, and it doesn’t even occur to you that this man is your boss. “If I went with them, Spencer would still be here right now!”

“(L/N).”

“No.” You glare at him menacingly, too deep in your anger to even comprehend anything else. “He should be here right now! He should– he should be spouting out statistics or coming up with some theory! He should be here and he’s not!”

“We’ll find him. Trust me.”

“I did!” You yell, your voice fervent. “I trusted your judgement! And look where that got us. Spencer is gone. He’s not here, Hotch, because I trusted you!”

“(Y/N), enough.” Hotch is firm and he stares you down. “That is enough, do I need to remind you who you are speaking to?”

In an instant you stop, your heart lurching and you quiver. “... This is my fault.”

He immediately shakes his head no. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have gone with him. I should have– it’s my fault. It’s my fault.” Your eyes well with tears and you tug at your hair erratically. “He can’t be gone. He’s not gone. He’ll figure something out. Why didn’t I do something? I should have–”

“Stop it. (Y/N), stop.” Hotch grips your shoulders squarely, bending down so that he’s eye level with you. “Take deep breaths.”

Your lungs burn as you try to breathe, hot ragged breaths leaving your lips shakily as you cover your face with the palms of your hands. Tears fall down your cheeks and gather in your hands as you make a desperate attempt to calm yourself down. It’s all too much. The sky is pitch black and the feeling of cold rain stings and bites your skin. The sounds of sirens fade away and for a moment it’s just quiet. Quiet, except for the words and the voices that swirl in your mind. 

“A man that matches Hankel’s description was spotted in the next town over.”

Derek’s words bring you out of your thoughts and you manage a soft, “What?”

“Alright,” Hotch nods, before turning back to you. “Go back to the police department.”

“What?” Your ears are ringing. You must have heard wrong. “No. No, no, I can’t– no, Hotch, I’m not going back to the police department. Spencer is missing.”

“You’re too close to the case.”

A humourless laugh leaves your lips as you stare at him. “We’re all too close to the case, Hotch. Look around!”

“You attacked JJ and you raised your voice at me. I want you to go back to the police department and work the case from there.” He speaks to you as if he were speaking to a child and it makes you feel sick.  

“Oh, so you’re punishing me?”

“No, I’m using you,” he says firmly, and then his voice softens. “It won’t do you any good to be here, (Y/N), you know that.”

“Aaron,” you try again, your voice wavering. “Please, don’t do this to me.”

“Go back and find us something that we can use.” He turns to one of the policemen. “Make sure she gets there.”

The policeman nods, tipping his hat, and gesturing for you to follow him. 

“Wait I– let me talk to JJ. I need– just, please,” you say quickly, clearing your throat. “Sir.”

He’s sceptical before nodding. “Go ahead.”

You don’t need to be told twice. In moments you turn back to the ambulance, letting out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”

JJ shakes her head adamantly. “No, you’re right. It was my fault.”

“It’s not,” you say quietly. “I know Spencer and I know you. It was… probably his idea to split up.”

She smiles wryly, fiddling at the bandage on her arm. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say again. You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince anymore. “You went through something too and I ignored that and that wasn’t right of me. I’m sorry.”

JJ sniffles, pursing her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you respond quietly, patting her arm. “I need to go. Um, Hotch wants me off the case, or something.”

She nods. “Okay.”

You look at her again, the guilt building like bile in your stomach. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” she whispers, wiping the tears away from her eyes. “We’ll find him.”

You don’t respond.

*** 

Everything hurts. His head is pounding and he can feel the sticky blood drip from the side of his head and against his cheek. His feet hurt from each thwack of wood, and his wrists hurt from the handcuffs. It’s cold. So, so cold, and he feels so weak. No amount of knowledge or training could have prepared him for this.

Spencer’s throat throbs from crying. No matter how many times he tries to convince whatever personality is taking over Tobias, it never seems to work. What’s the point of being a profiler if he can’t even save himself?

The creaking of the door brings him out of his thoughts and he jolts. Tobias, at least who appears to be Tobias, enters the room carrying a slaughtered animal. A shiver runs down Spencer’s spine and all he can do is watch. 

“You need to eat,” the man says, his voice strangely soft and oddly calm. 

“What’s your name?” Spencer asks, his voice small.

The man looks back at him. “Tobias.”

“Tobias, who was here before?” The fear is obvious in his voice and Spencer just wishes for an ounce of Hotch’s stoicism or Derek’s bravery. 

Tobias chuckles weakly. “It was probably my father. I’m sorry if he hurt you.”

Before he could comprehend his movements, Tobias takes off his belt and walks over to him. Spencer fears the worst. Did Tobias’s father take over again? He tries to inch away, struggling against the restraints as best he could.

“W-What are you doing?” Spencer asks shakily, trying to pull away from him.

Tobias doesn’t respond, slipping one end of the belt above his elbow. Everything begins to click.

“No, no. Don’t. Please, please don’t.” He resorts to begging. 

In this moment, Spencer hates the way his mind works because he doesn’t need to know the statistics. He doesn’t need to know that 75% of drug abusers started out using pain killers. His head swirls with what Tobias could be using. Codeine? Heroin? Opium? The list goes on and he tries to keep his breathing steady.

“It helps,” Tobias says, ignoring the way Spencer trembles and shakes his head adamantly. “Don’t tell my father. He doesn’t know they’re here.”

Tobias takes the syringe and the bottle out of his pocket and Spencer sobs even harder. He tries to appease him again, shrinking away as best he could in his chair. 

“Please,” he tries again, his chest heaving and tears wetting his waterline. “Please, I don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

“Trust me. I know.”

“Please,” he begs, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Don’t.”

Tobias doesn’t listen. 

The effects are far too quick for codeine, heroin or opium and Spencer can feel it hit. He knows it’s wrong. He can go on for hours about the statistics about it but the feeling so euphoric that he can’t help it. And then he sees it. 

“We have another recruit as well. Came in a couple weeks ago,” Derek told him, walking him through the halls of the BAU headquarters. “She’s part of the academy Honours program. Top of the class, apparently.”

“Oh.” Spencer nodded slowly, fidgeting with the zip of his bag.

Derek grinned. “Relax, kid. You still have the most impressive résumé. She’s just an intern; doing paperwork, mainly.”

“I wasn’t– I wasn’t worried about that,” Spencer stammered, wetting his bottom lip. “I mean– not that I think she isn’t smart or anything. I just meant–”

“Kid, I mean it when you have to relax,” Derek snorted as he opens up the door to the bullpen “Meet the rest of the team.”

He walked through the doors, ready to make his mark. He’s spent so long believing that he was nothing but now… he took another step, meeting Hotch’s gaze and– he didn’t get very far when something catapulted into his side. There was a flurry of paper work and cream coloured files, case details splayed all over the floor. Spencer grunted a little, tumbling to the ground like a house of cards. 

“Oh, my God, I am– I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going and I was running and I am not used to office attire! I am so sorry!” 

The ramblings of a girl– she couldn’t be older than him, at least, not by much– filled Spencer’s ears and he grimaces. “No, it’s– it’s okay. Don’t– uh– don’t worry about it.”

“(Y/N)...” JJ huffed out a quiet laugh, helping the other girl to her feet. “Are you guys okay?”

“I’m okay,” Spencer said, slowly getting to his feet. 

The girl didn’t do the same, instead scrambling to pick up the multitude of papers that litter the floor. “I’m fine! Just– great. Great. Brilliant.”

Spencer immediately started to reach for the papers, trying his best not crumple them up anymore than they already were. “You’re… the intern?”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, breathless. “I’m still getting used to all…” You gesture wildly to the interior of the bullpen. “... this.”

“(Y/N), meet Doctor Spencer Reid. He’s the youngest addition to the team. Reid, meet (Y/N) (L/N). She’s part of the Academy Honours Program,” Gideon introduces, peering at the two of you from behind his glasses. 

“Hi,” you said meekly, stretching out your hand.

His words hitched in his throat because once he’s gotten past the flying papers and the fact that you literally ran into him, he realises just how beautiful you are. You were right there in front of him, close enough to touch but–

“I don’t shake hands,” he said quietly, the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. His fingers twitch at his sides and he moves them to grip the handle of his satchel. “Sorry.”

You smile at him and his heart thunders in his chest. Is this how Romeo felt when he met Juliet? Or how Charles Bingley felt when he met Jane Bennett? 

“It’s okay,” you told him, tucking the papers under your arm. “Don’t worry about it. So, you’re a doctor? That’s really cool!”

“Reid here got accepted into the BAU without even taking a physical exam,” Derek chimed in, practically bragging about Spencer’s intellectual prowess. “Isn’t that right, kid?”

“I’m not an athletic person,” Spencer said awkwardly, his worries dissipating when he heard you laugh good-naturedly. Regardless, he felt the urge to defend himself. “I’m not weak.”

JJ laughed along. “We know, Spencer.”

“I’m not weak… I’m not weak…”

“I don’t give a damn whether you’re weak or strong.” 

Spencer barely manages to blink his eyes open as he hears the familiar timbre of Tobias’s father’s voice fill the room. He’s slowly coming down from the high of the drugs and the room spins as he does. 

“Yell all you want boy,” Tobias sneers, bending down so that he’s eye level with Spencer. “Ain’t no one gonna hear you where you are.”

As if to prove his point, he begins to scream. Deep and rumbly, and it jolts Spencer back to reality. He wishes he was careful. He wishes he was with you.

*** 

“Tobias has dissociative identity disorder,” Garcia explains to you through the phone, and you slap a hand to your forehead. 

“That makes so much sense,” You mutter to yourself, pacing around the room of the police department. “I should have seen it. It was right there in front of me and I missed it.”

Penelope hums, her voice tense with worry. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. No one knew until we started digging into the journals and cross-checking dates.”

“I know but–” You rub your eyes, cringing as stars litter your vision– “it was just so obvious. What else have you gotten?”

It has been a little over ten hours since Hotch sent you back to the police department and you haven’t gotten much sleep. You tried, you swear you tried, but every time you see the terrified face of Spencer and it makes you sick. The whiteboard in front of you is littered with different evidence files and profiles. Profiles on Tobias, profiles on the victims, geographical profiles… the list goes on. 

“We know that Tobias is an addict,” Emily says. “He picked dilaudid as his poison.”

“For someone so hellbent on following the Bible, he’s incredibly hypocritical,” You say, jotting down the words onto the whiteboard. 

“His personality is split into that of his father, Charles, and Raphael,” Emily continues, and you can hear the frown in her voice. 

You’re about to say something when Garcia’s voice raises by an octave. 

“Oh God,” she squeaks, and you can hear the clicking of keys in the background. “Morgan? Emily, get the others, oh my God!”

“What’s going on?” You demand urgently, gripping the phone tighter. “Garcia, what’s going on?”

“It’s Spencer,” her voice is hushed and far from the speaker, and your heart sinks to your stomach.

“What happened? Penelope, what happened?”

“We have to go,” she says hurriedly, and the sound of footsteps from the rest of the team fill the speaker.

“No! Wait, don’t hang—“

The sound of the prolonged dial tone echoes in your ears and you resist the urge to scream. You press the pads of your fingers to your eyes, hot tears wetting your skin. Crying will get you nowhere and you know that. You know that Spencer is holding on. He’s relying on the BAU to save him. 

You gather all the available files on Charles Hankel, spreading them around the table. There’s not much to read; he’s lived a relatively quiet life. He was a farmer, his wife left him… dead end. Again. You’re at your wit’s end and you grab your keys. 

“John, want to work on a federal case?” You ask, shaking your keys. The younger policeman nods eagerly and you point to the door. “Great. Let’s go.”

It’s a small country town in Atlanta. Someone has to know something, especially if Tobias was a drug abuser. 

“We’re going to a few Narcotics Anonymous groups,” You explain to John who looks a little too excited to be sitting in a federal car. “Ask questions on Tobias Hankel and Charles Hankel. Someone has to know something.”

“All due respect, um, ma’am,” John stammers, and you raise an eyebrow amusedly. He coughs before continuing, “why aren’t you with the rest of the team?”

You falter, turning your attention back to the road. “They need me to work it from here. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

Two miserable hours pass by with not much luck. Two hours that could have been used for something more meaningful than asking a bunch of drugged up assholes about the UnSub. Anxiety claws at your chest again as you flick through the answers. It’s nothing you didn’t already know. 

“I got something,” John says a little breathlessly, jogging back over to you. 

“Yes?” You need something. Anything. 

“A few sheep were stolen off of a farmer’s property,” he says, flipping through the notebook and reading off his scrawny handwriting. “Wasn’t Charles a farmer?”

“What does that have to do with–” You feel your mouth go dry and you turn to him. “Which farm?”

“Which– um…” He swallows. “Mcallister? Shawn Mcallister.”

In seconds you’re dialling Garcia again and she picks up with a trembling, “hello?”

“Is Spencer alive?” You ask firmly, slamming the car door. 

“Y-Yes. He’s– it’s not good, (Y/N),” she whimpers, clicking on the keyboard. “There was another murder. Spencer had to– he had to– he had to choose who to save. The UnSub fed a video to us, (Y/N), it’s horrible.”

There was another murder? John seizes up beside you and you grimace. You keep forgetting that John is practically a kid, barely twenty-one, and he hasn’t even seen the horrors of the world yet. 

“But he came back, right? To Spencer?” You ask, gripping the steering wheel tighter in an effort to keep yourself steady. “Penelope, Tobias posted a video of the latest murder, right? When was it posted?”

“9:23,” she says woefully, typing away.

“Okay, and…” you check the police radio, biting your lip nervously. “Okay, it says that the call for the murder came in at 9:04.”

There’s a little static in the background along with some shuffling before she responds. “Um… okay?”

“John, I need a map. Where’s– goddamn it– where’s the map of the area, John?!”

He fumbles, spreading the paper open. “Here!”

“That road– it’s 60 miles an hour, right? That means he needs to be–” you scribble across the map, frowning. “That’s within seventeen miles of the crime scene. There’s a farm, uh, poaching or something. Mcallister farm?”

“We’ll find something,” Penelope says quietly. “I’ll try find the farm area. He is going to be okay, I promise.”

You let out a heavy breath. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

*** 

The guilt alone is enough to kill him. Spencer knows that he is not at fault for this; Gideon said so. Regardless, he can’t get their faces out of his head. They were happy. What if they had kids? They were good people; they didn’t deserve to die the way they did. Spencer’s head pounds as he slumps against the chair, his breath quickening when he realises that Tobias is right there.

“Sorry, I had to leave for a while,” Tobias, the real Tobias, says quietly, strapping the belt to Spencer’s arm again.

He’s felt this so many times now. The high, and then the inevitable low. There’s no point fighting it, Spencer tries to justify, it’s biology. 

“You can leave again,” he says softly, “and you can take me with you.”

“My father would be angry,” Tobias says, drawing the liquid up the syringe.

“Not if he can’t find us.”

Tobias scoffs. “He always finds me.”

“If you tell me where we are, my friends will come and they’ll save us,” Spencer pleads, trying to look him in the eye.

“We can’t be saved,” he says dismissively, flicking the syringe. 

Spencer sniffles, and for a split second he feels the fear course through his veins. “We can. We can, I promise, if you tell me where we are I’ll save us both.”

“Listen to me. It’s not worth fighting.” Tobias pauses, readying the syringe. “Tell me it doesn't make it better.”

The silence that follows is humiliating. He hates the way that he isn’t fighting anymore but he can’t. It’s almost as if his body doesn’t even want to listen to him. Tobias doesn’t waste another moment and the familiar feeling of artificial ecstasy floods Spencer’s mind.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

The phrase was so unfamiliar and Spencer’s brows furrowed as he looked at you. It has been a couple weeks since you were officially indoctrinated into the BAU and he couldn’t be any happier. It felt nice to talk to someone who was his age, especially because he never really knew anyone of his age back in Las Vegas. 

“What do you mean?” He asked. 

You laughed and his heart fluttered in his chest. He remembered the feeling distinctly; how could he forget? The feeling is still the same now.

“I mean… tell me something not a lot of people know about you. Like… okay, I’ll go first. Um… my favourite flowers are hydrangeas. The purple ones.” 

He committed that information to memory. Every year for your birthday he would buy you a new pot of hydrangeas for your apartment or something flower related like an automatic waterer or a replacement sun lamp. 

“Hydrangea macrophylla,” Spencer said slowly, his cheeks flushed. “It means… gratitude, grace, and beauty. It’s fitting.”

He relished in the way your eyes lit up and the way you smiled at him. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Um… my middle name is Walter?” He chuckled awkwardly, wetting his bottom lip. “No one really calls me that, though.”

You typed something on your computer, reading out loud, “The name Walter is Germanic in origin and means ‘commander of the army’.”

His cheeks burned in embarrassment and he nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“I like it.” You grinned at him. “Walter.”

Spencer choked a little, the hairs on his neck standing on end and heat crawling up his cheeks. “You– you don’t have to call me that.”

“I won’t if you don’t like it,” you told him. 

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” he said quickly, his eyes widening. “I’m just not used to it.”

He remembers the way you beamed at him and the way he felt knowing that he made you happy. 

“Well then,” You began, meeting his gaze, “I guess that means I just have to call you that more often.”

Tobias’s yelling brings him back and all he can do is stare as he watches him slam on the keyboard angrily. A bright red pop up is flashing on his computer, and Tobias turns to Spencer with a murderous scowl. 

“They’re trying to silence my message.”

“I can’t control what they do,” Spencer defends tearfully, his voice wavering. “I’m not with them, I’m with you.”

Tobias scoffs again. “Really?”

He types something onto the keyboard and Gideon’s face show’s up on the screen. He’s leaning towards the camera, his words a mantra that Spencer repeats in his mind. 

“Reid,” the crackly audio sounds with Gideon’s voice, “if you’re watching, you’re not responsible for this, understand me? He’s perverting God to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you.”

Tobias slams the computer off, walking back to him. “You think you can defy me?”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about–”

“You’re a liar!”

Spencer can only grimace in response, the words caught in his throat. Tobias must have been able to see something and the fear creeps into his heart again as the man lunges for his arm. Tobias forces Spencer’s sleeve up and the guilt crashes like waves. 

“You’re pitiful,” Tobias sneers, “Just like my son.”

Spencer wracks out a sob, silent pleas of mercy never leaving his lips. Maybe he does deserve this. Maybe, in some sick and twisted way, the universe is out to get him for all his shortcomings. Maybe, he thinks to himself as he watches Tobias turn the camera on, maybe he does deserve to die this way.

“This ends now,” Tobias snarls. “Confess your sins.”

“No,” he whimpers. 

Tobias’s fist collides with the side of Spencer’s face with a resounding slap. 

“Confess!”

“I haven’t done anything…”

His fist meets Spencer’s cheek again and all he can do is recoil in his chair.

“Tobias, help me,” he manages, but his plea is shut down almost instantly. 

“He can’t help you, he’s weak. Confess!” He hits him again and the pain is almost too much to bear. “Confess your sins.”

Spencer sobs. “No…”

In a fit of anger, Tobias throws Spencer to the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts as he feels the back of his head meet the cold musty ground. He can’t breathe. He feels like he’s underwater. Have to breathe, he needs to breathe, why can’t he breathe? He needs to see you again. He can’t die like this. He can’t, he can’t, he needs to breathe. He tries to take a breath of air but it’s like his mouth is full of water. And just when he thinks he reached the surface, he’s pulled under once again. 

Warmth. The feeling of his blood pumping to his ears is the first thing Spencer feels and his fingers twitch. He’s alive. There’s only one reason why that must have happened. 

“I was given CPR,” he rasps out, Tobias’s words swirling in his head. 

“There are no accidents,” Tobias says slowly. “How many members are in your team?”

Spencer can barely whisper the word. “Eight.”

“Seven, not including you. ‘The seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. The first sounding followed hail and they were thrown to Earth’.” He hoists Spencer’s chair upright, standing before him. “Tell me who you serve.”

“I serve you.”

“Then choose one to die.”

Spencer blanches, looking up at him. “What?”

“Your team members. Choose one to die.”

He doesn’t need to think when he responds, “kill me.”

Tobias jeers. “You said you weren’t one of them.”

“I lied.”

“Your team has seven other members. Tell me who dies.”

Spencer breathes in as if it were his last. “No.”

Tobias pulls out a revolver from his jacket pocket, spinning the cylinder before aiming it for Spencer’s head. “Choose, and prove you’ll do God’s will.”

“No.”

Tobias clicks the trigger and nothing happens so he repeats, “choose.”

“I won’t do it.”

The trigger clicks again and nothing happens. “Life is a choice.”

“No.” 

Spencer’s mind is racing. His first thought goes to you. He knows you would understand any and all references he throws in your direction, but it makes him sick just thinking about putting your life on the line. He needs something. He needs to think. 

“Choose.”

“I choose…” his voice stammers and he can barely see straight. “Aaron Hotchner.”

*** 

“We got him.”

The words echo in your mind as you pace up and down your hotel room, chewing on your destroyed nailbeds. It’s nearing two in the morning and you can’t sleep. The rest of the team are awake. Why should you be given the privilege of rest when none of them were able to? Why should you be given the privilege of rest when Spencer is out there fighting for his life? It’s not fair. Life isn’t fair.

When you hear the sirens outside you run out the door. Blood is pulsing in your ears and you’re still wearing the thin hotel slippers but it doesn’t matter. How could anything else matter? The car door clicks open and Emily helps Spencer out of the car. She whispers something to him and he looks in your direction. Those big hazel eyes stare at you with so much hurt and you can’t contain it anymore. 

“Spencer.”

His arms wrap around your waist, his nose pressing against your neck as he holds you, breathing in the smell of your vanilla perfume. He almost doesn’t believe you’re real. He pulls you impossibly closer, sniffling, and he can feel your fingers run through his hair. 

“You’re okay,” you whisper, trying to be reassuring, but he can hear the way your voice cracks. “You’re okay.”

“I should have listened to you,” He whimpers, feeling the cold wet rain soak through his shirt. “I should have– I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be, Walter.”

The moment he hears that name spill from your lips he begins to cry. He’s okay. He’s with you now. You’re right here. 

“I thought–”

You shush him for the first and last time, squeezing his arms. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

He wonders how a person could be so warm. Even in the cold Atlanta weather you’re still so warm. 

“Hotch wouldn’t let me work the case from the house,” you tell him quietly as you sit beside him on the bed. “Understandable. I screamed at him.”

He chuckles a little, flinching when you gently pull the bandage off the side of his face. He feels a lot better now that he’s clean, the shower more than necessary and he savours the feeling of warm water on his skin. The gash on his head is oozing sticky blood and you dispose of it accordingly, reaching into the first aid kit. 

“It’s gonna sting a little,” you tell him, pressing a damp cloth to the wound. 

He hisses at the contact, gripping your arm and he tries to change the subject. “Why did you scream at Hotch?”

You hum, continuing to clean the blood off his head. “I was mad at him.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know.”

You smile at him, applying a new bandage to his head. “It’s okay. I was able to help the case from here, anyway.”

“Stay with me,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. “Please?”

Your gaze softens. “Of course, Walter.”

He curls into your side, an arm wrapped around your middle and he breathes in the scent of your strawberry and honey shampoo. Your fingers curl in his hair, untangling the knots when your eyes flicker to your desk, the letter of resignation tucked inside your bag. He doesn’t need to know that. At least, not yet.

*** 

You knock at the door of Hotch’s office, chewing on your bottom lip. You remember being in this office for the first time four years ago when you were an intern; the way you shook with nerves and anticipation as you handed in your résumé for the honours program and then again when you were hoping to take the job full time. It’s ironic that you’re back at his office again, but for a very different reason. 

“Come in.”

The breath that leaves your lips is shaky and you take a seat in front of his desk. “Hotch.”

“(Y/N).”

You place the pristine white envelope onto the desk,watching the way his face shifts from stoic to surprised.

“You don’t have to do this,” He says, not touching the envelope. “The situation at hand was stressful. No one blames you for reacting the way you did.”

“It’s not just because of that,” you say slowly. “You were right. I was too involved.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say quickly, a humourless laugh slipping at your words. “I would have killed him.”

Hotch looks at you, his eyes meeting yours. “You wouldn’t have.”

“I would have,” you say surely. “After what he did to Spencer, if I had found him I would have killed him. And I would have– I would have slept well. I love this team, Hotch, but I can’t separate those feelings when I’m on the field no matter how hard I try.”

He’s quiet for a moment before nodding, rising from his seat. “I’m assuming it’s a two-week’s notice?”

You nod, also getting up from your chair. “Yeah. I– I don’t want to just leave, you know?”

“We’re going to miss you,” he says, walking with you to the door, “but this will be good for you.”

“I know.” You can feel the stares of the rest of the team through the glass and you can’t help but smile. “They’re horrible at being nonchalant.”

“They’re profilers,” Aaron chuckles. “Can you blame them?”

“I guess not,” you muse, pulling the door open. “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You always have a place here, (Y/N),” he says gently as you walk back down to the bullpen. 

It doesn’t take long before the overflowing dam of questions burst and in moments Emily is crossing the room and sitting next to you. 

“You’re leaving the BAU?”

You look at her with wide eyes before laughing a little. “You… are very good at your job, huh?”

“Oh…” Penelope tackles you in a hug, her arms tight around your frame. “We’re going to miss you.”

JJ sniffles a little, joining the hug. “Don’t forget us.”

“As if I ever could.” A bittersweet smile rests on your lips. 

Derek hugs you as well, his chin on the top of your head. “Look after yourself, kid. We’ll make these last two weeks the best you’ve ever had.”

“If you ever need anything…” Emily begins slowly, squeezing your hands. “I’m here, okay?”

Gideon pats your shoulder lightly, a sad smile on his face. “You’re a good person. Never forget that.”

You nod, trying to blink away the tears that fill your eyes. “I know. Thanks, you guys.”

The opening and shutting of the BAU doors brings you out of your thoughts and the familiar head of brown hair stalking away makes your face fall. Gideon meets your gaze, gesturing towards the door. That’s all you need to run out of the bullpen. 

“Spencer– Spencer, wait, please.” You tug on his arm desperately. “Please–”

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” He asks, his voice cracking. It has only been a few days since the incident and he looks a little better. The scratches on his face are still visible, but they’re fading slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I–” you falter, flinching at the pain and hostility in his voice. “It was never a good time.”

He scoffs quietly, rubbing at his arm. “You should have told me.”

“I couldn’t just randomly tell you,” you say, frowning. “How would that be fair?”

Spencer rubs his eyes, the dark bags beneath them even more prominent. “Why are you leaving?”

“I have to,” you say gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I love this job but I can’t do it anymore–”

“Why not?!”

“Because–!” You exhale, trying to calm yourself down. “Because I swore an oath when I took this job that I will put this country above myself. And I can do that. I would die for this country to protect the people in it, I will hunt down the people who make this country so unsafe and I will sacrifice myself willingly, but you? I can’t– I can’t lose you. If I had to choose between catching the UnSub and saving you, I would save you in a heartbeat. Even if that meant letting a bad guy go. Even if that meant more people would get hurt I would still choose you and I can’t let that happen.”

Your words deem him speechless and he shifts his weight on his feet. For a moment, all he can do is stare at you as your reasoning sinks in. It makes sense. He hates that it makes sense. 

“So that’s it?” He asks quietly, finally looking you in the eye. “You’re actually leaving?”

“Not for another two weeks,” you tell him truthfully. “Besides, you can still text me. And call me. You know where I live so you can always visit.”

He bites the inside of his cheek anxiously, teetering on his feet before hugging you tightly, burying his nose into your hair. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’m going to miss you too.”

His grip is tight around you and if you paid attention you could feel him tremble. “I can’t do this job without you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You can, Walter. You’re stronger than you think you are.”

There are so many things he wishes he could tell you. You’re right here. He doesn’t have to yearn for your touch anymore because you’re right here in his arms. He wants to tell you so many things. Like how he adores the colour of your eyes, or the way you smile, or the way your hair falls. He wants to tell you how much he likes spending time with you and how he feels so good with you but he can’t. The words are at the tip of his tongue so how can he not say anything?

“I–” love you– “I’m really going to miss you.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “Me too.”

← previous part || next part →

full work

reblogs are always appreciated!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x reader angst #criminal minds x reader fluff #criminal minds series #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you

[erwinsvow]

part two of this

you’re still wondering how you ended up like this—rafe’s arm around your shoulder, a cup of water in your hand because he’d decided for you that you’d had enough alcohol tonight, standing in a big circle with his friends. you knew bits and pieces about rafe, some comments your now ex-boyfriend would make in passing—always bad things—and the fact that he was a regular at these parties for more than one reason. but standing next to rafe, with him acting like you belong to him, was something you could have never expected. 

his friends look at you a little curiously, but they’re still nice. rafe stares down anyone who he catches looking at your low hemline or exposed chest. he’s making his rounds to sell yayo, and you accompany him, still just tipsy enough to have lowered your inhibitions and not catch on to the mean way some of the girls look at you.

“wha’s yayo?” you question, looking up at rafe again, like you’ve been doing all night. he’s undeniably handsome, but it seems even more so when he’s being so nice to you like this.

“nothin’ you need to know about, kid,” is all he says in response, guiding your water cup to your mouth again and tipping it back a little so you drink. a little bit spills down the side of your mouth and he wipes it away with his thumb. 

“can i try some?” he laughs, handing over another tiny bag to a boy with a handshake and pocketing the money, and then guides you away, so it’s just the two of you.

“not yet.” you let out a whine—it must be fun if everyone at the bonfire is chasing him around for some.

“why not?”

“‘cause cheap beer is too much for you. now stop askin’ and help me find this stupid boyfriend of yours.”

“ex-boyfriend,” you correct, immediately. rafe looks pleased when you say that, making you smile even wider, if not a little dopey.

“excuse me, that’s right. ex-boyfriend. where's he at?” 

you don’t actually care about finding him anymore—you’re having a lot of fun with rafe like this. but you get into your head a little bit, thinking rafe is only doing this to make him jealous, and then he’ll leave to spend time with some other girl. you hold on a little tighter to his arm, looking up with another pout.

“maybe this way,” you say, guiding him in the exact opposite direction of where your ex was last. “maybe those people want the yayo. they seem friendly.” rafe laughs again, which makes you beam. he does sell to the partygoers you pointed out to him, they open the little baggie and start snorting right infront of him—and you. you watch intently, and when they ask rafe if he wants a bump, he refuses.

“not today. gotta stay sharp for my girl.” 

you’re starting to think you don’t need any drugs, if something as simple as rafe calling you his girl makes you feel so deliriously happy. you’re buzzing from your own personal high until you hear a voice call your name, and you don’t turn until rafe does, the arm around your shoulder gravitating down to your waist, holding on tightly. 

the beer and rafe and everything else in the air still has you pretty hazy—you don’t hear anything other than your ex asking you what the hell you’re doing, and rafe answering for you. it doesn’t take long for him to notice the little baggies of white powder on the table behind you two, the possessive way rafe keeps his hands on you, and the fact that rafe looks as angry as anyone’s ever seen him, before they break out in punches and curse words. 

you’re drunk enough to want to help rafe, but one of his friends holds you back, tells you to leave it and that rafe will win anyways. you watch him throw punches at your ex but the second he takes a punch, you can’t watch anymore. 

rafe does win, in the end. your ex gets dragged away by his friends, and you’re sure there’s red everywhere. when rafe finds you again, he spits out some blood and wipes his mouth. you stare at him afraid and unsure, thinking that you’re the last person he wants to see now, the one that got him into a fist-fight. you bite your cheek, playing with your hands and staring down at your shoes again, until rafe comes up and guides you to his truck. the parking lot is clearing out, and you sit in his passenger seat fiddling with the hem of your dress while he drives you back home. 

you don’t speak until he parks infront of your house.

“i-i’m so sorry, rafe, really. i didn’t want that to happen. i’m really sorry.” everything feels more clear in his car, moonlight piercing through and shining on the two of you. it was stupid to do any of that—stupid to get rafe involved and stupider still to get him hurt.

“why’re you sorry? i threw the first punch.”

“you did?”

“you didn’t see?” he questions, and you want to hide your face in your hands.

“no, i-uh, i couldn’t watch, your friend took me away. uhm, kelce.” he laughs, to your surprise.

“don’t lose any sleep over it, kid. didn’t like the way he was talkin’ about you.”

“really?” you ask, and you hate how hopeful your voice sounds. you like that he cares, you hope he really does care.

“yeah.” you can’t hold it back any longer, leaning towards him and giving him a big kiss on his cheek. 

“thank you rafe,” you say quietly, biting your lip, hoping you didn’t misunderstand him.

“yeah, kid, whatever. get inside.” he leans over you to open the passenger side door for you, before returning to his position and staring at you from his seat. just as you start to move, he grabs your wrist, making you turn to look. “y’not gonna like what happens if i ever see you with him again. got it?”

you look at him like a deer caught in headlights, eyes big and wide, lips parted. you nod.

“got it.”

“good night, kid.”

#lollll i love him #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader

[shitouttabuck]

i'm a thigh girlie but i'm also a squishy kind of guy so if either 18 or 52 take your fancy for the prompts 👉👈

some sleepy stuff <3

touch prompts: 18 squishing the others cheek + 52 gripping thigh

might as well be drunk in love

Buck might be the most responsible Maid of Honour to have ever existed in the history of Maids of Honour. He told himself that half an hour ago when Ravi crowed FOMO, motherfucker at him post-Chim and Maddie’s rehearsal dinner, after Buck had sensibly and maturely taken his leave from the wedding party’s continued celebrations to get in a solid seven hours of shuteye—he’s the only one who has to be up at basically the crack of dawn to start getting things in order for the actual wedding at noon.

He tells himself that now as he pulls the thick comforter up to his neck, stretching his toes against the footboard and sighing. The empty double bed across from his own just seems to mock him, though, a reminder that Eddie’s probably knocking back the white wine Karen’s got him enjoying lately, almost certainly pink-cheeked and loose-hipped and laughing prettier than any music, only three floors below Buck right this very minute. FOMO, motherfucker indeed.

It's fine, Buck reasons, only somewhat grumpily. He’d be much more upset with himself for being too tired to be on top of things for Maddie’s big day tomorrow than he is for missing out on drinking with his friends and staring moonily at his best friend as covertly as alcohol will allow. Besides, he’s going to do just that tomorrow night anyway, with the added bonus of no pre-wedding stress. This was a good decision, the right decision, Buck is rational and correct and will have no sympathy for anyone nursing hangovers and sleep deprivation when they’re supposed to be setting out chairs and place cards at the reception tomorrow.

Somewhere between one grumbled thought and the next, he must fall asleep. It’s only a while later that the creak of the hotel room door cuts through his fuzzy dreamscape. He stays half-submerged, but Eddie trips over something and swears under his breath, and Buck swims groggily to the surface of consciousness.

He doesn’t bother cracking open an eye, listening instead to the gentle thumps and bumps of Eddie getting undressed and ready for bed. He’s almost lulled back to sleep by the sounds of it: the quiet snick of the toothpaste cap opened and shut, the whoosh of the tap running, the click as Eddie switches off the bathroom light, the rustle of sheets as he climbs into—Buck’s bed?

Buck forces one eye open then, but it’s moot since yes, Eddie does seem to be getting into Buck’s bed, except from behind Buck, so all that Buck is aware of is the sudden gust of cool air against the backs of his calves as Eddie lifts the duvet, and then the mattress is dipping and Buck’s warm again, because—because Eddie’s plastered along his back.

It’s not an accidental mix-up of beds either, because Eddie wastes no time slinging an arm around Buck’s waist, his hold loose but—there. Very much there.

“Uh. Eddie?” Buck whispers, voice rough from sleep. He clears his throat gently, pausing and straining to listen when Eddie mumbles something unintelligible. How drunk is he? Does he think Buck’s someone else? That’s—if that’s true… He broke up with Ana nearly two years ago, and there hasn’t been anyone serious since, not the scattered dates here and there, so—if it’s any of them Eddie thinks he’s getting into bed with? That would… suck.

But then Eddie says, “What, Buck,” muffled and sleepy into Buck’s shoulder.

The warmth that instantly blooms in his chest takes Buck by surprise, a little, and he feels his body automatically relax against Eddie, unaware he’d been holding it tight in the first place. Still, the confusion lingers.

“Oh. You’re—uh.” Should he—say something? Why would he say something, though. Just because this isn’t something they do… Eddie’s clearly fine with this, initiating this, and Buck—there’s never a time Buck doesn’t want this, want this bad. So why would he say you have a bed right there and come off as a dick when they’re both perfectly fine with this.

Or, worse in ways that are both hysterical and heartbreaking, come off as vaguely homophobic or make Eddie uncomfortable about the way he’s currently spooning Buck like he’s been doing it all his life.

He settles for a lighthearted, “Are you drunk?”

Eddie sighs sleepily, breath tickling Buck’s neck. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Okay. That’s fine. Their friendship is no stranger to physical touch, casual shoulder bumps and easy hip checks and full-body hugs. Eddie doesn’t need a reason to be looser with his affection, obviously, especially not where Buck is concerned, but if he did? What better combination than too many drinks and being at a wedding for their friends and family? Buck’s all too familiar with the love having to go somewhere, and if this is where Eddie wants to put it tonight? Buck’ll take it gladly and be a little moonier about it than planned tomorrow.

Eddie worms a hand under Buck’s sleep shirt, tracing his abdomen with his fingertips. Buck shivers. Okay, so not entirely platonic, but Eddie’s drunk. That blurs the lines of a good cuddle. Buck will resign his sorry ass to a night of his best friend being lovingly handsy in the spirit of friendship and lovesickness.

Eddie’s palm moves higher, ghosting across Buck’s sternum. His thumb catches against Buck’s nipple, and they both still for a second, Buck holding his breath. Then Eddie does it again, a lazy rub against it that has Buck swallowing and shifting his hips. Entirely not platonic, actually, any way you look at it.

Then, as sudden as his treacle-slow movements can be, Eddie’s hand ceases its exploratory tracing and taps once, twice, over Buck’s heart as he presses himself more firmly against Buck’s back, a lazy, languid stretch.

“Eddie,” Buck says. “What’s—are you—I’m—”

There’s a pause, and then Eddie relaxes his body away from Buck. “Hey,” he mumbles. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Buck replies without thinking, immediately reaching back for Eddie, hand stretched to pull him back close. “But—what’s—why right now?”

“Why not right now,” Eddie grumbles, sinking back into his place along Buck’s body with an ease that makes Buck screw his eyes shut tight again for a second. “Should’ve been right now many nows ago.”

“What?” Buck asks, genuinely a little lost as he throttles the rising bubble of hope inside him, squeezing just enough to still it without popping.

Eddie exhales heavily and with feeling, making sure Buck hears the exact amount of put out he is to be having this conversation when they could be sleeping, and Buck loves every disgruntled cell in his body.

“Your maid-of-honour speech,” Eddie yawns. “You said—you said you once had a conversation wi’ Maddie about—about love. About how it should be—you’re at your worst and they are too and still—you don’t give up. On each other. On… what you have. You try again.”

Buck hums. “Think they’ve had more worsts than a lot of people. Love that you fight for in the face of all that—or helps you through the face of all that? That’s. Yeah.”

“Chim showed me his vows. About—how he wishes there wasn’t hurt behind th’ reason f’r it, but he loved getting t’ be Maddie’s friend first, you know?” Eddie’s voice is a sleepy slur, murmured almost directly into Buck’s ear with the way he’s holding him. “Even when he wasn’t sure they were ever gonna be anything but. Someth’n—something about trust like that—I dunno. It’s easier when you’re friends.”

“Eddie—”

“My worst, Buck. And you walk right through the door and stay. And, and friends do that, but—I’m not imaginin’ this. Karen told me I’m not and she’s wise. She’s a lesbian. And a rocket scientist. In that order.”

The hope-bubble slips out of the grasp he has on it with a cheerful blown-raspberry sound, rising and rising inside him. Eddie’s hand is hot against his bare chest, and Eddie is comparing Chimney’s wedding vows to how he sees Buck in his own life, and Eddie’s drunk but Buck doesn’t think there’s much room for misinterpretation.

Buck’s not said anything, and before he can speak to assuage any presumably already-minimal doubts Eddie has, Eddie sighs loudly.

“Okay, this is not working. Turn over.” He tugs on Buck’s arm as he rolls over himself.

Buck shifts onto his other side slowly, carefully, a crescent around Eddie’s curled body. Close, but not touching.

“Buck,” Eddie huffs, flailing a hand back to grab his thigh, fingers digging into the meat of it. He yanks it forward, hitching it over his own hip so Buck’s flush against him from the ass-upwards.

When Buck doesn’t automatically hold him, Eddie twists his head to glare blearily over his shoulder. It’s the first time they’ve made eye contact since he entered the room, and his eyes are glassy when they meet Buck’s.

“Hello,” he says. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some cuddling around here.”

Buck laughs, surprised, and Eddie smiles, smug as he turns away and settles in again, like that was his only intention. And Buck gets it, he desperately wants this to just be—to just be it, you know, to have this be the way it happens, to wrap his arms around Eddie and wake up tangled together, to not second guess anymore, but it’s late and Eddie’s been drinking and they’re at a wedding with all the wedding emotions in the air—

His leg hiked over Eddie’s means his crotch is mashed into Eddie’s ass, and Eddie’s wriggling back in an attempt to snuggle into him and—

“Eddie,” he says. “Maybe this isn’t—”

“Ugh,” Eddie says. He turns around to grab Buck’s cheek, squeezing gently. Buck winces, all for show, before his face goes completely slack because Eddie’s planting a sloppy kiss that really only lands on forty percent of Buck’s mouth, hot and minty and lifechanging.

“Right,” Buck says, strained. He takes a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut, before opening them and placing a soft kiss on Eddie’s forehead, brushing his hairline. “It’s just—you’re drunk—I don’t want you to—”

He’s cut off by Eddie rolling his eyes and flipping back around into little spoon position.

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of the thing, Buck,” he sighs, grunting as he shifts to get comfortable. He manoeuvres Buck’s arm around his waist, pulls it up against his own chest, grip firm but still with a relaxed certainty to it. “I loved you this morning when I was undercaffeinated and being bullied into redoing flower arrangements, and I loved you this evening when I thought I had indigestion from those cheese puffs, and I love you right now when I’m drunk, and I’ll love you tomorrow when I’m hungover and miserable about it. I’m in the prime of my life, I shouldn’t be facing these kinda drinkin’ consequences at thirty-three, Jesus.”

Buck shelves the kneejerk comment about Jesus probably being the biggest advocate for getting wine-drunk in your early thirties even though focusing on any of the other words Eddie’s just said might result in his own spontaneous combustion and instead says, “Oh.”

“’Oh’,” Eddie mimics, half-asleep but no less bitchy for it. “Yeah, oh. I’ll do the—the sobriety test for you in the morning if you still want, but can we go to sleep now?”

They can, and they do, and when Buck’s alarm goes off at six am, they blink awake with Eddie curled against Buck’s chest, hand once again stuck up his shirt.

“Mmmh,” he insists, bearing down when he feels Buck try to get up.

“Eddie, I gotta go set up.”

“Gotta—no, thanks,” Eddie replies, clinging harder.

Buck huffs a laugh, any trepidation he had about Eddie’s wants upon waking easing away. “Maid-of-honour duties wait for no one.”

“Maid-of-honour, schmaid-of-honour,” Eddie tells him, muffled into his chest. “What about your loving me duties. It’s a full-time job, you know.”

“Can do that with my eyes closed,” Buck says, “and I’m great at multi-tasking this maid-of-honour stuff, but I need my eyes open for the rest of it.”

Eddie ducks his head, as if to hide his smile, but Buck feels it where it’s pressed into his chest anyway. “Fine.”

There’s a beat, and then he’s propping his chin up to peer at Buck. “Also—for sobriety test’s sake. Hi. Also, I didn’t really let you get a word in last night…”

He doesn’t look nervous or unsure, just kind of sheepish. His hair is sticking up in fluffy clumps and there’s a crease along his right cheek and Buck can love him with his eyes closed but he’s so very glad they’re open, because this is a million times better.

“You really didn’t, huh. How the tables turn—ow, Eddie,” he breaks off as Eddie digs his fingers into his ribs. “For sobriety’s sake—” He hauls Eddie up, and Eddie goes with an oof that’s sighed right into Buck’s mouth. His lips are soft and chapped against Buck’s, much more coordinated but just as purposeful as they were last night when they move against him.

The kissing is lazy, early morning stuff, gentle and easy. When Eddie yawns into it, Buck pulls away, running his hands down Eddie’s sides.

“I really gotta go,” Buck tells him, trying to extricate himself. “Go back to sleep.”

“Yes boss,” Eddie finally allows, rolling over to mash his face into a pillow.

He finds Buck setting out the flower arrangements only an hour later, though, and he’s got with him a kiss and a coffee and, true to his word, a love that persists through hangovers and weddings and drunkenness that’s not his own. Through every wildly outrageous and terribly boring moment of the rest of their lives, actually; the best and the worst and everything in between. A love that stays, and stays, and stays.

(read on ao3)

#sami i hope u like this <3 #911 fic #buddie fic #911 #buddie #writing tag #mine

[chucky-vs-the-giant-tortoise]

i’ve got you

JJ Maybank x sister!reader

summary: an anxious Y/N feels overwhelmed while partying with the pogues at the boneyard, and JJ does his best to calm her nerves.

warning(s): underaged drinking, panic attack

a/n: a big thank you to anyone who enjoyed my last maybank!sister snippet. i hope to write a lot more for JJ in the future, so feel free to leave any requests if you have any specific ideas of what you’d like to read!

also please let me know if i should make these shorter. lol. i'm never sure.

Y/N screwed her eyes shut, trying and failing to keep her hands from trembling as they dented her red solo cup. Her heart was beating so fast that her head could barely keep up, the loud music and sweaty bodies that enclosed her doing nothing to ease her mind.

It was a picturesque summer night out in the boneyard, which of course meant that the Pogues just had to have a kegger. Y/N had grown used to the routine by then, tagging along as they went out to buy the keg and an insane amount of plastic cups that Kie always complained she found littered all over the beach the morning after. Y/N typically helped in the prep for whatever wild evening lay ahead, and had even served as a DD the few times that the Pogues got plastered enough to willingly allow a 15-year-old to drive the Twinkie. However, despite her brother's constant pleading and nagging, she'd never actually attended one of their infamous beach parties.

At least, not until tonight.

Y/N had always been shy, the complete opposite of her elder brother and all of his wild impulsivity. She hated big crowds and loud noises, and even though she would occasionally drink one while out on the Pogue, she wasn't even the biggest fan of beer. But JJ had begged her to join them all day long, poking and prodding at her nerves in his attempts to finally get his baby sister out of her shell.

"Come on, Y/N. You really wanna spend the rest of your life cooped up in the chateau?" he'd said dramatically, throwing his hands up in desperation. "You really oughtta live a little sometime."

You really oughtta live a little sometime.

His words had haunted her well into the evening, and at the last minute she'd finally decided to bite the bullet. JJ was right, after all. While most kids her age were busy making memories and taking risks, she spent her evenings curled up with a book in her lap.

Sure, it wouldn't be the most comfortable experience, but what was the worst that could happen? After all, like her brother always said, stupid things had good outcomes all the time.

She made a mental note to correct JJ on that stupid motto as someone pushed past her, blowing chunks into the bushes only a few feet away from rigid form.

Y/N covered her nose, averting her gaze just in time to notice a familiar head of blond hair breaking through the mess of bodies whooping and grinding on one another.

"Holy shit!" JJ hollered wildly, dimples painfully visible in his state of drunken bliss. "Tom, that's some gnarly shit, man! Trust me, you're gonna feel that tomorrow." He gave the boy a pat on the back as he retched, though thankfully the steady stream of vomit had ended.

Y/N only stood and watched. It was clear that JJ hadn't seen her, but maybe that was for the best. The last thing she wanted was to ruin his night.

"Yo, Y/N/N!"

Too late.

JJ made his way over in sloppy strides, and Y/N turned up her nose at the stench of alcohol clinging to him. He pulled her into him with an arm slung over her shoulders.

"Hi, Jay." Y/N hoped her brother was drunk enough not to notice the tremble in her voice.

"Where'd you go, kid? I've been looking for you all night." He was leaning on her now, gleefully unaware as he slowly crushed her beneath his weight. Y/N groaned with the effort it took to keep her brother upright, struggling not to remind him that it was in fact he who left her to do some shots and never returned.

"Yeah I was . . . I was j-just--"

"Shit, I didn't know you were drinking. That's my girl," he slurred with a wink, pointing at the cup Y/N was damn near close to dropping. It was all getting too much for her—JJ's weight boring into her side, the overwhelming stench of beer, the screaming mouths and dancing bodies slowly closing her in. She felt like a caged animal, her lungs tight and chest heavy.

"Hey, you seen Pope yet? I lost him an hour ago—saw him walk off with some blonde chick with a tramp stamp. Oh, you need a top-up? You should go now, 'm pretty sure the keg's getting low."

JJ continued to ramble on as Y/N crumbled underneath him, her eyes searching desperately for somewhere to go.

"Aw man, I love this song!" Y/N gasped as JJ began jerking her around, forcing her to sway back and forth with him. "Yo, Kurt! Turn that shit up bro!"

Y/N felt blood rushing to her ears, her hands growing clammy as her nerves took over. You're fine, she told herself. You're fine, you're fine. But it wasn't working—she couldn't hear herself think over the music blaring from the speakers.

"Come on, loosen up Y/N! Let's dance!"

"No!" Y/N reached her breaking point, escaping from beneath her brother's outstretched arm. JJ stumbled, just barely managing to catch himself and get a good look at the fear etched into Y/N's features.

"What? Y/N—" He held out a hand that she cringed away from, breathing raggedly as she did.

"Just leave me alone!"

"Y/N!" JJ called after her as she ran off, not knowing exactly where she was headed but intent on getting away. She wound up crouching behind a small hill across from the bustling core of the party, far enough away that the music finally fell to an acceptable volume.

Y/N brought her knees to chest and buried her face in them, fingers tugging at her hair as tears spilled from her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could she be dumb enough to let JJ convince her that this would be a good idea? Y/N forced her breathing to slow as her chest tightened, coughing in her feeble attempts.

Y/N had listened to a few songs run their course by the time she managed to get a grip on herself, her breaths steadying as she counted eight-second inhales and eight-second exhales. Still Y/N rested her forehead against her knees, so dead-set on staying calm that she didn't notice the sound of JJ's footsteps in the sand.

"Hey." Y/N gasped, her head shooting upright as she scrambled to back away from whoever had found her. "Hey, calm down. It’s alright, Y/N." She sighed in relief when she recognized JJ's outline in the dark, her brother crouched before her shrunken form. "It's okay. Just me."

"Oh," she mumbled. "Sorry."

"'S okay. Didn't mean to scare you." He awkwardly held out another cup to her, which she observed warily. "Don't worry, it’s just water. Figured it might help more than beer."

Y/N smiled, accepting JJ's peace offering gratefully. "You'd be right about that." She greedily drank it all in one gulp, only then realizing how dry her mouth had gotten. "Thanks, Jay."

"Least I could do, since I forced you to come her." Y/N sighed, noticing the guilt swimming in her brother's blue eyes.

"You didn't force me."

"Well, I might as well have."

"it's not your fault, JJ." He rested a comforting hand on her knee.

"Sure it is. I knew you didn't like this kind of scene and I dragged you here anyway." He ran his free hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut as regret consumed his intoxicated mind.

"It's okay." Y/N shuffled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. JJ ruffled her hair. "Sorry I can't be a party animal like you."

"Ah, don't sweat it. Makes my job a lot easier, anyway." Y/N giggled, shoving him lightly, and JJ couldn't help but smile. "So, what's the plan? Want me to drive you home?"

Y/N scoffed. "I don't even think you could if you tried."

"Oh, Y/N," He teased her with a smile, "you severely underestimate my driving skills."

"And you severely overestimate my willingness to die." JJ chuckled at that. "Plus, who said I wanted to leave?"

"You’re gonna stay?'

"Yeah, why not? I mean, I've made myself a pretty comfy hideout over here." JJ pouted.

"I guess . . ." He looked down at his sister with a smirk. "Or you could try the party again."

Immediately Y/N felt that skin-crawling uncertainity take over once more. She bit at her bottom lip. "I don't . . . I dunno, Jay."

"Look, I promise I won't leave you this time. We can just sit around the campfire—maybe try to find Kie or something. What'd'ya think?" He held out a hand to her. "We'll take it slow."

Y/N considered this for a moment, eventually taking hold of her brother's hand. "Okay."

"Sweet!" JJ tried his best to stand, but only wound up falling back on his ass. "I'm gonna need some help getting up, though."

Y/N laughed, hoisting her brother to his feet with a grunt, and JJ smiled as she allowed her hand to linger in his while they walked. The very same way she did when they were little.

Just like JJ promised, he found the two of them a space to sit by the blazing campfire and never left Y/N's side.

・❥・

Hours had passed before the kegger had begun to die down, their beer long gone and speakers long dead. The rest of the Pogues had finally joined the Maybanks around the fire pit, and the group listened comfortably as Kie plucked at the strings of her ukulele. "Y'know what, Jay? I wouldn't mind trying this kegger thing again."

JJ smiled. "You mean it?"

"Yeah, I mean it." She snuggled closer to his chest, absorbing whatever extra heat his body offered. "As long as you're there to hold my hand."

#obx #outer banks #jj maybank #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x sister!reader #jj maybank x sister reader #sister!reader #maybank!reader #the outer banks #jj maybank drabble #jj maybank fluff #outer banks fluff

[retrointhenow]

Worth My Time

I do believe that i have corrected my mistakes. I've gone through a few times and double checked. I do tend to drift into first person so if it says 'me' let me know and I can fix it. I also haven't written anything in a while so I'm a little rusty. I'm not sure if I can make a part two to this or not but I can try and if y'all like it I can post it. I'm not a smut writer by any means so I can't do that, sorry. But either way, have fun !

Word Count : 1.6k Mattheo X Hufflepuff Reader

You swore after him you would never let another guy in. Not after the heartbreak he left you with. He was sweet and caring, everything you had wanted from a guy. But things didn't seem to work out. It was not a mutual break by any means. You didn't want to let him go. It didn't help that you were in the same house so you were bound to see each other every once in a while. You didn't hate him, not even a little bit. You resented yourself for falling so hard and getting so caught up in your feelings. From that night on you swore to yourself that you would never let anyone get that close, you would never feel that way again.

After a while you started to get back into the social life of Hogwarts. You attended almost all of the house parties and smaller ones that your friends held. The Slytherin parties attracted you the most. They knew how to throw real parties. You often got tipsy or drunk and found yourself waking up on the common room sofas, sometimes in the room of your latest fling. You never felt more free. No one was there to hold you back and you didn't have to worry about hurting anyone's feelings.

Tonight was another Slytherin party, they beat Gryffindor in the quidditch match earlier. You quickly ready before heading to the common room.

"My dearest Y/n. Always a pleasure to see you." Theo Nott greeted you. "Always a pleasure to be invited my love." You kissed his cheek and walking into the party. You and Theo were a reoccurring flight. You found it more interesting that way. Always a steamy make out session and a little more, never sex though. You didn't like the idea of being easy and letting anyone claim you like that.

"Enzo! Fire Whiskey for one please ?" You gave him a soft smile. "One fire whiskey for our Hufflepuff coming up." He handed you a shooter. "Whose your victim tonight?" You both stood back from the dance floor. "Guess we'll find out. You know I never coming looking for someone." You took your shot and made a face. You never liked the harsh alcohols. You liked the sweeter and more toned down drinks like mimosas. "Looks to be whoever gets to you first." He glanced at you. "Depends on if I deem them worth my time." You shrugged. "Everyone must be worth your time then." "I choose not to see it that way Enzo, It does no good. Better to turn a blind eye at my actions and enjoy myself." I turned to him. "So it seems. Such a dangerous reputation for a Hufflepuff you know. Not so sweet and loyal as you'd think, huh?" He smiled. "Judging a book by its cover." You handed him the empty bottle and made your way to the dance floor. You had no idea who you were dancing with but there was never enough time to figure it out because every time you looked back there was a new person.

"Y/n. You are looking good tonight." Draco grabbed you by your waist. "Oh well thank you." You danced rather closely to him. He was your 'victim', as most called them, last party. "You could have woke me up before you left. Could have let me properly thank you." He talked in your ear. The music was rather loud tonight. "I never stay long Draco. You know that, besides I like to make a quick get away. Staying any long could lead to feelings." "Right of course. Can't let anyone hold you back." You could see the annoyance in his face, but just like that it was gone. Draco doesn't show emotions often but when he does it's hardly anything nice. "Maybe next time you'll stay for a little?" "Might be a while before there's next time Draco. I'm not looking for anything serious, you were fun though." He nodded and went onto a new girl after the song ended.

You left the dance floor and made your way to the group of Slytherins playing cards.

"Pansy my love !" You hugged her and looked at her cards. "Good set I think." You whispered. "Indeed. Any contesters for tonight ?" She smirked and played one of her cards. "Really Parkinson? Setting me up for failure !" Blaise groaned. "Only the greatest play Zabini. Can't handle then let Y/n take your place. She manages to win almost every time." She laughed. "Not every time. I've lost a couples here and there ? Not fun." You smiled. You looked around the table to see who was playing. A few Gryffindors, two Ravenclaws, and a bunch of Slytherins.

"10 o'clock. Who is that?" You studied the boy. You knew a few Slytherins and he looked to be in your year. You grew to knew almost everyone in your year by this time. "Mattheo Riddle. Thinking of picking him up tonight?" Pansy turned her head to you. "Need him on the dance floor first. You know my ruse. He could be fun though." You played a card for her. "No no no! Pansy that's cheating, she is not allowed to play for anyone." Theo pointed. "Let's look at your hand then Theo. I'm sure you won't complain if I played a round for you." You walked to the other side of the table. He was sitting next to this Mattheo character. "I think I could work with this T. How do you want to play?" You took his cards and traded seats with him. "Play to win darling." He stood up and pushed the chair in for you.

It took a couple rounds for you to get into the grove. You knew how Blaise , Pansy, and Enzo played. It took a minute for you to pick up on the others. But you couldn't figure out Mattheo's angle, and you two seemed to be fighting to win.

"Looks like you have some competition Y/n." Theo smirked. "Such little faith in me Theo? Checkmate." You played your best card and sat back. You had him, he had a slim chance of out playing you. "I think Theo is right." Mattheo played his card and ended the game. You stared at the card as everyone whooped and hollered that a newbie had beaten you. Everyone moved out of the table and let a new group take their places.

"Y/n. But I'm sure you've learned that." You grabbed a drink from Enzo and winked to him. "Mattheo, but I'm sure Pansy told you." He smirked. "I like to size up my opponents." You smiled. "You didn't do too good of a job then. The grand master was beat." He took your drink from Enzo. "You're not at heartless as you think you are." He looked at you. "You don't know me." You leaned against the bar. Enzo watched eagerly, most of the boys try to impress you and make good impressions. "You don't think? You're not an original. A girl who gets her heart broken then goes off on a hookup spree? I've heard about you Y/n." He smirked. "Exactly. You've only heard about me. That doesn't mean you know me." You turned and headed back to the dance floor.

"He's a cutie ain't he ?" Pansy giggled. "He's something that's for sure." Most of the boys you talk to aren't as hard to break. Usually a few minutes of talking and they're ready to go. But Mattheo was gonna put up a fight, that made him different a quite desirable. If there was one thing you could get, it would be boys, and that made it even more fun when they acted like they didn't want you.

Pansy and Daphne kept handing you drinks and pulling you around the dance floor. A few of the guys tried to get you off the floor but you weren't ready to leave, no one seemed to interest you. The night kept going on and on, guy after guy. Finally you ended up with Mattheo again. But not before the line of Slytherin boys.

"Back again Y/n?" Mattheo kept you close. "Looks to be that way doesn't it Riddle?" You swayed back and fourth. Your mind was already a little frazzled and your eyes were starting to bug out. "Rumor has it you're waiting for me to give you the green light." He pulled you closer. "I always have a back up if you don't." You smirked. "Do you ? Because your back up just left with a Ravenclaw." He nodded to Theo trailing after a girl. "So he did, Then it looks like you still have time" You lightly grinded up against him. "There are a dozen other guys here who are waiting for you to give them the opportunity. What are you waiting for ?" He returned the gesture. "I'm sure the boys have told you my tactics. I've got to make sure you're worth my time." His hand on my waist tightened slightly. "But from the way this is going..." You leaned up to his ear and whispered, "I think you might be." "Let me show you then." He whispered back.

It did take a few more songs before you ended up making out while dancing, high with tension. Then after flirting and a drink or two you went off to his dorm. As you climbed the stairs you heard Blaise yell, "There they go !! Riddle and Y/n are off!!" There was a burst of cheers and drinks being thrown as you ran up the stairs to Mattheo's dorm.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #theodore nott #theo nott #hufflepuff #slytherin #slytherin x hufflepuff #hufflepuff x slytherin #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #pansy parkinson #fluff #smut #harry potter #hp #hogwarts #mattheoxreader #one shot #x fem reader #x hufflepuff reader #mattheo #lightning era

[dokk-fukuro]

But the night is so little for me... [Ango Sakaguchi]

Minors DNI

TW: SMUT, afab reader

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

Ango. This eternally serious, gloomy person, who sometimes does not know what rest is, is most often the same friend who says that you can’t drink a lot, you can’t sleep with just anyone, even more cheating. Sakaguchi lives by those sets of unspoken rules in his head, which he himself made. The young man is very satisfied with everything.

                                          Until you break into his life.

You met quite by chance. You were a new employee at the Department of Gifted Affairs, so there were a lot of things you didn't know. Yes, you barely remember the way to Chief Taneda's office, so it's not surprising that in these many corridors you managed to get lost again.

Sakaguchi was a little annoyed that you took so long to carry the documents to him. And even the excuse that you've only been in the Division for a week hasn't saved your situation. “You make me linger,” you heard Ango grumbling as he adjusted his glasses that had fallen off the bridge of his nose.

Ango doesn't drink. He convinced himself that he hadn't drunk since those gatherings at the Lupin, otherwise it would remind him of the death of his comrade, which he still cannot forgive himself. He doesn't drink.

                                           Doesn't drink.                                          Doesn't drink. Doesn’t…

Sakaguchi himself wants to know how it happened that he is looking at you finishing off another cocktail. It was a good idea not to drive today. Ango, unaccustomed to the taste of alcohol on his tongue, gets tipsy instantly. The whiskey you ordered him is too strong for him.

In dimmed light, your features seem charming. Brunet can't stop himself. Gently touching the middle phalanx of the index finger on your cheek. Ango is drunk. He is too drunk to remember how you get to the nearest hotel on his initiative, rent a room there for the night. Ango is almost sure: he will not remember what is happening, he will not remember the visual images, but the sensations...

It promise Sakaguchi, a serious and collected young man, that it will follow him for the next week, laughing nastily and venomously. It will come to him when it is absolutely not necessary, when he doesn’t want it. Memories of the sensations that are so vivid when you kneel before him, stroking his hips while you make your way to the belt buckle and zipper, will remind you every time Ango looks into your ‘innocent’ eyes opposite.

                                                 Memories.

You bend so well under him, his lips feel so right on your shoulder blades as Sakaguchi pushes in all the way. Your moans caress his ears. And a young man, so collected, so serious, punctual and responsible, simply cannot resist the temptation to grab your hair, pull it back, listening to you whine.

Convinced that love is forever, it's hard, and sex should only be with the one he loves, Sakaguchi thrusts into you anyway, going crazy with your narrowness. The young man is too keen on listening to your moans, while his measured movements bring you to the edge, forcing you to literally collapse with your whole body on the bed, salivating into the white sheets.

It's too wrong. Wrong so much that it seems to be the only correct one. It's good for both of you, isn't it? That's what you think too when you're smoking on the balcony without even glancing at Ango, who's lying naked on the bed.

And damn him when, one cloudy morning, it occurs to him that your affair is not enough for him. He needs more. It needs all of you.

#My writing #bsd #bsd headcanons #bsd x reader #ango sakaguchi #bungo stray dogs #bsd smut #Smut #ango bsd #sakaguchi bsd #ango x reader #sakaguchi x reader

[jacevelaryonswife]

How do they behave when they are drunk? | Modern Headcanons

∴pairing: Aegon Targaryen | Aemond Targaryen | Jacaerys Velaryon

∴warnings: alcohol consumption, don’t read if you’re underage or that it’s a sensitive topic for you.

who missed the modern headcanons? cause I do!

Unfortunately, alcohol entered Aegon's life early. He knew it wasn't healthy or correct, but fuck it, he loved it when everything got slow and funny.

He obviously started tasting his friends' cheap beer, then stealing some expensive bottles of Whisky from his father without him noticing.

Obviously he had no distinction as to what to drink and accepted from the most slutty beers to a good Jack Daniels.

He also imposed no limits on himself and his only mission was to escape from sobriety — and if you think there is a lack of filters on Aegon it’s because you have never seen him drunk, the man is totally chaotic.

He speaks loudly, touches people excessively, is mortally funny and absurdly honest. Aegon is a threshold between the joy of the party and the most annoying person possible and he loves how chaotic it can be.

You will definitely love being held and guided home by your friends and having this time of attention for yourself, in addition to encouraging them to drink as much as he does.

Aegon is the guy who would bet how much you can drink against him and never expect him to lose, the son of a bitch is an alcohol consumption machine.

He is extremely sly and in need of attention when he has a hangover, almost like a child begging for a lap.

Little Jace only started to consume alcohol after entering college. He was never much of a drinker, especially for witnessing certain situations that his family members caused under the alcoholic effect.

But things were happening and when he realized he had a glass of cheap beer in his hand and it was fucking disgusting, but he didn't give up, at least once he needed to feel what it was like to get really drunk and opted for stronger options.

Oh boy, he was never so happy until that moment.

Jace is very cheerful and smiling when alcohol takes effect, literally a golden retrivier distributing hugs and nods to anyone and he LOVES the feeling of drunkenness, he gets extremely light and relaxed.

Usually he tended to control himself to not get past the point, he didn't want to cause a scene or put himself at risk, but once specifically he didn't care about it and accepted all the shots his friends gave him...

It was complete chaos and he had to come back loaded after vomiting on the floor of the bar (and locking himself in the bathroom and hugging the owner of the establishment).

He promised himself that he wouldn’t exceed the limit again, mainly because of the annoying nausea and tiredness of the next day.

He would definitely be lying on the bed or on the couch all day until his energies came back.

Being a selective person in his tastes it’s quite easy to catalog what Aemond drinks routinely, such as wine, cognac and bourbon, especially a good wine to relax and I add sparkling wines in celebrations. Beer was never an option, he hated that shit.

Still, he didn’t use to go past the point and rarely tended to get drunk, especially in public or in front of his family, just taking advantage of the threshold between sobriety and the beginning of the alcoholic effect.

However, there were moments when he gave himself to alcohol and it’s varied forms, such as tequila shots and cheaper vodkas.

But perhaps to his discouragement, Aemond was a silent and almost grumpy drunk, even more brutally sincere than in his sober state and much more carefree about swearing. In fact, he is almost a machine for swearing when he is drunk, especially if provoked.

He is also more self-confident in exposing his achievements and intelligence, a little arrogant too and considerably more seductive than usual.

In addition, Aemond is zero willing to receive help when he hears that he is too drunk to go alone somewhere — when someone suggests guiding him out of the bar he simply ignores and ends up tipping on the door and stumbling on a chair, and he mortally hates that someone holds him as an incapable.

If you find him grumpy while he's drunk, don't want to see him with a hangover, I swear, he gets impossible.

———————————————

taglists

general: @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @kravitzwhore @partypoison00

aegon: @lovelykhaleesiii @f4ll-for-you

ewanverse: @aemonds-fire @partypoison00 @schniiipsel @fan-goddess

aemond: @aemondsblog

jace: @howyouloveyourdragon

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #jace velaryon #aegon x reader #jacaerys x reader #aemond x reader #modern headcanons #modern jace #modern aegon targaryen #modern jacaerys velaryon #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aegon x you #modern aegon x reader #modern aemond x reader #modern jacaerys x reader

[thechekhov]

Drinking Anon here.

This is what I was talking about, the Nomiai: https://www.nomunication.jp/japans-business-drinking-culture/

I knew it was more of a Japanese business 'ideal' tradition. I was just wondering if it extended to school teachers. The idea that you "HAVE" to go drinking if invited otherwise its an affront to someone's honor.

....alright, having looked at the website, here is my critical analysis of this:

This guy, Whiskey Richard, who 'has been exploring the Tokyo cocktail scene since 2008' may have a basis for what he's saying but please keep in mind the following:

He's in Tokyo, where the drinking scene AND business is larger comparably, and it's easier to find drinking buddies and older colleagues who may want to pressure you to go

He has clearly made a business of explaining 'Japanese drinking culture'. His main site is about advertising distilleries and reviewing them. He didn't write this article only because he wanted to Share The Deep Japanese Lore with foreigners. He's angling for a specific type of feeling. A feeling that helps buy what he's selling.

With all that in mind and our reasonably angled Skeptic hat cocked (a hat you should always have on, btw, so long as it is not glued to your head) let's review the rest of it.

Does Japan have a culture of drinking with coworkers? Yes.

Are nomikai a unique event that has a specific structure different to a standard 'out with the lads for a few beers' type scenario? Yes, absolutely. It's a more structural event.

Do Japanese businessmen take advantage of a more casual environment like a bar or izakaya to suss out who is a genuine person and who might be a pain to work with?

I believe yes. This is not a far stone to throw.

Are you going to be affronting someone's 'honor' by refusing to go drinking with them?

Absolutely fucking not. And if they think so, they're a shitnugget.

It also should be noted that the author correctly writes that this is specifically a salaryman business thing rather than something that affects all areas of the workplace. He does start with 'If you're in Tokyo on business...' after all.

Sure, your business partner may invite you to go drinking with them to try to get an idea for your non-professional side. That's no different than someone inviting you to a business lunch. I think the business side of things is more important here than the alcohol element, though. The point is that if you're in a foreign country and someone invites you to join them in a social event that takes place in a traditional restaurant, turning down the invite may indicate that you're not really that invested in the relationship.

And most people will reasonably understand if you have a real excuse, or don't really drink. Especially these days. Hell, I work in a Japanese office and I get invited to nomikai and often turn the invitation down because I have an hour drive back home and no way of getting back if I'm drunk. And I've never gotten flack for it, nor has anyone ever suggested I've dishonored them for it. If I was seeking new employment and was invited out for drinks, I might try to make that happen, if only to satisfy the social request to meet up. ...I also enjoy a drink every now and then.

Like I said, the article in question isn't necessarily wrong... but I think it goes a little too hard, digesting every single detail and milking it for all the 'mysticism' it's got instead of presenting it through a reasonably comparable lens of Western drinking culture.

All I'm saying is... look if I had a potluck catering company and I needed to sell my stuff to Japanese people in the US, you bet your ass I'd make a site about how Sacred the potluck is to the Americans and how important it is to bring The Correct Thing. So I respect the hustle. But I think anything about The Complete and Utter Uniqueness of Japan should be taken with a grain of salt.

#chekhov answers

[scrivenger-grimgar]

Wei Wuxian’s Inventions Cause He’s a Mad Scientist & Deserves To Be a Happy Creator

technically part of the ghost king wwx series of posts but could also just be stuff in general. a lot is for protecting the yiling burial mounds and the people who live there. idek how long this is going to be so keep that in mind!

Sending stone - A raw quartz or amethyst crystal attached to a talisman-tag that tells the stone to vibrate in specific lengths and frequencies causing audible tones that can be used in specialised patterns to convey messages across certain networks. Sending networks are differentiated by the colour of the thread/rope/tassel used in the tag’s binding. It's essentially a morse-code group chat, looks like this picture but instead of metal it's engraved on wood or bamboo.

Spirit Binding Wraps - Cloth strips/bandages that are intricately sewn with a long continuous array that wraps around anything with a golden core, ending in an array that anchors into the ground and doesn’t let go. It's styled after a large snake and will only release after being fed resentful/yin energy. Expensive and arduous to make, as both the cloth and threads need to be soaked in either liquid resentment or Spirit Sapping Liquor, both of which can only be found (or made) in the burial mounds, and the repeating array must be embroidered to the correct lengths before the ending anchor array can be attached. Well worth the expense however, given so many orthodox cultivators are after the Yiling Wei residents.  Like Xie Lian’s Rouye or Aizawa’s scarf but embroidered. It doesn’t work on non-cultivators or those who solely practise Guidao/demonic cultivation.

Bloodletting Buckets - Black bamboo buckets engraved with talismans that force any resentful energy in the contained liquid to coagulate into sludge at the bottom of the bucket, allowing residents to safely drink the burial mounds water without being a yin/yang cultivator.

Heart Binding Tattoo - A tattoo array over an individual’s heart that allows them to come and go through the barrier at the base of the mountain. Were someone to try and use a corpse with the tattoo to enter the mountain, the corpse would attack them. Made with Wen Qing, written in either Shizhoupian or Shuowen Jiezi, but I don't quite know witch.

Spirit Sapping Liquor - A derivative alcohol variant made in the burial mounds that eats spiritual/yang energy once consumed, travelling through the blood and clearing qi blockages within one’s meridians without touching the golden core (so long as one does not cultivate during the 3 day period that its active), and thus lessening chance of qi deviation. The resentment in the liquor can also be directed to eat poison from within a person by a talented Guidao practitioner (He Xuan, Hua Cheng, Wei Ying, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, even Qi Rong if he wanted).

Earthshifting Talismans - lets anyone stir up and loosen large areas of earth within a day, allowing less effort to be used when tilling or aerating soil, or digging cold storage basements. It's just kinda like putting a piece of land in the pear wiggler.

Hearth/Chill Box - a bamboo, wood, or stone box with engravings on the inside that keep it at a stable temperature, either hot or cold. Used to heat pre-made food, incubate eggs, build housing for chickens or other small animals, to heat water for bathing, to freeze meats, and make ice.

#mad scientist wei wuxian #uncle four and his alcohol obsession #ghost wei ying #ghost wei wuxian #mdzs #mxtx #tgcf #mxtx tgcf #mxtx mdzs #wwx #wen qing #mdzs x tgcf #calamity wei ying #calamity wei wuxian #wei wuxian #wei ying #ghost king wei ying #ghost king wei wuxian #yiling wei #yiling laozu #yiling patriarch #yiling burial mounds

[prettyboykatsuki]

don’t hold it | m. fushiguro

★ tags ;; 18+, piss, dubcon-ish(consent is implicit but he is tipsy), alcohol, implied sub!megumi, humiliation and shame, a handjob, public-ish sex (they're in an alley), gn!reader, age gap / power imbalance, aged-up characters, tsundere!megumi

★ wc ;; 2.1k (GOODBYE!!!!)

★ a/n ;; i started writing this in nov of last year and it was only like 400 hundred words. how did this even happen. i dont even want to talk about it,

★ synopsis ;; your offer to megumi does bad things to his head. he really should never drink alone with you.

Megumi doesn’t like to drink often.

Partially because he’s well aware that drinking with you is a little dangerous. When he’s tipsy with his guard down, you tend to mess with him a little more than he likes. You always get off on teasing him. It’s in character for you to do so, to the point he's expecting it every time you hound him for a drink or two.

Aside from that, he doesn’t like not being in control of himself. Alcohol is good for people like Yuuji or Nobara who like getting loose. Their personalities aren't reserved to begin with so the extent to which they can humiliate themselves is limited. But Megumis always been reserved at best. He likes to keep quiet, make sure no one is paying too much attention to him and be in his own space.

So, his decision to go drinking tonight wasn’t really his. It’s Yuujis birthday and after some light-hearted accusation about being a bad friend, he was eventually convinced to go. Begrudgingly, he tells him that he’ll be in attendance. He only finds out you’re going after the fact - likely a purposeful decision on his best friends behalf.

His relationship to you is complicated. You’re three years his senior and above him in pay grade, so he’s supposed to be a respectful junior to you. It's not that Megumi doesn't respect you, you're good enough at your job that you've earned some bare minimum respect.

He address you with the correct honorifics and looks to you for advice and critique on his own moves. You two have similar curse techniques so it's a pretty natural thing.

Really, if it wasn't for your need to pick on him - Megumi can't find any faults with your character. Objectively he knows that. You're a little bit all over the place but you're a good senior to have. But he's really a little wary of you no matter what anyone says. You've given him plenty of reason to be.

Megumi can't answer whether or not he likes you. He thinks he does, but the way you always manage to make him squirm is not an entirely pleasant experience. He doesn't know how to react to your cheeky flirty other than flat-out rejection. You know that he's not really rejecting you though, that his prickly engagement is just a sign of tolerance. Maybe even enjoyment, and your ability to see through that always makes him feel a little dizzy.

So, he avoids you. He hasn't been able to unpack that and he doesn't plan too any time soon.

He's managed to make it outside for a breath of fresh air, scurrying away from you before you finished making greetings. You always sit next to him at outings, and now that he's officially tipsy - he can't imagine it going well.

He leans on a wall. The cold night air makes a wave of goosebumps appear on his skin. He's never been to this bar before so he doesn't have any idea where the bathroom is. It's a little crude but he thought maybe he could find a patch of grass and go out there.

A familiar voice breaks him out of his train of thought.

"Woah, Fushiguro," You peek your head out of the door before popping in "What are you doing out here?"

Of course you would show up when he's explicitly trying to avoid you. He sighs.

"I'm trying to get away from all the noisy people inside." He says flatly, looking away.

You step outside and trot next to him, hands in your pockets. Flashing him a smile, you laugh softly.

"Aw, you're talking about me, aren't you? Not nice."

Your scolding is faux sincere. Megumi fights a smile back like it'll cost him his life, sighing and purposefully turning away from you. Instead of taking the hint, you get up on your tip toes and hover over his shoulder.

"Whatcha looking at?"

"Nothing. Why are you out here?"

"So cold," You tut, before backing away "I came out here for a smoke break. You?"

He frowns.

"Quit smoking," He says first, rubbing his temple "I came out here cause I couldn't find the bathroom."

"Oh, so ya need to piss? Decided to take it to the great outdoors huh?"

His frown deepens, eyebrows and expression pinched in irritation.

"Stop being weird. If you know that, then smoke somewhere else."

An expression crosses your face that makes Megumi nervous. He can't count on his hands how many times he's seen. Right before you get on your antics, your eyes look darker than normal. You're unusually mischievous, a soft lilt to the way you speak - mouth twisted in a smirk.

"Don't wanna." You say cheerily, a pleasant expression "Are you tipsy, Fushiguro?"

"What's it to you?"

"I don't wanna harass a drunk person."

"So you know it's harassment," He says, annoyed. You shrug him.

"Mm, maybe? You never push me away, though. Always let me do what I please with you."

He doesn't have anything to say to that. A flush is creeping on his neck, warm and unpleasant and squirmy. He clicks his teeth and looks away, arms crossed over his chest.

"Why are you saying it like that? You're my superior so obviously it's an abuse of power on your end and not mine."

"You make me sound like a criminal, you know."

"You are one."

"So stubborn," You whistle, getting up close to him. An inch between you, no more - no less "You don't hate it do you?"

"You're so annoying."

"And you're so dishonest, Fushiguro." The sweetness in your voice doesn't disappear despite everything. Megumi covers his face with his hand, a bad habit.

"Shut up."

"Mhm, okay." You ease back just a little. Megumi dutifully ignores the thumping in his chest - heartbeat against his ribs. "Do you still need to go?"

He looks at you confused.

"Yeah?"

"I'll help you."

His eyes widen.

"What the hell are you saying?"

"You're tipsy, aren't you? What if you miss your aim and get it on your pants huh? And it's dark." You offer, flimsily "I'll hold it and help you aim."

He doesn't like that he twitches. He hates the way his body is reacting to you all at once - like a storm. The smell of alcohol on your breath and perfume, the warmth of your body, your proximity. Megumi feels so conscious of you, he can't stand it. Can't stand the way all the blood rushes south at the way you're basically asking to touch his dick.

"...You're out of your mind." He whispers, voice hushed and hoarse. Your smile flickers on your face.

"That a no? You can say no." You offer as a peaceful middle ground. A chance to back out, something you always do for him. It's part of the reason he has a hard time with you.

"...I d-don't...That's—What are you...?"

"Fushiguro," You practically purr, voice thick with lust. His body is so hot "Can I help you?"

"...Do whatever you want." He offers, unable to swallow his pride. You take it as permission, like he expected. A small part of him, deep down, is relieved that you didn't make him say yes. He doesn't want to unpack that yet.

Instead of saying anything else, you move towards the other end of the bar in an alley - further away from the door and out of the way of people. He follows you hesitantly. With your back against the wall, you look up at him. There's just enough light to make out your features, smug as always.

Your hands don't hesitate when the reach for the front of his pants. He can feel himself twitch, fighting an erect. He takes a deep breath, as your fingers fiddle with the zipper and button of his jeans.

He can feel his expression pinch again, strained jaw as your hands so easily touch him. His.. soft cock and him. It's vulnerable. He needs to go but you're humming to yourself as you pull down the front of his boxers.

"You're so pale," You muse, fingers tracing his navel - brushing against the hair he's left trimmed "You have a mole on your hip. How cute."

Every muscle in his body is tense trying to keep his head afloat. The tension is so thick, it makes him sick. You look pleased with yourself, perfectly calm but obviously excited. Megumi feels his forearms press against the wall as his knees nearly buckle.

"Still needa go, hm?" You say, pulling down his boxers until his cock is fully out. He's nearly hard, just barely there. You drag your finger down his length while it's soft and he chokes on air "You should do it on the wall, then. I'll get behind you,"

Megumi feels his body prickle with heat as you stand behind him, just as you promise. Your head pokes out from one side of him, while your hand slips underneath his thin sweater. Goosebumps appear all over his body, your fingers barely scrape his skin.

"You're so soft," You say warmly, hot breath on his spine "So pretty."

Megumi feels your hand reach in the front of his boxers and wrap around his shaft. Everything else goes blank other than the fact you're touching him, and your hands are soft and your voice is so quiet and so smooth. He can feel the erection he'd been trying to suppress hit him with full force as you squeeze his cock to your hearts content.

"You're getting hard." You note, if only to humiliate him slightly. "Are you pent up?"

"Please shut up." He nearly begs. You giggle.

"Okay, okay," You shift your hand a little, looking at the wall. You really intend to help him and not just ruin his day a bit. The realization unsettles him "Just let go when you're ready, 'kay?"

Every word he wants to say is escaping him. Humiliation and shame flood his entire body, sweeping over him in a tide. His body final releases at the sound of your words, as if on command. A warm sensation of relief overwhelms him, the sound of it hitting the concrete under him making his brain feel staticky.

He's so embarrassed he can't even open his eyes. He's so aware of what's happening he wants to crawl in his skin. Even more so at the feeling of your body behind him, your head pressed against his back - the little sigh you do as he releases. He's getting hard in your hand again - even harder than before.

"Feeling better?" Your voice comes out like a coo, condescending but full of adoration "You're almost completely hard. Did it feel good to let go?"

When the last of his stream stops, he finds himself mortified at how painfully turned on he is. Even more so by the feeling of your hand. You spit into your other hand, dripping the spit onto his cock quickly before the one already touching it gives it a hard stroke. He chokes out on a moan, a shiver crawling up his spine. His whole body is tingling, pressure forming in his skull. The knot in his stomach is wrapped tight, surely because of your fist in the loop.

"I-it's dirty." He chokes, forehead touching the wall in front of him. He can feel it in his stomach, shamelessly responding to your touch as you stroke his stiff cock. Was he always such a pervert?

"Then it's okay to get it more dirty," You say softly, pressing a kiss to his back "We can't go inside like this, can we?"

He's shaking hard, a whimper falling from his lips unintentionally. It feels so fucking good. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's the fact its your hand. The one he's been picturing for months and months, wrapped around his shaft and stroking him so slowly. The fact that you're in public - only a few feet away from the bustle of the city. This is special attention no doubt. He can't help but like it.

He doesn't know why he's so turned on that he's panting. He's not like this normally. He has more pride than that, but right now - he's bathed in shame and desire. All he can do is let your fist wrap around his cock like he's always wanted. Nothing else is viable.

"You're twitching." You inform, giggly "Will you cum for your senior, Fushiguro?"

"Fuck, fuck."

He cums into your fingers in a hot flash. You catch it all in your palms, just over the tip as his stomach clenches hard. A wave of euphoria leaves his whole body ragged, sobering him up completely as his erection finally settles again. He's so dazed from the experience, he hasn't moved an inch. Your voice startles him.

"You did well," You say pleasantly, removing your hand. He turns to face you. Pressing a kiss to his lips, you smile "Now, do you have a tissue?"

He shivers.

"Y-yeah," He says, reaching for his pocket "And call me Megumi."

#piss cw #writing tag #megumi x reader #megumi smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #i dont even wanna talk about it

[bordysbae]

“He’s my ex, we broke up for a reason” for Ethan

i decided to combine these requests! hopefully that’s okay with both of the anons who requested these, i’m so sorry if that’s not what you wanted :)

“m&ms”

ethan edwards x reader

please read this: i do not know much about type 1 diabetes, so if ANY of the info in this story is incorrect, PLEASE let me know so i can fix it to be correct! <3 UPDATE: i changed part of the story (a small small bit, might even go unnoticed to some re-readers) due to some incorrect info on diabetes!

word count: 1.0k

it’s been 2 months since you and ethan broke up, and you’re finally okay enough to start going out again. ethan broke up with you out of nowhere, and it seriously broke you.

for the first month after the breakup you avoided anywhere and anyone that could possibly lead you to even a glance of him, but you’re finally branching out, and going to a party. you’re really only going since majority of your friends, who happen to be ethan’s teammates, wouldn’t stop begging you to come. but you’re actually excited, who cares if you see ethan? it’s time you show him what he missed out on.

“does this shirt make me look like a slut?” your roomate ella asks you. “no not at all, it makes you look really good!” you smile, looking her up and down. “okay good, luca is gonna be there” she smirks. “you and luca need to get together already jesus, i cant keep dealing with having to leave the apartment every time he’s coming over at like 10:30” you roll your eyes playfully. “well, we both know where you used to go when luca came over. speaking of which, is he gonna be there tonight?” ella asks, obviously talking about ethan. “i don’t know and i don’t care. he’s my ex, we broke up for a reason.” “yeah, a reason which you still don’t know of. you guys at least need to talk about it” “yeah yeah whatever” you say as you put your hoop earrings in your ears.

you both arrive at the frat house filled with the smell of cheap cologne, sweat, and alcohol. “hey y/n! i’m glad you made it!” dylan calls out as you shuffle around the already drunk crowd. “hey duker!” “oh hey ella! luca was wondering if you were coming, i last saw him in the kitchen.” “oh shush dylan, don’t tell her that. you’re just boosting her ego even more” you chuckle, earning a soft shove from her. “i’m gonna go find him and maybe grab a drink too, you okay to stay with dylan?” ella asks you, and you nod as an answer before she slips away into the crowd. “so um, is he..”“yeah, he’s here.” dylan says giving you a small pitiful smile. “don’t give me that pity smile dylan, i’m done with all of the pity everyone’s given me these last couple months. i’m over him.” you say. “i know i believe you, but you haven’t seen him since he ended things” “so? what has he changed or something?” “well no..” “exactly dylan, so it’s fine” “you’re right sorry” he says meaningfully, understanding of your attitude. that’s what you loved about dylan, he was the only one who always understood your feelings and never blamed you for distancing yourself from everyone completely. “THERE SHE IS! the myth and the legend!” you hear luke shout as he wraps his arm around your shoulder. “hey luke!” you smile. “cmon i gotta get another white claw, the cooler is outside” he says as he leads you outside, dylan following at your guys’ side.

you greet some of your other friends on the way to the porch, dylan and luke greeting people on the way as well. you get outside and there’s barely anyone there, so you finally get the slightest bit of quiet from the loud blaring music inside. as luke and dylan are trying to find good white claw flavors, out of nowhere your head begins to feel empty, and your hands start to shake slightly. you feel a little dizzy, and grab onto the wall as you begin to feel your legs getting weaker. “y/n? what’s going on?! are you okay? dylan help her up!” luke calls out, as they both rush over to help you stand up straight. “shit, i know what this means, she’s low. go get ethan, he knows exactly what to do!” hearing his name brings you back to reality, “what?! no no no please don’t get ethan!” you cry out. “luke don’t listen to her, go get him!” dylan yells as luke rushes inside to go find your ex-boyfriend.

your head is still spiraling and your now sitting against the wall, as ethan comes rushing outside. “y/n, here eat this!” he says as he shuffles through his pockets. you look at him with a confused face, as he pulls out a small fun-sized bag of m&ms from his wallet, your favorite candy. “ethan why do you-“ “shhh, we can talk about this after you’re stable, eat them.” he says, handing you the bag. after a few minutes, your blood sugar is back to normal and you now realize that it’s just you and ethan outside. ethan sighs and sits down next to you, fiddling with his fingers. after a few moments of silence, you break it. “ethan, why do you still keep m&ms in your wallet?” you ask softly. “just incase you ever need them.” “but i haven’t seen you in two months, there’s no need to keep them there. don’t they get stale?” “i switch them out every few weeks, just incase i ever run into you again” he admits, looking up from his lap and turning his head to you before starting up again, “it became a ritual for me when we were dating, and i just kept it going. i still care about you y/n, so so much.” he sighs.

“why did you break up with me?” you ask, afraid of what he’s going to say. “because i was scared. the draft was coming up and i wasn’t giving you the attention you deserved, so i got scared you’d leave me, so i ended things first. i regretted it more than anything but you shut yourself away, and i knew it wasn’t my place to barge in and beg for you back. but never in those two dreadful months have i not thought about you, y/n.” “i miss you too, e.” you admit. “i miss you so much more” he says, entangling your guys’ hands together. “can i kiss you?” he asks you softly, brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear. “absolutely” you say, as you both lean in.

#ethan edwards #ethan edwards imagine #ethan edwards x reader #ethan edwards blurb #hockey blurb #michigan hockey #hockey imagine #umich hockey #luke hughes #dylan duke #ethan edwards x diabetic

[lostinwalmartmymomleftme]

What r ur dreamswap headcanons :3

Have to redo this bc Tumblr hates me:

* 7 each

* Human Ver. Specific

Dream

Dream 100% has something that’s dedicated to Ani, (hospital, orphanage, medical organization, etc.)

To add more depth to him being Latino, I choose to believe he’s Chilean-American

He doesn’t like to be touched, but would never correct anybody on it because he doesn’t want to offend anyone and he doesn’t view it as a priority or concern 

Only has one scar and it was prior to the incident (tm), nightmare, dropped a bowl, and a shard of the ceramic cut dream deep enough to form a scar, and subconsciously Dream doesn’t want it to heal, so it doesn’t fully heal, though it is fairly faint, it’s on his wrist directly above the bone 

He’s probably some form of genderqueer, yeah, doesn’t know it and refuses to look into it because he just doesn’t view it as important, he probably goes by pronouns 

His magical blondness, skips a few streaks of his hair, so he has black streaks that he dies blonde to match the rest of his hair

Canonically multilingual, speaking both English and Mandarin, though I would like to add that he can fluently speak Latin, modern Spanish, and French

Bonus: Dream does that OCD thing (w/o actually having it) where all of his pens when they’re laying on his desk are at the exact same place, in a perfect little row

Nightmare

He sits in trees and people watches, like he sits up in trees, kind of in forests and watches people on picnics and fun little family outings, and tries to imagine what his life would be like if it hadn’t been what it is 

His hair is extremely heat damaged, because he totally straightens it (it’s the only thing about him that’s allowed to be straight /j)

Extension on him canonically being Latino: I think he’s Peruvian-American

For some reason collect bottle caps (like the little metal ones you get on alcohol bottles (he doesn’t drink though))

He has a peanut allergy

Despite being an insomniac, whenever he does actually sleep, he starfishes

He doesn’t like looking in mirrors, there’s anything wrong with it, there isn’t really reason why he doesn’t like it, he just find it unsettling and he covers the one in his room with a blanket

Ink

He has one of those canopy beds, but the actual canopy part is custom painted and embroidered (by himself) with band logos, TV show logos, characters he likes, etc.

He is really bad at spelling, professional emails are more like word scrambles

If someone were to ask him to draw them, he would draw them, claim he made mistake, tear it up, then draw a stick figure, and give it to them

Usual Ethnicity one: he actually doesn’t know his ethnicity beyond being Latino, but he is Cuban-American

He’s emo and claims his favorite color is black, but it’s orange which is equally as bad

He has no real gauge of his own pain tolerance and usually has to be forced into medical situations by other people, usually Dream when he reports back to him

Ink’s allergic to bleach and ant bites

Cross

He hasn’t had his first kiss

He uses Old Spice cologne in the classic scent. But he does it to a NAUSEATING level.

He’s Irish, ethnically. I don’t make the rules.

He’s minorly lactose intolerant

This man owns like five Tamagatchis

He makes really good bread for some reason? Like this man SLAYS a sourdough

Cross uses 3-in-1 bodywash

(This is a Tamagatchi if you don’t know)

Blue

This man wears hair curlers to bed 100%

He’s really bad at math

Probably advocates for eating healthy (being a yoga instructor, possible influencer)

Blue is so ADHD to me

American-Italian/Portuguese

Has never made a bed in his LIFE

Blue seems like the kind of man who would burn water

Error

Clean freak, he prefers to keep the house clean, but it ends up a mess anyways because Cross and Nightmare always end up messing it up

Easily the best driver of the Meme Squad

His lock/homescreen is an inspirational quote

LOVES the rain, finds it calming and loves the smell of it, but hates getting caught out in the rain (loves the aesthetic, hates the actual thing)

Maybe American-Moroccan?

He likes dark fantasy books

Was top of his class when he had been in school, prior to his amnesia

Kevin

Can read. (Can’t write (no thumbs))

Can and does steal from the meme squad

Bonus:

How long I think it takes DS to get ready in the mornings:

Dream takes a solid hour and a half

Blue takes an hour

Nightmare takes 45 minutes

Cross and Ink take 15-20 minute for the sake of layers

Error and Finch take like 5 bc they dress really basic

dreamswap by @\onebizarrekai

#dreamswap #dreamswap dream #ds dream #dreamswap finch #ds finch #ds error #dreamswap ink #dreamswap error #ds cross #ds ink #ds nightmare #ds blue #dreamswap cross #dreamswap nightmare #dreamswap blue #dreamswap headcanons #ds headcanons

[edwinspaynes]

Would be curious to hear more of your thoughts on the James-Matthew-Cordelia "love triangle" situation sometime. Personally I've always viewed most if not all of CC's love triangles and "love triangles" as narrative dialogues and I'm sure this is happening in some way, shape, or form with the not-exactly-an-actual-love-triangle-really situation in TLH but I've never exactly been able to figure out what it's a conversation about.

Okay so I think I've talked about this a little bit before but I haven't really gone into detail about why the TLH "love triangle" doesn't fall under the actual love triangle category.

In a MFM love triangle a woman character is in the center between two men. Both men offer her something different to the central girl, and they each care for her, have their merits, and offer something different to her. She must explore both relationships and make a decision.

This is true enough of the Heronfairstairs "love triangle." Both James and Matthew are wonderful people and have a lot to offer.

However, a love triangle necessitates that the character be torn between her feelings for the two characters. Cordelia has loved James since she was 13/14 years old. This is information that we glean at the beginning of Chain of Gold. From her first appearance until her last, Cordelia's romantic affections belong wholly to James.

This is fact #1: Cordelia made her choice long before the series began. It was always made clear to the readers that Herondaisy was the endgame. The entire romantic plotline in TLH works up to their remaining married, and in love, until the stars burn out.

Now, we have fact #2: Matthew knows this. From the beginning, Matthew knows that he is not actually going to live out an idyllic HEA with Cordelia. He knows that she loves James; he says as much in Chain of Iron, when he drops in through Cordelia's window. This admission not only demonstrates that Matthew is aware of his position in their dynamic but also that he has the ability to observe the feelings of those around him and draw correct conclusions on his own.

Fact #3: Matthew is insanely self-destructive, and in Anna's words he 'seems to prefer a helpless love.' Self-destructive tendencies are a core part of Matthew's character, and they do not begin and end with alcoholism. Even before picking up drinking, Matthew was calling himself 'a waste of space in a waistcoat' in Cast Long Shadows. His using romance as a method of self-destructing should come as no surprise, but this was also set up really well even before TLH started. The entire point of Matthew's crush on Lucie was to exemplify that he preferred a hopeless love.

And what's more hopeless - and more painful - than loving your best friend's wife? Nothing.

I will say that I do not think that this is the only reason Matthew loves Cordelia. I think that, as Thomas says, it is not so much romantic love as it is a sense of absolution - Cordelia is the outsider that does not know Matthew, so he shared his secret with her, which caused him to bond/imprint on her. But also... we'd be remiss not to note that Cordelia is wonderful. She's brave, big-hearted, and an extremely warm person; she's funny and bright and bold. She is a good friend to Matthew. I just felt the need to say that to be fair to Cordelia too.

Now, we move onto fact #4. James and Cordelia had their own main romantic plotline as well. And it's good. Here are some things about James and Cordelia that are all unequivocally true:

They have loved each other since they were children.

James was able to break a Prince of Hell's enchantment because of just how much he loved Cordelia.

Cordelia and James were a real actual married couple from the second Cordelia set foot into 48 Curzon Street. Like, I am sorry, but that was never a fake marriage even when they were clowning.

James and Cordelia have exuded massive soulmate energy from moment one. Neither of them have ever wanted anyone else.

Which brings us to Matthew. Matthew, who prefers a hopeless love. Matthew, who knows at least subconsciously that nothing would be more hopeless or painful than falling in love with his parabatai's extremely obvious soulmate.

This is why I believe Cassie chose to make these plotlines intersect. It is a testament to the strength of James and Cordelia's bond, but it is also a very good way to showcase just how bad Matthew's self destructive tendencies are since it's obvious how much he loves James.

We do not have the makings of a love triangle. We have the makings of two intersecting plotlines:

A Big Soulmate Energy love story that all Hell's power can't extinguish, and

The story of a boy with horrible mental health that massively self-destructs in the worst possible way.

And it hits.

Because fact #5 is that Cordelia and Matthew's 'escape' to Paris is just that - rampant, unrealistic escapism.

Did anyone reading TLH ever think that Matthew stood a chance? Did Matthew ever think that Matthew stood a chance? The answer to the former question should be NO assuming the audience has media literacy. The answer to the latter is no as well - at least not until Paris.

Matthew goes to Paris extremely impulsively. He plans on going alone. I like this because it sets him up as someone who loves travel. It makes his choice to go on a Voyage post-ChoT very satisfying, and it's good character-building/foreshadowing. But it also shows that he was not in a good mental place and needed to escape from London, escape from JamesandCordelia because there are no spaces between their names in his eyes or anyone else's anymore.

Cordelia goes to Paris because she is forced to wedge spaces between their names. James and Cordelia must be seperate again. She's also grieving her dad who died like 2 weeks ago maximum.

Both Cordelia and Matthew use Paris - and each other - as a means of running away from their problems. They pretend to be different people with no issues and have a good time. But it isn't real.

JamesandCordelia is real, and James's appearance in Paris and Cordelia's departure because of his drinking ultimately is Matthew's rock bottom as he realizes that JamesandCordelia are meant to be.

This is not a love triangle. These are two plotlines that hit each other in all the right places and force all three characters to grow and confront their needs to escape and avoid their feelings.

I think that this is why it's genius. It's complex, but it's also devastatingly simple: Herondaisy's love was so strong that Matthew used it as a vehicle for hurting himself over and over.

And this is why Matthew's leaving London at the end of ChoT is so satisfying as well. In London, he is likely to get sucked back into old habits; watching JamesandCordelia build what promises to be a beautiful life would be to engage in self-harm again. Leaving is Matthew actively choosing to take care of himself, to find a path where he can love himself and find another love that is not hopeless.

In the end, the Heronfairstairs "love triangle" is the manifestation and exemplification of Matthew Fairchild's mental health journey. It's not really part of JamesandCordelia's journey at all.

And I think that's what a lot of people fail to see about it, and that's why people get frustrated. They fundamentally have misinterpreted the purpose as "romantic drama" when it's not a romantic story at all. Essentially people are looking at a ripe orange and going "well that's the shittiest-looking apple I've ever seen," which as self-proclaimed #1 Matthew Fairchild Stan gets frustrating as hell.

#matthew fairchild #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #tlh #tsc deep dives

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

This is cheaper than therapy ✨

About 1.3k words about Harriet and Sammy, they are not having fun.

Oh and I did not read this after myself and likely won’t but you have fun! ♥

Harriet stands by the railing of her ship, her dark red cloak almost blending in with the night.

The port is dark and quiet and more unwelcoming than normally, in this odd hour in between the wolf and the dog: The older pirates have fallen asleep or unconscious, drunk, and the littlest children haven’t woken up yet.

So, the port is dark and quiet – save for the occasional thief, of course, and the wailing wind.

Harriet turns away from where she can suspect the faint fairy lights of the Revenge, a shadow of a sneer on her face. She doesn’t think she wants to deal with that tonight – she looks into the waves instead, one hand at the railing and another reaching for her flask. Her lips are mostly numb to the burning liquid when she drinks.

The waves are pretty. Violent and wild and cold, no doubt – the splintered droplets carried by the wind hit her in the face every so often, stinging.

She hides the flask again and leans further in, studying the ever-changing map down there, created and destroyed as the waves pont on Shattered Hope. The water looks so welcoming tonight.

She exhales slowly and closes her eyes for a moment; she thinks there is a small comotion behind her back, hushed voices and steps and opening doors, but she just doesn’t care enough to check.

(She heard one set of footsteps; she has two crewmates keeping watch. This should be fine.)

She opens her eyes again and grabs one of the heavy ropes nearby instead of the wood; she jumps at the railing.

(This should be fine.)

She doesn’t lose her balance.

She supposes she must make quite an image now, standing at the railing and looking into the distance melodramatically, the wind tearing at her hair and her cloak, but– If she strains her eyes enough, she can see the stars, locked forever behind the fucking barrier.

She looks down in the water instead. It looks so very inviting, has she said yet so? She wonders if the ocean would accept her as her mother’s daughter, or if she would just– sink. She wonders if she would care.

Footsteps behind her startle her out of her thoughts, though she doesn’t turn around. She could recognise these footsteps in her sleep. She closes her eyes as her first mate speaks:

„Again?“ her dear Sammy Smee asks and she stubbornly doesn’t turn around still. Sammy waits patiently for an answer and in the silence, she nods, just once. There’s no use in lying, Sammy would know.

The wind blows a stray strand of hair into her face; she lets it be so. It’s a lost battle, anyway.

„Come on, Harriet,“ Sammy speaks again, „Come down.“

Well, have they considered that she is Captain Harriet Hook and she does as she pleases – be it killing anyone who looked at <i>hers</i> wrong, or standing over the ocean, with her head full of alcohol and insistent ideas that won’t go away? They have not, have they.

She grips the rope tighter.

„Back on the ship, Harriet, not down into the ocean. Back on Hope.“

Harriet gives one last wishful look to the waves. „My ship has a full name, Sammy,“ she says.

„I know, Captain,“ they answer, obnoxiously not bothering to correct themselves, „Come back now?“

When she turns around, Sammy holds their hand extended for her to take, to help her down from the railing. (If she loses her balance just a little, well, the wind is at fault, what else?) She doesn’t need any help.

She takes their hand anyway.

„Thanks,“ she says. She pretends the wind stole the word from her lips before she had the chance to swallow it, but, it’s Sammy, and they nod in response. She thinks Sammy is the only person who has heard her say thank you.

She jumps back on board then; the impact makes her stagger and sends a sharp shot of pain to her skull. Fuck. She doesn’t hold back the grimace and the hiss of annoyance and pain.

Sammy squeezes her hand for just a heartbeat and offers: „Let’s get some water? And something to eat?“

„I’m not hungry,“ answers Harriet, because she is not.

„I haven’t seen you at any meals with the crew, and I didn’t bring you any food today. And you didn’t eat on your own, did you?“

„…I’m not hungry,“ she answers again, as she has nothing better to say. She thinks she saw the crew gathering to eat at some point, but she was only just going away, to do the rounds around her territory or maybe to deliver supplies for Ginny at the Escape – the winter has been long and hard, and Ginny can use anything they can get. And as for the first one, maybe she just likes going around and terrifying people, and can you blame her?

„The water, Captain,“ Sammy insists, „And some bread. Marya said bread with salt helps with nausea. Okay?“ They look at her and Harriet finds she doesn’t have the strength to argue with her first mate right now.

They walk to the kitchen, where Sammy quickly gets a glass of water and some bread, and they exit on board again; Harriet doesn’t need to feel more trapped than she already is.

They sit by the command bridge, backs against the wall, and Sammy gives her the water, which she doesn’t even try to improve with the remnants from her flask, please, she has some class! Never even mind Sammy.

She even eats about half of the bread before she tries to give it to Sammy, and hey, it’s not like Sammy is not trying to give their meals to their little brothers any time they get. She’s doing them a favour, really.

(She– she tries to make sure there is enough food for everyone, but the winter has been long and the adults as greedy and vicious as ever and she can’t keep track of how time works– She glances out to the ocean again.)

„Absolutely not, Harriet!“ Sammy pushes her hand with the bread away and they bicker for a while, though: She is the Captain. She gets what she wants, and they both know it.

Eventually, silence falls again; Harriet raises one of her hands to her temple, as if that’d do anything against the ocean calling to her. She covers her ear.

„You want me to get Anthony?“ offers Sammy, even though she knows they’d rather have their teeth pulled than go get Anthony Tremaine for her. She takes it as the distraction it is.

„Why not Ginny?“ she asks, looking at her first mate from the side.

„Ginny’s no good for you–“ they grumble.

„You’re just saying it cos she keeps smoking weed inside and you can’t stand the smell.“

„Well maybe!“

Notably, Harriet doesn’t laugh, instead she gasps out „Sam!“  doing her best to mimic genuine shock and outrage, as if they’ve greatly offended her. She knocks down the glass – an accident.

Sammy gives her a look and gets up to refill the glass; she drinks from her flask again, when they can’t see. Just as she can’t see the stars, not really.

But they’re back before she can spiral further, they sit next to her and take her hand, acting as her anchor.

„Well?“ They ask, „Do you want me to get any of them? Anthony or Ginny?“

„…Nah,“ Harriet breathes out and leans her head against the wall. „But?“

„Hmm?“

She looks at her first mate and then away again as she says: „But… Stay with me?“

Sammy raises their hands, their fingers weaved together, as if to make a point. „You know I always do, Captain,“ they say with a smile that doesn’t reach their eyes.

She presses their fingers against her cheek and doesn’t smile either as she whispers her  „thanks.“

They stay together until the sun comes up.

#disney descendants #harriet hook #sammy smee #tw alcohol #tw suicidal ideation #but y’know otherwise they’re just vibing