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cotncandyboifics · 3 years

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1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 8

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 2,407

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: food, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: alternate title: Virgil's very subtle epiphany. also Patton has a gay panic moment lol

...

Slam.

Monday morning. Mr. Berry was slapping a small poster on each student's desk like a stamp, one-by-one and painfully slowly.

"This," he began, "Is the official welcome to the schoolyear; audition posters for the Fall Talent Show." His bloated belly hardly fit between the desk rows, and students made futile attempts to scoot away from him before they were bombarded by his tyrannical tummy. "As a retired thespian and a life long supporter of theatre and the arts," he continued, bringing his pile of posters to his chest in his passion, "I highly recommend you at least consider looking into auditions. Everyone has a passion, or at least a hobby, and the talent show is a perfect freelance opportunity to show off your skills."

Roman rolled his eyes too dramatically. This was upsetting him more than he thought it would, and his eyes shot daggers up at his large superior as he slammed the next poster onto Roman's desk.

"Auditions will be held next week, on the specified dates. The show itself will be two weeks later, I believe on Friday night. Be there, and I will award you some extra credit points. All you must do is present me with your ticket, which must have your name on it," he eyed a few mischievous students in the room, "With a stamp on it from the Talent Show admissions booth, on the following Monday." As soon as Mr. Berry had given a poster to Virgil and moved on, Virgil quietly crumpled it and shoved it into a random part of his backpack, proceeding to fold his arms on his desk and put his head down. This caught Roman's attention, and his subconscious latched onto formulating a teasing remark for after class as a distraction from his own feelings about the Talent Show.

After class, the usual place where Roman and Virgil were shortly alone and had a short interaction - most often consisting of some insufferable tease from Roman or occasionally a debate spurred by Virgil making a witty side comment - the two met once again. After their first class of the day was usually the only time they were both at their lockers at the same time, as it happened, and Virgil was always thankful that it was the only time. Since their assignment to the Biology project, however, Roman had taken to walking with Virgil from their English class to their lockers and beginning his bouts of banter prematurely.

"Not a fan of the infamous talent show, are we?" Roman paced quickly over to Virgil, who had just made it outside the classroom door as they'd been dismissed. Virgil huffed in defeat as his attempt to escape before Roman could catch him had been fruitless.

"It's ridiculous," Virgil didn't slow his pace for Roman, and began essentially speedwalking down the hall. Roman was slightly taller than him and was able to keep up, but still got a little out of breath doing it. "Hey everyone, come and show everyone in the school something you really enjoy so they can all collectively judge you and make you self conscious about your interests and - oh no! you don't wanna do it anymore because you feel horribly inadequate? shoooot. Sorry man, no one could have seen that coming. Oh well, better luck next year when you'll just ruin a different passion for yourself!" Virgil flailed his hands at the end of his mini-rant.

"How can you stay that sarcastic for that long consecutively? I'm honestly impressed," Roman said, huffing as they arrived at their lockers. Virgil's permanent frown seemed to somehow deepen. "Though, I guess I really can't argue, Count Woe-laf. I see your point. The pressures of an impromptu performance are... undeniable." Roman focused his attention on the padlock hanging from the latch of his locker, while Virgil looked to him with widened eyes.

"Really?" He didn't look away from Roman until he would look back.

"What?" Roman defended.

"It's just..." Virgil focused on his own padlock now, "You never agree with what I say. It always becomes a debate," he pulled his locker open lazily, pulling his backpack off his shoulders and putting it on backwards so that he could more easily exchange things. When Roman didn't reply, he continued, "like... I don't know. Why is it any different now?"

Roman was exchanging things as well, and didn't have an immediate answer. Well, he knew the answer (or in this case, answers), but it wasn't one he was even ready to admit to himself, let alone anyone else, and especially let alone Virgil. He just eventually shrugged.

This reaction only further alarmed Virgil. He opened his mouth to continue his flabbergasted interrogation, but the bell rang right at that moment. Roman slammed his locker shut suddenly.

"Well, that's our queue I suppose. See you tonight, Incredible Sulk." Roman elbowed Virgil in the shoulder a bit awkwardly and began skipping down the hall to his next class. That left a dumbfounded and nearly-panicking Virgil standing in front of his open locker in an almost completely empty hall.

He wished Roman would stop leaving him like that.

...

Roman had texted the Biology Project group chat that weekend, saying he had an important football practice on Monday that went until 5. they'd have to have their meet-up at Roman's a bit later in the evening. Logan simply waited it out by heading to the school library to get his other homework done, while Patton and Virgil shot the breeze, walking down random hallways of the school.

The two of them were grabbing a snack from a vending machine when Virgil checked his phone. It was 4:50. They got their respective snacks - Patton got a strawberry Pop tart and Virgil got a Sunny D - and made their way to the designated meeting place. It was a concrete bench at the front of the school. They expected to find Logan there, but he wasn't. The two of them simply sat on the cold bench and exchanged bits of each other's snacks, and continued talking until Virgil noticed someone approaching.

He figured it would be Logan, but this person was shorter and more filled out than Logan. He trained his eyes better and realized that it was Roman. Roman, who happened to have a towel around his neck and sopping-wet crimson curly hair unabashedly on display. A drip of water rolled down his cheek and along his jawline, and Virgil realized he was staring. Roman finally got within conversation distance.

"Like what you see, Charlie Frown?" He teased. Patton looked to Virgil, noticing his awe, and giggled.

"Hah, in your dreams, Meta Knight," Virgil deflected half-heartedly, still finding it hard to pull his eyes away from Roman's unfortunate perfection. It was only worse that Roman knew just how attractive he was.

"Why's your hair all wet, silly?" Patton asked, standing energetically to greet him.

"We rinse off after practice. I considered leaving my shirt off so i could just get a clean one when i got home, but i knew that might be a bit too much to handle for some of us," Roman elbow-nudged Patton, who just giggled again and pushed his glasses up. Virgil knew that was extremely forced, especially after their conversation on Friday.

"Well," Roman checked his wristwatch, "Where would my nerdy Wolverine happen to be? It's ten past, and if there's anything Logan certainly is, it's punctual."

"Quite right you are," a stern voice came from behind them, to reveal Logan's lengthy form approaching casually. "My apologies for my tardiness. I got quite engaged in a particular Physics problem." Roman turned to him smiling, and pecked him on the cheek. Virgil didn't need to look at Patton to feel his friend's heart sink through the floor.

"Shall we then?" Roman turned to lead the way on the five-block journey to his house.

...

"hmm, that reminds me," Roman said from his sprawled position on his bed, "what are all your sexualities?"

That sure caught everyone's attention. The clock beside Roman's bed read 6:28 PM. Logan was studying their plants and taking notes, Patton had been cooing quietly to Roman's pet turtle, and Virgil was sitting in Roman's spinning desk chair scrolling on his phone. They all looked at Roman at once, and then at each other.

"Heh," Roman sat up, "My apologies for blurting such an intrusive question, I was just looking up at my-" he gestured toward his ceiling- "glorious flag, and it made me wonder. No man must answer that which he does not desire to." Roman was blatantly referring to the Bisexual flag that was pinned to the ceiling above his bed. They all looked at it, and back at him. "I suppose it's obvious now, but yes, I am undeniably bisexual," He faux bowed.

The silence wasn't doing anyone good, so Patton broke it before it got too much more awkward. "I, I'm gay," he said sheepishly, continuing to observe the turtle. Virgil gave him a soft smile, and decided to offer himself up next.

"I'm pan," he seemed to recoil further into his hoodie, if that were even possible. Logan turned to the other three, adjusting his necktie.

"I'm not usually one to admit this to many people, but since you have all been so transparent and calm about such personal information," He started, "I am comfortable telling you that I am Asexual."

No one regarded this with much surprise, except for Roman. "Oh really?" He said, seemingly surprised and embarrassed. Virgil scoff-laughed at him.

"What, upset you can't make your sexual fantasies a reality?" Virgil teased. Roman gasped, bringing a hand to his chest in an offended gesture.

"Excuse me!" He exclaimed, a look of disgust contorting his face.

Before a classic Roman-Virgil debate could ensue, Patton decided to share his thoughts.

"Well, I, I mean, I'm not ace but I, I guess sex isn't really so important to me," he was fiddling with his ring yet again.

"W-well, it should never be the centerpiece of any relationship!" Roman declared. They all looked at him skeptically. "what? I mean, personally, I prefer grand gestures." As he spoke, he stood and walked to Logan. "In my opinion," he produced a pristine bouquet of deep red roses that none of the others had noticed anywhere in the room before, "they are the key to any person's heart."

Logan seemed tame, Patton thought. As if he were performing. If he were being his normal self, he would have been very confused by where Roman had hidden the bouquet, and how it looked so perfect after being concealed. Instead, he just took it with a very gentle sweet smile, and thanked him quietly. Instead of Logan, Patton was now the one confused.

Virgil's face was red, and his neck a blotchy pink; thankfully he was mostly hidden under his purple bangs and hood. He huffed and excused himself to use the restroom. Patton noticed this time, and grabbed his arm before he made it out of the room.

"You okay?" he whispered gently to Virgil. Virgil just looked at him, mustered a small smile and a nod. Patton knew exactly what that meant. Virgil was okay, he just needed a moment. He returned the smile, and released his gentle paternal grip on Virgil's arm, allowing him to leave.

There was the sound of someone calling Roman's name from another part of the house, and Roman excused himself, rushing off to find its source.

Logan slipped his phone into the pocket of his navy slacks. "Well, I must be going now," He began. Instead of reaching to gather his things, he trained his acute attention directly on Patton, who was startled by the sudden focus on him. "Patton, do you have a ride home today?"

"I, uh, well," He tried blurting out an excuse but none came to his mind. "No, not exactly..."

Logan was slowly approaching, and Patton tried to back up but hit the terrarium containing Roman's turtle after just one small step. "Would you like a ride? My parents would be more than happy to assist in your safe transport home."

"Well, well I really don't want to intrude, or-" He stopped dead when Logan placed a slender hand gently on his shoulder.

"I insist. It's no intrusion or burden to them. They appreciate being able to help others when they can, especially people whose company I enjoy." Logan didn't feel as though he was figuratively lying through his teeth, but he knew that his parents didn't exactly feel that way. The nature of the situation was more that they took kindly to those that Logan worked well with on academically related subjects, such as people from his study group or the like.

Patton caught himself before letting the thought "you enjoy my company?" escape his lips. He just smiled. He knew there was no way he could get himself to deny Logan's offer when his heart was taking the reins.

"I would.. really appreciate, a ride home, yeah," He said quietly. Logan was just looking into his eyes with a tenderness Patton hadn't seen before. He pushed away any thoughts that Logan may have looked at Roman the exact same way during their date. He hoped he hadn't, and cursed himself for hoping it.

"Wonderful," Logan pulled himself out of their shared momentary trance. "I will let them know. I'm sure they will find it a pleasure to become acquainted with you. They should be here in less than five minutes, so I suggest gathering your belongings." Logan's thumbs padded across is illuminated phone screen as he spoke, until he once again slid it into his pocket and began collecting his things along with Patton.

Virgil entered once again, hood off and face slightly red and wet. it was clear that he hadn't been crying due to the sporadic nature of the droplets of water across his face; it looked more like he'd just haphazardly washed his face in the sink and hadn't bothered to wipe the remnants away. Patton smiled at him brightly.

"Ah, Virgil," Logan addressed as he slung his bag over his shoulder, "It was pleasant to see you again. We are on our way out now. Are you ready, Patton?" He looked to Patton, who also slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Yep! Logan's giving me a ride," Patton blatantly could barely contain his excitement in his ever-growing grin, so Virgil only returned it with a small thumbs up.

"Alright, ill see you guys in class tomorrow," He hugged Patton tightly, and half-heartedly saluted to Logan without making eye contact. Logan simply nodded to him, and the two left shortly, leaving Virgil alone in Roman's room.

#ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts roman #roman sanders #ts patton #patton sanders #ts logan #logan sanders #prinxiety #logicality #logan x patton #roman x virgil #slow burn #high school au #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #thomas sanders

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geniusgub · 3 years

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north//chapter ten

genre: angst

pairing: season ten spencer reid x female oc

warnings: panic attack, talk of maeve and that whole situation, death, mention of drugs and relapse

word count: 9.8k

summary: spencer gets to see another part of amelia’s ugly side and amelia gets more than she bargained for when she steps onto her balcony

also i just wanted to say that the panic attack described in this chapter is based off of my experience with panic attacks. nobody has the same experience, but this is based off mine. also part two, i don’t know how medication for panic attacks really work, what i wrote is literally based off my experience with migraine medication. so if it’s not accurate, then i apologize. i also apologize for taking so long to write this. school was a lot and my mental health sucks. but it’s here now!! enjoy

AMELIA

"Yaz, if you don't stop moving, I'm going to purposely poke your fucking eye out!"

"It's not my fault! Quinn keeps nudging me!"

"No, I'm not!"

I roll my eyes at the two girls in front of me, flicking my wrist to put the final touches on Yaz’s makeup. "You two need to shut up." I then grab Quinn’s shoulders and force her to move against the wall, right next to Yaz. They continue to quietly bicker with each other.

"So," Frankie speaks up from across my studio, lounged back in a bean bag chair, fiddling away with a camera of his own, "Lia, you're coming up on one year with your genius doctor FBI boyfriend, right?"

"Mhm," I hum, too focused on painting my friends' bodies to give a full and coherent answer.

"Do you guys have plans yet? Dinner? Movie? I don't even know what you guys do as dates. In fact, I don't really know much about this guy at all. Are we even sure he exists?" Michael teases, waving around his bottle of beer. Quinn squirms away from my grasp to take a sip of his beer and only comes back when I tug on her hand.

"No plans yet," I mumble, biting my tongue for a moment as I focus on getting the swirls of blue and yellow just right. If the painting isn’t absolutely perfect then I’ll never be happy with the way the pictures come out. And if I’m not happy with the pictures that come from today then that just means I wasted my time today. "We don't make plans in advance, really. His job doesn't allow for that."

"His job doesn't allow for that?" Dani scoffs. "Stupid excuse. Horrible excuse. Men are trash. How can you be sure that all the time he’s spending ‘at work’ and not with another girl? Or maybe another guy? I don’t know, I don’t judge. Maybe he’s-"

"Dani," I hiss, twisting my head to send her a pointed look, "he's an FBI agent. He hunts down serial killers for a living. He travels for work on a whim and it’s not a big deal. He’s not gay and it’s rude to speculate about someone’s sexuality, especially if you’ve never met them."

"But don't you want him around him more?" Frankie jumps up from his seat and throws his arm around my shoulder, effectively pulling away from my work. He thinks that grabbing me will diffuse the situation, bring some humor, keep me from getting too upset. But it actually does all the opposite and I can feel a ball of heat growing and swelling in my stomach.

I’ve been friends with this bunch since college. We all went to Carnegie Mellon together and even lived in a house together in junior and senior year, but they aren’t always the best of friends. Clearly. They can be quite judgemental and exclusive when it comes to people outside of our friend group. Jenna and I commonly find ourselves sharing looks across rooms when one of our friends says something rude or stupid. They’re not the best, but we’ve been through so much together and they are all I have.

I push Frankie away from me as best as I can. "Do you guys just not like him because he's a federal agent?" The room goes silent and that's enough of an answer for me. I scoff, moving across the room to grab some more paint and squirt it into my palette. I wind up putting too much on my palette and groan, screwing off the top of the paint tube and trying to scoop the extra paint back in. The longer I try, the less gets back inside the tube and the more my frustration starts to grow, the more tears well up in my eyes. "You're complaining about my boyfriend who you've never met just because he works for the FBI. Ridiculous. Unfair."

"We get arrested all the time and all we do is spray paint empty brick walls," Dani protests, and, again, judging by the silence of the others in the room, I know that they have no problems with what Dani is saying. "It's bullshit! We should be able to express ourselves creatively without having to do art in the middle of the night and worry about being thrown in a holding cell."

"First of all; express yourself creatively on a canvas, not on someone’s property. Second; I can promise that you’re not getting arrested by federal agents. You’re getting arrested by cops and my boyfriend is not a cop," I growl at my supposed friends. I don't get angry easily. In fact, I'm a very patient person and I've been told that by many people on many occasions. My first instinct is to never get mad. Anger doesn’t get anyone anywhere. I prefer to have conversations instead of screaming matches and to hear out the other side's argument. But this is different. This is Spencer we’re talking about. I love Spencer more than anything and since meeting him, I know I'd do anything to protect him, even if that means arguing with my friends on his behalf. It’s not fair for them to be making these judgments about him. "You get arrested by Virginia Police so if you wanna hate anyone then hate them. Don't you dare all go hating my boyfriend for no reason. Don't hate him when you've never met him."

I throw my palette onto a table, not caring about paint splatter, and grab my phone, leaving my studio and heading into the fresh air. My heart is pounding against my tightening chest as I lean against the brick wall and slide down to an incredibly uncomfortable crouching position, tucking my head between my knees. The stance almost instantly makes my back ache and my neck sting but I ignore it. Maybe I deserve the pain. My breathing quickly gets more and more shallow and my head goes light. I try to lift my head to bring sunlight into my eyes, but my head seems far too heavy to move. I reach for my phone and it slips right out of my fingers when they tremble too much for me to get a grip on the thin metal. This feeling is helpless, painful, too familiar. I can’t seem to get a grasp on myself and I’m spiraling out of control more and more by the second. Every gasp for breath turns into a sob and every attempt to move my head turns into overwhelming shame when I notice people passing by are staring at me and whispering.

It's almost perfect that my phone starts to buzz on the ground and I manage to open my eyes enough to see that Spencer is calling me. I attempt another deep breath to calm myself down but it doesn't work and it only makes my grip on reality dwindle. It's getting harder to breathe and my eyes are stinging with tears. With every pounding beat of my heart, my chest gets tighter and tighter and tighter until it feels like someone has successfully squeezed my lungs flat.

The buzzing of my phone should bring me back to reality but it just makes it worse. It’s an annoying, persistent sound that just won’t stop. It won’t stop. It just won’t stop. I want to answer, I need to answer, but I just wish the sound would stop. The way to get it to stop is to answer. Just answer. It’ll stop if you answer. You’ll feel better if you answer. I slam my hand down on the ground and grope the floor until I manage to grab my phone and bring it up to my ear.

"Hi, love," Spencer's chipper voice comes through the receiver, none the wiser to my current situation. He's been away on a case since early yesterday morning, having woken me up while getting dressed, kissing me goodbye, and leaving my apartment to get to the BAU. I would kill to have him here right now. Maybe he could talk me down and reteach me how to breathe. Maybe he could reinflate my lungs and kiss my hands until they stop trembling.

I try to answer, but nothing coherent comes out. I let out a strangled sob, my fingernails digging into my knee so hard that I worry I might draw blood. My inability to communicate is frustrating and that ball of heat in my stomach rises up to my chest. The trembling overpowers me and I almost drop my phone again.

"Amelia? What's wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me," Spencer says quickly, and it's only followed by more choked wheezes from me. "You've gotta breathe, okay? Take really deep breaths for me. In through your nose and out from your mouth.”

His instructions seem simple enough to do. Just breathe. That’s all I have to do. It’s simple. Just breathe. I open my mouth to try to speak to him, to tell him what’s happening, even though I’m pretty sure he can tell, but all that comes out is fragments of words and whimpers.

"It’s okay, you’re okay. You don’t need to speak. In through your nose, out from your mouth, remember? Can you try that for me?" I’m not sure how long I’m sitting there for, on the phone, trying to focus on my boyfriends’ voice as he tries to calm me down. It feels like I’m sitting for a few hours, but my tiny grasp on reality lets me know that it’s been ten minutes at the most. I just do what I can to focus on Spencer and what he is telling me to do and how I can calm down. I clench my fists and finally succeed in doing what he tells me to after a while, breathing heavily in through my nose, my chest burning as the heaving comes to a gradual stop. I breathe out and then repeat the process a few times. “There you go. You’re doing so well. I’m right here for you, okay? Take all the time you need.”

He continues to tell me sweet nothings and encourages me to breathe until my breathing has regulated and my head lays slack against my knees. Spencer lets just a few moments of silence go by to let me collect myself before he speaks again. “Are you feeling a little better now?” I gather enough energy, the last of it, to hum a confirmation. "Where are you right now?" Spencer asks next. Even just his voice calms me down. Maybe it's his experience with his job but he sounds so calm right now. Nobody in my life has ever been able to remain so calm during one of my panic attacks, leaving me to cry and heave and occasionally faint in private. But Spencer's voice sounds so soothing and calm and low that just him speaking helps me more than anything. More than any useless, overwhelming, smothering hug ever has.

"Studio.”

"Okay. You should get home and get some rest. "

"Mhm.”

"You shouldn't drive. I don't know if you did, but either way, please don't drive. Take the train or call someone to drive you home," Spencer pleads. "I was calling to tell you that we're on our way home. We closed the case and we're leaving in a few minutes for the airport, but don't wait for me. You need to go home and get rest. Panic attacks are really taxing and you need to re-energize. I'll come over when I get back but you need to get home."

"Amelia?" I hear Jenna's voice approaching me but I don't even bother to look up. "Are you okay?"

I've exhausted my energy on speaking just those few words to Spencer so when Jenna gets close enough to me, I just lift the phone up for her. She crouches down beside me and grabs my phone, wedging it between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes my hair out of my face. I try to lean away from her touch but I can’t get very far. "Who is this? Oh, hi, Spencer. This is Jenna. She's right next to me. I can definitely bring her home. Don't worry, I'll get her home and I'll stay with her until you come around, it's no problem. I'll take her phone and let you know when I get her home. Okay, bye."

I finally lift my head and look at Jenna, watching her tuck my phone into her pocket, giving me this stupid, pitiful smile that I’ve seen far too many times in my life. A half smile that says, it sucks that you’re going through something but I only kind of care. "Mr. Genius says I gotta bring you home and keep you safe until he comes over and I don't feel like ending up in prison, so let's go, babe." I don’t have it in me to correct her to day Doctor Genius instead of Mister Genius. Jenna holds her hands out to help me up.

I bring my shaking hands up to hers and let her pull me to my feet and lead me over to her car, feeling weak and useless as she pulls the seatbelt over my chest. I pout as she dotes over me, humming casually to herself just so she can make this situation not so tense, but it just makes it seem like she doesn’t care. "Okay," Jenna says, hand poised on the passenger side door, "I'm gonna go kick everyone out of your studio and then we'll get going. Sit tight."

///

"Hi, Spencer, I'm Jenna,"

"Hi, Jenna. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping on the couch. She didn't even wanna go upstairs to bed so she asked me to put on a record and she just passed out on the couch."

Everything sounds foggy as I wake up what I assume is hours later in an uncomfortable position, curled up on my couch. My head is pounding and my eyes feel puffy and I'm now regretting not forcing myself to get into bed. I would have much rathered waking up with my duvet wrapped around me and my head on Spencer’s pillow. Waking up on this stiff couch with my toes virtually frozen and my head twisted uncomfortably on the armrest isn’t how I wanted to wake up post-panic attack.

I open my eyes just in time to see Spencer setting his go-bag down beside the coffee table, sending me that same stupid, pitiful smile. "Hi," he whispers, coming to sit on the floor in front of me. He raises his hand to drag his fingertips along my cheekbone and the soft touch makes my eyes flutter closed. I’ve gotten used to being without him when he’s away on cases, and having Spencer with me makes all the separated days easier. I know that the moments like this make up for the times I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, because I can’t sleep if his arms around me and if I can’t hear his heartbeat. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Mm," I hum, but it's not much of an answer, not a satisfying one, at the least.

"It's good that you got some sleep but you gotta have something to eat too. Do you want me to order something?" I nod slowly at his suggestion that I couldn’t care less about. I just want his hands on me. "Okay, I will. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

A whine falls from my lips as I reach my hand out for his, hoping to keep him from leaving. I just need his touch and his love and his affection to feel better. I don’t need sleep or food or anything he could possibly suggest that helps a person relax after a panic attack, based on this study I read. I love his facts but I just want him to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it will. The boiling hot baths I usually take after a panic attack never do the trick. Nothing does the trick like physical affection does.

"Don't go," the words could barely be considered words, especially not after I mumble them through almost closed lips.

"I’m not leaving," Spencer crouches down again and presses a kiss to my forehead, and I’m sure he realizes that a kiss was the wrong move because I just keep trying to pull him closer. “I just wanna order you something to eat, okay? Let me bring you upstairs and get you in bed and then I’ll call for something. Is that okay?”

Spencer is sitting up on his knees before I even try to answer because even though he's posed a question, he doesn't need an answer. He knows how to help me from the studies he reads and he knows what needs to be done and he's relatively stubborn. So despite how my body feels heavy and how I wish I could just melt into the couch cushions with my arms wrapped around my boyfriend, I force myself to sit up. Spencer scoops me up and carries me up the stairs, setting me down in bed and tugging the duvet all the way up to my chin.

Spencer goes a bit overboard with tucking me in, but I don’t mind, as long as his hands are on me. And he is happy with his work, he finally takes off his peacoat and sets it on the edge of the bed. "I'm just gonna go run downstairs and order something and make some tea, okay? Did you take your medication?" He turns away from me and goes towards the stairs, digging his phone out of his pocket.

"Huh?"

Spencer halts himself from walking down the stairs, turning his chin over his shoulder. "Your medication," he turns his body towards me. "You know, for your panic attack?"

I shake my head, eyebrows furrowed so much that it makes my headache worse. "No, no, I don't have any."

My fuzzy brain can't exactly decipher the look on Spencer's face, but he turns his back to me yet again and rushes down the stairs. I let out a hum at his confusing reaction, but it turns into a disappointed whine as he gets further and further away from me. So, still in my post-panic attack state, I reach for Spencer's coat for some sort of comfort.

As I tug on it, something falls out of the pocket. I blindly reach for it and have every intention of tucking it back into the pocket it came from, but the cool metal of the object heightens my senses, as if the object brings me back down to earth. I hold Spencer's jacket to my chest as I lay back down against my pillows, looking down at the metal circle in my hand. There's a triangle on the front- or maybe the back?- with a Roman numeral one on it, with the words unity, service, and recovery around the three sides. I turn it over in my hand and find a compass rose with only north labeled.

"Amelia?" My head pops up when I tune into Spencer's footsteps on the last stair, his phone in his hand and his untied converse in the other. He drops his shoes on the floor and then leans against the wall, his eyes traveling down to the floor instead of on me. I can feel his shame from all the way across the room and how his embarrassment starts to consume him. He instantly shuts himself off from me and it’s so disheartening to see how easy it is for him to do so.

"It fell out," I hold it out to him, despite our distance. "What did you order?"

Spencer doesn't move as I hold the medallion out to him, but all he does is tuck his hands in his pocket and study the patterns on his socks. "You don't wanna know what it is?"

I drop my hand against the bed and sigh, having used too much energy to keep my arm up for longer than two seconds, nuzzling my cheek against Spencer's jacket and trying to get a whiff of his cologne. If he won’t come to me then I’ll have to get a piece of him in my bed, even if it’s just the scent on his jacket. I need his comfort. "I know what it is, dove."

He takes a long breath and then walks over, taking the medallion out of my hand and shoving it in his pocket. "Pizza. I'm gonna go change and I'll be right back."

I hadn't even realized he had brought his go-bag upstairs at some point, but I only see it when he carries it into the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door all the way and I find myself wondering why. Maybe he doesn't want to completely shut himself away from me because he can tell I need him close. Or maybe because he didn’t want to rebuild his emotional walls around me, and closing the bathroom door would separate us. But I don’t have the time to come to a clear and coherent hypothesis before he has returned.

He's in a tee shirt and plaid pajama pants when he returns, dropping his bag onto the floor and letting out a heavy sigh. I watch him as he walks around the bed to grab his shoes and begins the process of shoving them into his bag, even though he doesn't need to. He knows he doesn’t need to clean his stuff up immediately. But I notice his medallion in his hand, squeezed between his pointer and middle fingers, and it makes me call out to him. His head whips over to me and I realize I have nothing to say. I need him beside me but he clearly has so much going on in his head and in all the time we've been together, I've never seen his medallion. That makes me nervous. Is this why he's acting like this? Is he thinking about getting his hands on a drug that will ruin his life?

I have nothing to say. But Spencer is staring at me, waiting for me to ask whatever question he thinks I’m needing to ask, as I clutch his jacket like my life depends on it, eyes half-closed as I start to struggle to breathe again. I open my mouth but nothing comes out and a tear drips down my cheek.

Spencer moves to kneel on the bed, pulling his jacket out of my hands and replacing the fabric with his body. "Hey, I'm right here, Lia, just breathe. Sit up for me, sweetheart," He places his hands on my waist and helps me sit up, coaxing my head between my knees. He somehow knows exactly what to do, despite not being able to see me during my previous attack. He knows just how softly I need to be touched and what volume to speak at without overwhelming me. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm right here, don't worry. I don’t want you to get worked up again." I manage to nod, and he kisses my forehead as a reward. Spencer just keeps holding me and whispering praises, tucking my head under his chin and rubbing my back with a feather light touch. “There you go. There’s my girl.”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, but it’s more for myself than for him.

“Yeah, you are,” he affirms. "Will you talk to me about these attacks and how I can help you?" His sweet voice is so buttery and smooth that I get lost in it, eyes fluttering and almost completely missing his question. I just want him to keep talking, to read me poetry or tell me random facts that I’ll probably never need to know. I just want him to talk, and talk, and talk, and break me away from the prison in my mind. I just want him to distract me.

“Um,” I lean into his touch when he brings his hand into my hair, scratching me behind my ears like a cat. But when I manage to open my eyes and look at him, he’s giving me such a serious look, one that says he means business, and I know that there’s no room for jokes or wit. “I don’t know. I’ve mostly dealt with panic attacks alone. I just let them happen and wait for them to be done.”

Spencer’s eyes widen in surprise but he quickly tries to hide his reaction, clearing his throat as a distraction, but it’s nowhere close to this distraction I had hoped for. “So you don’t know any coping mechanisms or take any medication for panic attacks?” I shake my head no. “Have you ever gone to a doctor or a therapist about this?”

Definitely not the distraction I was hoping for. I reach for the duvet and pull it over my head, deciding to ignore him. I manage to crawl out of Spencer’s lap and curl up on my pillow with my back to him, earning a defeated sigh from my boyfriend beside me. He takes a breath to speak but then the doorbell rings and I can only assume that means that dinner is here. Without a word spoken, Spencer climbs off the bed and goes to answer the door. I hear his chatting quietly with the delivery person before his sock-covered footsteps echo back up the stairs, and he returns with a pizza box.

Spencer just casually suggesting I go to a doctor or a therapist is so obnoxious and annoying and I truly can’t remember a time in our relationship when I was this mad at him. He talks as though a doctor's visit will solve all my problems and if taking a pill will turn me into the healthy, stress-free, mental illness-free girl that I want to be, but never have been, and never will be. I spent my childhood taking care of myself and my brother and I can keep doing that as an adult. I’ve gotten this far in my life, farther than I thought I would, so I’m not going to fix something that isn’t broken.

Spencer sits at the foot of the bed and sets the pizza box in the middle of the bed, not saying a word as he opens it up and separates the slices. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes as I tuck my legs underneath me. I reach for a piece of pizza and lean over the cardboard so I don't get the bed messy. If the bed gets messy and crumby then Spencer won’t be able to sleep tonight, knowing that there’s particles of food all over the duvet. He seems to be on the same train of thought because he refuses to move the piece of pizza in his hand away from the box. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d be telling him how cute he is and finding his cleanliness endearing and suggesting that we eat at the table downstairs instead of my bed. But the tension is so thick that I could cut it with a knife, and I don’t have the energy to ease it. But apparently, Spencer does.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Spencer asks casually, keeping his eyes down as he takes another bite of his pizza. "The way you talk,” he pauses and considers his words very carefully, “you've clearly had panic attacks before."

"It's not a big deal."

"Amelia," the stony, serious tone of his voice makes my head pop up. He looks annoyed, as if he doesn't believe what I'm saying. I haven’t yet learned that lying to a profiler is useless. "You had a panic attack on a public sidewalk and it was so bad that you went nonverbal. Panic attacks happen to a lot of people but they're serious and debilitating and you should get treatment for them."

"Don’t tell me what I should do. I don't need treatment," I answer far too quickly. "I know you have your degree in psychology or whatever but I don’t need to hear it. I’ve taken care of myself for this long and I actually happen to think I’ve done a pretty good job at it, so I don’t need medication or therapy to interfere.”

Realization flashes on Spencer's face and he puts his piece of pizza down, leaning his elbows against his knees. "Seeking out help doesn’t make you weak."

I scoff and roll my eyes into the back of my head, but maybe that's just to avoid eye contact or to repress the tears that burn at my ducts. "That's not what this is about."

"I didn’t mention anything about my degree, Amelia,” Spencer snaps. “And all I’m trying to do is help you. You can go to a therapist and discuss coping mechanisms and figure out why you even have them or go to a doctor and get medication that will regulate attacks and maybe you'll get something to take after you get attacks, it'll be so much-"

"No!" I shout, cutting him off, my hands balled into fists as I struggle to rein in all the nasty things I want so badly to say, but that I know he doesn’t deserve. "I won't! I'm not! I'm fine without it! I've gone my whole fucking life like this and I don't need to be fixed!"

I decide it's the appropriate time to throw a temper tantrum and scramble off the bed, not even bothering to grab a jacket or a blanket or shoes or anything as I stomp down the stairs and throw open the door to the balcony. It's colder than I remember it being and the air instantly seizes up my bones, but I ignore the feeling as I close the door behind me. I lean against the railing and let a few tears silently slip down my cheeks, not bothering to wipe them and instead letting them trail down my neck and dampen the neckline of my crewneck. Fresh air used to always calm me down, but now, being alone on a balcony after fighting with Spencer, the air only feels suffocating.

A few minutes pass before I head the door slide open and Spencer steps out. I expect him to speak right away, to use his profiling skills to defuse the situation, but he doesn't. He drapes a blanket over my shoulders and as frustrated as I am at him and at the world and at myself, the tiny gesture makes me feel better. I'm craving his touch yet again and I wish he would just wrap his arms around me, but yet again, he doesn't. I tug the blanket as tight as I can around my shoulders and imagine it's his arms. His arms that are so close to me but feel like they are miles away.

"I've been a hypocrite." Spencer's voice is quiet, but not in the same way as it was during my attacks. No, before he was quiet for my sake. But now he seems quiet because he can't bear to speak any louder. Like if he hears his own words, he will combust and break down. "I kept something from you too."

I turn around and find that he's sitting down in one of the armchairs, another blanket wrapped around his shoulders. I, yet again, notice that his medallion is in his hand. But he's not trying to hide it, he's staring right down at it.

"Does it have anything to do with your medallion and why it was in your pocket?"

"Partly," he answers, and then looks up at me, pretty brown eyes already glistening with tears. If I wasn’t so upset, if Spencer wasn’t so upset, if the tension hadn’t carried outside, I would have poked his perfect nose and told him how cute he is when the tip of his nose gets red from the cold. My eyes are just focused on the medallion though, being passed between his fingers with expertise and never slipping out. "I'm clean, I promise. I wouldn't risk breaking my sobriety. I have too much to lose now. I've got you, and my job, and my team- my friends, Henry. But, um, yeah, there's something that I didn't tell you and I know that I should."

Partially born from my own selfish need for affection, coupled with Spencer's broken down state, I go and sit on his lap. He happily lets me do so, draping one hand over my thigh, holding the medallion there. I rest my head on his chest and wait for him to feel comfortable enough to start his story. I can feel his heart pounding against his chest and I stare down his hand, tap-tap-tapping on the arm of the chair. His nervousness is just as palpable as the tension.

"So, um, do you remember when we first met? You always like to point out how you're not the profiler here but did you happen to notice how nervous I was?"

"Mm," I hum, racking my brain for the memories of our first few coffee dates. I remember his strained smiles and his stuttered out words. I think back to us spending Christmas together and how, later on, he just blurted out an invitation to be his girlfriend that lacked finesse and confidence. He has always been nervous around me, but I always just thought that he was nervous with new relationships. It never crossed my mind that there was a reason other than anxiety. "Of course. The first day we met, I don't even think you took your bag off, right? I just thought dates made you nervous."

"Well, yeah, that's kinda true," Spencer sighs and when he tilts his head down, his lips brush against my temple. His warm lips bring a shiver down my spine and he holds me tighter against his cold body. "The truth is, about two years before I met you, I had a girlfriend, her name was Maeve. Our relationship wasn't really conventional. We, um,” he pauses and shifts his weight, “she was a geneticist and I saw her when I was having migraines, but then we started dating. We never met each other though."

His constant past tense is alarming. Was.

"We talked on the phone. She had a stalker from before I met her and she wanted to make sure that I didn’t get wrapped up in it. And we had to be safe so we only talked on pay phones. Only on Sunday's and never from the same phone twice. I thought I, um, I thought I loved her and then-" Spencer lets out a breath that sounds defeated, tired, helpless. He drops the medallion into my lap and his hands fly up to cover his face, another shaky breath falling from his lips. “I shouldn’t be telling you this when you're in such a fragile mental state. This is a lot of information and-”

"If you want to tell me then you can. I’m not a fragile little girl, I can take it. But if you don’t think you can then that’s okay too. I don’t need you to show me all the skeletons in your closet because you think you’ve been hypocritical.”

Spencer drops his hands, revealing his quivering lips and wet waterline. I return the medallion to the palm of his hand and close his fingers around it. "I mean,” he lets out the tiniest, saddest chuckle, “I was being hypocritical, being mad at you for keeping information a secret when I was doing the same.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” my slight teasing gets a more genuine laugh out of him, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder to hide it. “But it’s okay. I understand that there’s some things you don’t wanna share immediately.”

Spencer keeps his head down, his hand in a tight fist around his medallion and the other on my waist, keeping me close. I can practically feel his fear and anxiety and his overwhelming pain through the tips of his fingers digging into my skin, and I want so badly to take it from him. I would gladly shoulder his pain so he doesn’t have to drag it around behind him like a suitcase with a broken wheel. But as badly as I want to, I can’t help him the way I want to and so I just need to comfort him to the best of my ability.

"She got kidnapped and shot in front of me," he blurts out quickly, the memory obviously too painful to say gracefully. "I realized she was gone so the team investigated and we found Maeve and the unsub brought me inside where she was being held and had me see her for the first time ever and then killed herself and Maeve right in front of me and there was nothing I could do about it."

Sometimes I don't know what to say to Spencer. He sees the worst that society has to offer, and the worst took away the first woman that he loved. I don't always know how to comfort him. Sometimes he just wants to be held and would rather not verbalize his feelings. And although I don’t love it when he decides to not talk things out, cuddling and giving out kisses is easier than arguing with him and trying to get him to talk about things he doesn’t want to. So physical affection is easier. But right now he doesn't seem to want to be held and I don't know how to help him. He didn't want to tell me this but clearly, today hasn't gone how either of us has wanted it to go. I've been spontaneously panicking and he's now confessing that his girlfriend was killed. None of this is right.

It takes him a few minutes to start speaking again, but when he does, his voice is quiet. "I almost relapsed after that," his head finds home on my shoulder again, and his other arm wraps around my waist. He holds me tight against his chest, adjusting the blanket around me to make sure I’m always covered and warm. "When I first got clean, I brought my medallion with me everywhere I went. I couldn't leave the house without it. I brought it with me on cases, to the store, everywhere. Then time passed and I could leave without it, and I was really proud of that. But then Maeve died and suddenly it was like I was right back at square one. I couldn't go anywhere without it. I needed the reminder of all my hard work and dedication or else I would've easily relapsed."

"Is," my voice is shakier than I wanted it to be, "is there something that's making you wanna relapse now?"

"Stalking cases," he answers, and that's not at all the answer I was expecting. I’m not really sure exactly what kind of answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t stalking cases. "They're common and they're not always violent so we don't always investigate but when we do, I hate it. It’s like torture on those cases, just having to relive what happened with her. Hotch doesn't even let me take part in takedowns of stalking cases because we both know I wouldn't be stable if a hostage situation happened. So,” he tucks his head into my neck this time, and I can feel his lips on my skin, leaving light kisses to make up for the heavy topic, “yeah, that’s what I was keeping from you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, dove. I understand.”

I turn my head away from him and stare out at the city. The sun is setting and the sky is painted a pretty pink and purple, mixed together in a way I wish I could achieve in my work. But the people below pay no mind to it. They speed-walk to whatever their next destination is and keep their noses tucked in their phones, or to wave their hand for a cab and bark out orders and throw money at the person who spends their lives being chauffeurs to rude politicians and businessmen. Nobody cares to look up and admire the beauty around them, beauty that they won’t see some day. They don’t look up at the unnatural colors in the sky or check to see if the clouds have taken the form of a shoe or a candy wrapper. They just walk, and walk, and walk. They don’t care. Nobody ever cares.

"I'm sorry," I choke out, tears suddenly pouring down my cheeks. I reach for Spencer’s hands, intertwining our fingers but keeping his arms around my waist. I don’t want to be without his comfort and his arms and his warmth. He seems to feel the same because he pulls me even closer somehow, my body completely flush against his. "I love you, Spencer, and you-” I hiccup, “fuck, you didn't deserve any of that."

"You're all I need in this life, Amelia. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love again but now I have you and," I can feel his hands shaking in mine, and although it’s hard to tell if it’s from the cold or from anxiety. "I just love you so much. Please don’t leave me."

"I’m never gonna leave you, Spencer Reid. Ever. I'm not going anywhere," I whisper, but I can't tell who it's a reassurance for. "I love you."

///

SPENCER

///

THE NEXT MORNING

///

No amount of nights turned into mornings at Amelia’s apartment could get me used to being woken up to sun beams in my eyes.

I scrunch up my face as the sunlight flows through the windows and almost blinds me. I roll over and reach towards Amelia's side of the bed, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead of a fistful of her. I let out a disappointed sigh and force my eyes open, popping one lid open to confirm my sad realization that I'm waking up alone. Now I'm understanding how Amelia feels when I have to leave for cases.

I can feel the heat blasting and it makes it bearable for me to exist in only my pair of pajama pants, so I don't bother to put a shirt on. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and check my phone, just to make sure there isn't a spontaneous case on a Saturday, and there thankfully isn't anything yet. So I run a hand through my hair that is probably wild and climb out of bed, making the trek down the occasionally terrifying floating stairs.

I pause on the last step when I peer into the kitchen, the dumbest smile appearing on my face when I locate my girlfriend. She's sitting on the counter in the kitchen with her legs up and crossed at the ankles, dressed in only an oversized white tee shirt and pale blue wool socks. Matching, unfortunately. She's wearing her normal butterfly necklace, I can see from here, but she's missing all of her piercings- nose ring and earrings. Her natural curls are out in full force and are only contained by one of her patterned scarves, wrapped around her head like a headband. She's holding an apple in one hand and she has a book resting in her lap but I can't quite see the spine to read the title. But this is one of the moments I'm thankful for my fancy memory, as Amelia calls it, because she looks so effortlessly stunning and perfect and beautiful that I'm glad I'll remember this moment forever.

I watch her for a moment. She wiggles her toes every few seconds and then takes a loud bite from the apple, flipping the page and darting her eyes across the lines. Effortless. Remarkable. I'm often blown away by her simple beauty. I wonder how she does it without trying. How she renders me speechless. How she makes me feel like a teenager in love. How she makes me feel like a lovesick puppy, galloping around at her feet with stars in my eyes. How she makes me feel like she's completely out of my league. How she makes me feel like I'm the luckiest man in the whole world.

When I decide that I have to get my hands on her, I step off the stairs. She still doesn't notice my presence, I credit that to my bare feet on the hardwood, and she only looks up when a floorboard creaks. She lifts her chin and reveals her stunning dimples, ocean eyes wide for me. "Morning!" she quips, tucking a bookmark into the page and setting her book aside. "Wasn't sure you were ever gonna wake up."

"I don't like waking up alone," I brush my fingertips along her leg as I walk closer, eliciting a shy giggle from Amelia. No matter how many times I touch her, she still gets shy about it. I peer over her legs and my eyebrows raise. "You're reading Rossi's book? What's that about?"

Amelia giggles, picking up the book and inspecting the cover. "It's more of a courtesy, actually. I bought all three books of his the other day and I'm planning on ripping out all the pages to use for a piece of art for my next exhibit. But I figured I'd read them first before I destroy them, you know? He saved my life as a kid so the least I can do is read his books before I destroy them."

"Hmm," it's not really at all the answer I was expecting. I watch her face as she plasters on a shy smile, kicking her feet like an excited child and clutching the book to her chest. I don’t have the heart to ask her any more questions about her decision to rip up Rossi’s books because I don’t want to wipe that smile off her face. "Interesting. Breakfast?"

"Not before you give me a kiss," Amelia's delicate voice balances out the horrors Rossi illustrates in his book as she brings her lips to mine. "If you're cooking, I don't care what you make."

"Sounds like a plan,” and just as I didn’t have the heart to question her art, I don’t have it in me to go further than an inch away from her lips before she decides it’s okay. So that leads to kissing for far too long, the book tumbling out of Amelia’s hands and onto her lap, my hands holding her jaw. Her lips are different in the morning, slightly chapped and not yet bleeding from being chewed relentlessly. But, for some reason, I prefer them like this. And I definitely prefer chapped lips to glossy lips that get all over my face and takes a makeup remover wipe to get rid of. I quickly flip through the last few images of Amelia in my head and notice she hasn’t worn lip gloss in a while. Maybe that’s for the better though. She won’t have to hear me complain and watch me rub at my lips and grimace when my hand gets sticky too.

“Okay, okay,” Amelia giggles, grabbing my hands and pushing them away, “let’s not get carried away. I am hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you make breakfast yourself?” I sass, turning on my heel to start collecting breakfast ingredients and feed my hungry lady.

“Haha,” she snickers sarcastically, rolling her eyes at me. And a comfortable silence falls over us as I start cooking, occasionally glancing over to watch her thumb through the book. It etches a hopefully permanent smile onto my face.

"I do have a question, though," Amelia fiddles with the corner of a page, curling it between her finger and keeping her eyes down. I hum lazily in response, mixing pancakes batter, far too focused on making sure I get measurements correct to be able to make eye contact with her. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable but your medallion- well, it," she sighs, obviously not able to find the words for what she wants to say.

It’s not my favorite topic of conversation so early in the morning, but I guess the sooner Amelia asks her questions and gets them out of her system, the sooner we can stop having conversations about my demons. "You can ask whatever you want to.”

"It's not a bad question, I don't think," she responds, and turns so her legs are swinging over the edge of the counter, facing me. "I'm just curious what the compass on the back means. It seems odd to me. I mean, the front says recovery and all but the back has a compass? I've never heard of these medallions having a compass on them."

"The designs differ," despite the relatively tame question, I busy myself by trying to create perfect circles with the batter on the hot skillet. She could've asked me about my experience with drugs and how it feels and she could have unknowingly triggered me, but no. She just wants to know about the compass. I guess that’s better than making me relive relapse or make me remember what a high feels like. "I've obviously been clean for more than a year, so the other medallions I have for other years have different designs on the back. But I always liked the one year medallion the best."

"Will you tell me why?" She presses gently, pulling her knees back up to her chest. I've seen her do this plenty of times, shut herself off from conversations, I mean, and I hate it when she does. On normal days, when she shuts herself off from conversations, I do what I can to put her at ease and get her to open back up. But if anyone should be shutting off from this conversation, it’s me. "You don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Getting to one year is really hard," I admit quickly, keeping my eyes off her as I move the pancakes from the skillet to a plate. "So when I finally got to one year and I got the medallion, it was a huge accomplishment for me. And the compass? It’s just a thing that my program preached. North is always regarded as the right way to go, even though that’s not really true in theory, but I never pointed that out. But my program had us pick someone or something to represent north for each person. So that way, if anyone was ever going through withdrawals or cravings, we could think of that thing we chose and it would give us the motivation to get through a hard time. The thing would give us a reason to go north, the right way. Basically, the way to recovery. The way to go back home.”

“And what did you choose?”

“My job,” it’s such an unenthusiastic answer, no light or happiness in my voice. “My job was all I had at the time, but my job being my north never felt right. It was never really motivating. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to get past a year. I had nothing to look forward to.”

"One more question," Amelia speaks, softer this time. "Can you come here?"

I look up and find that Amelia is resting her chin on her knees, giving me that same cute smile from before. I nod, scooping the last pancake off the skillet and putting it on the pile before walking over, dragging my feet. Amelia drops her legs and holds out her arms, wrapping them around my shoulders the moment I get close enough. I instantly melt into her embrace and tuck my face into her neck, feeling her fingers on the back of my neck, tracing small shapes and letters.

"I know that I didn't know you back then," Amelia whispers, warm breath tickling my skin, "but I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you're strong enough to keep your head up and stay clean. And thank you for trusting me with all this information. I love you so much."

My body is filled with that familiar warmth that I only feel when Amelia is around, and I can't stop the smile that comes to my face. The tears in my eyes dry up quickly at the praise. "Thank you for loving me."

"I always will," she pulls away and slides her hands up to my face, pointer fingertips tracing my jaw and up to my cheekbones. She swipes her finger across my bottom lip and then brings it up to my nose, poking it gently and giggling under her breath. She’s deep in thought, I can tell from the look on her face. "You know,” she smooths down my eyebrows and then her fingers follow my hairline all the way down to my jaw, “I’ll be your north," she suggests. "I know you always tell me that talking to me when you're on cases helps, but I wanna help you with everything, with every aspect of your life. I wanna help you with the ugliest parts of your life, and not just the ugly parts of your job. I'll be your north. I'll be your reason to come home and I'll be- I'll be like your guiding light. I'll be your lighthouse. I'll just," her hands halt on my cheeks and her legs twist around my waist, bringing our bodies flush, "I'll be your north."

My heart is pounding as I smile at her, the tears that had just dried up coming back tenfold. She's smiling her stupidly gorgeous smile but not even making eye contact, just staring down at my lips as she lets her brain settle from all the words she just vomited and as she holds herself back from her obvious impulse to actually kiss me. So I lean forward and peck her lips, untangling our limbs. "I'll be right back," I ignore the sting in my chest at the disappointment clear on her face as I pull completely away from her hold. But I kiss her cheek for reassurance before I disappear back upstairs, grabbing my go-bag.

I return to the kitchen with last year’s Christmas present in my hands and open up to the page I'm searching for, walking up to my girl. Her back is to me, pouring more batter onto the skillet to finish up breakfast. But the moment she puts the bowl of batter back on the counter, I swing my arms over her head and bring the sketchbook in front of her to show her a journal entry.

"I didn't always use it for sketches," I explain as she grabs the book from me, "but I use it. A lot. Read that entry," Amelia goes radio silent as she reads, and I rest my chin on my shoulder to read with her.

Amelia is my north. I always thought that I'd be alone for the rest of my life and I'd never fall in love again. I thought I had been scorned too hard and I'd never recover. But Amelia gives me a reason to want to go home. She gives me a reason to not make that reckless decision that comes to my mind in the field and she gives me a reason to not go out in the middle of the night and go searching for a new dealer. She gives me a reason to live and maybe it's wrong of me to rely so heavily on another person who could leave me just as easily as everyone else in my life has, but I don't care. She gives me a purpose and she's the reason I come home every day.

It's the little things she does that make me love her. I love seeing her face pop up on Garcia's video chats and I love seeing the snacks she leaves in my desk and the notes she leaves for me and how she always makes a point to clean my apartment when she's over. I've never met someone quite like her.

I didn't think I'd ever find a person to personify "north." I always thought that "north" would remain this mysterious entity that I would blindly chase after my entire life and remain following towards a life of recovery, or a life of constant relapse and pain. Or that I would just continue lying to myself and saying that my “north” was my job. But now I know that Amelia is that "north" that will always be by my side. As long as I have her, then I'll never have to chase after a nameless, faceless goal. I'll always have my north right beside me.

Amelia sniffles as she shuts the sketchbook, setting it gently on the counter. "Okay, fuck you for making me cry."

I toss my head back laugh, grabbing her waist to turn her around, taking the job of wiping her tears. "I’m sorry, love, that wasn't my intention."

"That was really sweet, dove," Amelia disregards her tears, throwing her arms around me and pressing her face into my neck. “I’m never gonna leave you, Spence. I want you to believe that. I love you so much. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I clutch her waist in my hands as if that would keep her from leaving, “sometimes, I just feel helpless and unlovable and when I feel like that, I come to you.”

“Good. You’re not unlovable. I am so insanely in love with you and you’re never, ever getting rid of me.”

“Good,” I echo, pressing my lips to her shoulder and trailing kisses up her neck. “You’re-” Amelia’s stomach growling silences me, her cheeks turning pink as she ducks her head away. “Okay, alright, the mushy love fest is over. Eat some breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggles, turning in my arms to dish out pancakes for us, “I’m just really hungry and I wasn’t gonna make anything until you woke up. But the bottom line is that I love you and I’m always gonna be in your apartment, cleaning shit you don’t want me to and annoying the hell out of you.”

“Yeah, you definitely annoy me when you leave the curtains open and I get blinded in the morning.”

Amelia turns to me with the cutest smile, holding a plate of pancakes out for me. “At least you get to wake up next to me in the morning.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I lean over the plate to give her what seems like the millionth kiss to the morning, “waking up next to you is pretty amazing.”

TAGLIST

@bxnnywriting @babybloodstonebones @blameitonthenight21 @feralreid @anepiphany @goldenalvez @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @stxrryspencer @m0rcia @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @yasminwashere @shrimpyblog @blakes-dictionxry @anamelessfacelessnerd @wonderlandhatter @whxt-to-write @inkandexchange @just-call-me-non

#nikos north fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fic #dr reid #dr spencer reid #mgg #matthew gray gubler #matthew gubler

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captainjimothycarter · 3 years

Note

steggy + 17 :) thamks !!!

this is just...so bad and it makes no sense

“That was incredibly stupid of you,” Peggy sighed out of her nose, all the while glaring down at the blonde curled up (to the best of his ability) inside of the wheelchair. “Not only was it incredibly stupid - what-what if you had gotten hurt, Steve? Worst than that! What if you had bled out and died in my arms?! What if-”

She only stopped her rambling, well-deserved rebuke when a car pulled up and Sam swiftly walked around to help load the scrawny bastard inside of the car.

“I don’t think he’s listening to you,” Sam pointed out as they managed to buckle the guy inside. “Steve’s out like a light. The hell did they give him?”

“Enough pain meds to shut him up,” Peggy grumbled, walking around so she could sit in the passenger seat. Her arms folded across her chest as Sam got back behind the wheel and he started to slowly ease them back into traffic.

“You know...when you called to tell me Steve was stabbed outside of your bar, I wasn’t worried.” Peggy shot him a look and Sam’s shoulders shrugged. “Look, I was it’s just...Steve gets into these fights every day. Every other day. A stabbing? I thought it was just...well, it wasn’t real. That you or he were pulling my leg. I’m glad to see he’s okay. The doc say anything useful?”

“Plenty useful, I just don’t know if Steve heard any of it.” She sighed and rubbed a hand over her temples. Sam didn’t miss the show she glanced back to the slumped over blonde. “I was so worried when he started to...bleed out. I didn’t think. I used the damn trashcan lid he had and beat the guy senseless, stole his wallet, and took Steve to the hospital.”

Sam almost stopped the car for that one, making Peggy flinch. Her hand reached back to steady Steve and at least their driver had the decency to look apologetic. “I’m sorry - you stole the guy who stabbed Steve’s wallet?”

“Yes, and?” She raised her brow at him. “It was foolish and I wasn’t thinking, but I wanted some information on him to give to the police. I was more thinking of getting Steve to the hospital. Thankfully the doctors said it was a shallow wound and just required a few stitches and a hell of a lot of pain medication. He wasn’t even complaining of being in pain, just...just apologizing over and over again.”

“And the ranting earlier?”

“Me letting steam out since I have no idiot to punch.”

Sam sighed just as loud as she did, drumming his fingers onto the wheel. “Do I need to say it?”

“Say what?!”

“Carter, you ain’t stupid.” His eyes set on hers as they pulled into the parking spot outside of her apartment. “Steve might’ve been stabbed, but it was to protect you. Or the building. Or who knows, a three-legged kitten. Who’s to say why those idiots were fighting him. Either way, the kid likes you. He apologized because he knew it upset you. Don’t...don’t let this go and upset you even worst, okay? Steve is a brat sometimes, unmistakeably stubborn, but when he likes someone or is even friends with them, then he has a fierce protection streak.

That being said…” Sam shrugged and let a small smile fall on his lips. “He does like you.”

Christ, as if she didn’t know. Or worst, as if she didn’t like him enough as it was.

She knew Steve was stubborn. No matter how many times she turned Steve away from her bar, not because he was annoying patrons or playing White Knight, but just so he could go get some sleep or take care of himself, he always found a reason to stay. They’d met at her bar months ago, when he stumbled in from the rain, claimed in some stumbling over the manner of his own words that he liked her bar. He’d found excuses to come back, despite he’d said he couldn’t drink. He stayed to protect innocent college girls from creepers, to make sure no one lingered around the bar to hurt her. To fill in for waitresses, chefs, even help her clean at night.

And by the end of the night, when they needed to go home, he always hesitated to say something. Once or twice, Peggy found herself so close to just grabbing him and kissing him. Instead, he’d stumbled out something about a good night before running away.

Just to come back the next day.

“Don’t I know it,” Peggy sighed. “Frankly, I like him too. I just…” She shrugged slightly. “I should just ask him out already. Put an end to this dancing around. I don’t know what’s stopping me. My own reserve? Worry for...dragging him into the bar life? Fuck, he got stabbed because of me!”

There came the crashing guilt, the guilt and pain she’s put off for hours. That she was too focused on holding Steve’s hand, ignoring her own anxiety over the whole manner. Her fist slammed down onto her thigh and she found Sam’s arms tightly around her.

Damn this bastard and his ability to read her. Damn him for giving good hugs.

“I know, I know,” he purred, rubbing up and down Peggy’s arm as she cried into his shoulder. “Well, now you can ask him out once he’s not hyped up on some pain meds. Come on, I’ll help you get him inside.”

Sam was a good man, a good friend. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

“Are you sure you don’t mind taking care of the bar for a few days?” Peggy asked him after Steve was tucked into her bed, a glass of water nearby.

“I don’t mind. I could do with the experience,” Sam mused, leaning into the doorway. “I promise I won’t let Clint drink all the beer.”

“Or Bucky,” she pointed out.

Sam’s lips broke out into a grin, pulling her up for another hug. “Take care of the kid, alright? Stubborn bastard.”

Sam was right. She’d danced around Steve for far too long and why? She wasn’t oblivious to her feelings for him. She liked him. Christ, in the right circumstances, she loved him. She loved to watch his eyes light up when they got to discussing art or even politics. She loved how opinionated he could be. How fierce he was in his opinions. How righteous he was. How he fought for the little people.

She loved how caring he was, paying more than enough food to give out to the homeless people nearby despite she did that out of her own pocket. She loved how he took care of old people and helped them with their groceries.

Christ, she was in love with Steve and denied it the entire time.

Maybe...maybe she denied it because she didn’t want him in this life. She sunk her whole savings into this bar, ran away from home, took the first job as a waitress in this bar, and kept it up and going until the owner signed it over. Now it was one of the best gay bars in town. It was friendly and open and while it was classified as a bar, she knew Clint and Angie next door ran the bakery and cafe to stay open just as late for those who didn’t like the bar scene.

She loved how Steve tried to be in both places at once to help.

Christ, she loved him.

It was Steve’s soft grunting that made her look up from pouring over the police files and the doctor’s notes. She turned around from the counter and frowned at the scrawny thing, in one of Sam’s borrowed shirts, hobbling to her. His face was flushed, with freckles standing out. He was covered in sweat and smelled like the hospital as he reached her.

She was stunned as he kissed her lips and Peggy sunk into it.

Until it struck her. He was high on pain meds and possibly wouldn’t remember this.

“Steven?” She breathed, gently eased him off of her. “Are you okay? Why are you out of bed? Did you-”

“I love you,” Steve interrupted her. His face turned to the color of a tomato at this point. “I love you, Peggy. I-I heard you and Sam talking in the car. I love you and I”m sorry for everything. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before. I’m sorry that I didn’t just come inside when you told me. I-”

He was silenced by her kissing, kept to a bare minimum given the fact he was still holding onto his side.

“How out of it on meds are you?” She asked, touching his face.

“I ain’t. I told you, I got a high pain tolerance, especially to drugs. They took the edge off is all.” His face was covered in sweat and he looked green as if to prove a point as he shrugged. “Pegs…”

“No,” she breathed, shaking her head. “Let’s get you cleaned up first, then we can talk.”

It took some maneuvering to get Steve back to bed and using a cool washcloth to clean the sweat off of his body. She inspected the sound to be sure no stitches were torn and breathed a sigh of relief when they weren’t. She retreated to the kitchen, just to bring back leftovers heated up for him to slowly eat.

“You worried me,” she told him, sitting on edge of the bed. “Worried isn’t even the word I can use right now. You...christ, Steven, I was terrified! I thought I was going to faint when you started to bleed out! I was so terrified that he-he had killed you! What made you do that?!”

“I heard him and his buddies threatening to kill you because you’re…” He stopped and swallowed the bite of fried rice. “Because you ran the gay bar. Let’s just put it that way. I didn’t think, that’s the problem and I think everyone in my life will agree I ain’t never had a thought in my life. I just...saw red. I know you can protect yourself but all I could do was...protect you.”

At least Steve looked almost ashamed but that’s not what Peggy wanted. She didn’t want him to be ashamed or guilty. She wanted him to just understand how close she came to losing him and how terrified that made him feel.

“Steven…” She saw the way his shoulders squared in what he thought was a lecture to come, she was lectured out. “Look at me, darling, by no means am I...happy about this. I don’t need saving, but I am thankful for what you did. Beyond means that I can express. I am also so glad that you’re alive and okay and…” She took the empty containers and set them to the side, crawling up his frame so she could lay on his good side.

“And,” she continued. “And...I want...to go further...about us. We don’t have to talk about it now because we’re both utterly exhausted, but I’d...like to discuss it in the future.”

“Oh good,” Steve breathed, his cheeks flushing a bright pink. He tucked himself into her side, too tired to continue this topic of how wrong and right he was. “Because I like spending time with you.”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Steggy Prompt #if-we-had-a-monkey

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #455

“but you didn’t have to cut me off / make it like it never happened and that we were nothing”

Are you and the last person you kissed in a relationship or just friends? We're besties! :') Has anyone ever pointed out that your laugh was unusual? No. Would you get a lip piercing? I already have a vertical labret. I've considered getting spiked snakebites (they might be called devil bites?) too, though. With a vertical labret, it looks sick as FUCK. It might be a bit much too close together for me, though, idk. Nose piercing? I want my right nostril re-pierced. What are you currently waiting for? Girt to message me back. I've decided what I want out of our relationship and just want to see him. Do you have feelings for anyone? Hit me pretty hard through a lot of examination of my feelings that yeah, I do. Have you ever run over an animal? Oh my god no, I would be DESTROYED. Have you chewed gum after someone else already has? bro what the fuck When people sneeze do you say ‘bless you’? I do only out of expectation. I don't want someone to think I'm an ass or something for not saying it. When was the last time you were on a bouncy castle? A few years ago for my niece's birthday. She was scared of how loud it was and was very reluctant to get near it, so my fat ass got in there with everyone else to show her it was fine lol. I can't remember if she eventually got in. She loves them now, though. :') Have you ever went on a bouncy castle whilst drunk? No, but thanks for the idea, ha ha. Have you ever entered an art competition? Yes. What is one thing you will never do? Try hardcore drugs. What is one food that you detest? Asparagus. Did you have a rebellious phase growing up? Not really. What religion were you brought up with? Roman Catholic. Are you still that religion? GOD NO. Do you often find yourself questioning your future? That's my full-time job. How many friends do you have on Facebook? 124. What sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school? The same I listen to now. What pet names do you use with your significant other? I'm single rn, but usually, I go for "sweetie/sweetheart," "hunny," "love," "dear," stuff like that. What’s the name of the store you usually get your groceries? Wal-Mart. Have you ever seen a theatre show? Yes. What’s your favourite vegetable? Broccoli. Have you ever missed a flight? Yes. I was SO fuckin upset because it was on Sara's birthday and planned in secret, and I was supposed to wake her up. It still wound up being a big surprise to her when she walked into her room and I was chillin' at her desk, ha ha, but I still wish it coulda gone as originally planned. Do your neighbours have any pets? Have you ever met them? Yes; they have a yappy-ass dog that doesn't shut up. I haven't met them. What color is your bedroom door? White. If you were ever to become famous, would you grow annoyed at fans? This may sound very ungrateful, but I have heard A LOT of celebrities say it: it would get old, being stopped constantly in public for signatures, pictures, etc. Like yes, I still WOULD be grateful, but I'd miss just being off the radar and able to go outside carrying out chores and stuff like a normal person. Have you ever met your favourite band/singer? No. :( Are you embarrassed by any of the songs/singers/bands you like? Nah, not nowadays. Have you ever written a story? Yes, a kinda short one when I was little. Think of the last poem you wrote: What inspired you to write it? The breakup with Jason and the fact we're just strangers again. It was really short, but I like it a lot, honestly. Do you have a chance with the person you like right now? I think so. What’s the weirdest thing you were scared of as a child? A skeleton in my closet, lol. Literally. Are there any embarrassing stories your family tells about you? alkdsjflakjwle yes In your opinion, what is the funniest TV show? That '70s Show. 3rd Rock From the Sun is high up there, too. What is the maximum number of children you’d ever have? HYPOTHETICALLY, two, but I'm pretty damn serious about having none. I just always feel kinda bad for children without a sibling, but three would make me pull my hair out. Have you ever been concerned you had a serious illness? Yes. I overreact to even minor symptoms to ANYTHING. Are you comfortable with who you are? No. Pretty much everything about myself embarrasses me, even if it shouldn't. Would you date someone even if you knew you’d get made fun of for it? Yes? Others' opinions don't affect how I feel about someone. Does popularity matter to you at all? No, outside of trying to be a successful photographer. Would you ever consider homeschooling your children? If they really wanted that and it would benefit them, yes. Who told you about the band/singer you are currently listening to? I discovered them myself. Do you ever read fanfiction? Nah. Would you rather die in a plane crash, ship wreck or fire? Jesus. A plane crash, I guess, because in a lot of cases, it would be an immediate death. What are your top five favourite TV shows? Meerkat Manor, Fullmetal Alchemist (and Brotherhood; shut up, they go together), That '70s Show, Ginga Densetsu Weed, and Deadman Wonderland. What is your favorite superhero movie? Logan. If you died next week, what would be the cause of death? Uhhhh idk... I guess maybe a heart attack? Judging by doctor appointments, my heart is just fine, but the fact still remains that I'm technically obese, so that's always a risk. Have you ever taken a break from Facebook or other social media? Why? Facebook, yes. It was just depressing me. I was playing the comparison game REAL hard. Who is the most talented person you know? I dunno. I know many people talented in a lot of areas. Are you currently platonic friends with anyone you’ve had sex with? No. Where did you and your current interest go on your first date? Bowling. Have you ever experienced two people fighting over you (physically or mentally)? What happened? Jason and Juan pursued me at the same time. They'd known each other in the past, and Juan hated him for "winning" his ex-girlfriend. Then when Jason and I got together, Juan wasn't the happiest for sure. Have your parents ever thought you were gay? What happened? Before I actually came out as bisexual, I don't think so? Are your parents more liberal or conservative? Conservative. Mom is more open, but still conservative. I think. What year are you going into at the beginning of the next academic year? I'm not in school. How far away does your closest family member live? I live with Mom. If you’ve seen both, did you prefer the Disney version or the Tim Burton version of Alice in Wonderland? I actually strongly prefer Tim Burton's. Would you have sex before marriage? Why or why not? Yeah. I just want to be in a long-term, serious, healthy relationship to reach that point and be as safe as possible about it. Are you more liberal or conservative? Liberal, but I do have some conservative beliefs, too. Who is your favorite Harry Potter character? I don't have one, given I never got into that franchise. What’s the worst that could come out of letting gays marry? Not a goddamn thing. What’s the most sexual thing you’ve done? Done "the thing." Name something that you are against. I'll go with an unconventional one that's a problem as of the late: making owning reptiles illegal. Why are you against it? Because reptiles are perfectly capable of being brilliant pets and, most importantly, can tame people's fears of them. I think that it's very important to see the worth and beauty in all animals, and reptiles are one of the most unappreciated families out there. :/ Have you ever played the Tomb Raider games? I played some of either the first or second one. I could never beat it. Old games are hard, man. Do you like it or hate it when your partner is clingy? I absolutely believe that it can get to an extreme that I don't like, but for the most part, I don't mind a clingy partner because hey, I am too. Beatles or Rolling Stones? Stonessss. When was the last time you changed your opinion on somebody? It'd been on my mind for a while, but I *officially* realized that I really do like-like Girt a couple days ago. And since then it's gotten a bit hardcore and all I wanna do is talk to him bc fuck me and how attached to people I get. What was the last thing that made you feel proud and why? Every single time I go to the gym, I feel proud of myself because it REALLY takes a lot out of me. Do you feel uncomfortable when people you hardly know confide in you? Nope. I'm willing to be a shoulder to cry on for like... anyone. If you're hurting, talk to someone. I'll be there as an easy option. What was the last thing to fascinate you? It was... INCREDIBLY disturbing and almost nauseating even for me, but I saw a video of a dead whale explode. It was GRUESOME. Guts just kept coming and coming and coming and :x Is there a certain noise/sound which scares you? Hmmm... I'm sure there is, but what, it's not coming to me. Sudden, loud noises are an obvious answer. Do you have a favourite microorganism? ... No, I can't say I do. Out of the people you know, whose birthday is next? Girt's, actually. It's in October. If you have pet fish do you bother to name them? I did when I actually had them as a kid. Do you keep your eggs in the fridge? Ye. Have you ever owned chickens? No, but that'd be cool. Fresh eggs from a properly cared for chicken taste SO much better. When did you last listen to music? Currently. NOW I'm obsessed with Melodicka Bros & Violet Orlandi's cover of "Somebody That I Used to Know." It's done in a gothic metal style and is amaaaazing.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''somebody that i used to know'' by gotye

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aaliyrah · 3 years

Text

i fell in love with are i don’t understand - chapter 8 is out!

GOD IT HAS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I’VE UPDATED THIS FIC. i’ll never abandon it, it’s my fucking baby dude. punk!max is, at least. i’ll even make more art for this shit.

anyway, i know most people have followed me because of my art and stuff, but hey, to my oldest of oldest followers (and the life is strange half of my followings) please please please give my fic a try. you’ll probably be bribed more with art, so i can only promise that a comic is going to come out of it soon!

but here’s an excerpt of it and one of the fun scenes i got to write:

“What was your band?” “Hm?” “Yesterday,” Chloe continues, absentmindedly doodling at the sidelines of her paper, “when we played two truths and a lie. I never asked about them.”

Max hummed again, but this time it was in realization. “Well you know...just some punk band.”

“Don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, not too much.”

Chloe pursed her lips. It’s clear to see that Max is oblivious to the damage her bluntness causes, but Chloe learned to swallow her pride to not let it get to her. Too much, at least.

“A’ight; loud and clear.”

“But I can tell you that I was the bassist,” Max continued, twirling a piece of her hair that framed her face around her finger, “ oh , and also the keyboardist sometimes. I’m still in touch with them and play here and there, mostly bass though. But photography comes first, of course. Couldn’t stick with the band since I had to move, and I think they’re still looking for a replacement right now, last time I checked.”

“For how long?”

Max scrunched her nose as she calculated a number in her head. “...Around a month?”

“Hah. Were you that good?”

“Maybe. I guess. I’m keeping humble.”

That smirk says otherwise, Caulfield.

“...But enough about me,” Max continues. She starts to shift her whole body so that her front was facing Chloe’s, her forearms bridging together on top of her knees to rest her chin on, “you haven’t done your part of the game.”

Chloe hummed, acknowledging the comment. “Well I’m flattered that you’ve noticed,” she confesses, “I honestly didn’t think that you would, and I was also kind of hoping you wouldn’t.”

“Why, think you’re not all that interesting?”

“Hmph. And what gave that away?”

“You’re interesting.” Chloe was caught off guard with how serious Max sounded. Her voice was flat and her face held no emotion, but the eye contact had too much intensity it caused a burning blush from Chloe. She had to avert her eyes somewhere else. “I mean, you’re seen as the leader standing against the Vortex Club and you’re the daughter of the head of security here in Blackwell. If anything, you must be filled with stories.”

“I-I uh, well,” Chloe coughed into the side of her fist, vigorously wiping away the sweat forming at the back of her neck, “I just have stories of people who are interesting , b-but there’s not really much to say about me —”

“Do I need to repeat myself—”

“N-no! No, don’tcomeanycloser , ” Chloe rushes in a breath, hovering a hand on Max’s chest. Max stiffened, her nose fluttering dangerously close to the edges of Chloe’s personal space. Max, completely oblivious to her effect, only furrowed her brows and slowly reverted back to her original position. “Let’s just—yeah! Game. Right. I’m thinking.”

Max let a beat of silence interrupt their flow of conversation. Chloe appreciated it, but the waiting stare she got from the girl might as well have been more anxiety-filling than an interruption. Even with Max’s patient aura, Chloe still felt rushed. It made her mind mush and everything she knew about herself was out the window.

She decided to wing it and let her mouth run. “ Fuck . Okay, okay, uhhm: I used to be a literary arts major, I’ve designed covers for magazines once, and I used to be religious.”

Those words seeped in a slow matter. Max’s face changed at the same pace as a sloth would move, her eyebrows elevating higher and higher. Even her head started to rear back.

“Way to sell yourself short, Price.”

“ Pfft . Really? I could see the magazine one being interesting but everything else is just…”

Max giggles. Chloe couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t know you, Chloe. Remember that? They’re all cool even if one of them is a lie.”

“Heh. Just a little. Do you have your guess?”

The punk makes a low, thoughtful hum. With pursed lips, there is a genuine concentration that plasters her face as she squints.

“...You weren’t a literary arts major.”

Chloe allowed a flash of shock to be expressed before suppressing it. “Yeah. What made you think so?”

“I figured you probably wrote as a hobby, but it wasn’t serious enough for a major.”

“Yeah, that’s...basically on point.

I guess you could say the magazine one is also a lie since people usually think of People or Vogue when the word ‘magazine’ is said… but really I’ve only done covers for the school’s literary magazine. Literally speaking though, it’s not a lie. Just...a psychological one maybe.

The religious one is kind of funny since no one really expects it. My parents—before David—forced me to go to church since one of their friends invited them and they didn’t want to be rude. I think I was...ten? My parents weren’t listening and I was actually really invested in the sermon. It was a weird phase; I even read a children’s version of the Bible in my free time...I kind of tortured my parents into church since I kept having to force them to go.”

“Wow.” Her laughter could be a drug. “This is, like, the reverse of what’s supposed to happen. What got you to stop?”

“They got to the whole gay thing. That’s always the breaker, ain’t it?”

Max’s face went soft after that. There was a distant look in her eyes, but her smile was still there. “Yeah. It always is.”

#my writings #i fell in love with art i dont understand #life is strange #pricefield #man. i miss writing #anyway #thank you to those who've stuck with this fic after all these years #even though i dont think people did? still feels nice to think about #anyway tata

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oldfritz · 4 years

Photo

this was surprisingly hard because half of them I wanted to throw in f, but then felt guilty about it so here’s where we are. explanations under the cut to be nice (fair warning: I’m writing this while tipsy so this is a journey)

S-tier

Old Fritz: look me in the eyes. look at me. are you looking? good. where else was I was going to put him? where? in C with the other losers? foolish. I am ruining my life for this man, I’m going to go into debt so I can be moderately qualified to write books on him so Tim Blanning and Christopher Clark don’t boo my off the stage. I sit here sometimes and I’m like ‘y’know, I would start a podcast to talk about his life’ as if I’m some straight white guy who thinks any of you want to listen to me for an hour. he’s a bastard, a smug bastard, and is the epitome of self-destructive tendencies. and, honestly, I wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t so fucking misogynistic all the time. ‘oh women aren’t fit to rule’ shut up Fritz before I time travel to fuck your wife and make her have one night where life feels worthwhile. but he’s funny, I enjoy how he does foreign policy, and he’s unfortunately relatable to me. cheers, Fritz. here’s to never being satisfied from one gay disaster with anger issues to another. may we burn in hell together

A-tier

Friedrich iii: “Suzanne, he was only on the throne for 99 days!! how can he be this high up when some of these bastards refused to die?” I hear you, my friends, and I have answers. I’ll tell you two words you’ll be shocked to hear put together: liberal Hohenzollern. a rare breed, isn’t it? imagine, friends, a world where he got over his throat cancer because he listened to a doctor and we get through the 1910s, 20s, even the 30s without Wilhelm II Electric Boogaloo being in power. Prussia is still on the map, the Anglo-Prussian alliance is strong, and I live in peace. but no. this stupid man had to keep smoking. because he’s selfish and doesn’t care about my needs. you know, he actually loved his wife. rare in this family. loved her and wasn’t abusive. the bar is so low, guys. and his wife is amazing too, Victoria. the world would’ve been in competent hands if they’d been in power longer (and Bismarck would’ve been out of a job still but at least these guys are smart. their son inherited grandma Vicki’s IQ). I would sleep with both of them and would thank them for the honor (when it should always be the other way around, remember that)

B-tier

Friedrich I: if your name is Friedrich and only Friedrich, we’re buds. that’s my rule. I have to give him credit where credit’s due. he was the first. while I agree with Fritz in his proscription that he was ‘small in big ways and big in small ways’ (I may have flipped that around), he wasn’t a bad guy. he just was born into the wrong job for him. I appreciate that he rode on his father’s coattails of proving useful to the Habsburgs and did a little himself to get that sweet, sweet kingship. smart move. I also like that he saw Louis XIV and said to himself “I stan, I kin, on God we’re gonna do that’ and tried. only for have his stupid, ungrateful, unclassy son to do away with that. I, too, am a woman of luxury and self-indulgance and if I had all the riches of Brandenburg and Prussia at the time (not much), I would spend them ridiculously on outfits and music and art. now, what did he do as king? what policy legacy did he leave behind? that’s a good one :)

C-tier

Friedrich Wilhelm III: now as a king he sucks. and I stand by this because, you know, he lost to him *imagine me pretending to be short and saying ‘oui, oui’ in a bad french accent*. and as any proper Englishwoman I can’t support a monarch who goes around losing to the French unless their name is Mary I. but, he’s a pathetic little man. he really is. so indecisive, so unsure of himself. what are you doing little guy? you think because your last name is Hohenzollern, God thinks you’re a good king? well it is like 1805 and, while divine right isn’t really being used as much, it’s as good as any reason on why you’re the chosen one and my family is eating dirt in Sicily and on the Scottish border. he’s really just a dude, nothing extraordinary about him except that his wife was the only one with brains and was the first to establish that (sorry Wilhelm I). he cried when he found out that his children didn’t call him ‘papa’ and went into a deep depressive state when his wife suddenly died. he’s an average man, of average abilities, but of big heart. and the big heart is what bumps him up, for me, from his old place as an F to a C. though, his moralizing is tedious

Friedrich Wilhelm II: this man should have partied with Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. everyone’s got that one ruler whose all about sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll. for the US it’s JFK, for the UK it’s Margaret Thatcher Charles II, France has Louis XIV. Prussia has this guy and we should thank him. so many mistresses, so much sex, so much revelry and debauchery and sin! this guy’s personal life is like a treasure trove of political and sexual intrigue. if you’re into that - as I am as a town gossip - you’ll love him. I am constantly amazed by the fact that some STD didn’t kill him. syphilis, herpes, crabs. something, man, anything. but he didn’t. he’s a shit king though. absolutely horrible. all he did was whine that he didn’t get taught anything by Uncle Fritz and, yes, that’s not good if it’s true (but it’s not completely because the treatises are detailed but I guess he didn’t have time to read) but c’mon. actually apply yourself and learn on the job. I know that would’ve required him to not be balls deep somewhere, but unfortunately he’s not Dorian Gray. there’s work that needed to be done and he didn’t do it. boo!!

D-tier

Wilhelm I: apparently he was a good guy, unlike the other 3 who populate the lowest rungs of Prussian kinghood. so I give him that and I can respect that. but what did he do? what were his own ideas? I thought about putting Bismarck as king instead because, really, he was. Bismarck was a minister who ran around the king’s back to set things up exactly as he liked and it fucking worked because he was the brains. his wife was intelligent too, but theirs wasn’t a wamr and loving marriage. and Bismarck worked to get Wilhelm to distrust her because she was liberal and the fact that Wilhelm would listen to Otto even if it meant allowing himself to be drowned in the Rhine is pathetic. fun party at Versailles though. hope it was worth the war reparations

F-tier (bastard time) I’m going in a different order because I want to go from the ones I hate least to most xoxo

Friedrich Wilhelm IV: “I won’t accept a crown from the gutter” then you won’t accept a crown at all, stupid idiot! god, the smugness. the authoritarian impulses. I know it was the cool thing in 1848 to put down any revolts/protests with as much force as possible, but man, at least the Habsburgs were transparent. homie was like “yeah guys lol I’ll make a constitution and it’ll be epic! you’ll have so many rights! xoxo gossip girl” and then...nope. and AND he wanted the Habsburgs in charge of things too! Mr. ‘I’m Nostalgic For When HRE Was Great And We Blew Austrian Dick!’ grow up man. it’s Prussia time buddy, Austria is beginning to fall apart. don’t look to the past, look to the future, but you didn’t have that vision did you?

Wilhelm II: *banging pots and pans* I blame this man for everything! now, intellectually, does Germany take all the blame for WWI? no, that’s foolish and propaganda of the Allies only. if you’re a European power in 1914, you get to share the blame (ex: why did UK need to make this a naval arms race? Austria should’ve declared war on Serbia sooner if that’s what it wished to do. Russia, please stay out of the Balkans then and forever). but does my irrational hatred of Wilhelm blind me to this truth when I see his stupid face and that ugly fucking mustache that I wish to yank off? my god, yes. I see him and Rule Britannia and The Yanks Are Coming start playing so loud in my head and I’m like ‘yeah, the kaiser’s gonna pay.’ I’m sorry that Bismarck’s ego was bigger than yours but did you have to prove him right by getting incompetent buffoons who were playing checkers when he set the board up for chess to replace him? Did you have to prove Freud right by displacing private problems onto public life with your little tit-for-tat with George IV (VI?) because his mummy loved you more? Why did you need to fuck every naval vessel you saw like an inferior of Peter the Great who believed he was Sir Francis Drake? but that’s just the first war and he lived to see things setting up for the second. wasn’t in convenient for you to be close with the N@zis when you thought they might want a king back on the throne and you could reclaim your little tyrant. like every goddamn Prussian conservative or Junker, you thought you could play the tyrannical cockroach. sure, you figured out earlier that he was no pal, but you still collaborated and you still allowed yourself to get played like the weak man of conscience you are. cheers!

Friedrich Wilhelm I: ladies and gentleman, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! the biggest bastard straight outta Berlin, FW1! and who doesn’t love an abusive father? who doesn’t love a man, so insecure and pathetic, that he needs to terrorize children to be able to look at himself and have a little pride. I understand that it was because he wanted his kids, specifically Fritz, to be best. but being best and perfect meant being miniature versions of him and aren’t we supposed to want our children to be better than a carbon-copy of a small man? honestly, I could live with the occasional smack for this time period. it’s within the norm and, while horrible, isn’t irreparably damaging. this guy really had to beat the shit out of Fritz and Wilhelmina and I’m sure Augustus and Henry and Amalia and all the others (so many kids) didn’t get spared either because if you hit one, you’ll hit ‘em all. and I judge them for their flaws all the same but, for some of them, it gets hard to. because what fighting chance did they have when their father was telling them how worthless they were and beating them senseless and threatening death and life imprisonment on some? I’m constantly impressed by Henry and Fritz and Wilhelmina for amounting to any semblance of maturity, even though it’s always fleeting, because this man didn’t give them the tools to be functioning adults. but each of them managed to be greater than their father, as did Amalia managing a really cool coup in Sweden. and what did FW1 get? he built up his army, had a tall guy fetish, increased the treasury, and made the cabinet and executive offices more efficient. there used to be this one guy on here that would argue that that was all a good king made and that this lowlife didn’t deserve the contempt he got by some on here (an obvious vague of me) for his behavior as a father. and maybe I’m a crackpot, but I believe the quality of a man outshines all those other achievements and that that’s meaningless to me, in my personal life. and when I get to hell, before I go to any of these other men, I’ll go to him and ask him how hell’s fires feel because, if his God was real, it would never love him. and that’s beautiful

#i just wanted to give you guys the mental image of ol maggie doing lines of coke #i dont like her i just like to give nicknames to all my enemies #makes them uncomfortable #im very tipsy so this is weird #i apologize #but i hope its kinda funny and enjoyable #frederick the great #old fritz #the name frederick officially looks meaningless to me #frederick william i #frederick i #frederick iii #frederick william ii #frederick william iii #frederick william iv #wilhelm i #wilhelm ii #prussian shitposting

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imanalbertross · 4 years

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Behold. I have made a fanfic. I'm working on an art thing for the last part.

Mista was already in his room when he woke. The now shorter, still more muscular man was leaning against his picture window, looking down on the garden as the air from outside blew through his dark, curling hair. Giorno loved it when he wasn’t wearing a hat. His hair was just so perfect for him, and he looked so good when you could see it.

“Do we have important business or did you just miss me?” he teased absently as he headed for his on-suite bathroom and began his morning routine. Mista followed him over to the bathroom- it was huge, so there was no reason he couldn’t just chill out there while Giorno showered and brushed his teeth, though by now the older man waited outside until the shower started for Giorno’s privacy.

“I always miss you,” Mista teased back, “but actually, do you know what day it is?” The two of them had been teasing and flirting like this for some time. Giorno often found himself wishing that it was real, but he knew Mista well by now. It was probably just that homoerotic joking straight men sometimes did when they were comfortable with their sexuality.

“Monday?” Giorno suggested as he shampooed his golden hair and thought about what Mista must do when he came in before he was awake. Did he just look out the window? He sometimes had a book with him, but when he didn’t, he wondered how long he waited for him. Mista snorted and leaned back in the easy chair inside the bathroom. Even after around a year, Giorno was getting used to the amount of space he had in his personal space here. The house was almost too big for him, and he knew that if Mista hadn’t promised to move in, he’d have just gotten his own place and kept the mansion for a base.

“It’s April 15th, and if you think I’m letting you sit here doing paperwork and worrying about work on your birthday, you got another thing coming,” he said. Giorno stopped short as he continued quickly through his shower.

“Mista, you know we can’t just take a day off,” he said. Mista snorted again and he could almost picture the young man stretched out, with his ankles crossed in front of him.

“You and I both know that isn’t true. Most of the work you have to do- aside from continuing to change over the ownership of Diavolo’s shit- is already delegated out. Fugo’s on the drug problem, Michelle takes care of anything that isn’t a signature from you and answers all of your calls and emails, and I’m in charge of all the guys who protect you.I think Polnareff can handle one day while you relax,” he said firmly, leaving little room for argument. Giorno was going to try anyway. He turned off the shower and angrily grabbed his towel to dry off before pulling a robe loosely around himself.

“So then, that’s why you look so well dressed today,” he said coolly, a subtle jab at his usual fashion that was both childish and uncalled for. Mista shook his head, standing and coming over to take the comb and blow drier from him so that he could do it for him. Mista seemed to enjoy helping with his routine, and Giorno wasn’t about to complain.

“Someone’s catty when they don’t get their way,” he mused as he started to carefully dry the hair and brushed through it tenderly. Giorno was fairly angry, already, but he knew he was unlikely to win.

“Yes, well, I don’t like other people telling me what to do if they aren’t in charge of me. Go get breakfast ready. I’ll be down in a few minutes,” he snapped, taking the brush and blow drier back harshly. He kind of felt bad as Mista gave him a sort of hurt look. The man shrugged and sighed.

“Fine. Have your pout. I’m determined to make you have fun though, so be prepared to fucking enjoy yourself, damnit,” he said, leaving without too much fuss.

“So… how’s he reacting?” Michelle asked as she finished up her breakfast. Mista sighed as he finished placing his strata into the oven.

“Like a dumb kid. I mean, it’s fair. He’s never had a chance to be one, so sometimes when he’s not fully engaged, he acts his age,” Mista said, leaning on the counter. He picked up his espresso and sipped it gently. Michelle was a secretary, nothing more, but she was kind and a good friend.

“Are you gonna tell him?” she asked. He laughed humorlessly and looked down into the swirl in his drink from the touch of his lips.

“No. He’s still not technically an adult. He’s got one more year for that, and I’m not about to be the guy who makes him uncomfortable. You know I’m not that guy… I mean… if he says he feels that way, I’ll respond, but like… at this point it has to be his choice. He’s the one holding the cards,” Mista said softly. Michelle smirked a little.

“So like… after all the illegal shit you two do with your lives, this is the one thing you do legally?” she asked. Mista shrugged.

“I’m not gay, but he is, and his reputation and public image is important. If he wants to do that kind of shit, then it’s up to him. I mean, I’m way too laid back to be straight or even give a fuck what other people do with their lives, but like… I kind of need to let him be in charge of his image. Gay men aren’t really able to do the same things as straight people here,” he said. Michelle sighed softly and nodded.

“Yeah… it’s not legal back home in the US either… I guess I can get that. I mean, I had to come to Europe for people to take me seriously too, so…” she fell silent and Mista looked up to see Giorno dressed somewhat casually but still quite attractively in a pink oxford and jeans. He had a sweater draped around his shoulders, his hair done the usual way, and a pair of aviators propped up on his head.

“Want some coffee?” Mista asked, “We’ve got around thirty minutes on the strata.” Giorno perked up, his green eyes smiling when his lips did not.

“Yes please,” he said, taking a seat at the bar, “I’m sorry, Michelle. I’m afraid you’ll be alone today.” She smirked a little and waved him off.

“Oh come on. You don’t turn seventeen every day,” she said, “Have fun. Hell, I wish I’d had someone taking me out in Naples on my seventeenth birthday.” He laughed softly at her and shook his head.

“Your mother is good to you though. Besides, whenever you need some Gucci pumps, we’ve got your back,” he said. The older woman grinned at him, standing and taking her breakfast with her. She paused beside him, kissing his cheek in a sisterly manner.

“Have fun. Happy Birthday, bossman,” she said before heading out to do her job. There was a moment of silence as Mista prepared his coffee to his tastes. Giorno thought for a moment about what Michelle had said- being taken out by someone. There were definitely times when Mista behaved- and he himself responded- like they were boyfriends. He still found it difficult to believe that Mista would care for him in such a way. After all, they were both men, and while Giorno had confided his homosexuality in Mista, Mista had never said anything of the same to him. No, this was how Mista behaved when he was being good and loyal Mista. It had to be.

“I’m sorry about this morning. There was no reason for me to get so cross with you,” Giorno said as Mista set his coffee before him. The older man leaned on the counter and smiled.

“Nah. I generally expect you to resist when I try to make you have fun. Sometimes, I think you don’t know how,” he said, playfully, and Giorno thought about it for a moment.

“I think you may be right. I’ve only known how to have fun when I’m alone. You’re the first person I’ve ever just spent time with without reason,” he mused after sipping his coffee and appreciating it for a moment. Mista cocked his head to the side as he worked on a second cup of coffee for himself.

“Without reason? Well I hope there’s a reason. I kinda hope we hang out because you like spending time with me,” he said, “Like… that’s what having friends is, you know?” Giorno paused, surprised that his words would bring about such a reaction.

“I… oh. I’ve never really had friends either. You and the rest of Bucciarati’s team were the first friends I’d ever had,” Giorno admitted. How was it that they’d never talked about this? He could come out as gay to the man but not tell him that he was the first friend he’d ever really had. Well, him, Bucciarati and Narancia. Fugo was becoming a good friend now, and he had Michelle- though she was more a sister than anything- but Mista was on a different level than them. Mista smiled a little, his offense changing quickly to understanding. Giorno adored how fluid his emotions always were. His own features softened to match Mista’s and for a moment they were quiet.

“I guess I’ll be honored, then. You can be a tough nut to crack,” Mista said at length, looking away and blushing a little at having held the gaze for so long. Damn, today was going to be hard. It’d be just him and Giorno, trying to teach the blonde to have fun. He was sure that he’d be a little obvious today, and hopefully, it wouldn’t upset his best friend and the object of his affections.

Giorno was completely out of his element. They’d spent the past hour simply wandering around with Mista, stopping at whatever shops they wanted and buying anything they pleased. He’d never had the ability to do such a thing. He had, before Passione, usually had just about enough from his cons to pay for little things he wanted- gelato, puddings, trips to the nail salon. He would save up for things he really wanted, like his ladybug brooches and his Versace shoes, but he’d never been shopping since taking this job. He had ordered a few suits and shoes to go with, and Mista had convinced him to buy his underwear online from some fancy company, but he kept himself very busy.

“What do you think?” Mista asked, donning a beautiful pair of Dolce and Gabbana aviators in a lovely shade of brown that complimented his dusky skin and dark hair.

“They’re incredible,” he said, “Do you think they have them in pink?” He tried to brush off the thoughts that came up- fuck the sunglasses, you’re incredible- but they had persisted over the past hour, and looked like they were going to go on for a while. It was almost like torture, but also thoroughly enjoyable. There was a sad sort of joy coming to him from getting to watch Mista being happy.

“I don’t… hmm… I don’t see… I don’t see D and G, but there’s a pair of Lugano’s here I think you’d like,” Mista said, pointing to a pair on the slab that was being presented to them. (https://financesonline.com/10-most-expensive-sunglasses-in-the-world-cartier-dolce-gabana-and-other-fancy-brands/ #9 on this list) Giorno looked at the gold-rimmed pair, the gradient purple lenses speaking to him, even as the leopard print patterned diamonds on the side made him think of Mista.

“Oh, I do like them… I… can I try them?” he asked, looking nervously up at the woman. She smiled at him.

“Yes, of course, sir,” she said, picking them up and opening them for him. He placed them carefully on his nose, looking at himself and was taken aback. He’d never imagined himself as glamorous, but here was the proof he needed that perhaps this activity with Mista was a place he belonged.

“Oh my… Mista… they’re amazing,” he murmured, turning his head and watching the way the colors accented his pale complexion and golden hair. He’d known the other man loved expensive fashion, he had just missed, in the midst of his friend’s compulsion for that usual outfit of his, just how good he was at it.

“Just like the guy they’re on. We’ll take them,” Mista said, turning to the woman, and Giorno gaped a little. Given that he barely bought anything for himself, he had money to spend, and Mista was in a similar boat, but he’d never gotten a gift so expensive in his life.

“Mista, you can’t,” he insisted, reaching up to take them off.

“I can. It’s your birthday. And they look amazing on you,” Mista replied, taking his hands and putting them back on, “But I think we still have to give them back so that she can remove the tag and stuff.” Giorno laughed a little, flushing as Mista’s fingers brushed his face.

“I… okay. But everything else I like today, I’m buying,” he said, handing them delicately back to the young woman. She smiled between them and Mista nodded, taking off the pair he was wearing and setting them down. They were beautiful, but he’d tried on another, slightly less expensive pair that had suited him better, and he chose those for himself- not because he couldn’t afford them, but because he liked the look more.

They continued the romp around the city, and slowly, Giorno came out of his shell. With Mista’s enthusiasm for the day infecting him, Giorno found himself able to show him the side of himself that he kept to his time alone- a young man who could get excited about fashion and food and who played tricks on his friends and stopped to view the unexpectedly beautiful. Mista felt like his breath had been robbed from him the more he saw of this open, happy, beautiful Giorno.

He smiled as Giorno approached him after buying their most recent haul and he was carrying a bag, even though they’d been having everything sent to the house. He stopped in front of Mista and for a minute they were silent, and Giorno looked a little embarrassed.

“I um… I got you something, because I wanted to go to the beach, but we don’t have anything to swim in,” Giorno said at length, and Mista laughed a little.

“Hey, you didn’t have to do that. I could have gotten one myself,” he said, wrapping an arm around the slim blonde’s shoulders as he guided him out the door. Giorno looked down, and for a moment, Mista thought he saw a blush.

“I wanted to. It was perfect for you, and besides, it’s not like I don’t know your size after shopping with you all day,” Giorno said, brushing it off, “Anyway, I want to go swimming now.” Mista gave him a quick squeeze, enjoying how easy it was for them to touch each other today, and nodded.

“Okay. Lets hop a train to Lido Virgilio,” he said, “It’s quieter there.” Giorno nodded and they were off.

Giorno had never been much of a strong swimmer, but as he emerged from the changing rooms in his burgundy speedo, he couldn’t wait to get into the water. Mista was waiting for him, and the suit he’d gotten was perfect- shorts-style suit with mostly tiger print, but a panel on each side that were white with a swoosh of bright blue. It reminded him of the rendition of Mista’s favorite outfit that he’d had when they met.

“What do you think? Is it alright?” he asked the darker man, and Mista smiled.

“You got me pegged, man,” he said, grinning, and Giorno, unable to help taking in Mista’s physique, thought to himself I wish, “You got some balls, though, man. I don’t think I’d have the guts to pull off a speedo.” Giorno laughed softly.

“It’s the only bathing suit I’ve ever known. I only learned to swim in my class in upper school, so all I’ve ever worn was the school-issued speedo,” Giorno said, “And it’s comfortable.” Mista seemed to be thinking about him, and for a moment, Giorno let himself hope that he was looking at him as more than a friend.

“Come on! Lets go!” he said, then and ran for the water. Mista was at his heels and they took to the water like they were born to it. The gunman was quick to start a splash war, and it led them into the soft waves of the Mediterranean. Giorno couldn’t remember the last time he was so happy. Everything seemed brighter, the water felt perfect, and every time their skin touched, he felt like they were really flirting.

Mista would pick him up and throw him into a wave, and he would shove Mista under the water, and they played like the young men they were. For this brief day, they were able to forget the hell they’d been through, the mafia waiting for them when they got back, and the friends they’d lost. Giorno was lifted by a wave and shoved against Mista, the other man’s face pressed into his pecs, and he wrapped his arm around him, burying his fingers in his hair as he laughed.

The moment sort of shut off Mista’s brain, as his cheek was pressed between those two perfect pecs. He flushed, unable to make his brain work on his command as he wrapped his arms around the perfect waist of the man he loved. The water lifted them both and carried them to the surf, leaving Mista on his knees and Giorno on his lap. Giorno looked down at Mista and realized, in that moment, that he could never go back to pretending he didn’t want this everyday. He loved this man, and he wanted to stay in that moment forever.

With his breath caught in his throat as their eyes met, he leaned in and kissed him, soft, salty lips meeting in a brief, gentle, tender expression of love. Mista’s everything froze. This was exactly what he’d always wanted, and it was in a perfect moment, where they were both happy. When Giorno broke away, he shook himself out of his joyful surprise. Giorno was looking down and away, his cheeks redder than they had been from their fun.

“I’m sorry… I… I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, and Mista squeezed him closer.

“Why the hell not? I was just surprised that you wanted it too. I can make it up to you, if you want,” Mista said, bumping his nose against his jaw. Giorno slowly turned his face back.

“Really? You… don’t mind that I like you?” he asked. Mista laughed and gave the younger man a genuine smile.

“Dude, I’ve just been waiting on you. You’re the boss, and your image is important, so I wanted you to be the one making the moves,” he said, reaching up to pull their foreheads together, “I fucking adore you, man.” He pressed his lips against Giorno’s and the blonde melted against him, letting his arms drape around his neck and kissing back with a little sigh.

When they pulled back, Giorno tucked his head against Mista’s shoulder and stayed that way for a little bit. It was almost more than he could handle to have Mista feel the same. After the life he’d had, he’d simply expected to be alone always, though he knew that wasn’t fair to Mista. The man was far more understanding, caring, and vibrant than his mother and step-father had ever been, but he had no words to express how it felt to finally have someone love him back.

“You okay?” Mista asked at length, “I’m getting buried in the sand.” Giorno laughed a little bit and smiled.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine, Guido… I’m just happy, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been before,” he said in reply. Mista blinked a little and squeezed him.

“Well, then I’m glad I could do that for you,” he said, “But uh… it’s getting to be later in the day and we might want to get dinner and head home?” Giorno nodded and kissed him once more, just briefly, before standing up and helping him escape the sand prison the waves had made for him.

“You’re right. And we can’t skip dinner. I know someone who’ll start wailing if we try,” he teased, holding on to Mista’s hand as they went to get changed. Mista didn’t let go until they parted at the changing booths, and Giorno couldn’t stop smiling. It was like the sun had finally come out from behind the clouds. There was a reason to keep moving in his life, and that was more than he’d ever had.

#jojo s bizarre adventure #giomis #jojo giorno #guido mista #vento aureo #golden wind #giorno giovanna #romance #cute shit #fluff

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awkwardtaco056 · 4 years

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so now that i’m no longer in the Hell that was school and after finding the lovely blog @endcringe i’ve decided to talk about my own experiences with cringe culture, bullying, and why it’s Really Bad to not let people enjoy inherently harmless things, especially neurodivergent people (read more because this is gonna get long and triggering at times, TW for mentions of bullying, suicide, child abuse, a brief mention of incest shipping. I won’t be naming any of the peers that I discuss my experiences with, because my point with this post is Not to “cancel” anyone, I just want to speak out on my experiences)

I’m neurodivergent; I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was 8 years old. I didn’t know a lot about it, and a family member even painted it as “oh it’s nothing blah blah blah just apply yourself more. Because of this, I had no idea about the concept of hyperfixations until I was in my late teens. Due to that, I would obsess over random things and my family would shame me relentlessly for it. My mother said I had an “addictive personality” and that she feared I’d end up a drug addict or alcoholic because of it.

I look younger than what I am, I’m short, and small. AKA, the perfect candidate for being picked on by people bigger and stronger than me. People made fun of my art when I was around 13, but fortunately that was an instance where spite fueled me to improve drastically. However, just because I happened to take the shitty comments and have it fuel me then does NOT mean bullying people will have that effect all the time. At some point someone put my old South Park fan art on a cringe blog. I was temporarily hurt, and a little angry, but I realized that if someone was making fun of a 15 year old’s art, they probably didn’t have much going for them in life, so I moved on.

Fast forward to high school. Everything was horrible and I’m not exaggerating when I say I barely made it out alive. I was living in an abusive household up until January 2018 and I found comfort in many different interests. I’ve always found great comfort in music and the arts in general. In 2016, I drew a picture of a mermaid. I was inspired by the chocolate opal gemstone, and I thought it’d be fun to draw a gay chubby mermaid with dark skin and a rainbow tail and freckles. Junior year was lousy and I wanted something that sparked Joy. I was immediately told that “scientifically, mermaids wouldn’t look like that. Mind you, my take looked like this:

Obviously I wasn’t going for realism, I just wanted to draw a cute mermaid. However, they continued to tell me that they wouldn’t look like that, going as far as writing so on the back of said drawing. When I got angry at her for taking it too far (as I’d established before that I didn’t like it when people wrote on my art without permission), they got angry back, accusing me of being unable to take criticism. Heated by the accusation, I went as far as asking my art teacher if it was fair for them to say that, and she said no, stating that constructive criticism would be talking about how I could improve my lineart and coloring in the digital version. I took her actual helpful criticism and since then have improved Drastically in digital art. Even with that being said, I found myself hesitant to participate in things such as MerMay because I was leery of hearing that peer berate me for having cartoony mermaids.

During high school I grew to love many musicians, a lot of emo/alternative stuff, a couple being Twenty One Pilots and Melanie Martinez. I love how unique TOP’s style is, their open discussion of mental illness, and as someone who had a rough childhood, I connected with every single song on Cry Baby. It was like nothing I’d ever heard. I started listening to mashups featuring all these different artists I love, adoring how they could change the tone and sound so drastically. A peer Bully of mine in junior year condemned these two artists, declaring that they made “Bad Music” simply because it didn’t fit their tastes. They’d throw my drawings on the ground, write over them in pen, steal my headphones so I couldn’t listen to music, push me around, complain that mashups sucked and gave them a headache, and in general shit all over conetnt that was actively preventing me from committing suicide.

Some family members were no better. Once high school hit, I began listening to Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, and My Chemical Romance. Their deep complex lyrics stuck with me. I would write down quotes from my favorite songs and thanks to hyperfixating, I remember each studio album in order My mother resented when I fell in love with the “Emo Trinity” because “the Columbine shooters were emo and that event traumatized me” Despite that, not only did the Columbine tragedy occur in 1999 and none of the bands got together until the early 2000s, but I have a pretty good feeling those groups aren’t For gun violence. The other side constantly criticized the fact that I love FOB, P!ATD, and MCR because I’m black and “why must you listen to that white people music.”

I grew fond of Dan and Phil in high school (and I’m still a fan to this day!), I loved Phil’s kindness and positive aura and I deeply connect with Dan’s sense of humor and personality. Their content made me happy during some very dark times in my life. It’s November 2017, I’m over a close peer’s house at the time, and notice PINOF is upon us. I drew the PINOF whiskers on my face, my plan being to quietly watch them in the corner of peer’s bedroom on my phone through headphones, the others were doing their own thing and I knew they didn’t like them, so I thought they’d respect it if I silently indulged in it. Unfortunately, the complete opposite happened. I was immediately shunned and locked out of the bedroom, told that I’d only be let back in if I washed the whiskers off because “absolutely not”. Me, being stubborn, washed them off temporarily but drew them back on in the room. Life during then was especially bad for me, as the abusive household I was in was getting worse. They noticed, of course, and even though all I wanted was to enjoy this small tradition in a time during a deep depression, I was immediately shoved out the room and locked out, only to have said peer’s family members notice. I’m a relatively shy person, so this was honesty a really harrowing experience that had a lasting effect on me.

I grew to adore Sanders Sides as well, but the moment I found out most of my peers didn’t like Thomas, I was terrified. I stopped watching Dan and Phil’s content for months and shied away from other fandoms too, only occasionally indulging in times of complete solitude. One time when said peers were due to visit my house for the first time, I saw the Phandom and Fander stuff I’d hung up on my wall in my little sanctuary that was my bedroom (it was the first time in years I’d had my own room), and I was filled with panic and fear. I took them down and hid them away, genuinely terrified of what they’d do to me if they saw. It’s still incites so much anger in me to this day because they turned around and ended up shipping incest, but somehow liking D&P and Sanders Sides was So. Much. Worse.

They were baffled by my actions, despite having humiliated me Twice by going on a private blog of mine separate from everything so that I could fully indulge and laughing at everything on there, once at a peer’s house, once right in school. I don’t think they realized how traumatizing it was to have a large group of people in public laughing at something I was deeply self conscious about for all of my life. I put on a brave face at the time, but ended up crying in the bathroom after first period began. I continued to be treated as lesser until things came to an ugly head August 2018 when I ended up in the hospital because I nearly attempted suicide. Years of child abuse, bullying, and being deemed “cringy” made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be alive, that everyone would be happier if I were gone.

After arguably one of the lowest points in my life, I cut them off and slowly began to embrace the Real Me. I started letting myself enjoy the things again, made true friends and even found love, my first boyfriend ever at 18. I still get choked up retelling it, but when PINOF 10 dropped, after he found out how much I’d been hurt over the incident in 2017, I was greeted with a photo of him with the whiskers on his face. I cried for a while, blown away at such a pure act of kindness. He listens to me ramble about my interests, he compliments my taste in music, he watched K-12 with me.

This got incredibly long, but my point is this: Cringe Culture hurts people. You might think it’s whatever if the Thing doesn’t apply to your interests, but content you’re denouncing as cringy could be something that’s keeping them alive, that one flicker of light in a void of darkness. When I was contemplating suicide, I listened to The Black Parade, repeating Gee’s words to myself over and over, that nothing in the world was worth hurting yourself over. Some friendly joshing here and there is okay, but actively ripping someone to shreds constantly to the point where they have a mental breakdown in front of you and later on plan their own demise is disgusting. Nobody should abuse anyone for having harmless interests, no one. Unless you’re participating in p*dophilic/inc*st/s*xual assault/inherently abusive ships/content and pretending it’s not bad because “Fiction doesn’t impact reality!”, you have every right to like what you like and be happy. Read homestuck. Play Undertale. Draw up the Wildest OCs you can imagine. And stay away from people who try to rob you of innocent fun, life is too short and in this cruel, unforgiving world, you deserve to be happy, whether you’re a 13 year old who draws cute furries, a 16 year old cosplayer on TikTok, a VSCO girl, a 30 year old who writes/draws self insert art or a 20 year old who adores Invader Zim.

Cringe Culture is just bullying under a different name, and it can lead to many instances of people, especially fellow neurodivergent folk to feel isolated and ostracized. Attempting to bully someone out of an interest they have isn’t going to fix them; it’s more often than not going to cause more damage. I suffer from diagnosed C-PTSD, anxiety, and depression, and sometimes I still find myself trying to over-justify my interests. To all who are roped up in bad homes and lousy “friends” who berate you for your innocent passions, I’m sorry you’re suffering, things will one day get better even if it doesn’t feel like it, and fuck those people. I’d also like to note that sometimes even if it seems more terrifying, it’s better to have one or two close friends you can truly trust than a whole group that walks all over you. You have every right to call them out for treating you poorly, and if things don’t improve, you also have every right to leave.

You have a right to live your True Self.

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profoundnet · 4 years

Photo

Header by @cryptomoon and is available on merch from her redbubble store. You can use all those fancy emojis (and more!) on our Discord server!

The Masterpost is open for all creations by ProfoundBond members which are posted in their entirety during that month.

MEMBER CONTRIBUTIONS FOR OCTOBER 2019!

Featuring works from @saywhatjessie, @mittensmorgul, ArielAquariel, @doespeterparkerisgay, @banshee1013, @andimeantittosting, Erratus, @cool-fallen-angel, @malallory, @castielslostwings, @nickelkeep, @bringmefleshandbringmewine, @sarasaurussex, iCeDreams, @emiliaoagi, @leafzelindor and @rauko-is-a-free-elf!

Masterpost below the cut.

JessJesstheBest - @saywhatjessie - JessJesstheBest

On The Line (T, 23k)

“Well, can I scam you?” Dean’s spoon was frozen, forgotten, halfway between his bowl and his mouth. “Did you just ask if you could scam me?” “Yes.” The guy said, cool as anything. “Can I scam you?”

Or the one where Cas is a scam caller and Dean just keeps intercepting his calls.

Tags: Alternate Universe, Human AU, Scam Caller au

mittensmorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittenWraith

Lifetime Piling Up (E, 59k)

Cas is having a bad day. He burned his bagel, missed his ride to work and had to run to the hospital in the pouring rain, and then witnessed his attending accidentally kill a patient during a routine surgery. Now he might be on the hook for his boss’s mistake, but was it really a mistake, or is he the next target of Dr. Nick Morningstar’s sick mind games?

Dean is also having a bad day. His brother nearly set his kitchen on fire, he’s training a new apprentice in his tattoo shop, and then he gets a mysterious call that Sam needs a ride to the hospital after a freak accident in the pouring rain left him with an injured shoulder. A chance encounter at the hospital leads Dean and Cas to each other after a decade of coincidences and premonitions, and suddenly their worst day might become the foundation for all of their best. A story of choice and destiny, and the power of found family, foretold through uncanny tattoos.

Tags: AU-modern setting, tattoo artist!Dean, surgeon!Cas, angst and fluff and smut

ArielAquariel - ArielAquariel

Quoth the Raven (G, 6k)

Dean Winchester didn’t believe in the occult. Werewolves were a myth, Nessie was a hallucination, and bigfoot was just a large hairy man who enjoyed strolling naked through the woods. He thought that crystals were a load of shit, and a smudge stick would do nothing but make your house smell like burnt sage. He didn’t believe in God, let alone ghosts. Finally, and he was 100% sure on this one, he didn’t believe in witches. Or Wicca. Or whatever they wanted to call it. His point? Everything could be explained. That is, everything but the dark-haired man walking through campus with a spellbook and a raven for a familiar…

Tags: Misunderstandings, Fluff, Pining Dean Winchester, Pining Castiel (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - College/University, Meet-Cute, Animal Lover Castiel (Supernatural)

vicktick - @doespeterparkerisgay - vicktick

two bros, arguing about who would top cause they're not gay (but they are) (T, 3.5k)

“No, I’m telling you, I would be the top if we were gay together.”

Oh, Twitter was going to love this: ‘my brother and his “best friend” are currently arguing about who would top if they were “gay together”. i was pretty sure they already were gay together.’

Tags: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Sam is a Little Shit, Supportive John Winchester

banshee1013 - @banshee1013 - Banshee1013

Suptober Art/Fic (NSFW)

Art and accompanying ficlets to answer Suptober 2019 prompts.

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Depression, Temporary Character Death, Nightmare, Crossover/Fandom Fusion

andimeantittosting - @andimeantittosting - andimeantittosting

I Will Hang My Head Low (M, 22.5k)

Dean Winchester gave up hunting when his brother became the prophesied Boy King of Hell. Now he ekes out a meager living, chopping wood for a nearby village, until one snowy night, he follows what appears to be a falling star, and encounters an injured angel. Afterwards, he tries to put the strange night from his mind.

When he meets Castiel, a mysterious man with healing powers, they form an instant connection, and the more Dean learns of Castiel's powers—to heal, to protect, to purify—the more he begins to hope that Sam can be saved. But as they prepare to save Sam, Castiel grows sick, and then sicker still. Too late, Dean learns how much Castiel is willing to sacrifice for him.

Inspired by the Decemberists' Crane Wife and the Japanese myth on which it is based.

Tags: Temporary Major Character Death, Fairytale/Folktale AU, Sick Castiel, Grief/Mourning, Castiel's Wings, Angst With a Happy Ending

Tentacletober Fills (E, 7k)

A collection of short fills for Tentacletober prompts.

Tags: Tentacles, Consentacles, Oviposition

Erratus - Erratus

A Concerned Brother (T, 2k)

When Sam walks in on Dean and Castiel, he left worried if Castiel understands enough about human relationships.

Tags: Coming out, established relationship, canon verse, mentions of sex but no sex, Sam is concerned for Cas

Watching Over You (T, 4k)

Castiel has always been watching over Dean, keeping him alive. Even if Dean doesn't know it, he's been there.

Tags: Suicidal thoughts/attempt, pre-canon, pre-slash, Cas with different vessels, sad and hurt Dean

cool-fallen-angel - @cool-fallen-angel

Halloween Costumes (NSFW)

I drew this piece for Winchester-reload's 2019 suptoberart challenge, day 31: Halloween

Tags: Halloween, halloween costumes, lingerie, angel costume, playboy costume, blushy Cas, suptoberart, sexy boyfriends

malallory - @malallory

DeanCas "Funeral Bell" graphic (SFW)

Graphic created for the All Ships Creations Challenge under the theme "spooky"

Tags: 15x03

castielslostwings - @castielslostwings - Castielslostwings

Wants and Needs (M, 6.5k)

From a prompt in the Destiel Port FB Group! "Asexual Incubus!Cas and Demisexual Vamp!Dean"

Asexual!Incubus!Cas who has to have sex to feed to stay alive and has always resented it, until he meets Demi!vampire!Dean and discovers that being fed on... actually turns him on, and makes feeding not feel miserable for the first time ever. Imagine Ace!incubus!Cas starving for a long time because he can't stomach the thought of having sex, and then here comes Demi!vamp!Dean feeding on Cas, giving him gratification he thought can only be gained from having sex.

And, you know, they live happily ever after.

Tags: Asexual Castiel, Incubus Castiel, Vampire Dean, Demisexual/Demiromantic Dean, Hungry Castiel, Depressed Castiel, Biting/Blood Drinking, Lonely Castiel, Intimacy, Sweet Dean Winchester.

The Luck You Got (E, 90k)

Castiel and Dean grew up together. Both from broke, broken homes, falling in love was easy - until Dean’s father whisked him away. Years later, Cas is still living the struggle, selling his body to keep a roof over his siblings' heads and using drugs to get by. When Dean returns as a fully grown adult (and a paramedic at that) with his kid-brother-turned-lawyer in tow, Castiel can’t help feeling as if they’re picking up exactly where they left off. Falling swiftly in love all over again but used to only having himself to rely on, he struggles to let Dean in. When Gabriel gets arrested and takes a major source of the family’s income down with him, Castiel struggles to cope and leans on drugs and prostitution instead of Dean. Determined not to lose him for a second time, Dean fights to drag Castiel back from the claws of addiction and the brink of death, no matter what it takes. With help from friends, family, and Dean, Castiel finds himself working towards something for the first time ever, determined to choose life, love, and something more than what the city has always told him is all he has to offer.

Tags: Getting Back Together, Childhood Sweethearts, Neighbors, Poverty, Drug Addiction & Recovery, Sex Worker Castiel, Firefighter/Paramedic Dean, Angst & Fluff & Smut, Happy Ending, Romance.

nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep

‘Cause My Monsters Are Real (T, 8k)

"It's great," Garth responding, grabbing a chair and sliding it over. "Bess is in her glory, and the little one is doing awesome. I love her so much." He smiled a toothy grin that didn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm not here about me, though. I debated coming at all, cause I know how sacred our Fridays are, but I figured you'd want to be prepared."

Sam leaned around Rowena, his arm draped over her shoulder, "What do you mean he'd want to be prepared?"

"You too, Sam. This affects both of you. It literally just happened." Garth hung his head like a kicked puppy. "So, I was back in today, filling out my paperwork to start back up on Monday. And I overheard it."

"Spit it out, Wolfman." Dean leaned his chair back on two legs, foot resting on the table.

"Magda's getting her own room. Emma's getting a new person in the room. They're splitting you two up." Garth looked pathetically at Dean. "You're getting a new partner."

Dean instinctively kicked out, sending him backward and onto the floor. "Ow. What?"

Tags: AU - Creatures & Monsters, Shapeshifter Dean, Fallen Angel Castiel, Human/Monster Society, Kid Fic (kind of), There is Only One Under the Bed

And These Monsters Can Fight (E, 6.5k)

"You think I want to keep her here against her wishes?" Bobby shook his head vehemently. "She'd be one hell of a creature if she were one, but she should go back to the human world. There's a problem that you didn't think of."

"What's that?" Dean spat.

"Dean," Sam softly interjected. "The angels may not want or need Claire anymore because she can no longer be an angelic host, but she is still tied to a source of grace." They all looked at the Fallen.

"I can protect myself!" Claire spoke up. "What do you think I had to do when Castiel couldn't come to me thanks to the stupid rules you all have in place!?"

"Can you protect yourself from three or four or five angels?" Bobby stared at her. "I'll give you one or two, you're a spitfire. But they want him. They're not going to take it light and risk losing a couple when they need all hands on board."

"So what? You want to keep her here?" Dean asked.

Tags: AU - Creatures & Monsters, Story Continuation, Shapeshifter Dean, Fallen Angel Castiel, Human/Monster Society, There is only one under the bed.

Carry Me Home (E, 7k)

"You weren't a scout." Cas opened the laptop and pulled up YouTube. In the search bar, he typed in stopping a squeaking door. He moved the cursor over the first video; from a channel called Impala Repairs. "This looks right." He clicked on the link and grabbed his coffee.

Hey there, and welcome to another quick how-to video with Impala Repairs! I'm your host, D.W., and in today's episode, I'm going to show you the best way to stop a door's hinges from squeaking.

Gabe reached over and pushed up on Cas' chin. "Cassie? You alive over there?"

Cas nodded.

"You need a global reboot?"

Cas pulled his eyes off the screen and shot his brother a look that could kill. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That means," Gabe reached over and took Cas' coffee, "that you were A, so infatuated with Old Green Eyes on the screen there, you almost dumped your coffee on yourself, and B, you have no idea how to fix the door."

Tags: AU - Modern Setting, Handyman Dean, Professor Castiel, Sneaky Brothers, Conspiring Sam and Gabriel, Strangers to Lovers, Crush at First Sight

Like a Burning Flame (E, 8.5k)

"No, no, no." Dean shot up from under his pile of Ikea cardboard. "There's no fire here. The smoke alarm is disabled, we're seasoning our ovens."

The firefighter removed his helmet and mask, taking Dean's breath away as though he had actually inhaled smoke. "Seasoning Ovens?" He cocked his eyebrow, his bright blue eyes shining in confusion. "And that requires smoke billowing out of the back of your building?"

Dean's mouth failed to move, entranced as he was with the gorgeous man in a firefighter's uniform in front of him. Charlie shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Call your guys off so nothing is destroyed by water, and we'll show you." She turned the firefighter back to the entrance and waited 'til he was outside before smacking Dean. "Rush your blood back to your head, will you?"

Tags: AU - Coffee Shops and Firefighters, Baker Dean, Firefighter Castiel, Strangers to Lovers, Uniform Kink, Panty Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Dom/Sub Undertones, Bad BDSM Etiquette

For the Last Time (E, 37k) - co-created with @little-crazy-misha-minion

It's been three years since Dean's had any kind of vacation. Until now. Sam and Eileen gift him a cruise as a thank you for all the things he's done for Sam, for them, for the whole family. A week away at sea seems like an ideal vacation. Still, when your name is Dean Winchester, and nothing in your life has ever gone your way, it looks like a disaster waiting to happen. Can a new friend help him turn his luck around and help him navigate the rough waters?

Tags: AU - Cruises, Closeted Bi Dean Winchester, Gay Castiel, LGBTQ Themes, Angst with a Happy Ending, NonCon Kissing (not Destiel), Anxiety/PTSD, Song Fic, Clubbing, DCBB2019

To Confess (E, 8.5k)

"So get this... We've got couples missing at a couples retreat the next state over."

"Which lovely lady you going with?" Dean uncrossed his arms and smacked Cas' hand away from the tablet so he could scroll through the article.

"Can't find one. Charlie's still not back. Jody's taking Donna on a hunt."

Cas looked up. "Well, there was a lesbian couple that went missing. You can choose a male partner."

"I was hoping you'd say that, Cas." Sam shot a look at Dean before smiling at Cas. "Will you do me the honor of being my fake husband for a case?"

"Excuse me?" Dean shot a look at Sam.

"Well, I'm not asking you, Dean." Sam shook his head. "That's... Yeah, no."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest again. "Why are you and Cas going? Cas is my best friend. He and I can pull it off better than you two can."

Tags: Canonverse, Case Fic, Idiots in Love, Fake Relationship, Breaking Up & Making up, Pray for Sam, Sam Winchester ships Destiel, Angst and Porn, Happy Ending

It’s About To Be Legendary (G, 1.5k)

"I don't want to kill a human!" Luna hissed, her whisper carrying softly so only her boyfriend could hear her. "If you mess up, you'll bring down hunters upon the pack." She whimpered. "You could bring the Winchesters upon us." Apollo stood up and turned around, his shoulders squaring out as he attempted to intimidate Luna into following his lead. "First of all, I'm not going going to fuck up, Lu. Have a little faith in your boyfriend. Second, the Winchesters are a myth. An urban legend. Something our parents tell us to make sure we follow Pack Law."

Tags: AU - Everyone Lives, Hunters and Hunting, Halloween Fic, Urban Legends

prolixdreams - @bringmefleshandbringmewine - prolixdreams

And The World Kept Turning (G, 4k)

It’s getting harder and harder to die.

Cigarettes disappeared off the market forty years past.

Proper alcohol, the poisonous kind, was banned almost immediately once a safer synthetic got a foothold in the market.

Every pill and patch is equipped with tiny computers to detect blood levels of a chemical and only release their payload when the concentration dips below a pre-set threshold, making overdose nearly impossible with anything obtained legally.

Even sweeteners are tightly regulated and highly taxed.

And now, January 17th, 2089, Castiel’s tablet feeds him another headline that promises longer, safer lives for all:

HUMAN-DRIVEN CARS FINALLY OFF ROADS FOR GOOD

Tags: Major Character Death (Implied/Referenced), Future Fic, Castiel drives the Impala

Sarasaurussex - @sarasaurussex - sarasaurussex

Sarasaurussex's Inktober, Suptober, and Profound Inktober Masterlist (NSFW, contains multishipping)

This is all of my Supernatual art for Inktober, Suptober, and Profound Inktober. Mostly Destiel, but contains non-Destiel ships (Sabriel and Sastiel).

Dress For Success (E, 2k)

Written for the Supernatural Kink Bingo on tumblr. My prompt was 'clothing sharing'. Art commissioned by Purgatory-Jar!

Tags: Clothing Sharing Kink, Humor, Smut

Wherever I May Roam (E, 11.5k, contains multishipping)

Summary: Sam and Dean get sent to another TV Land that's slightly different than the last. In this version, Jensen and Misha are dating. Written for Supernatural Kink Bingo on tumblr. My prompt was 'roleplay'.

Tags: Destiel, Cockles, Dean x Misha, Dub-Con due to Identity Issues, Idiots to Lovers, First Time, Arguing, Fluff, Smut

iCeDreams - iCeDreams

Chasing Polaris (E, 52k) - co-created with Takai13sama

Dean Winchester feels closed-in with his life at the behemoth, Mary’s Ark. His father has set him up with an arranged marriage and is refusing to budge on Dean’s suggestions to improve the steam engines. So... he does the most obvious thing surly young men do: he runs away.

While leaving the steam capital, he inadvertently meets Emmanuel, a man with secrets of his own, intriguing Dean enough to offer him a ride to a common destination.

It’s a serendipitous encounter, a trip across the country, and a chance to find where they need to be.

Tags: Steampunk, Arranged Marriage, Road Trip, Running Away

EmiliaOagi - @emiliaoagi - EmiliaOagi

It’s How You Use It (M, 2.5k)

One night Castiel discovers Supernatural fanfiction. Then Dean walks in. Some very meta crack with a smidgen of smut. Based on a prompt from the Profound Bond Discord.

Tags: Smut, Humor, Meta, Crack

Goose!Dean Crack Post 1 (SFW)

Art inspired by Untitled Goose Game and a Discord prompt: goose!Dean playing a prank on a poor unsuspecting Sam.

Goose!Dean Crack Post 2 (SFW)

Goose!Dean really wants that burger. Cas disagrees.

LeafZelindor - @leafzelindor -

Ink/Suptober collection (SFW)

Just the short collection of the destiel pics I did during Inktober/suptober.

Art for Crayons and Candybars (SFW)

Artwork done for the DCBB fic Crayons and Candybars, written by I. Franco

rauko-is-a-free-elf - @rauko-is-a-free-elf - FeaRauko

Ocean’s Brawl (M, 55k)

In a time of oppression, the Winchester brothers and their family of misfit pirates sail the seas attacking slave traders and offering the liberated passage to safe-havens, or–if they choose it–a home on the Impala as part of Team Free Will.

Dean meets Castiel, a Naval Captain with orders to enlist him and his band of honorable sea rovers as privateers. Dean refuses, but they end up working together when Castiel offers his vessel as transport for some rescued slaves. Castiel, in turn, travels with Dean as collateral to ensure there is no foul play.

Along the way, Castiel witnesses the horrors of slavery and begins to doubt his cause, even fighting alongside Dean against a French vessel–Castiel’s own people. Castiel comes to admire this wild crew and their kind hearts…perhaps falling for one man in particular.

Tags: pirate!Dean, naval officer!Cas, enemies to lovers, team free will, openly bi!Dean, demisexual!Cas, swashbuckling, battles, shanties

Rapunzel, Rapunzel (SFW)

Art for @diminuel‘s fic, Rapunzel, Rapunzel

Tags: Rapunzel!au, fairy tale!au, prince!Dean, witch!Cas

Bisexualdemondean - outfit (SFW)

Art created for bisexualdemondean in response to the question: "What if I just wanted to look sluttier?"

Tags: demon!dean art, bisexualdemondean art

Autumn - Eileen (SFW)

Art for Day 1 of winchester-reload's suptoberart challenge

Tags: Eileen Leahy

"Good Thing I'm Yours, Then" (SFW)

Art for winchester-reaload's suptober challenge: Day 3 - Royalty Inspired by @casbeanwrites‘ fic Kiss Me Where I Lay Down

Tags: servant!Dean, prince!cas, fic art

"Kids These Days" - Art for Clarity (SFW)

Destiel art for @aloha-cowgirl‘s fic Clarity

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #spn #profound monthly masterpost #profoundnet #october masterpost #member fic #member art #member graphic

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