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yarbz · 3 years

Text

cowardly game of rival — n.jaemin ( f )

synopsis!

━ as the girl’s football team captain, you were used to the endless derogatory taunts, the wolf-whistling, the attempts at romance being boys telling you what they thought of barcelona’s starting XII. na jaemin fell into all those catergories, a detestable flea in your hair. as sworn enemies, there was not even an inkling of romance, and you were convinced that your attraction to him was ONLY physical. weren’t you?

pairing ━ na jaemin x female!reader

word count ━ 6k

genres ━ fluff, rival!au, football!au, comedy, romance, very little of the football game is described in detail.

warnings ━ profanity, football terms, dirty jokes, y/n and jaemin are literally just cowards

( author's note! )

this one came to mind when i thought of how i love female footballers and decided that jaemin would be the idiot in question to chicken out of confessing to their crush by being an ass instead. i really hope you like it !! other notes are sissoko is the name of like three different players and a cracker is slang for a really good goal.

Football.

A sport of creatively insane wits, fancy footwork and incoherent celebrations. Those were all the things you loved about it, along with the ridiculously cute uniform.

It provided you an escape from the man's world, a chance to carve out your own story, free from the shackles of stereotypes. At least, that's what you'd initially thought.

Unfortunately, the boy's football team made it their sole objective in life to demean you. As captain, you took on the strenuous task of refusing to resort to physical violence when a stupid comment about your short length was made or when boys assumed you couldn't tell your Sissoko's apart (you could, quite well actually).

You had taken it as a sign of war, and refused to comment on their pathetic sneers. You did, however, feel as if Na Jaemin made a blood pact or something to be a parasite towards you.

He stood at the cusp of six foot, towering over you like an evergreen beanstalk, cheshire-cat like smile taunting you. Chocolate colour tresses fell over his eyes in straight lines, shielding his forehead.

It's not like you paid attention to his visage, but even you had to admit in your spite that he was attractive. And horribly so.

Today started like every other, going to your locker before heading to your homeroom. Luckily, you'd managed to get there before the freshmen started to pile in. Being a senior had its positives along with its various faults, one of them being the early access you got to the school.

You jammed your key in the lock, flinging open the locker door, making quick work of exchanging your books. In your fast-paced stupor, you didn't notice the figure leaning behind the door. You slammed the door shut, nail catching an patch of skin, scraping it.

"If you wanted me to leave, you could've been less catty." The voice wheedled, throwing a withering glare in your direction. You rolled your eyes, annoyed, arms crossed across your chest.

"Jaemin." You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Why are you hiding behind my locker? Are you looking for a death wish?"

He sat up slowly, soothing his reddening nose, suddenly regaining his smile as he leaned closer towards your face. "If I was looking for a death wish, I'd eat whatever food you just stuffed in there."

"Fuck off. Don't see you making any gourmet meals."

"I'm the gourmet meal." He slithered, breath fanning your nose. From this distance, you could see the wonder swimming within his eyes, breath caught in your throat.

Damn, he was too fine.

You tore your gaze from his eyes, "And yet, I don't feel inclined to taste it." He jumped back in surprise, eyes widening, giving you an opening to dash. Chuffed that you left him speechless, you walked towards your next class, resisting the urge to turn back to revel in his awe-struck face.

Jaemin's eyebrow quirked in curiosity, crooked smirk hanging from his lips. He watched you stalk away, cursing underneath his breath softly. You carried a fiery aura around you, burning him with every snarky remark — even though it beat him bruised ghastly lavenders, he could bear to play with fire if it meant you would pay him attention.

You see, Jaemin did not hate you as per say. The 'hate' which you believed in was merely his inability to profess his affections towards you. For lack of a better word, he was a coward.

A dashingly handsome one, but a fragile, chicken-legged coward all the same.

You'd made it to class in record time, ego bared boldly on your shoulders, attracting the curious eyes of your best friends Yangyang and Donghyuck. Both were terrorists in their own right, but you couldn't help loving them all the same. Sure, they came as a dreadful pair, but love had decided to shackle your heart to them.

"What's got you so happy? Jaemin finally drop dead?" Yangyang joked, shifting to make space for you. Headband strapped to the pinnacle of his forehead, he grinned at you from beneath the base of stretchy ebony material.

"No..not yet." You hummed, sad lilt to your tone.

"Awh, didn't kill him yet?" Donghyuck teased, nudging Yangyang in their laughter. "I think it must be love stopping you from committing the crime yourself." You shoved both, peals of laughter tickling your throat at their whines of pain.

"If you don't shut up, I'll be killing you two instead, never mind Jaemin." You snapped. "Love is what I feel when I score a cracker from the halfway line. Seeing Jaemin makes me want to jump out of the nearest window."

"Are you sure it's not just unresolved sexual tension? I, too get antsy when I haven't jacked off—"

"Finish that sentence and you'll have no arms."

"I'm flexible enough to suck myself off." Yangyang mused, "You'll never stop my libido."

"You're disgusting." You and Donghyuck said in sync, swatting his grabby hands from flying at your shoulders. Quite frankly, you didn't want to hear about his freakishly boneless limbs, or his untameable sex drive, nor hear anything about his genitals at all.

"Does that count as self—"

"Yes, it does. Please don't be telling people that I'm your friend, or that you can do that. It's not a little icebreaker."

Friendship with these two had crossed all sorts of personal boundaries you didn't know existed, and it was starting to decompose you, like a rotting piece of cabbage infested by slugs, yet still hanging on for the glimpse of sunlight to regenerate.

Okay, so you were being dramatic. But, that didn't explain their dire need to over share certain aspects of their lives with you.

"Doesn't change the topic at hand —Did you get my pun?" He asked, looking for Donghyuck's reaction.

"I did. Not going to comment on it before she breaks my arms. Just know I enjoyed it very much."

"If I wanted to mess around with Jaemin, I'd put my hand in a beehive. It'd sting less." You snarled, slamming down your books. They winced comically, faces alert as the teacher walked into the class.

Apart from football, you enjoyed learning — how to make things, break things, self defense, people skills, and education fell not too far from that. Classes like biology interested you greatly, which is why you found yourself fully immersed in the process of respiration.

Your mind drifted for a second, thinking back to what he'd said. Was it actually sexual tension? Did you actually bare an emotion other than loathing towards him? Then, you thought of that face and how you'd want to do nothing more than break his pretty little nose—

Yeah. There it was. You were normal after all.

School had come to her daily dreadful end, and you were happily striding into the ladies' changing rooms for football training. Nobody had gotten here yet, luckily.

You glanced over into the full body mirror, tugging at your shorts until they fell just above the bump of your knee, pulling your sock midway at your calf. Lean abs shone underneath the dim light, and you proudly paraded around the room, happy to be alone.

A knock on the door came, and you swung the door open with a feverish excitement. "Who is it?"

"Didn't take me as a bra kinda girl. Was thinking more spandex or a binder." Jaemin seethed, hands on hips, azure jersey hanging off his lithe frame.

"You're insufferable. Why are you here?" You groaned, choosing to ignore his taunt at your breast size. His eyes crinkled into upside down crescents, wandering lower to the dip of your frilly black bra.

"To see my favourite girl, of course." He whistled, eyes still glued to your unmarked expanse of skin. "I think those need a new owner." He pointed towards your chest.

"Preferably one whose face I can stand to look at."

"I'm roaring with laughter." You snarked, voice dripping with sarcasm, making no attempt to cover yourself up. Jaemin was still staring, face flushed a flaming cerise. "You gonna keep staring or are you gonna leave me alone?"

"I'm not staring. Why are you staring at me?" He shot defensively. Your eyes narrowed at him, watching his cheeks darken with every lingering stare.

"You're in the girl's changing room, drooling over two lumps of fat on the body of a girl that you hate. The real inquisition here is your lack of sensibility to stop thirsting after anything with a vagina."

Jaemin stayed silent, eyes boring holes into your full lips, tongue instinctively darting out to wet his own nimble, chapped ones. Rolling your eyes, you lead him to the door, hand clasped against the door handle.

Then, you heard loud footsteps approaching the room, incoherent rambling increasing in clarity. You began to conjure up a plan, wondering how on Earth you'd be able to kick Jaemin out without the girls knowing.

With the shouts of the team gradually getting closer, you panicked, chucking Jaemin into a locker.

"Fine, I'll leave! Lemme out!" He squirmed, trying to come out of the metal confines.

"You can't leave now, they're literally outside. Do you want to be stomped to death by Nike Mercurials?" You hissed, closing the door over, much to his protests.

"Don't wanna die with the last image being your breasts."

"If you survive this, I'll gladly provide you a new image."

He shut up at that, and you straightened, reaching for your jersey in a false calmness. The girls burst in, squeals of various greetings being thrown across the room.

You smiled gently at them, encouraging them to get changed, joining in to laugh at their jokes. The topic kept shifting from manicures to new boots before finally settling on Na Jaemin.

"Cap'n, what's going on with you and Jaemin?" One of the girls asked, batting her eyelashes softly. "A boy on the football team told me that you guys are dating."

Dating..that devil? A sin punishable by death! You repelled all instinct to shudder in disgust, instead choosing to maintain a neutral expression.

"I am absolutely not dating Na Jaemin. He's a despicable little mongrel and I'd rather eat my shoe—"

"Mon bébé chérie, why do you curse me like this?" Jaemin squeezed from the locker, voice like a wounded puppy.

"Did you hear that? I think it was—"

"No! It's my Jaemin impression. Isn't it so good?" You spluttered, voice rising in volume. You were sure that your face was a painful beetroot, breathing crazily as you over-exerted yourself.

"Cap'n, it was so good I almost thought Jaemin was in here with us!" She gushed, hands clasped. "You guys would be so cute together. Even if you don't like him, I think he most definitely has feelings for you."

The rest of the girls joined in at this, shouts of 'you should take a chance!' resounding in the hollow room. You'd already ruled out that as a possibility, chalking it down to his uncontrollable thirst for being a pest. Na Jaemin was your rival, the utter bane of your existence, a rodent that fed on robbing your spirits dry of any positivity.

"He'll get a chance when pigs fly." You muttered, noticing their eyes staring at you inquisitively, as if they knew something you didn't. Awkwardly, you smiled at the girls, ushering them towards the door, scanning the hallway after the last one had skipped out.

Jaemin untangled himself from the locker, straightening his limbs, pulling at his calves in a stretch. You peered over your shoulder, frown deepening at him.

"Did you mean what you said?" Jaemin breathed, walking into your personal bubble. He was way too close. His breath tickled your forehead, eyes dark with something you couldn't decipher.

He felt his heart pound against his chest, resisting the urge to pick the stray hair in your eye to the side. You were looking at him with a confused expression, nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed. You were going to be the death of him. Devastated, he broke eye contact, feeling all forms of fight seep from his bones.

"You don't like me." You whispered, wincing at the wobble in your voice. "Everyone's just saying that....right?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"No. I want you to say no."

"I can't do that."

"Well, you have to say no. I don't want to hear the rest of your sentence — keep us as just this." You softly yelled, pointing between the pair of you. "Don't change anything."

"Okay. I'll leave, but only because you want me to. But, before I go..you've gotta start being more observant." He sighed, ruffling your hair before making his way out.

"I’m plenty observant. Wouldn’t be a good player if I wasn’t.”

"I’ll see it when I believe it. Oh, and the thing you said about pigs flying..”

“What about it?”

“Renjun’s working on it.”

You laughed heartily, locking the door behind you. So, Jaemin did in fact think of you as his Aphrodite — all those nicknames were genuinely created out of affections. 'Mon bébé chérie' held a lot more emotional weight than it did twenty minutes ago, and you had to breathe before your eyes prickled with saltine tears.

Fresh air hit you like a loaded delivery truck, Mother Nature delicately wiping the tears from your eyes, shaking you with a cold flourish, roaring your cheeks to life. The team had already started their warm-up drills, as opposed to the boys' football team who were cooling down from their jog.

You ran over, tightening your ponytail, shifting into 'Captain' mode. The coach pushed you into the circle, encouraging you to take the reins. "Team, we've been doing nothing but straight work. Let's make this session count before the match tomorrow." You shouted, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline.

The team chanted back, settling into their positions for the first drill — a penalty shoot out. You stepped to the ball, striding back to gain a better angle, socks hugging your knees.

Giving yourself a five second countdown, you charged at the ball, foot pointed, kicking it with a passion that rivalled Lionel Messi. It rolled in the back of the net, flying past Hyejoo, who could barely even process it.

"Still got those fire feet, I see, Cap'n!"

"Lady Luck gave them to me for a reason." You boasted, smugness slapped all over your face.

From the corner of your eye, Jaemin snickered, winking at you when you turned to make eye contact. At least he had the audacity to keep up appearances in front of everyone, even if you had probably made everything awkward.

"My granny could kick better than that, babes!" He boomed from across the pitch, teasing smirk on his lips.

"Your granny lives in a retirement home and still calls on you 'Nana Banana'..it's not very nice to lie." You retorted, eyes narrowed, nearing his hunched form.

"Doesn't mean she can't kick your ass. Granny was a little Aguero back in the day."

"She can't if I'm the Manè, can she?"

"But I'm a Modric. I'll beat your ass, any day, any time." He grinned, leaning in to you. "In any way you want."

You heard blood pumping in your ears, your cheeks filling with immense heat. He grabbed your cheeks softly, grinning even wider when you flushed even warmer, a human sauna. Pushing a lock out of your eyes, he searched your eyes for any sense of rage, face softening at your lack of that emotion.

"Any..way..I want?" You mouthed silently, innuendo catching your attention again as you mulled over the words. "Na Jaemin, you're a dirty boy."

"I think you're the dirty girl." He hummed, saying the next sentence in an octave that made your head spin, quietly enough that only the two of you could hear. "Sauntering around in your little Victoria's Secret bra, cozying up to me without even batting an eyelash or covering up."

"These boobs are mine. I'm allowed to show them to anyone I want."

"So you admit to showing them to me? You admit that you were trying to put on a show for me?" He pressed, purposely craning his neck over you.

"I was trying to change. If you didn't come into the room like a little pervert, you'd never have gotten a visual of these."

"And yet I know how they look now. There's nothing that can erase that image."

"Fuck you, Na Jaemin."

"I think you meant to say fuck me, but I'll allow the slip-up just because I'm so nice." You squirmed under his predatory gaze, heat in your cheeks akin to a fever. "Better get back to training, Cap. Your team's got a match tomorrow."

You hissed at him weakly, choosing to walk away from his provocation, going back to the team, who were all smiling at you with a glint in their eye. By the looks on their faces, they'd definitely taken that exchange as a form of flirting.

Not that you were disputing it, of course.

The coach rounded the girls up, calling them to grab bibs. You relaxed, running over to take the last bib once you'd calmed down. Na Jaemin was a little toe-sucking, filthy mongrel who only knew how to charm his way out of everything — totally not your ideal type or anything.

His penance for being blunt coupled with that honeyed voice was what was throwing you off. Not your physical attraction to him. At least, you hoped so.

The shrill shriek of the whistle behind you shook you out of your mind, bringing your attention back to the practice game. With every shot at the goal, you could see Jaemin taunting you, making kissy faces.

After the first half, you weren't sure if it was real or if you were hallucinating — almost like a mirage, he was wearing that stupid little smirk and there was nothing more you wanted than to slap those lips clean off his face.

Soon enough, you clocked that it wasn't just an illusion, as he'd shifted to the opposite end of the pitch, the other boys from the football team watching from the stands.

They'd started jeering at every pass, exaggerating their reactions, commentary toeing the border of sexual harassment. You volleyed the ball on your foot, battering it into the stands, grinning widely as it hit one of the boys in the face, leaving his nose lopsided.

"If you're gonna be a sexist piece of shit, just fuck off. My team doesn't deserve to hear your brain-dead commentary, nor see your fuck face." You smiled, bite in your voice. "Kindly take the opinion that nobody asked for and shove it up your ass."

Jaemin's eyes twinkled with respect, breath caught in his throat at the dark look in your eyes. He felt his chest warm in adoration, heart doubling in size. "You heard the lady."

"Includes you too, Jaemin. Better get home before Granny Na starts missing her little boy."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fuck off." You said playfully, recovering the ball. He waved you bye, lugging his bag over his shoulder, fixing the collar of his jersey. A beam touched your lips, face lighting up.

Jaemin smirked back at you, taking his leave. He dragged the remnants away with him, leaving the girl's football team alone in the cooling dwindle of Autumn light.

"Nice shorts." A tug.

"Oh? Na Jaemin complimenting me?" You mused in surprise, arms folded across your chest.

"You didn't let me finish." Jaemin whispered, standing on the sidelines of the pitch, pulling at the hem of your shorts. "Ooh, I can see your stubble. Better bring out the razor."

Your jaw tightened, feeling that rush of annoyance fill your veins again. The nerve.

"More stubble than you'll ever grow on that chin."

"At least I'm not a human Sasquatch."

"I've got hair in the right places—" You started, catching the innuendo, glaring at Jaemin's raised eyebrows. "—I know what I meant. Don't be such a dirty boy."

"Say it again. Love the way it rolls off your tongue."

You gaped at him, whole body blowing a fuse, skin reddening at his tone. Sweltering heat danced atop each fingertip, each muscle, making you jolt. His gaze was still glued to your face, relishing the quickly dilating pupils in your eyes.

"I—"

"—Would rather have you speechless after our first time, not for your championship final. When you win, I'll buy you fucking adorable ice cream with the little star sprinkles that you like."

"Going to ignore you on that first statement, but the second one sounds like a motive."

"Win the match, and I'll ask you out. Properly."

You saw his eyes flash with something passionate, flakes of gooey molasses swirling behind the irises. Before you opened your mouth to reply to him, he pleaded silently for you to just take it as it was. "Gimme a chance. Who knows you better than your enemy? Nobody."

"I mean..."

"Only you know that my grandma calls me those corny names or that I see her all the time."

"Or that you lose every game that's not football because you're too lazy to pay attention." You added.

"And I know that you broke a guy's jaw because he was bothering Yangyang." He continued. "And I also know that you know one thing I've never told anyone."

"Ooh, what's that?"

"That I like you."

You looked away from him sheepishly, goosebumps popping up on your skin, and whether it was from the cold or from his words, you didn't know. He was looking down at you tenderly, ruffling your bed of hair, pressing a small, wet kiss to your forehead as the whistle blew.

"Don't play with fire, Na."

"You're more like a carpet burn."

You sighed, defeated. "Fine. I'll give you an answer when we win. If you're playing me, I'll break your arms."

"Okay. Go get 'em, Lady Luck." He smiled, waving you off as you scurried onto the pitch, face glowing under the fluorescent lights. Jaemin felt his chest tighten with pride, jaw aching from all the strenuous smiling.

With that absurdly contented face, you reminded him of a cross between a kid at a carnival and a man about to kill another. Your hair gathered wildly atop your head, a wicked glare painting your face.

This was you at peace, he deduced. Even with the gruesome of expressions, you looked calm. The pitch was truly your home away from home.

Two minutes into the second half saw you being carried off on a stretcher with a torn hamstring. You'd fallen to the grass, no sounds coming from your limp body. Jaemin swore he felt his heart plunge into his ass, and with a frantic flourish, he was coddling your head into his chest.

"Luck, don't die on me. I'm supposed to take you out for ice cream after this, and I stole Renjun's Baskin Robbins loyalty card to cut costs so if we don't go, I'll be getting beat up without having kissed your stupid face." He babbled, slapping your cheeks, scared that you'd genuinely lost your life.

You groaned, rolling slowly in the elastic. "Stop touching my face, I'll get acne." Mildly concussed, you soothed your throbbing headache, registering Jaemin's face looming over you. "Jaemin?"

"Oh, thank God. Thought I'd never see that unruly sparkle in your eyes again."

"Fuck off. My hamstring feels like a fried chicken mukbang and you're talking about my eyes."

"I can't cry before our first date. You'll think I'm a wimp."

"Already think that."

He hit your arm lightly, beaming at your focus on his face, meeting your eyes. You were glaring at him with a kissable pout on your lips, eyebrows furrowed — he wanted to pepper your face in balmy kisses.

The paramedic pushed him away, leading you to the ambulance. You flipped him off, yelling loudly as they wheeled you in, "Make sure you win! Won't forgive you if you don't."

The girl's football team had gathered around the door, all tight-lipped smiles and crumpled faces. They visibly brightened at your declaration, huddling together to recalibrate — the ref blew her whistle to call them back, summoning them back into position.

Yangyang and Donghyuck left the stands, rushing into the ambulance alongside you, closing the door behind them. Jaemin could faintly hear your loud curses, and sighed in relief, knowing that you'd be fine.

With two goals up, the team were at optimum working speed, playing loyally for your honour. Jaemin stood at the sidelines, holding your jacket in his hands as he recorded the match on his phone, wanting to send it to you later.

At 90 minutes, the girl's team had become the winner of the Division One Seoul Inter-district championship, and Jaemin was content. Not because it meant you'd go on that date with him, but because he could feel how much it meant to them.

Everyone around him was cheering madly, chanting and spraying assorted drinks in each other's faces, an infectious joy lingering in his veins. Amongst all the commotion, he'd somehow been pushed into the middle of the team, feeling their gazes boring into his frame.

"You like Cap'n, right?" The brunette said, eyes bright.

"No. I don't like her. She's my rival." Jaemin lied pathetically, trying to escape their judgement.

"Why were you in the locker room then?"

"Damn. How do you know that?"

"Cap'n is horrible at lying, so she's always upfront. She also cannot do an impression so she never attempts it."

"Wow, you guys sure know your stuff. Bet she's glad to have a team like you. I know I'm feeling a little jealous."

"Cut the smooth talk. If you like Cap'n, just be straightforward. She's more innocent than she seems, and can get her heart broken easily."

"Got it." He nodded, "Well...ladies, I have to thank you for the advice."

"No problem, but if you break her heart.." They chorused, "We'll break that pretty little nose." Fifteen studded feet swung at his face, narrowly skimming the bridge of his nose.

He flinched, caught off guard, grin bared. "Now, I definitely got that message. I'll be going to check up on her, what do you want me to say?"

"We've already called her and shown her the trophy, so we have nothing left to say, you, however...take all the time you need."

"Since I have your blessing, am I allowed to—"

"Don't finish that sentence. Keep in your lane."

Jaemin promptly closed his mouth, and bid them a goodbye, dashing into his car towards the hospital, stopping at Baskin Robbins to buy the ice cream he promised. He hoped you’d at least be able to eat the sprinkles (the ones you liked were expensive, and if you didn’t eat them, he’d just wasted an extra 2,500 won.)

In the hospital, you were now dressed in a medical gown, surrounded by the two idiots. It smelt like an experiment lab, and the spotless shades of ivory splashed on the walls made you feel a tad bit overwhelmed.

Your leg had already undergone the MRSI scan, and the nurses had told you that you’d definitely tore your hamstring, but surgery would fix it right up along with natural healing.

Of course, all those details lacked in comparison to your team finally winning the trophy you’d worked so hard towards — that excitement numbed the pain considerably.

“We thought you’d somehow died.” Yangyang confessed, grasping your hands in his clammy ones.

“You did.” Donghyuck sneered, pointing at him, continuing when he saw your face change in confusion. “Yang was convinced that you were invincible like Superman or something. He started blubbering about how you could definitely defeat the grim reaper in close contact and that should be enough to steal back your soul or whatever—”

“I’m just never going to ask questions again.”

“Jaemin was on the verge of a breakdown when he saw you fall. Never have I ever seen him run so fast towards a girl.” Donghyuck said, hand on chin in mock thought.

You blushed, remembering your promise about the ice cream and falling back into the bed in distress.

“What’s going on with you? I saw you two all friendly at the sidelines.” Yangyang murmured, eyes squinting in judgement. “Don’t tell me...you guys fucked before the game?”

Suddenly it was too hot in the room. You fanned yourself to cool down, slapping your own cheeks before pulling Yangyang’s ears. “Yeah, because I have the guts to just have my first time in a school setting.” You deadpanned.

“Naughty girl.” Both boys swooned, unable to note your sarcasm.

“Just because my leg is gone doesn’t mean I can’t harm you anymore. I’ll break your kneecaps.”

In the midst of your fight with your best friends, you spotted Jaemin opening the door, wearing that greasy smirk that made butterflies tickle your throat.

“I see a broken leg isn’t enough to stop you, is it?” Jaemin drawled from the door, hands behind his back. “Still threatening people?”

“It’s not threatening if they deserve it.” You mumbled, suddenly shy. Jaemin maintained his distance from you, arm outstretched, ice cream tub in hand. He was looking away from you, faint blush tinting his cheeks, lips squeezed in a puffy ‘o’.

“Not that I remembered or anything, but you did say something about liking these sprinkles.” He said, eyes darting around to focus on anything but you.

“I do...like these sprinkles..how did you know?”

“Everyone calls you star, and you’re cute. It’s your personality in an edible sugar shape.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, forgetting both Donghyuck and Yangyang were seated in the room. It felt like the two of you were just stuck in your own world, glaring at each other like a pair of lovers.

Unfortunately, that moment was cut short by your ungracious best friends, cooing annoyingly. They were squealing like little girls, incomprehensible screams of ‘our girl’s grown up!’ scraping your eardrums.

“Leave me alone!” You whined, face scrunched in discomfort, making futile attempts to push them away. “Jaemin...please get these two off me.”

“Asking your boyfriend to get rid of us? Already?” Yangyang hollered, one of Jaemin’s arms stopping him from jumping on you again.

“He’s not my boyfriend. As of now, he’s the only sensible one who isn’t mauling the girl with a broken leg, and that’s why I’m asking him for help.”

“Should I throw them out?”

“Yes —actually, do whatever. Let them go terrorise someone that isn’t me.”

“Your wish is my command.”

On that, Jaemin escorted both boys outside, shutting the door on them, cutting off the beginning to their long-winded rant with a smile. That left the two of you alone.

Oddly enough, the silence wasn’t stifling but rather a conversation of the mind — you were able to see what he wanted to say by looking into those mocha coloured eyes. You threw the ice cream tub in the bin, reaching for Jaemin’s hands shyly.

He’d sat down beside you on the bed, just staring at you like you were an abstract painting, a mosaic of a splendid array, unable to take his eyes off you. He took your hand warmly, running his fingers over your calloused knuckles, sharing his heat with you.

“Jaemin.” You yawned, head falling onto his shoulder. “I’m saying yes to your date. If I didn’t get injured, you could’ve taken me out today, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry. Being with you is enough for me, even if I do want to comment on your horrible tackles during the match.” Jaemin teased, grabbing your hand a little tighter.

“Haha...I’m dying of laughter.”

“Hey! None of that here.”

“Sorry. I’m just happy. My team won our first championship, which we’ve been trying to do for three years, and I feel on top of the world. All those years of boys being absolute dickheads to us about our abilities, trying to put us down have amounted to this moment. I’m at peace right now.”

“Don’t apologise. I should be sorry instead. It was easier to talk to you if I pretended I hated you. I shouldn’t have been like that.”

“I accept your apology. But..I think it was cute you couldn’t tell me you liked me! That’s so endearing.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s my line! Well, you were always attractive to me, even when you were being a dickhead. Now that I think about it, you’re at your hottest when you’re being mean.”

“Is that so?” Jaemin mused, rolling onto his hands, dangling over you, lips eerily close to your own. “Do you want me to treat you mean, keep you keen?”

“Firstly, don’t ever say that again.” You stopped him, hand placed on his chest to push him away lightly. “Secondly, I’ve never had a boyfriend or my first kiss. That means no experience.” You slurred that last part, rushing the words so he wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Cap’n, you’re telling me that I’ll be your first?”

“Not if you don’t ask me out.”

Jaemin sat back beside you, looking up to the ceiling. This was the moment. He took a deep breath, standing up before you, hands rubbing his stomach softly to calm down.

“I wanted to do a real dramatic confession, but I rushed over here in fear that you wouldn’t be able to hit me again, so I’ll have to stick with my speech.” He cheesed, trying to ease himself of his nerves. You laughed, hissing in mock anger when he wore that stupid grin. “I like you. Like a lot. Sometimes, I come to school with a dirty scowl on my face, but then I see your face and start smiling like a love struck fool. You’re someone that I wouldn’t want to lose.”

“Jaemin, you little mongrel. Come here.” You waved him over, arms outstretched in a hug. “Even though I know your ego won’t let you ask me out properly, I would love to be your girlfriend. However, if my heart is broken..I’ll be stoning your car.”

“Thought you were gonna say that you’d break my face.”

“That too.”

He snuggled closer into you, peering up at you with shining eyes, not wanting to move too much to keep you comfortable. You grinned back at him, placing a soft kiss on his head, running a hand through his hair.

That familiar silence returned, and that’s how you fell asleep with Na Jaemin enveloped in your chest. Although you’d broken a leg, Lady Luck seemed to have twiddled her fingers to send you a ‘get well soon’ present, the ever cunning Na Jaemin.

Five months later had you no longer hobbling around on crutches like a hobbit, but walking proud and tall. Jaemin drove you to school (using the excuse of carpooling) and helped you take your books to first period everyday — the alpha male in him winced seeing you attempt any ‘heavy lifting’, and he’d made it a routine.

“Can you fuck off? I can carry this.” You complained, pinching his side. “Just because I see a physio biweekly doesn’t mean I’m about as able-bodied as a monkey.”

“Got the hair to be a monkey.” He snorted.

“Look who’s talking, Mr.Sasquatch. Bigger feet than his prints, you little scoundrel.”

“Big feet means big—”

“Don’t finish that if you wanna keep the body part in question.”

“—heart. Dirty girl.”

You felt the honey pooling in your stomach, kissing his cheek in haste to escape his relentless teasing. He shut up at that, pulling you back to kiss you properly, attracting the attention of everyone in the hallway.

“Get to class.” He announced as he parted from you, enjoying your petulant face. You hit him softly, flipping him off from behind you, blowing him a kiss.

Ah, Na Jaemin. You still hated him. Just a little less this time.

#na jaemin imagines #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenarios #jaemin fluff #na jaemin scénarios #na jaemin fluff #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct #nct dream #nct2020 #kpop imagines #kpop scénarios #kpop fluff #kpop #nct smut #kpop smut

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yumpty-dumpty-inactive · 3 years

Note

Hello! May I request a romantic match-up?

I'm non-binary and I think I lean more towards girls, but I wouldn't mind a male result! My personality type is ISTP. I'm very quiet, shy in public, and have an unexpressive face. To add, I'm mostly unable to match the energy of people around me and don't warm up to others easily. Even if I do, I'm not hyper unless I feel extremely close to them. I get snappy and annoyed much more than I want to, but I consider myself a good friend to vent to! My hobbies include playing video games, writing, and daydreaming, though I only consider daydreaming a hobby because it takes up a large portion of my day. I hate when there are too many noises or voices--it makes it hard to focus. I also dislike when people do things along the lines of talking over music I play or not paying attention to videos I show them! If I have to say, I'm looking for someone who isn't *super* hyper and is a realist. Of course I can appreciate a little optimism, just not a lot to where it seems unrealistic!

Thank you! :)

yumpty talks: of course love!! I only did a female one (sorry love :<) but it was only because I have a lot of requests to get to :(

I hope you like this! xx

I match you with…

NINGGUANG!!

This is literally a PERFECT match!! I think Ning would prefer someone more quiet, due to her very easy going personality. She doesn’t mind that you’re shy during outings, and you two both don't really go out much anyways. She doesn’t mind you unexpressive face, actually finds the bored look kinda cute lol. She doesn’t mind your inability to match energy, because she faces the same struggles. She doesn’t mind how snappy and annoyed you get, because she gets it. She is the leader of Liyue and has to socialize with annoying people, and I think she’d be a little like this too. She vents to you a lot, about how Keqing was being stubborn, the Fatui’s incompetence, and other Qixing related things. She loves having you write documents for her (she never forced you though) and it’s a big help!! She loves how you daydream, and thinks it’s really cute :>!! She doesn’t like things noisy either, which is why she tries to make sure things are quiet, especially when you’re around. She gets annoyed when she has to repeat things too, mostly because she has to do it a lot :|. Like you want, she isn’t very hyper and (I think at least) is a realist!! She tries to be optimistic too, but she knows she shouldn’t be too optimistic :D!! Overall, it’s an amazing relationship!!!

#genshin matchups #ningguang #ningguang smut #ningguang x reader #sweet anons #yumpty post :D

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geniusgub · 3 years

Text

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

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#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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omgkalyppso · 3 years

Note

I can't just pick one because I'm indecisive af, so how about three for the WIP ask thing: "fairy," "wedding interrupted," and "the wind was bitter cold"? Or you can pick just one of these to elaborate on if that's too much lol

This is going to be a long ass post. Here we go!

fairy

Okay so I have an AU that I’ve promised myself not to start in earnest until either or both my soulmate au or mermaid au’s are finished. I’m calling it a fantasy au, but the doc is titled fairy because it primarily features Claude’s introduction and the make up of fantasy races for the fantasy au are as follows:

Fae - Vampire

Claude - Fairy

Hilda - Werewolf

Lorenz - Hedge Mage

Marianne - Werewolf

Ferdinand - The human child (now a man) exchanged for a fairy / changeling child

Edelgard - Human Hunter

Hubert - Human Hunter

Caspar - Human Hunter

Linhardt - Vampire

Seteth - Vampire

Rhea - Ancient Dragon

Sylvain - Human Hunter

Felix - Human Hunter

Ingrid or Mercedes - Human Hunter

Maya - Werewolf

Raphael - Werewolf

Ignatz - Werewolf

The hunters will be working in groups of three, and I can’t decide whether Sylvain + Felix + Ingrid as three of the Faerghus four is more interesting than Sylvain + Felix + Mercedes in the role of a cleric for the sake of monster hunting. I’m also undecided about whether and how to incorporate Dimitri as some wild thing that-maybe-killed-Glenn, but I feel more strongly about not including him to focus on the core plot in my outline.

Have an excerpt of blocked dialogue. Marianne is running from hunters and to keep her from being tracked, Hilda and Lorenz are destroying her shoes.

Lorenz: We do have a cobbler in town but whether they'll have something for your feet, I just don't - no!

Hilda: (coming back in the house, letting in each a white and black cat) What?

Lorenz: Hilda! Only the black cat is mine. Maggie.

Hilda: What's the big deal? (the white cat walks behind a couch or chair or something and comes out the other side as a white dove) Oh.

Lorenz: Yes. Oh. (white dove turns into a large moth, turns into tiny little fairy fey!Claude)

Claude: Wow, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get in here. (Lorenz tries to catch him) Hey! Careful.

Lorenz: Sorry?

Claude: It's fine. (Hilda does grab him) Oh. You're fast. (but he just poofs from her hand) Not that it matters.

Hilda: I'm so sorry Lorenz.

Claude: Lorenz! I almost didn't recognize you without the sun on your skin. Why's it so dark in here? (a knock at the door)

Lorenz: (to Claude) Hide. (who does)

Hilda: Seteth, hi.

Seteth: Whatever it is you're doing in here, you're not half as subtle as you think you are. There are hunters going door to door, and if that shock of blue hair is unusual to me, it will surely stand out to them. Hide your friend more securely. They will be here within the hour. I'm off to warn Linhardt.

wedding interrupted

The final chapter of my fic Lorenz and Hilda’s Paired Ending might end up stretched out to three chapters because as it stands I’m bullying them. I intend to interrupt their wedding night three times. The first two times with accidents / incidents relating to Sylvain.

the first time lorenz and hilda are interrupted his shirts are hanging open, hilda's fully dressed, they've basically been making out. cue knock at the door hilda: (distressed) Are you going to answer that? lorenz: I told them not to disturb me except for fire, kidnapping, or a declaration of war. (buttoning up, haphazardly before answering) Yes? chief of staff: There's been a small fire in the stables. lorenz: What? chief of staff: All steeds are fine, and are being round up by [servant] on his wyvern. We're going to move them to the barns on the eastern farmstead. lorenz: Was it arson? chief of staff: It appears to be ... incompetence. lorenz: Was anyone hurt? chief of staff: Not seriously. lorenz: (holding his forehead) Who was hurt, and in what way was it not serious? chief of staff: Margrave Gautier, your grace. Although he was uninjured by the fire, he took a rather nasty tumble from the roof of the tack house. lorenz: That's two stories up. chief of staff: It is. He landed in a rather soft pile of snow however, and is being treated in his rooms. lorenz: (exasperated) What was he doing up there? Was anyone else involved? chief of staff: His ... Beg pardon. Duke Fraldarius was ... present. One can only speculate what led them there, and what stole the Margrave's pants. lorenz: Ah. Well handled. (a pause) He's fine? chief of staff: He's fine. lorenz: Then I will deal with this on the morrow. Thank you for telling me. chief of staff: (as like a goodbye) Your Grace.

A break for you.

another knock at the door, lorenz is undressed, hilda is still fully dressed. things were Busy hilda: Don't answer that! lorenz: (desperate, plaintive) Your family is under my roof, I need to appear responsible. hilda: Bring up my family again and see how far that gets you. lorenz puts on a housecoat, goes to speak with his staff. i didn't bother blocking out this dialogue though it would likely be included lorenz: Hilda, I'm headed off for a few minutes. (starts pulling on pants at the least - not his dress pants) hilda: What? Why? lorenz: Your brother might be holding Sylvain hostage. hilda: What? Goddess, let me- lorenz: Please don't. hilda: But I could easily be fully dressed much faster. lorenz: Exactly. I'm obligated to go, and if people see me in a housecoat and you fully dressed, then they will know far more about our bedroom than I could ever stomach. (calling to her from the door) Don't undress. hilda: (calling back, while lorenz has the door open) I'm letting my hair down! (i ... can't not deal with lorenz who's been obsessed with marriage for at least eight years not wanting hilda to fuck him in her wedding dress) felix: I'm so sorry, your grace. lorenz: It isn't your fault, as far as I know, and, outside of public forums, you may call me Lorenz - we have enough years together. servant: He's still in there, my lord. chief of staff: (correcting) Your grace. lorenz: It's fine. Holst? Are you in there? holst: Lorenz? They fetched you over this? lorenz: Sylvain... Are you alright? Holst, they're calling this a kidnapping. holst: What? sylvain: I'm okay. lorenz: Can someone please open the door? holst: Ah! Right! felix: (relieved, going to sylvain's bedside) Sylvain ... lorenz: (slamming the door, keeping his staff on the opposite side) Are you all out of your minds? You can't even behave for four hours? sylvain: (apologetic, pleading) Lorenz. lorenz: (angry)I swear Sylvain, you have tested my patience three times tonight. (more annoyed and kinda sad than angry) And two of these moments have pulled me from my marital bed. sylvain: Shit. (gets elbowed in the head by felix) Fuck. lorenz: (about to lose his shit) Stop this, nonsense! sylvain: I'm sorry. holst: You have my apologies as well. lorenz: (rolling his eyes) I'll offer my forgiveness in the morning, assuming you refrain from any further tomfoolery. holst: Of course. sylvain: I won't be moving. lorenz: Alright. (a sigh) I am curious to know what happened here, but I fear Hilda will bar the door if I take much longer. felix: Thank you. lorenz: You are welcome. Your grace. felix: Felix. lorenz: Felix.

Another break

((much?) later) lorenz: Now where were we? hilda: Lorenz if someone knocks on this door while you're inside me you better not fucking answer it. lorenz: I ... hilda: If you answer it, you can sleep in the hallway. lorenz: I won't answer it Hilda. I'm all yours. (they fuck, and like, catch their breath and whatever) hilda: Mmmm, well now I'm undressing. lorenz: Good. Because I need to feel your body now. Let me help you. when they're both actually naked. we'll get the third knock on the door hilda: Lorenz, I swear to Seiros. lorenz: I ... I'm not inside you. (goes to get his housecoat) hilda: You cursed us! lorenz: I know, my dear. (opening the door) Please don't tell me someone's declared war. chief of staff: (amused, kind of mocking) No, your grace. lorenz: Then what (internally: the fuck) is so important that it couldn't wait?

The wind was bitter cold

This is a skyrim-adjacent fic featuring my oc Oretia and esaari’s Philip. It’s meant to be a werewolf fight and confession. The title of the wip is just the first line in the document because I was lazy and knew I’d remember what it was:

The wind was bitter cold. Layers in Winterhold were key to survival, and when someone of irregular size, taller, fatter, continuously growing children, were in need of a new one, Oretia found herself as busy as if she’d been hunting to feed the masses. This was to say nothing of the leather straps and parcels that found use in fishing and construction. She found it difficult to believe that the city had been so small and conservative before her arrival so as to ration away the whole winter.

Oretia wondered what resources the Jarl had at their fingertips, if the people did complain beyond her business of an inability to weather the cold and their hardships. For the moment, at least, she found purpose in being out in the woods, despite Philip’s warnings of full moons and things in the forest.

She’d had to hold back her laughter and embarrassment, and had resolved to tell her sister to be more subtle in the southern mountains, as stories like werewolves were infecting the city below.

The moon was full, and high already, though the sun had yet to set — brightening the fallen snow to a rich golden color, as well as the shaggy coat of an unexpected guest.

Oretia stared at the injured beast with reverence and surprise, and she had to wonder if it were they that had unnerved the local populace. A great elk, albino, but for the splash of blood staining its side, trailing down a shattered leg, hobbled north towards the cliffs and the sea. The creature was magnificent, beautiful and strange to look upon, covered in the fog of its own heavy breaths, and whether it had seen her, seemed resolute in its undoubtedly final act.

This was not how Oretia had intended to spend her evening. No matter what other ‘things’ there were in the forest, wolves and mountain lions and all manner of predators would pose a very real danger if they should find her. Yet as the elk lay down by the cliffside, it felt too much like a gift, from which deity or daedra she couldn’t be sure, but there was no walking away from such a calling.

The elk’s massive chest heaved with each pained cry, its haunting song echoing off the cliffside in a melodic death rattle. As Oretia approached, she could hear horkers bay on the shore below, terrified by the commotion, scattering into the sea. A predator may have heard the call already, but she was too close now, caught in the sad gaze of a large doomed eye, and it became a matter of pride and honor. Oretia readied her blade.

#my writing #idk what else i want to tag this #long post

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currantlee · 4 years

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You mentioned awhile back that you think Felix has some autistic traits. I'm curious to know what traits you think he has? And, to make it interesting, how you think that would affect his relationship with Sylvain?

Before I answer that, I want to clarify for people who don’t know me and might read this that I am an autist myself (Aspie to be completely clear), so I know what I am talking about here. Also, please keep in mind it’s a spectrum. No two autists are alike, not in regards of their symptoms or personality. I know several other people with my diagnosis and some of them show symptoms I don’t while others don’t have symptoms I’m showing.

Update as of the current day: it seems that I have been misdiagnosed with Asperger’s and actually suffer from hospitalism (which does have some of the same symptoms as Asperger’s does) due to years of emotional manipulation and abuse from my mother. I sincerely apologize for falsely saying that I have Asperger’s. I didn’t know any better.

Alright, buckle up, because this is going to be a long post.

Felix’ Aspie Traits…

First up, I think Felix shows signs of Asperger’s Syndrome. Americans will likely know this as high-functioning autism, since it’s as far as I know not an official diagnosis in the US (it apparently used to be, but it was merged into autism spectrum a while back). In Europe and Asia however, it still is it’s own diagnosis.

As for the signs of the syndrome Felix shows: the most obvious one is his dislike / inability to make direct eye contact, which he even admits himself. This is a very common trait of especially aspies and everyone has a different way of describing how it makes them feel uncomfortable. I personally find it impossible to focus on what a person actually says if I do make eye contact. That is because making eye contact for too long actually freaks me out a little, for reasons I can’t explain. It’s just… Scary.

Another obvious trait is Felix’s focus, which borders obsession, on swordfighting. You can clearly see that he is hesitant to do anything, unless it benefits his swordsmanship in some way. For example, he asks Byleth why he should learn magic. If they reply that it will benefit his swordsmanship, he will regard that as a good answer. Another example is Flayn asking him to chop wood and vegetables for him. He only does it once she points out how this would serve as a great exercise for him.

This ties in with another thing about him: dissociation. No, I don’t meant the personality disorder. It is merely the process of getting completely absorbed into something (like a task or a daydream). It is a way to deal with all the information that floods our brains because our perception filters don’t work properly.

You can clearly see in several of his supports that Felix gets so lost in training that he doesn’t realize when people try to address him anymore, even if they are standing right next to him, most notably his support with Dorothea.

A less obvious trait is the fact that Felix can possibly not tell if someone is joking or not (and yes, that actually takes me some time as well every time someone in that game jokes). While he plays it off with his snarky attitude, which makes it seem like he is simply annoyed, there is more than a few examples in which he takes a joke deadly serious. An indicator for that is that Sylvain is always quick to tell him that he was joking with something, possibly because he knows how hard it is for Felix to recognize a joke (I mean, it is kind of obvious if you have grown up with an Aspie even if you didn’t know they have this condition - at least I have been told so by a childhood friend of mine). Yes, he does it with others as well, but he is never as quick with it as he is with Felix.

This also shows in the fact that he is unable to understand metaphors. A great example of this can be found in his support with Bernadetta, wherein she tries to explain him why she isn’t scared of him anymore by telling him that ghosts are only scary because you can’t see or talk to them (however that is supposed to explain it…). Felix immediately mistakes this for Bernadetta thinking he is a ghost.

A far less noticable result of this trait is the fact that he tries to make sense of anything. While this may not be seen as a result immediatly, let me explain. Aspies have two ways of dealing with their natural non-understanding of social stuff. They either back off and isolate themselves (mostly children do that) because they are scared or they start to observe and ask questions.

In Felix’s support with Annette for example, Annette just sings something because she feels like it. Felix however immediately tries to find the logic behind her lyrics, questioning them because they don’t make any sense to him (since he doesn’t understand Annette is just singing for fun and not trying to put a message into her lyrics).

This also shows how Felix finds it difficult to empathize with others. Unless something is very clearly explained to him, he just can’t make sense of it because his brain works different from others. Another example for this is his support with Lysithea: when he catches her eating cake, he just thinks nothing about it. Lysithea however immediately starts interpreting his reaction (like… “Normal” people do this so often and I cannot state how confusing and annoying I find this) and thinks he might go tell everyone. Therefore she gives him the cake in an attempt to keep him from doing so (even when Felix never intended that), which is something he finds absolutely confusing. First up, he doesn’t understand why she thinks he’s going to tell everyone (showing that Felix has no idea how a complex social concept like reputation works) and second, he doesn’t understand why she gives him the cake and assumes she wants to annoy him. Which is not the case: to Lysithea, her cake is something really important, even precious. That is why she gives it to him and it is also why she tries to teach him the value of cake later on. Anyone else, even if they hate cake, would probably acknowledge this gesture as something very sweet.

Another thing this support also shows is how Felix also has problems adapting to a new, sudden situation. He absolutely refuses to try her cake, which she made for him and him only. I mean, he gives in eventually, but before that he is pretty insistent. I know he doesn’t like sweet stuff, but out of being polite, anyone else would probably at least have it given a try without all the arguing. While this is also a good example for how Felix doesn’t understand the concept of politeness (I mean, he is very blunt anyways), it also shows how he finds it hard to adapt to new situations. I mean, he probably tried cake before, but never Lysithea’s cake. Also, she made it specially for him, so she probably thought about how he doesn’t like sweets.

Speaking of politeness though: I often hear that all Aspies / autists in general are very, very polite. This is not true though. Many of us are indeed more polite than “normal” people because first, basic rules of politeness (like not talking with your mouth full of food) is something you can easily learn. Most autists will be happy to, because those rules are actually very, very clear and not open to interpretation. It means it is something we can easily do right. Some other basics (like you don’t tackle people in the subway) are also something that comes naturally because… Ever tried tackling an autist? Please don’t.

However, as I mentioned before, it is a spectrum. Not every autist is alike. There are also enough autists who do either question or not understand those rules. As for bluntness… I think almost every autist will agree that we don’t get lying for the sake of being polite. Which results in the famous pointing out how terrible you friend’s new hairstyle looks (and not even understanding what you did). Felix’s bluntness is similar to that.

Felix is also shown to not interpret additional meanings into words and therefore come up with unconventional things in his support with Ingrid: aside from the fact that he leaves early (another example of him being unable to understand social rules as long as no one explains them), he suggests stuff like stealing the enemy’s horses (which is actually a logical thing to do), meaning something outside of the battlefield. Everyone else apparently assumes they are talking about strategies on the battlefield, when actually only strategy in general is mentioned.

There is something I want to make clear about all of this: autists, and it doesn’t matter if high-functioning or not, are not dumb. They simply lack the instincutal knowledge about social interaction normal people have.

A little quirk: Aspies tend to collect things, even if it is absolutely senseless or even very, very strange from a rational perspective, even to themselves. For example, I know someone who actually collects DLCs, including those they don’t even own the game for. I used to collect soaps because I liked the smell, but never used them. Eventually they got bad and I had to throw them away, but recently I started collecting Copic markers (don’t worry, I actually use those). Felix has a little more of a sensemaking collection: he collects swords. And yes, not all people collecting stuff are automatically aspies. It is just a quirk that is very present within the spectrum.

And now another quirk: Felix is bad at harmonizing. This is actually a common thing: aspies do not have a good control over their voice. While this doesn’t mean we’re all bad singers, it means we tend to talk too loudly, too quietly, very monotone (though this mostly affects Aspie children) and yes… It is hard to talk and sing when others are doing it as well. For example, I never had a problem with singing in front of a class and always had great marks on that. But as soon as it came to choir singing or choir speaking (baaaaaad memories of some language classes here by the way), I really struggled with it. Because while I’m not exactly bad at singing or speaking, I absolutely suck at harmonizing. Funny thing: it is the same with most Aspies I know except one who has sund in the church choir her entire life. So yeah, I can feel Felix here.

Also, Felix is a great example on how autists are never the same: he can keep it short. I obviously can’t.

… and how they could affect his relationship with Sylvain

Alright. You asked for headcanons, you get headcanons.

Getting Together

I think Felix and Sylvain might have a hard time getting together to be honest. Like… It is a constant dance around each other, constantly backing off as they try to adjust to each other.

I think the biggest issue in any autist-nonautist-relationship is recognizing and adjusting to each other’s wishes, needs and boundaries. For example, you can’t expect an autist to cuddle with you every day, just like that. On the other hand, “normies” usually yearn for exactly that: physical affection, be it in form of handholding, cuddling or sexual contact.

So at the end, both sides need to make compromises. Sylvain would have to come to terms with the fact he can’t (immediately) get what he wants, while Felix would have to metaphorically descent into the cold water, meaning doing something he isn’t exactly comfortable with (at first). If you have ever stepped into a cold lake or pool, you know you should rather take the stairs than jump… At least, that holds true for me. You have to adjust to the temperature, which takes a while. It’s the same with adjusting to new situations for Aspies, really.

Like… Once they are actually together for the first time, the first thing Sylvain does is dragging Felix away from the training grounds since Felix doesn’t quite understand that being in a relationship doesn’t mean being alone next to each other. Which leads to Felix breaking up for the first time because “I don’t need a relationship then”.

I think he comes to Sylvain again after like a week because he wants to give it another try. But only if he doesn’t have to spend all of his time with Sylvain. He spends more and more time with Sylv than with his sword though as time goes by.

So yeah. I think it would be a very slow burn between them, a constant dance around each other. They might also break up a few times because Felix isn’t ready or Sylvain notices he is getting too impatient before getting together for good.

Being Together

I think each of them still has their own room at the Officer’s Academy and also when they’re in the army after the timeskip. Doesn’t mean they don’t sleep in the same bed though. However, Felix absolutely refuses to let Sylvain enter his room in the beginning because Sylvain always, always puts something where it doesn’t belong in Felix’s opinion.

Felix is a side sleeper and also refuses to not sleep with his swordhand free. Sylvain usually sleeps on his back and takes up way to much space on the pillow for Felix’ taste, so Felix usually abuses Sylvain as his personal pillow when they share a bed. I think Sylvain likes that though.

Also, when they’re sleeping in different rooms, they usually swap their pillows around, so they are at least able to smell each other. I think that one develops from Sylvain stealing Felix’ pillow as a joke when the latter refuses to sleep in his bed once - Felix actually breaks up after that once more because he feels pressured. Once Sylvain has cleared the misunderstanding and they’re together again though, Felix decides to respond to Sylvain’s joke by stealing his pillow as another joke.

When they’re doing stuff together, they are often comprimising or trading favours. Like… If Sylvain trains with Felix, they go into town together afterwards.

Or they snuggle under the starry sky together because Sylvain wanted to cuddle while Felix just wanted some quiet time for themselves and maybe talk a little. They speak about different constellation’s names (Sylvain probably knows them all because he used to impress girls with those) and how Felix thinks constellations are an absolutely stupid thing because he sees different things in them. In the end, they end up thinking of their own constellations (like the Sword with a Strange Grip or the Horse that Feels a Little Nausy).

Another headcanon: Felix actually hates other people laying hands on his hair / head, because he is pretty sensitive there. However, Sylvain practices to be carefuly only for the chance to do Felix’ hair. So sometimes, he lets him and just grits his teeth while Sylvain is busy. However, I think Felix loves Sylvain washing his hair.

They also like to take each other out for lunch / dinner or spending time at the library in the evenings once the training grounds are closed. Also, Sylvain is a romantic sap who likes to drag Felix to watch the sunset at the fishing pond. He might even get Felix to play some boardgames.

Alright, the next section is something I’m usually not so fond talking about and I really went back and forth on if I should add it to this post for quite a while, but I decided to give it a go because this is something normal people might actually find a little comedic (note: I don’t really mind if Aspie traits are used in a comedic way in media, as long as the figure having those traits is not warped into a total joke through that or heavily stereotyped. If you are, then that is fine, everyone feels different about it). I personally didn’t understand the comedy of this until it was explained to me by some frineds. I think I can empathize a little on why people think it’s funny by now, even though it’s definetly not my kind of humor, so I decided to give it a go.

Basically when Sylvain suggests having sex with him, Felix is like “Why? If you want to have a baby, you would need a girl to do that!”

The background of that is that while many Aspies gain some understanding of the emotional component of sexual contact, most Aspies I know (including myself) struggle with understanding this nature, especially if they have zero personal experience. Rationalized, it is merely a tool to get babies and that is exactly how many Aspies I have met think about it, at least before gaining experience.I figured Felix might share this view at least initially, before he gains some experience.

Alone Together

However, I think that they not only have separate rooms, but also live separate lives. Like, they never really get married. That’s not entirely a Felix thing though. I think both value their independency too much to make themselves depend on someone, Sylvain perhaps a little less than Felix.

I think there would be countless examples of being alone together, like when both are reading books in the library. They’re technically together, but they aren’t interacting.

Felix does especially need space when he experienced a sensoric overload or after he was arguing with Sylvain. I think when either is the case, Sylvain always finds him at the stables later on, where his horse is. Sometimes, Felix is asleep, sometimes he is awake but barely approachable. I also think Sylvain’s horse often lays down next to him and Felix likes to pat it. In any case, Sylvain always gets him a blanket and waits until Felix comes to him again (because he will, it merely takes him some time).

Due to this, Sylvain probably gets him a cat some time. Felix mentions in his support with Bernadetta how he “doesn’t dislike” cats, so I think he is fine with that. The cat usually also follows Felix if he needs space.

Animals and autists often get along very well. We have a natural or developed liking for them, as they are easier to communicate with than humans and know when to leave us alone. Also, they actually communicate to other humans when to stop, which is often helpful for both sides. So yeah, I think the cat would do that as well. And of course, it would take up the entire space in the bed when Sylvain wants to sleep there (which might actually be something they argue over).

And yeah… That’s actually all :3 Thank you for the ask!

#Fandom #Fire Emblem #FE3H #FE Meta #FE3H Meta #Character Analysis #Analysis #Sylvain José Gautier #Felix Hugo Fraldarius #Sylvix #Autism #Headcanons #theeeveetamer #SeaSi answers

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bitchesgetriches · 6 years

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Hi Bitches, I have a question that's not really financial, but more about maintaining empathy in this capitalist hellscape. It's long, so I apologize in advance. So. I live in NYC and there are homeless people everywhere. I can remember being a kid and having huge amounts of sympathy for the homeless in my hometown city; I always gave some of my allowance money if I walked by a homeless person, or asked a parent for a dollar to give. Fast forward to now. I'm 27, have lived in 1/4

NYC for 2+ years, and have lost so much sympathy for the suffering of the homeless. I know logically that I should be much more sympathetic to their situation, but I also can't help but to think that they are such a nuisance. I almost never give them a spare dollar or two now. I mean, I really need every dollar I make right now, at least I think I do. My family & I just can't afford it. I loathe them for inconveniencing me with their shouting and their stench. I think that if they've 2/4

reached the point of needing to beg strangers for help, they must have alienated all of their loved ones; I'd never be in that position. If the people who love them won't help them, why should I? But then logically I know that's not true either. I could be in that place with just a few family tragedies. It's this internal battle I deal with every day on my commute: I dehumanize these people, I feel guilty and logically know I'm wrong, I do nothing to help. I want to stop my dehumanization 3/4

of the homeless because I know it's wrong, and because I know I can do better for them and society can do better for them. The homelessness problem is clearly related to this capitalist world we live in, but what can be done? How do I stop mentally battling myself and actually get over being annoyed and repulsed every time a homeless person inconveniences me? Thank you bitches for everything, even if this never gets answered

This is SUCH an interesting question. Thank you for asking it, dearheart! And I applaud you for your self-awareness, pragmatism, and compassion. It’s clear that this is a mental struggle for you, and the very fact that you don’t simply stop the introspection at “Well IIIII would never end up homeless, alone, and stinking up the sidewalk” but instead are working to improve your outlook speaks very highly of you.

So let’s talk about homelessness.

As John Oliver so eloquently explains in this clip, the vast majority of Americans are sooooo much closer to being a homeless beggar on the streets than they are to being on MTV’s Cribs. Our individual financial security is fucking precarious! That’s why we write this blog! Yes, you can build up an emergency fund and save six months of your income, but when you get right down to it, most of us are one major medical emergency away from bankruptcy.

And if you can’t recover from said emergency, if you don’t have a support network to get you out of that mess... that’s it. You’re done. You’re staring down the barrel of homelessness and getting judged by strangers on the street for your inability to stay clean and hygienic while you literally sleep under the overpass and rummage through the dumpster behind Panera for day-old bread.

Now let’s address your knee-jerk reaction that homeless people must’ve really fucked up to lose all support and end up on the street. Surely, someone like YOU could never end up there because you have people who love and support you, right?

Sadly, a lot of homeless people are mentally ill, and slipped through the cracks left by their caretakers and an imperfect system. Others are kids who have aged out of the foster care system with no helping hand and no prospects for an education or career. Others are gay and trans youth who were literally kicked out of their homes and disowned by their families. Others are addicted to substances in this great nation where we treat addiction like a crime rather than the public health crisis it is.

Put even the most normal, patient, chill person in any of these situations, grind them down with bad weather, abuse, lack of nutrition and healthcare for months and years, and I guarantee they’ll get a bit surly. When you meet a loud, annoying, unhygienic homeless person on the street, you’re meeting them at their worst. I defy you to act any better in their situation!

All of which is to say that even a homeless person who you find personally repugnant and unsympathetic is probably not so different from you. Non-homeless people can be massive fucking dicks, so why not the homeless?

I know I keep using “you” in a sort of accusatory fashion in this post, and I promise I’m not condescending to you or picking on you. It’s all meant to reinforce the idea that there is a very thin line separating all of us financially stable people from the homeless. That alone makes them worthy of our compassion and respect. Basic human decency goes a long way to someone who gets alternately ignored and shat upon by most of the human race.

Here’s s’more on why we should all cut the poor and homeless a break:

"Poor People Are Poor Because They Are _____. Rich People Are Rich Because They Are _____."

It's More Expensive to Be Poor Than to Be Rich

Lastly, here’s what you can do to stop feeling impotent, useless, and heartless when you see a homeless person and you can’t afford to give them money.

Vote.

I personally very rarely give money to the homeless. But I do donate to a number of charitable organizations that help to alleviate the plight of the homeless and impoverished in my country. I also vote for politicians and policies that will improve life for those struggling to make ends meet. I support policies and politicians who aim to get at the root of the homelessness problem--not just systemic poverty, but inadequate mental health programs, lack of support for veterans and the disabled, and lack of protection for children suffering abuse or lacking stability in their home lives.

I pay taxes in the hopes that my money will be used to stab the root problems of homelessness in the heart. When I see a homeless person on the street, I remind myself that I am making informed political decisions to help them. I remind myself that they are the reason I donate to charities and food banks. And yeah, sometimes if I can, I spare a dollar for their plight. But if I can’t in that moment, then I know that I’ve still done something on a broader scale.

You need to start thinking this way to alleviate your guilt. Be the logical, pragmatic person you appear to be from your question. And remind yourself that some day, you could be in the same position whether you expect it or not.

Good luck, honey. It’s going to be ok.

Here’s some further reading:

Ask the Bitches: "How Do I Protect My Own Mental Health While Still Helping Others?"

Raising Awareness About "Raising Awareness"

Raising the Minimum Wage Would Make Our Lives Better

How to Spot a Charitable Scam

Judging Charities Like Judgey McJudgerson: How Can Your Donation Make the Biggest Impact?

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gammaprimesmw · 3 years

Text

All My Worthwhile SMW Hacks - Now on GBATemp

For those who have perhaps wondered where the SMW in my screen name comes from, it comes from my long history in the Super Mario World ROM hacking scene. It's something I originally discovered all the way back in 2006. Back then, I quickly fell in love with the ability to change levels. I could make the most annoying levels of the game a bit more bearable. (Looking at you, Tubular!) Before long, I had joined Acmlm's Board and attempted to pass a collection of blatant level edits off as my first SMW hack, only to be shot down rather quickly. I briefly quit, only to start again. This time, I tried to make my own levels, only to eventually break something in my ROM. I almost gave up yet again before finally producing my first passable (at the time) hack late that year. I intended to follow that up with another hack called Super Mario Bros. 5, but ended up burning out sometime in the following summer. I then left hacking behind until late 2010. That's when what I consider my real SMW hacking journey began.

By late 2010, a lot had changed about the scene. New utilities now existed, and new custom assets could be inserted that the average user wouldn't dare to mess with in 2006. Custom music, blocks, and sprites could be inserted whether or not one knew 65c816 Assembly. Meanwhile, I was getting better at pixel art, allowing me to make my own graphics from scratch. Before long, I had decided to resurrect Super Mario Bros. 5, recreating the whole thing practically from scratch. The result would be Super Mario Bros. 5 Roborn. It wasn't easy to pull the hack off, even with new skills and tools. I'd suffer from bouts of Hacker's Block, which is like a writer's block or artist's block, but it affects the ability to create new levels. I'd also run into technical problems and the inability to find the right resources to do everything I really wanted to do. Learning to make my own custom music helped somewhat, but I would still be dependent on the ASM people to either code what I needed or fix bugs involving whatever custom code had already been inserted. Sadly, requests for custom bosses were seldom, if ever, fulfilled. This fact would eventually kill a sequel to SMB5R known as Mecha-Bowser's Revenge. I wanted custom bosses that didn't exist and lacked the patience to learn the necessary ASM skills to make them myself. After canceling that hack and honing my level design skills a bit, partially thanks to a great tutorial written by AxemJinx. I entered my first Vanilla Level Design Contest in late February of 2012. While my level didn't win or even place in the top 5, it didn't place at the bottom either. A very critical hack reviewer called XKeeper, who I remember being one of the people to lambaste my earliest attempts at SMW hacking, gave the level a 4/5 when he played it during a Twitch stream. The time was fast approaching to try for another full-length hack. I tried my best to manage my ambition with this one. I'd keep the story simple. Bowser kidnapped the Princess (again). Koopalings would be the World bosses, and the existing bosses and boss templates made custom Koopalings feasible. I decided to draw all the foregrounds and backgrounds for this project. Only one thing really posed a threat to this project: Hacker's Block. It would get so bad sometimes that I'd question the morality of ROM hacking, believing the blocks came from God/my conscience trying to stop me from promoting the "sin" of downloading ROMs. Thankfully, friends like imamelia would reassure me that it wasn't. The hack was finished just as 2012 came to a close. This is the oldest hack that I felt worthy of going on GBATemp.

It was game on from there. I'd produce several more hacks. Each one would receive mostly positive reviews. The most frequent complaint I'd receive would be that my hacks all felt the same. I was, and still will be should I return to hacking, a traditionalist hacker. I tried to make my hacks feel like official Mario games. I eschewed the typical ROM hacking practice of making something significantly harder than the base game. I'm the first person to test the levels, and I'm not the greatest at video games. Lost Levels-tier difficulty curves aren't my thing, and Kaizo definitely isn't my thing. The latter fact suited me just fine. Up until about 2015, Kaizo hacks were banned on SMWCentral. That would start changing that year. A little thing called Janked Up Mario Party (AKA JUMP) was released, and it began changing the very culture of SMWC. Kaizo hacks were now permitted, thanks to them being popular with Twitch streamers. I kept going for several more years, even as popular opinion began turning against my "safe, homogenized" hacks, and Streamer Kaizo hacks began taking over the hack database. Let's Plays and streams of my hacks became more and more sparse, and my overall motivation to hack slowly dwindled through 2019. I burned out so back early last year that, for a couple weeks, I became thoroughly convinced that ROM hacking was a sin, regardless of what people like imamelia said. That conviction would bring me to tears every time I thought about everything I had created. I was still proud of it. These hacks were still available. I could've very easily asked a staffer on SMWC to take them all down, along with all the other resources I created. Being seen as crazy, and the fact that I could never truly erase what I'd done, ultimately held me back. Eventually, I gave into temptation, popping into a friend's stream while he was streaming a hack called Return to Dinosaur Land. That night, I also had a chat with Daizo Dee Von, and he finally convinced me that I was wrong about the whole "ROM hacking is a sin" thing. I salvaged some levels from the canceled Chocolate Collection I was working on since late 2019, threw in a few contest entry levels, and built a few new levels to create a much smaller collection hack simply called "Ten." I could've been done there. That could've been my send-off to the world of SMW hacking. Then COVID-19 happened, inspiring me to start another project inspired by the various conspiracy theories surrounding the pandemic. Unfortunately, I didn't have enough inspiration and motivation to see said hack through, and it was canceled. I decided then that I was pretty much done with hacking. I'd been doing it for a decade straight. That was probably the real reason I was burning out, rather than some divine intervention. I was burned out, and SMWC's culture was no longer one that really supported my style of hacks. I was no longer the one whose hacks could generate hype in large swaths of the community. I was now known as someone who just put out a string of very similar hacks. I even wondered if a sufficiently-trained AI algorithm could make hacks like mine. Maybe that thought can go two ways. I could see it as meaning I'm more like a machine than a person when it comes to designing levels, or the hypothetical AI could be seen as passing the ROM hacking equivalent of a Turing Test.

Anyway, here are the rest of the hacks. You will need a Super NES emulator and a Super Mario World ROM to play these. I can't tell you where to get the latter, but I can recommend using snes9x as your emulator of choice.

KAMEK'S ISLAND (2013)

MARIO & LUIGI: KOLA KINGDOM QUEST (2014-2015)

SUPER MARIO WORLD: BOWSER'S CATACLYSMIC TRAP (2014-2015)

SUPER MARIO LAND 3: TATANGA'S RETURN (2015-2016)

MARIO IS MISSING DONE RIGHT (2016)

SUPER MARIO BROS: THE EARLY YEARS (2016-2017)

SUPER LUIGI LAND (2017-2019)

SHORT BUT SWEET This is a collection of 4 mini-hacks I made during this time. These were usually side projects I did to keep my skills sharp and still do some hacking without burning myself out on the larger projects. Often, these would incorporate levels I had made for various hacking contests. One of them, Oiram's Invasion, is actually a contest entry itself, created for the 2013 12 Days Before Christmas contest. It's my highest-ranking contest entry on the site, having made it all the way to 3rd Place.

#gaming #rom hacking #super mario world #snes #retrogaming

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seacreek · 4 years

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I don't want to write anything where irl friends would see (no one is gonna see this here anyway) but I need to get this out of me.

Liiiikeeeee

I was (am?) literally the most suicidal I've ever been in my life today (is today over if it's 2 am?) and not only can I tell that to NO ONE, but it's like God was fucking rubbing it my face all day. I actually laughed at one point bc I was driving behind someone thinking of whether I should try to do it at home or somewhere else when I noticed their license plate said KYS and then a mashup of my birthday numbers.

But like I've already been feeling this building bc I'm behind on bills and have no heat and it's gonna snow soon and it's the holidays which remind me that my family is all spread out and I don't really talk to my parents anymore and somedays I talk to no one at all but my cat and my life is going NOWHERE with no way to change that but to work myself even harder when I don't even feel like I have anything at all to give anymore.

And I already felt like calling out bc even though I chose to work Thanksgiving yesterday knowing I'd be the only one there, it was still depressing to know that normal people are with friends and family and I'm not. But I also didn't want to take up my neighbors/friends on their offers to join them bc I did that last year and got all the questions about what I was doing with my life and at the time I actually believed I'd be going back to school the next year but now I realize how I can't possibly afford that without accepting help from someone which would BE my neighbors bc my parents would not help and I can't pay for it alone. And I can't accept help from them bc I feel like I would just get overwhelmed and depressed and flunk out and waste their money anyway. And the other reason I couldn't go over there/can't is bc I already feel like such a burden to them. They do all this nice stuff for me all the time and I catch myself even EXPECTING it at times which is fucking disgusting. Even if I'm grateful and say thank you, it's not like they owe me anything just bc I have no one else to give it to me. So I need to stop accepting their help and gifts, but then I know they are judging me for that bc even though their really nice, they are also super judgmental and they really like me bc they think I have "potential", but if they knew that I'm actually just a natural born idiot and failure, they'd never want to talk to me in the first place. And also it's unhealthy probably how much I rely on their validation bc since I've known them since I was little, I'm almost using them as surrogate parents which is also fucked up bc they are not my parents, they have their own kids who actually have their lives together unlike me who is just like a pet project of theirs.

Soooo anyway I already had all this on my mind and more going into work today and when I get there, I look at the schedule and realize everyone called out but me!!!!

And so I had to make a frankenstein schedule out of all of theirs to prioritize what needed to get done and was still trying to do little favors for people in between that I didn't want to disappoint bc it wasn't their fault that their staff wasn't there to do it with them and it was getting super overwhelming. And then I'm super sensitive so when I'd have to tell someone that I COULDN'T do something extra for them that they really were looking forward to, it was already punching me in the gut to see their disappointment. But then the worst part is that they don't fully get that I'm not just choosing to do that out of spite, but I legitimately had negative amounts of time to get everything done so they would blame me for what I couldn't do for them. EVEN THOUGH I WAS WORKING LIKE 4 SCHEDULES IN 1. Like they don't have the capacity to think past what's in front of them sometimes which I understand it's not their fault, but it SUCKS bc then they are pissed at me even though I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to do everything for everyone and keep them all happy and they should really be annoyed with my coworkers who didn't come in but I didn't even throw them under the bus bc it wouldn't have mattered anyway. I'm the person in front of them who is "refusing to do what they ask" so it's my fault.

So that's how my day is going everywhere I go as I rush from person to person and place to place, answering calls, improvising on the spot, and constantly having to tell someone that whatever they had planned on today isn't possible and dealing with the result of that. And the WHOLE TIME I am DAYDREAMING about how I'm gonna kill myself when I get home. Maybe slit my wrists, wait no my leg because I know I'll chicken out on the wrists, wait no, I'll drive out to the ocean and just swim out until I'm drowning too far out to save myself, wait no, what bridges could I jump from let me google that, wait no, I could take all of the pills at home together but then I might throw them up so wait no, maybe I'll drag this out and just not eat or drink til I just die nah that takes too long etc etc etc. And I'm really thinking this is gonna happen tonight bc I already wrote a letter monday or tuesday and I'm sure they'll find that pretty fast when they look in my journals so I don't even have to worry about that part, just the doing. So I'm contemplating my end of life and getting more anxious and sad with every hour passing bc I'm really thinking this is it, this is the day I'm out. But really I keep getting caught up bc my CAT who is sadly the one being on earth that I love who could never understand, is at home. And I'm thinking about how if I kill myself while she's there and it takes time for people to realize I'm missing/find me, she will be sad/hungry/thirsty in the meantime. Which is so unecessary and all of my suicide plans get scrapped if they involve direct trauma of another being and she's the one that means the most, so how could I be so selfish as to not make a plan for her?

So I'm thinking of how I have to sneak her to my sister's place while she's still at work and that's stressful enough but more so bc then I'll have a time limit on getting this done bc as soon as she comes home and sees kaiya there without me and no explanation, she'll start blowing up my phone and when I don't answer, she'll call someone. And I don't want to do that in a pressured state, I need time to process everything and think about life and what I'm doing. Plus, what if I decide not to??? (Which is what ended up happening for tonight anyway) I would've done all that for nothing and then had to confess when she found kaiya anyway and have to go to a psych ward or something which would just ruin my life faster but make it harder to get out.

So I'm thinking ALL this ALL day while working my ass off yet still disappointing everyone and swallowing tears that would turn into sobs every hour until it's time to go home.

Then I drive home and even though I pray to God to send me some sign that he cares, he doesn't.

At this point, I've already lost the fire under me so I know this is another night where I just get through it, cuddle kaiya, and wake up the next day to do it all over and I've accepted that in a way.

Then 1 am rolls around and my sister calls me to say she stopped by a party where she ran into my old best friend and friends from high school. None of whom cared enough about me to even ask what I was up to these days, even though they were talking to my SISTER. And that whole growing apart thing took such a toll on me mentally and I do feel like I'm over it now these days, but it still brought up these gross sad feelings of when I was first realizing that they didn't really care about me anymore and then fully understanding that I didn't matter to them. Which hurt SO MUCH bc they were a ride or die for me, like I would have done anything for them and I never even DOUBTED they didn't feel the same until it was so obvious I had to stop pretending around it. And that fucked with ALL of my relationships with people. Every single friend I had, I started pulling away from bc I was so insecure in myself that I felt like I had to get away from them before they had the chance to drop me which I now felt was inevitable. To this day, I feel like I have a body count of of people that I desperately want to talk to, but don't let myself bc I feel like they don't deserve to have to put up with a person as shitty and worthless as me. And I do that in every possible relationship I have, platonic, romantic, and even familial. And I can't blame them for that bc they were just a normal person growing apart from someone I guess, but I think it triggered something laying dormant in me so badly that it was actually the catalyst for my inability to connect with other people in meaningful ways. I never meet a new person anymore with the belief that they will be in my life for more than a few years at most. Most people I expect to be gone within a week or two. My walls are up so high that it's actually selfish that I even talk to people at all bc I only end up hurting them when I pull away for seemingly no reason at all. And I'm too much of a coward to tell them that there's nothing wrong with them, I just can't get that close to people anymore. Like it actually makes me physically sick to think of carrying on normal relationships with people which is SO fucked. But then I turn into the villain bc I'm worried that they'll develop the same fear of people and I'll be the cause of it. Like I'm a vampire. But I isolate myself and then get to a certain point where I think "I'll try again!! And this time will be different!! I'll really have someone new in my life!" And then I am super friendly and doing my best to be good and making plans and whatever. But then I start getting that sick feeling again, like what if what if they just haven't realized how much I suck and how disappointing I am yet, they'll definitely realize it soon and I come up with some random specific reason why they'd actually hate me if they knew "THIS" about me and I start detaching myself and then flake on plans and then disappear. And then spend weeks worrying myself sick that I permanently damaged their trust in people!!! But then I get lonely again and the pattern starts again!! All traced back to this moment in time where it actually hit me that people's affection for you can disappear in the blink of an eye no matter how much you thought they cared about you. So clearly love is conditional and just that thought alone is enough to make me want to end it all!!

So yea, just a shit day with shit cherries and cream on top.

And now it's 3am and I have to wake up in 5 hrs to do this again.

And all of this is still something no one will know if or until it comes spilling out and then my life will either be changed forever or over.

But yea, drew that lion the other day.

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