hi im hannah and i write stuff! 20+, she/they this blog is 18+ and contains NSFW content Request/Commission FAQ personal/main blog: personalized-radio.tumblr.com
Not that I think anyone here cares much about it but I just finished my first pass at the final chapter of the wtsd rewrite. I still have to wait for Hannah to go over them (and often she substantially changes what I wrote) but the very first preliminary draft of original!wtsd exists
The RoosterTeeth site will be deleted May 15th 😔 do yourselves a favor and start archiving EVERYTHING you can now. RageQuit, RvB, X-Ray & Vav, the Minecraft Let's Plays, RWBY, etc. RT is warning us as nicely as they can that there's a p good chance we won't be able to access ANYTHING by next year, including the YouTube channel. Download!
HANNAH!!! i'm sorry i ended up writing criminal minds fic but i have the BRAINROT so this is way more comedic than whumpy so you can still have fun <3
send me a ship and a prompt and i'll write a quick oneshot!
“Reid.” Hotch’s voice is tight and stressed, and Spencer can actually feel his heart pounding. Hotch’s heart. Spencer’s heart has been pounding since they first found themselves in this situation. He can’t stop counting the beats. “I need you to calm down.”
“Yeah, of course,” Spencer says far too quickly, trying to shove some of the panic back into his stomach where it’s making a run for it right up his throat. He tries to maneuver himself around a little bit and instead just pushes himself up harder against Hotch’s chest. Their increased proximity gets even worse, and Spencer’s pretty sure the pantry may actually be shrinking. “I’m calm. I’m totally calm.”
A pantry. A pantry! Who the hell gets stuck in a pantry? Especially with Hotch around, who on his best days is basically a tank dressed up in a crisp tailored suit. But then again, even a well-dressed Virginian tank apparently has no luck against an unsub with a sawed-off shotgun, Spencer reasons.
At least he just forced them to drop their guns and phones and then locked them in the pantry, rather than shoot off their faces right then and there. They did profile him to be the submissive of the pair, and that he would balk at killing someone outright. There’s a can of something digging into the small of his back. Probably tomato sauce. Or corn. Or maybe beans. So at least the team is going to realize something’s off when they don’t show back up at the police station.
“You’re not calm,” Hotch grits. Maybe he’s got a can of something nonperishable digging into his back, too.
“Sorry,” Spencer says. “We’re just— it’s really tight in here. And I’m claustrophobic. Did I mention that?”
“You did.”
“Oh. I did?”
“Several times.”
“Oh,” Spencer repeats, and tries to wiggle away from the can again. “It’s just that the traditional definition of claustrophobia refers to it as an irrational fear of confined spaces, when in reality I find it entirely reasonable to not want to be squashed into a tight space where you can barely breathe, not to mention the lack of air circulation, and adding another person into that—”
“Reid,” Hotch says again, maybe for the fourth or fifth time. “I understand that you’re anxious, but right now we need to focus our attention on getting out of the pantry.”
“He padlocked it,” Spencer replies immediately, wishing he could move his arms. They’re pressed up against Hotch’s chest, and with barely an inch difference between their respective heights, he’s basically right in Hotch’s face, too. Hotch, for his part, has his arms awkwardly positioned at his sides. Spencer’s more of a beanpole, having to duck his head to avoid smacking it into the lightbulb above them, but Hotch has bulk. He’s probably even more uncomfortable. “And you don’t have enough space to kick it down.”
“I’m aware of that,” Hotch says, and the tension in his tone has ramped up. “Do you have any ideas?”
“Uh,” Spencer says, blinking. Hotch is a little cross-eyed. “No.”
“Try to think of something, then.”
“Oh,” Spencer says again. “No, I’ve been thinking this entire time. I actually can’t stop thinking. The good news is at least that we have about twenty-one hours roughly before we run out of air, even with the CO2 buildup, because the gap under the door is about three-quarters of an inch which means we can still get some oxygen, though it would be much better if this pantry had a door with slats rather than the typical—”
“Spencer.”
The use of his given name does actually stop Spencer in his tracks, but more than that it’s the way that Hotch says it. His eyes are squeezed tight, his teeth are gritted together, and there’s a bead of sweat that’s running down the side of his temple. Classic signs of… anxiety? Stress?
“Hotch,” Spencer says in stunned disbelief, “are you claustrophobic?”
He doesn’t get a response in the form of a word, but rather in the way Hotch opens his eyes again and glares at him. It’s not a real glare, necessarily, more of a you’re not supposed to figure that out glare, which just serves to shock Spencer even more. He blinks at him.
“You are,” Spencer says.
“I’m just… not comfortable in tight spaces,” Hotch corrects, which is the textbook definition of claustrophobia. But Spencer is absolutely willing to let it slide, because there’s something… oddly comforting about being in the exact same situation as someone as stalwart and fearless as Hotch. “It isn’t usually such a problem.”
“Oh,” Spencer repeats, and hums. “True. This isn’t a typical situation one would find themselves in. I guess normally it wouldn’t even come up. And I guess that means neither one of us are entirely equipped to keep the other one calm, since both of us are starting to show the signs of increased anxiety that come from prolonged close contact while in a confined space, and increased respiration from continued anxiety could also reduce our survival rate from—”
“God.” Hotch starts wiggling, which definitely makes a bag of chips fall somewhere and manages to extract one arm, which he holds, palm towards himself, up to eye level. Spencer stares at it, and Hotch shakes his hand a bit. “Here. Just hold my hand.”
Spencer gapes at him, speechless. If only the team could see him now.
“Hold your… hand?”
“Yes, hold my hand.” Hotch stares at something just to Spencer’s left ear before his gaze slides over to make eye contact again. He pauses, and then nods slightly. “Jack asks me to hold his hand when he’s scared. I figured it couldn’t hurt, given our… limited options.”
Spencer considers that for a moment, and then manages to squeeze his arm over so that he can take Hotch’s hand. Their limited options pretty much boil down to waiting and hoping for the best, so Hotch really isn’t that far off.
“You know, Jack’s pretty smart,” Spencer finally says after a moment. “Hand-holding reduces the level of the stress hormone cortisol, which means that we’re able to think more clearly. Plus the increased pressure from our hands can slow our heart rates, decrease our blood pressure, and put us in a much more relaxed state.”
Instead of answering verbally, Hotch just squeezes his hand tighter.
Spencer thinks about it again, and then smiles a bit awkwardly.
“You know, I never would’ve guessed that about you,” he admits. “You’re pretty much the most valorous person I’ve ever met. It’s actually kind of comforting to share the same fear as you.”
Despite everything, Hotch’s lips quirk up and he squeezes Spencer’s hand once more.
“I’ll just go ahead and take that as a compliment.”
That awkward moment when you drop one of your fiancé’s fancy potions he’s been working so hard on all week bc you thought you could bring them all in from the cart at once™️
(@ mj’s addition) i’m so sorry ToT i didnt mean to be #weird about it—i literally DID think y’all were pulling a Twilight and i was like “well i guess it wont matter when they’re both 400 and its not like he’s raising her anyway” ToT sorry if it made u uncomfy!
LOL no no! No discomfort here (at least on my end)! It makes sense that u would think we were pulling a twilight if u thought mellon and sally were meant to serve the same narrative purpose! Esp bc it isnt like we broadcasted exactly what mellon was outside of the discord!!!
Thank you for sharing ur thoughts and asking for clarification, we appreciate u!! We are always happy to answer questions if anyone has any :)
i'll fully admit that i thought mellon was meant to be sally this whole time. imagine my shock reading the last update dshsdjdsa is their connection/bond intended to read as romantic, or platonic, or up to reader interpretation? was i just totally misreading it because of my assumption?
Hello!
As with a lot of things in scarecrow, reader interpretation is always welcome! But at least for both mari and I, their relationship is platonic :) wilbur thinks of her as a best friend but there are definitely some paternal leanings just due to the nature of having helped to raise her (in his own way). Mellon has always meant to represent the ender dragon, guardian of the end and Sally is her own person, intent on ruining Wilbur's life for some fun before she marries him <3
Assuming Mellon was meant to be sally is understandable, tho!! Sally wasnt really foreshadowed outside of out discord LOL
AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVED IT 😭💕 I adore that she’s got a little bit of all her parents in her :’) And it’s so sweet that the bit of Quackity makes Wilbur smile ;w; That hit just the spot!!
I'm glad you enjoyed it!!! Mellon unfortunately didnt get a whole lot of screentime, esp as an adult, but we love her to bits <2
As a huge Eragon fan from when I was young (pls don’t judge me) I am BEGGING on my KNEES for an Wilbur&Mellon centric drabble. I need to know their dynamic. Is she sweet and soft with him? Is Wilbur cursed to forever love “people” who will ceaselessly snark at him? My kingdom for more about these soulmates please please
Mellon is a sweet girl.
That's hard to believe if one just happens to see her; after all, she's the size of a horse, with long horns and slitted eyes, and she's a fucking dragon, so most people bolt at just the sight of her. But, truly, she is very sweet. She is polite and patient and kind, though she has her moments of being stubborn and is never willing to let go of having the last word.
Her first words to Wilbur, the ones that were actually articulated through their bond, were 'It's nice to meet you, Mr. Soot.'
The words had brought tears to his eyes.
Since then, she'd grown far less formal. Wilbur grew to become her favorite person, second (or sixth, as the case may be) only to her fathers. Wilbur was happy to take sixth place, knowing it was more than he really deserved. She was the best that the world had to offer - well-mannered and good natured, always a laugh or a soft word, a reminder that Wilbur had to be better. That he had to grow up, because one day he would be all she had left in the world and he needed to be ready for that.
The first time she sassed him, she was what equated to a pre-teen, about fourteen years old. He'd made a remark about Philza being an old man and she'd said, 'As if you're not close behind him.'
Wilbur had been too shocked to do much more than laugh, unaware that this was the start of a long future of Mellon taking after her parents far too much for his comfort.
Mellon wasn't ever mean - her sass was nearly always funny enough that it made Wilbur laugh, even as he was forced to deal with the fact that she was smarter and funnier than him. He also had to deal with the fact that he couldn't snark back because he was an adult (or that was his excuse, at least).
That excuse goes away, eventually, as she ages. She never gets mean but, in her adulthood, she grows a bit sharper and at least Wilbur can respond in kind. It's all in good fun, though Mellon is never scared to call out behavior she doesn't like - and Wilbur sometimes does the same. They're a team, after all, and the two of them are all each other has, eventually. Well, and Technoblade, but Technoblade had never hesitated to razz Mellon, even when she was only a baby.
Most of all, though, Mellon is Wilbur's best friend. He loves her and he loves talking with her, he loves her personality and her sass. He loves the dragon she's grown in to, his soulmate and his Guardian.
And, even if he won't say it, he loves that she has wit so similar to Quackity's. A gentle reminder of the man that had changed Wilbur so intrinsically, of the people who raised her to be so very perfect, a perfect match for him.
titsay
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