if i look back, i am lost
we're not kids anymore.
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Love Begins
Three Goblin Art
styofa doing anything
ojovivo
izzy's playlists!
Peter Solarz
#extradirty
Janaina Medeiros
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
No title available
occasionally subtle
RMH
Game of Thrones Daily
sheepfilms
@theartofmadeline
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Today's Document
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@reiiids
𖠵 REIIDS: the truth? i wasn’t even born yet.
❛ est. 1981 reiids is an independent writing blog featuring criminal minds’ 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒊𝒅. please refer here for more information on this character’s portrayal as well as the author’s guidelines . . . 📚 carrd . main blog .
This is the funniest sad thing I had ever seen.
𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞 deeper into a topic that’s been mentioned for a nanosecond. triggering something in his brain, like a small key unlocking a piece of information he didn’t know he had until the moment presented itself. it isn’t exactly the TIME for it either, as they’re all gathered around the evidence board, surrounded by grim images. “ you know, the original draft for star wars was two hundred pages long. it took four years to make the film and early on, nobody wanted to financially support the movie’s making. at the time, science fiction was thought to be an outdated concept! ” smiling to himself, so self assured despite the eyes on him. “ the franchise is a political allegory. it could mean this influences the unsub’s rationale. ”
𓂃@mastermicd
❝ you look like you have something on your mind - wanna talk about it? this is a once in a life time offer. ❞
@idi0tproverbs - starter call for Reid.
a once in a lifetime offer? it’s tantalizing, but it catches reid by surprise. when everyone else has left the room. “ i, uh, yea. i was just . . . ” pinching the pencil in his hands with the tips of his fingers. “ it’s the unsub’s riddle. i can’t seem to deduce the answer. ” once in a lifetime offer; maybe the same could be said by reid. “ any ideas? ”
@trueblu3: ❝ look, i dunno if i’m the kind of person you need or even want right now. but i’m looking around and i’m the only one who’s here. ❞
maybe he is destined to be alone. humans are social creatures, he’s well aware, but with the faces careening in and out of his life, spencer has begun to believe he was never fated for company. for friends. for family. his mother, who was the only voice of reason against everyone telling him how ODD & useless he was, now nothing but a voice sounded out by the words she wrote in her letters to him. he barely saw her anymore, he worked more than he lived. well, if someone were to take a long, pitiful look at his life they would see spencer had never lived.
he comes to work and he knows the crooks and crevices of his desk far more vibrantly than he knows his apartment. sometimes, when he’s home, he feels out of place. being unproductive and unwanted. that is why he doesn’t take hotch’s offer to taking some time for himself. he’s not some wounded kid, not completely broken because another person had given up on him. no, spencer was perfectly fine. this was just apart of life: things changed. mix in the variable of spencer reid’s never to be normal life and the equation is heinous.
the truth was, it took approximately 18 to 254 days to form a new habit and 66 days for it to become an innate behavior. gideon’s absence would be as inherent as it were for spencer to find his desk, sit down as he had for the last two and a half years, shrugging off his bag, and reaching for the same no. 2 pencil. the letter addressed to him in jason’s writing would crumple with the passage of time until the ink FADED away and he would forget. but that was the issue, wasn’t it? he would never forget. if a new behavior would take place of an old one, he would remember the latter so vividly: as if it’d never been abandoned. a word which was beginning to carve a nest inside of him, his brain, thumping and thumping over again. ridiculing him.
the morning will continue as usual, but with this newfound air of deprivation and disdain. for himself. why he drove people away? oh. no, that’s not right. reid looks over his shoulder and sees HER standing there. inky hair, deep eyes, and attentive gaze. he can never escape her; not in the way he can escape derek’s line of questions or avert penelope’s doting. it’s always been different with elle. gideon knew this, gideon told him. there were some people you can’t quite shake; maybe they’ve known you in another life.
he’s on the first note of good morning until she is making her way through a wrap of words he interprets to be spoken from genuine concern and . . . it is unlike agent greenaway to express herself as so. maybe towards someone who needed it; really needed it. like the way she talked to victimized women, with such delicacy he knew he could never replicate. why HIM, though? does he wear his grief on his loose fitting sleeve? he lets her words dissipate between them. this weird space because for once she is towering over him. he is so small and breakable.
“ gideon’s gone, elle. ” a murmur placated with disbelief. spencer might insist that knowing the depth and complexities of human behavior & psychology makes him qualified but he is a victim of his own mind. he might be qualified, but he is human at the end of the day. “ just like that? ”
@idi0tproverbs said: you've given me a lot of information, and none of it is very helpful. FROM SPENCER HEHE
well someone was a little snappy today. brows raise at him, as if waiting for him to speak any more but he doesn’t. he could’ve at least explained further instead of leaving it at that. ❝ are you going to enlighten me, or just keep acting like a little jerk? ❞ their relationship could be a playful one at times, so name calling was not completely out of the ordinary. ❝ okay then smarty pants, let’s hear your ideas. ❞
when there was a time constraint, and there routinely was, it was easy for spencer to become overstimulated and to snap at his colleagues. oftentimes it was unintentional, speaking words with such force he didn’t notice until he could view the lost look on their faces. no one was accustomed to the young prodigy losing his disposition, not even himself.
“ if the crimes are disorganized and exude an extreme sense of rage, the unsubs are most likely younger. they’re probably inexperienced, ” he elaborates, eyes fluttering across the evidence board he’d pieced together like a puzzle. coming together to create one, startling image. “ wouldn’t you agree they’d begin to experience a struggle for power? their dynamic would shift. they wouldn’t feel as indebted to each other … ” phrasing it as a question to be more generous to carol, someone he actually liked, and commended, even. so when his finger brushes against his mouth, peering at the images, as though the answer would leap from them, it is carol’s opinion he asks for. “ i just feel like . . . i’m missing something. ”
@reiiids gets a thing
rosita doesn’t really understand it, how such training was lost on him. with previous career, surely he knew how to defend himself, how to be on the offense. did he not have to go through combat training of all kinds before being accepted into the fbi? sure, profiling was more mind work than it was physical, but anything could happen out on the field. that training could and should be applied to the life they’re forced to live now.
❝ i’m starting to think you being in the fbi is bullshit. ❞ she’s standing over him, expression one of disappointment. it was the fourth time she’d tackled him to the ground with ease. ❝ are you even trying reid? what if you’re out there and some asshole gets the jump on you? how are you gonna defend yourself if you can’t even get out of a simple hold? ❞
it seems he’s been cursed with two left feet since childhood. it’s the one thing he can’t perfect with endless research or experimentation. no, he’s naturally inclined to embarrass himself. perhaps he could have gotten away with it before, chalked it up to the cups of caffeine, but there isn’t a lot of coffee to be found in this world—maybe that’s why he’s so … and he overthinks his way into the ground. the afternoon sun burning over her head and some might say rosita is anything but divine standing over him. however, do they consider she had twisted his arm and made him join the dirt with such ease? how could you not find that astonishing?
“ i’m more booksmart than what one would consider street smart. they had to make exceptions to let me stay, ” he explains, or tries to while every molecule of oxygen seems to be escaping him. everyone shot him the same, doubting stare when he mentioned his previous life. being out in the field, catching criminals did not seem as natural as bookkeeping would be for the likes of him. rosita implying it hurts in a way that is just dawning on him.
“ of course i’m trying! i just need to predict your kinetic energy using my own momentum and mass. ” calculations lost on him because the feeling of pebbles poking into his body is not as unfamiliar as you’d suspect. “ at least i have a good teacher, ” reid stands up again, for the seventh time, sweaty palms resting on his grimy pants. he was out of his comfort zone, this was evident, but he couldn’t continue on as so. having her rescue him, when he couldn’t return the favor. in this light, rosita was a lot like derek morgan. a conclusion that leads him to think it might be why he’s desperate to do for her what he couldn’t do for him. “ just once more. i think i’m starting to get it. ” spoken without a hint of sarcasm.
IN THE KINDEST WAY: his voice, chattering on about nonsensical facts that would possibly bore anyone else, acts as a grounding mechanism. it's comforting to have consistency, & even through everything he's been through, everything you've been through, that one aspect of him would remain consistent. he would always have an eidetic memory, he would always know more than you––– & where derek laughs at him, you breathe a sigh of relief. ❝ so i assume you're not one of the 60%? ❞ you interject, bringing your coffee to your lips before he cuts himself off. quickly, you swallow, waving your hand around in vague motions in the air before you spit out: ❝ no, no... i mean yeah you're doing that thing but it's fine. ❞ & you mean it. ❝ trust me i'd rather hear about how interesting planes are than anything else right now. ❞
𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐭𝐨 reassure him that it isn’t too unusual to find comfort in the embrace of a plethora of statistics. ready to roll off his tongue, if she asked for it. elle does, ask for it, he presumes. he’s never been skilled in reading certain social cues, he just hopes, with a thumb looped around the strap of his bag, that he isn’t screwing this whole thing up by unapologetically being himself. doctor reid and not so much spencer. “ no, there’s nothing for me to be concerned about. you know, ” and there he is again, excited hands dancing in the air before him, “ the chances of being involved in an aircraft accident are extremely rare. flying is actually the safest form of long distance travel. you’re far more likely to be in a car crash. ” introducing the latter as if it were noteworthy, or even alleviating—he makes a mental note to himself to tell this to david rossi. surely, it would relieve him of his irrational fear of turbulence.
the paper cup reaches his lips and reid takes a generous sip from his mostly - creamer filled, terribly sweet coffee. he sneaks a quick glance at her, consumed by confusion because not many people admitted to wanting to hear his ramblings, let alone could find them to be soothing. “ oh? ” a finger tapping against the side of his beverage, not sure if she would entertain his query. if his genuine concern would be interpreted as something else. “ is there something on your mind? ” what was it she wanted to escape from, with his voice as the diversion?
@violenthunt﹕ sender straightens an article of receiver’s clothes.
𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬—and there were many—was to be presented at this conference. with older adults prepped up in their finest suits and ties, their luxurious fabrics. professors, instructors, researchers, and scientists from across the district and more. spending their free time in an auditorium, expecting scrawny spencer reid in his one - size - too - big suit; not complete without his mismatched socks underneath.
this sort of thing is not his forté, but owning up to it not being his forté is. spencer can readily explain why it is he feels this debilitating anxiety when it comes to speaking to a group of people, afraid he won’t be taken seriously. afraid the title preceding his name will be glossed over, his young face disregarded, the waver in his voice picked apart. it should be easier than it is because he’s rehearsed this a thousand times. he is better in front of an audience twice his age than one which reflects his own. the notes are bright and lucid inside his mind, the notecards he’d written, the expressions he’d made in front of his bathroom mirror. now, you’d expect he would be a little more at ease, knowing his colleagues were there to support him. friends, practically family. however, there is no such thing as being at ease. even now, with elle greenaway’s red nails fixing his patterned tie. her voice, so distant.
“ i’m sorry. what did you say? ” it’s genuine, desperate. it’s in his eyes, pleading she does say something to distract himself. as soon as the prior conference has ended, his will begin. elle will smile, say something clever like she always does, and it’d a little better. right?
Love is not something we wind up, something we set or control. Love is just like art. A force that comes into our lives without any rules, expectations or limitations.
SENSE8 | Death Doesn't Let You Say Goodbye (1.09)
your sigh can be felt as a vibration through the air: loud & followed quickly with finger tips moving through short brown cut. it unintentionally moves bangs from your face & the few hairs that brushed against your eyelashes are no longer there, hence, when you look up, his expression is in plain sight. it makes you feel terrible, as if a sickness sits in the pit of your stomach ready to come up at any second & spill in the form of apologies ( as if any of this was your fault ).
" i don't know... i don't know yet. " a confession, similar to that you pull from criminals in cold & metal rooms meant to illicit the truth. this, the bullpen, is your form of that room: it's easy to get the truth from you in a place like this. " i want to come back –– to you, to jj, to derek & hotch &... " gideon's name remains missing, too complex to intertwine your feelings right at this moment. " but what happened to me –– i don't know if i'll get over it, if i could ever get over it & look at you all the same. "
𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 strong suit and this isn’t any different. reid had believed he had done some good by talking to elle that night in her hotel room, had been able to get her mind off of the pain plaguing her mind and body. thought he had been so good by stringing those words together, with a touch of sympathy and all: you’re here. you won. in reality, he’d just been as foolish and naive as ever. thinking this was a game. she’d won? no, of course not. she would never forget. he would soon realize this on his own terms.
reid knows in his mind how gun violence contributes to a decline in mental health, to ptsd and other things, but elle isn’t a statistic and he knows how she loathes when he makes her feel as if she is one. he can also see how difficult it is for her to find the words, to talk to him. feeling as though a wall has been introduced between them, one they both have to climb over to reach the other. he wished they’d never taken the case at all. that garner never made it to her home at all. and lee never walked free. “ but we can help, ” it comes out as a desperate plea. for her to reach out and grab onto any lifeboat he so aguishly sends out. “ maybe it won’t be the same. no one expects you to pretend like nothing’s changed. we can help, elle. we’re your family. ” maybe the latter doesn’t ring so true anymore.
—heavensghost
@violenthunt﹕ sender and receiver cook together (spencerderek)
𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 had taught him how to be perfunctory or have quick reflexes. at least, not when it really counted. like now, standing in the kitchen completely foolish and clothes powdered white. particles which are still sprinkling in the air, floating like snow onto the ground. reid’s fingers clear his eyes and flick off any flakes resting on his mouth. he coughs, but doesn’t hold back his annoyance, “ i don’t think it said in the directions to drop the ten pounds of flour. ” the chances of it happening are rare, absurdly rare. more common to see on television than experience in real life and of course, reid is so lucky.
reid coughs up another fit of flour, “ so i guess all that muscle is just for show then? ”
she stands, slightly flabbergasted at the flurry of words that come hurtling towards her, most of which she comprehends and half of which she's able to consider. she blinks once, twice, and shifts weight from one foot to the other, high heels making the slightest of tapping noises against the tile. his earnestness is endearing at least, if not a little dizzying, and it's a real effort to suppress the smile that starts to twitch its way onto her face. it tends to be very easy to sniff out a fellow academic; the thirst for knowledge and discussion often gives them away fairly quickly.
"i think i probably need to read more about it before saying anything definitive." a gentle interruption after he gives her a brief introduction to the aforementioned article, both intrigued by the potential for a decent dialogue and dismayed at being woefully unprepared for it. she's read melzack and wall's articles, and she took a psychology of pain module one semester during her undergrad, but it's (admittedly) not a field that wendy feels terribly knowledgeable about––which is never something she feels happy admitting. "i'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage here ... ?" she waits, a little impatiently this time, for an introduction.
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐦 is tamed, if not snuffed out entirely. lips twisting in shame, knowing he had probably come on too strong and talked too much. if only hotch or morgan had been there to suppress his . . . what was that word derek used? oh, nerdiness. perhaps he could have toned it down several notches, kept some sort of self respect intact.
reid taps a gentle finger against the leather strap of his bag, brow lifting at her inquiry. “ i’m doctor spencer reid, ” a small, brief wave as quick as his introduction. well, really it’s just an open, lateral hand that appears for a second. “ i could let you take a look at the article if you like, i have a copy of it at home. ” then, a small pause as if to test the waters because he doesn’t want to be too straightforward. “ do you know when your first day is? ”
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 & floppy in between his fingers. he’d finish it in about . . . three minutes? although, sometimes spencer liked to dwell a second longer on the finer details in the artist’s sketches. it made him feel guilty because gideon had paid money for something spencer could read during his walks to hotch’s office. he felt ashamed because no one had gifted him things before and he knew there was significance in the act. subliminal messages and emotions wrapped in polypropylene, sentiments he would not unravel in this very moment. spencer had not received many gifts in his twenty six ─── seven years and so, combined with being somewhat socially inept, it is hard to muster up the words. any words.
“ uh, hm. i don’t know what to say? thank you, really. @baumade. ” another glance at the gift, tugging a bashful smile from the corner of his lip. strangely, something inside of him he’d tucked away for many years began poking out from the curtain. it draws a rare laugh out of him and he remembers. “ you know, most people read graphic novels when they’re younger and well . . . i’ve almost forgotten what that’s like. ” because when he was younger he behaved like an adult. reading long, forgotten books and listening to outdated music. “ to be . . . young? ”
