your ao3 account is basically a Place To Store Your Whimsies. its your brain dump site!! your hyperfixation site!! its for funsies!! there is absolutely no pressure to rush that chapter update or write that new fic you promised if you dont particularly want to. you gotta enjoy the experience!!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Hello people of Tumblr! Its wednesday and that means there is a new chapter of "Doktor, how did you get into Heavy's head?" (‾◡◝) Have fun!
Summary:
Misha was back at the field, fearing what his mind would cook up while it was out there. He had his moments, but he had to find out that it wasn't just made up things he remembered.
We also get a visit from Sniper at the Med Bay and an interesting new adventure gets planned.
i’ve been thinking. arranged marriage aren’t uncommon in the untamed universe, right? we’ve seen an example of that, but how common are they? are they made uncertain times or are they considered so normal that marriages out of love are actually considered as foreign?
i think the latter would be interesting.
marriages are nothing more than political contracts to lan zhan, because he’s grown up in a big and powerful sect and that’s just how it goes in big and powerful sects. children are signed away with promises of aid and protection and material tributes. lan zhan, as the second heir and dead disciple, is very aware of his popularity among sects. he gets a betrothal proposal every month. he doesn’t feel a particular way about it - it’s just another one of the duties that naturally come with his status
it is slightly annoying, though. he’s received a ridiculous proposal letters in the past four years, starting when he was fourteen. it distracts him from his studies and responsibilities because he’s required to give each letter a considerable amount of attention and thought, although the answer stays the same.
so one day, he just - accepts. one of these letters. he’s informed his betrothed is called wei ying, courtesy wuxian, and that’s it.
he expects it to be nothing more than what he’s seen close-up: respectful but distand, carefully neutral and strategically detached.
what a surprise it is when he sees wei ying for the first time and thinks, shit, he’s beautiful. what a surprise it is when wei ying turns out to be the most disagreeable and provocative person lan zhan’s ever met. what a surprise it is when lan zhan doesn’t really mind too much.
Chapter Summary: Spencer’s not one for unsolicited physical contact — except, of course, when it comes from you.
A/N: This is a gift more one of my best friends, @johnmulaneyslut! Congratulations girl, by turning me into a Reid stan you’ve officially guaranteed yourself a whole lot of fluff in the near future, and THAT’S on the season 9 haircut.
Masterlist
Spencer doesn’t like the way lies taste in his mouth.
He knows there’s no logical reason for it. Lies are only constructs of the human understanding of deception, after all. They aren’t tangible, they aren’t edible, and they certainly aren’t accompanied by the acidic tang characteristic of citrus, yet even still he’s never been able to tell one without the bitter taste of lemon blooming across the tip of his tongue.
So he tries not to tell them very often. Not to unsubs, though it had been unavoidable during this last case and the mental gymnastics he’d had to perform to keep the guy from unloading a gun full of bullets into a slew of innocent bystanders — including one of his fellow agents. Not to Hotch, or Morgan, or any of the rest of the team, not since he’d gotten clean and stayed that way. And not to you, despite the fact that he’d wanted to tell you he wasn’t even a little bit tired when you’d sat next to him on the jet and encouraged him to try and get some sleep.
He’s still getting used to having you around — or, more accurately, you’re still acclimating to being around him. You haven’t rolled your eyes in irritation at his rambling yet, or poked fun at his habit of volunteering fun facts that may or may not be only somewhat related to the original topic of conversation. It’s hard to wrap his mind around, especially when you respond to his tangents with wide, curious eyes and genuine smiles, or even the occasional enthusiastic chime of your voice when you have something to add yourself. You haven’t yet fixed him with a pointed look implying that you wished he would learn to take a hint and stop talking.
Most notable, Spencer thinks, is that you haven’t made him feel other. He’s been waiting for it to happen. It always does with new agents, like Prentiss, before they’d gotten to know each other very well, and then Seaver, who he never quite figured out how to talk to. But things are different with you. Easier. Which is why falling asleep sitting next to you on the jet came natural as breathing, even though he knew he’d catch flack from Morgan about it once you weren’t around to hear the teasing.
It’s your voice that brings him to, your soft, honeyed tones a gentle encouragement toward consciousness. You’re humming some achingly sweet melody beneath your breath, and the way the notes carry through the silence of the cabin, underscored by Morgan’s light snores nearby, tells him that everyone else is fast asleep. It nearly breaks his heart when you fall silent at his sudden stirring.
“Spence?” you murmur, prodding at his shoulder with your palm. He doesn’t remember falling asleep laying in your lap — he’s never done it before, or asked to, or been invited to — but the way your voice hits his ears and your words fan his cheek mean he must have. “Can you hear me?”
He doesn’t know what makes him stay silent. The warmth of your palm leeching through his shirt, maybe, or the way that the scent of your perfume lulls his breaths into a slow, deep rhythm to catch more and more of it. It might have something to do with the way his name floats off your tongue, making him feel those things in his stomach that are way too intense for anyone who claims to be a casual friend. Spencer can’t really say one way or the other. All he knows is that he’s... not quite ready to break the moment.
So he doesn’t.
“You look so calm when you sleep,” he hears you breathe, an odd note of fondness he’s never noticed before lining the edges of your words. He’s so distracted trying to figure out the reasoning for its sudden appearance that his body almost forgets to process the feeling of your warm fingers carding through his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp. “What’s going on in that head of yours right now?”
Symphonies. Nonstop bursts of fireworks, so loud and jarring he can barely make out your words over the cacophony drumming through his skull. His own heartbeat magnified twenty times louder than is normal, harmonizing with the beat of yours, which he can hear from where his ear presses against the lower edge of your sternum. Maybe that’s why he can’t taste the lie of pretending to be asleep — his senses are already too overloaded to register much of anything else.
“You’re really pretty, you know,” you laugh quietly as the pads of your fingers gently skim across his forehead. He wants to open his mouth to repay the compliment — it’s only right, he thinks, especially considering you’re much prettier than he could ever be (not that you would ever let him tell you that) — but doing that would mean sacrificing the feeling of your hands in his hair, and he’s not really sure when he’ll ever get the chance to feel that again. “But I’m sure all the girls tell you that.”
They don’t, actually. The only person who tells him he’s pretty on a regular basis is Morgan, and even then, Spencer’s pretty sure it’s just to get under his skin in the teasing fashion of an older brother. His mother’s called him handsome before — or, rather, she’s mentioned how handsome he would be if he’d ever get a proper haircut. But no one’s ever just... meant it. Not the way it seems like you do right now, with your hands rhythmically running through his curls, nails dancing lightly at the nape of his neck. He can’t pay too much attention to the way it makes his stomach flip — he’ll shiver if he’s not careful, and then the ruse will be up — but he files it away to pore over in his privacy later on in the night, just like he files away the curiosity that comes when he thinks about why you’re whispering to him while under the impression that he isn’t awake to know the difference.
“I know you’ve been going through a tough time lately,” you tell him. It’s ridiculous that he’s entranced, captivated, hanging on your every word, but he is. He is. And laying here, with his head in your lap, he’s not particularly sure he minds. “But you know I’m here for you, don’t you? You’ll always have me. If you need someone to talk to, or someone to distract you, or... I don’t even know, if you just want someone to sit next to in complete silence. I’ll be that person for you.”
He can’t understand why you’re saying this to him now, while you think he’s unconscious and dreaming. He admits he’s been touchy lately. It’s getting close to the anniversary of everything that happened with Maeve, and though it’s been two years now, he still has issues coping with those events, or even talking about how they’d made him feel in the aftermath. It’s hard. He doesn’t want to forget her — even if he did, he knows he’d never be able to figure out how — but he also knows he can’t always become a haunted shell of himself for four to six weeks every year. It’s not conducive to productivity, and it’s certainly not conducive to keeping his coworkers from worrying after him.
On the other hand… there’s no way that the thoughts you inspire are especially conducive to productivity, either. He’s caught himself staring across desks in the bullpen much too long for subtlety, offering little waves and funny faces every time you catch him, each one in the hopes of making you smile. His face betrays his eagerness each time Hotch pairs the two of you together on cases, which, lately, seems to be more often than not. He’s started bringing you coffee most mornings, except for those ones where you text him hours before he even wakes up — he can’t tell whether you’re an early riser or a chronic insomniac — with a Morning, Sunshine! Sweet treats on me ;) and Spencer doesn’t know what it is about the winky face, but it’s stuck around in his mind for weeks now and it doesn’t appear to be in danger of going anywhere any time soon. It’s all of these things and so many more that have his mind racing, swirling with thoughts of you and whether what he ponders while he lies awake at night is in breach of the sweet little slow dance the two of you have been doing since you joined the team after Emily left.
Something warm and soft presses to his forehead, then. The sensation is so foreign that it actually takes a full five seconds before he realizes that the only possible explanation is that you’ve just kissed him.
“I love you, Spencer,” you whisper gently against his skin. “I just… I hope you know I love you.”
You go back to carding your fingers through his hair, then, without so much as another word. Resisting the urge to protest is difficult — your voice has fast become Spencer’s favorite sound and you’ve spoiled him to the point of entitlement in the last five minutes. He wants to hear you say his name again, if only to play it on a loop in his mind until the next occurrence. He isn’t above making the request, either, but that requires revealing that he’s been listening to your heartfelt prattling and he doesn’t want you to think he’s the type to eavesdrop, despite the fact you’d been speaking to him in the first place. But then you start humming again, some cordial tune he can’t put his finger on, and Spencer is mercifully spared from having to decide whether or not he should betray himself.
And as he lets himself drift back into sleep, the feel of your hands in his hair and the warm, quiet tones of your voice lulling him peacefully along… Spencer realizes.
First ever digital art! There is A LOT, A LOT to improve on. [It took me forever to realize what the magic want was for...] But its the first ever drawing I’ve ever completed. No hopefully I can finish the Fanfiction to accompany this!
Another chapter of SM Academy is up. The chapter written before will be proof read and edited. There are some grammar mistakes in those but not in the last one. I was busy and I didn˙t have a beta reader at a time. I hope you will like the story either way :)
🦋 Butterflies🦋./ love triangle/ Kageyama X (YN) X Oikawa - - thankful - (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1090444690-%F0%9F%A6%8B-butterflies%F0%9F%A6%8B-love-triangle-kageyama-x-yn-x?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=simp_de_tsukishima1 (Y/N) goes to the Karasuno high school. Over all those years that she was pretty shy and just had a couple of friends. No one really noticed her presence until she came back to school . The summer holidays are over, school starts again and it seems like that she got a huge glow up. Kageyama noticed how much (Y/N) has changed but so does the Captain from the aoba johsai as well. How could I ever choose between the famous settler from my school or date the captain from the rival volleyball team , I asked myself.
