#13 years later and my taste hasn't changed

[thewildsophia]

WordGirl//Dr. Two Brains x Reader

A/N: Back on my bullshit again lmaoo. Idk why but my sister reminded me of how 6-year-old me was in love with Two Brains back in like 2010. Anyway, I'm very disappointed by the shattering lack of fanfics for this guy. So, like always, I made my own headcanons for him. I actually do have a full fanfic drafted out for him, but I'm not sure when it will be finished.

A/N pt 2: LMAO I FORGOT TO TAG THIS PERSON. So I got the idea from an ask on @cheese-induced-madness ‘s page about an affectionate reader and wanted to do my own version of it.

A/N pt 3: so apparently it wasn’t cheese induced madness who posted the prompt I was referencing??? I had to search for it again but it was actually by @dearest-painter. Sorry!

Words: 1489

"Read More Link" placed due to length

Dr. Two Brains x Affectionate!Reader

I imagine it’s in Reader's nature to be both physically and verbally kind, but with Dr. Two Brains their affection is multiplied by like 100 lmao.

And Dr. Two Brains LOVES it omg.

Two Brains is also affectionate in nature but doesn’t show it often until you and him become official. I mean, he loves his henchmen but he doesn’t always treat them the best :/

You and him are probably both touch-starved sorry I don’t make the rules. But that’s okay because you have each other.

You would often try to be in physical contact with him as much as possible: brushing shoulders, holding hands, bonking heads, anything really that allows you to touch him. It’s your own brand of affection and he doesn’t mind the unconventional choice of touch.

I feel like he’s also weird with the way he chooses to show physical affection. Like yes, he enjoys hugs and holding hands, but he also gives little love bites while kissing you or he straight up just walks up to you and bites your shoulder. He’s very careful with his teeth tho.

You often try to keep him calm while he’s working on things. Squeaky doesn’t let him rest much, so Two Brains gets antsy when he’s not being productive.

He may have been working on something for hours on end without taking any breaks, so you’ll walk up behind him, rest your chin on his shoulder, and lace your fingers with his, stopping his motions. He’d ask you what’s wrong before you’d hug him, wrapping his own arms around his waist and kissing his cheek. 

He’d giggle at the ticklish sensation of your lips on his skin and shake from being embraced so tightly. You’d whisper sweet nothings into his ear before letting go of him and allowing him to turn around and face you. 

If you told him to take a break, he’d do it in a heartbeat for you. 

You’d cook sometimes for him, and other times he’d cook for you. Most dishes have cheese in them, but occasionally he’s able to eat something small without cheese and squeaky not getting upset at it. 

I could see you two carrying each other around the secret hideout at random times. Like you could be doing your work or cooking and he’s on your back. Or Two Brains may be working on some invention and you’re on his back, arms wrapped around his neck and legs hugging his waist. 

You can’t tell me he doesn’t have the strength to do so. And since I’m tall and strong you’re also strong. Sorry, I make the rules now lmao. 

You also like to carry him with him facing you and peppering kisses across his face and neck, leaving him a flustered and stuttering mess in your arms. 

Sleeping with this man (not like that (¬_¬") ) is so random and never consistent. He sleeps at random times, sometimes late at night, other times in the middle of the afternoon. 

The only consistent thing is how he chooses to sleep with you.

He often begs you to go to sleep with him even if you just woke up. He says that you calm him enough to actually fall asleep and that you keep squeaky at bay. 

If you just woke up you’ll lay with him until he falls asleep and then go back to whatever you do. If you were just about to go to bed then there’s no problem!

I will say that this man is ALWAYS all over you. He often likes to lay on you lmao. Even if he didn’t start off laying on you - like if you two were originally just next to each other - you’ll wake up in the morning barely being able to breathe because this man is laying on you like you’re the fucking mattress. 

Two Brains will apologize with this small voice and it’s hard to stay man at him. 

He also likes to snuggle into you. Two Brains likes to lay his head under your chin and face in your neck where he’ll kiss you while his arms wrap around your waist with legs tangled. 

He likes it when you gently comb your fingers through his hair, being careful of the mouse brains, and whisper quiet words of affirmation to him. He falls asleep FAST. 

Little. Spoon. Fr.

This man just LOVES to be held and you hold him so gently okay??? 🥺

He feels secure in your arms. You hold him firmly yet carefully and he’s never felt so loved than in those quiet moments. 

Two Brains probably gets a little jealous when you also dote on his henchmen. He knows that it’s just your nature to be kind and physically affectionate, so he doesn’t actually get mad when he catches you squeezing their shoulders or hugging the two together. 

He’s just a little jealous that it isn’t him you’re holding (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

He gets over it fast when you run up to his and rest your head on his shoulder. Or better yet you, literally, sweep him off his feet and deposit the both of you somewhere else.

When it comes to dealing with the mouse brain, your verbal affection shines. 

There are some days when Two Brains and his mouse brain disagree with each other, the mouse brain usually berating Two Brains. You’re there to comfort him and get the mouse brain back in line.

Because of that, the mouse brain doesn’t particularly like you. It thinks you're nothing more than an obstacle in the way of acquiring more cheese. When Squeaky took control he forced Two Brains to push you as far away as possible. It hurt, but you knew those weren’t the actions of Two Brains himself.

When Two Brains was allowed to be himself again this man was crying, BEGGING for your forgiveness and him affirming how much he loved you and didn’t want you to leave him.

You told him you were never mad at him and THREW himself at you. Bro had you pinned down on the ground just by laying on you and crying into your chest. He didn’t move for a few hours lmao.

Two Brains gets flustered a lot. He’s not used to much verbal affection considering he’s a villain and all. Even when he was just Steven no one really paid mind to him in that way.

So whenever you say something simple like, “You look handsome today, as you do every day.” or “You’re so pretty <3” he absolutely loses his mind. This man is blushing and stuttering like a little schoolboy omggg.

He also just really appreciates hearing you say kind things about him; Two Brains doesn’t have the best self-esteem. He’s more than confident in his intelligence, but not so much in the physical department.

He knows that he looks…odd. Not many people found him attractive when he was Steven, and even less now as Dr. Two Brains. So hearing you say he’s pretty and that you love him makes his day every time.

But he doesn’t just receive compliments from you; He makes sure to voice just how much he loves you the same way you do. 

He says casual things like, “You’re so sweet.” or “Oh, look how pretty my S/O is.” It’s so cute really, he can’t help but blush whenever he’s trying to compliment you. You just make him so nervous sometimes because you’re so beautiful/handsome (whatever you prefer) to him.

In more intimate movements like when you two are cuddling or just enjoying each other’s presence in the few fleeting free moments, Two Brains is much more confident in what he says. He’s not as much of a blushing mess as when you two are around his henchmen or Wordgirl. He’ll whisper how much he loves and adores you, pressing gentle kisses to your skin in between breathless praises.

However, if you say even the simplest of compliments to him in these moments, all of his previous confidence leaves his body and he’s back to the muttering, stumbling mess he usually is. 

Call him pretty, call him smart, call him kind he absolutely loves every word you say about him. Just be careful with how much you say in one sitting because one complements too many and he’ll start crying from how much he loves you.

Two Brains is a sucker for praise. His henchmen often praise him for his intelligence and ingenuity with his creations, but this man will do anything for you to praise him.

Two Brains will make inventions based on your late-night ramblings or he’ll cook and clean for you; This man would pull the stars out of the night skies as a gift for you if you only said the word.

Dr. Two Brains is completely and totally infatuated with you and he’s so lucky that he’s found someone who is equally infatuated with him.

[archivalofsins]

The Futa and Mikoto dynamic in the latest minigram-

MILGRAM EP57 "Caffeine"

[57-1]

Mahiru: Would anyone like some coffee?

Yuno: Do you have any sugar?

Mahiru: Of course!

Yuno: Thank you very much.

Mahiru: Want some sugar?

roar

Futa: Why are you only asking me?!

[57-2]

Mikoto: I don't think she meant anything by it.

Futa: I can't keep my mouth shut when they want to make assumptions and treat me like a little kid.

Futa: It's bitter.

Mikoto: (Maybe it's because you act like this.)

Mikoto: It's a matter of taste.

Mikoto: So, I don't think it relates to being a kid or an adult.

Mikoto: Also, you should apologize later.

Futa: How about you then?

Mikoto: Me?

Mikoto: I've gotten used to drinking coffee.

Mikoto: It's not really a love/hate thing.

OVERTIME

ENDLESS PHONE CALLS

PILES OF WORK

Mikoto: Coffee was more like something like a must have...

Futa: ?

The way Mikoto says taste has nothing to do with being a child or adult. That mindset right there is why I believe Amane let's her guard down around him and allows herself to be childish when he's around.

21/04/16 (Amane’s First Trial)

Amane: …………

Mikoto: Oh, welcome back Amane! ……what’s with the grim face? Ah, right, the guard summoned you! How was it? Did you cry? I bet you were so scared you cried, right!?

Amane: ……alright then. If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get.

Mikoto: Huh? Oooi! Hey, are you listening?? Ooooi!

Along with why, when he became more standoffish in response to her verdict and she saw him being avoided, she began to avoid others. Turning people away when they approached her as she saw them not approaching him. So, she may have gotten the impression that others were only approaching her due to her age, not because they cared about her.

Something that could give further context to Shidou noting Mikoto and his behavior specifically in his second trial written interrogation,

Q.07 Are there any prisoners you get along with?

Shidou: Kayano-kun has become like that, and I can’t spend my time smoking at the moment, so the smoking trio has disbanded, which is a bit lonely.

Despite him and amikoto around this same time being drawn smoking together. Along with Kazui literally encouraging Shidou to take breaks in the timeline as well. Plus, Mikoto's change in attitude having very little to do with him not smoking to his own admission in the same answer. Like he states he just hasn't had the time to do it at the moment but starts with noting Mikoto's attitude isn't helpful. Probably because he thinks Amane is mirroring him and he's not srtying a good example for the kids. Which isn't his fucking responsibility since he's in a high stress situation for one.

Secondly, despite being like this, he's still better with kids than Shidou is. Let that fucking sink in.

Amane let's herself be childish around Mikoto because he's less likely to judge her solely based on being a child. Instead as he would treat her like any other person. He'd treat her as herself and someone he only knows about through their own individual actions.

Not base his judgment of her off of something she has no control over like her age-

20/06/13

Amane: ……what’s wrong, Shidou-san? Your hand has stopped marking. This is mathematics, so there’s no questions about the answers. If I got something wrong, please mark it with an X.

Shidou: I…… I just don’t understand. If everything about MILGRAM is true…… why did a child like you have to become a murderer? Just imagining what sort of circumstances must have led to that, it makes me so sad……

Amane: ……*sigh*. Is that right. I don’t think I’m going to get along with you, Shidou-san. I don’t agree with the fact you refuse to acknowledge that I have my own free will, and that I should be held accountable for my actions, just because I’m a child. I may have only been alive for 12 years, but all the choices I’ve made, even if they weren’t the best ones, were entirely my own. What point is there in you getting sad when I have no regrets myself? ……please give me back my test. It seems you don’t have the concentration levels required to be my teacher. I’m going to get Kotoko-san to teach me instead.

Shidou: Amane…… I don’t think that’s true. However smart you may be…… you’re still just a child.

Mikoto, in contrast, recognizes that Mahiru asking Futa if he wanted sugar had nothing to do with her treating him like a child. Instead, this was Mahiru being considerate and taking note of Futa's taste and behavior. Then giving him the opportunity to adjust his drink to his liking. Something that goes totally unappreciated because he gets upset that she didn't ask Mikoto the same thing.

When in all honesty I wouldn't put it past Mahiru to have taken a glance at Mikoto soulessly drinking his coffee and internally go,

"Nothing will make him like this drink. I don't even think he tastes it. There's hope for Futa though."

That's how neutral he is to it. Hell, he even admits he's neutral to the drink in this same conversation. Referring to it as a must-have or a necessity for his job. He's basically just drinking it because it's there, and it's now a habit for him to drink it when it's available due to the environment he was in prior to this. He just mindlessly with no real thought went hey there's coffee might as well get some then when asked went oh yeah I have no feelings towards this drink.

Leaving Futa there confused downright puzzled like of you don't like or hate it why did you voluntary get some as Mikoto is their having trauma flashbacks like,

"God the work, the hours, the phonecalls...coffee my only reprieve and fuel. The thing I needed but..."

Yet this also shows off something about Mikoto that gets overlooked. The guy is no pushover. Even though he doesn't want to be rude he will be direct and tell others when they mess up. Going ad far to tell Futa,

"You should apologize later."

While talking Futa through the mistake of tying taste to maturity.

Because that's a stupid thing to fucking do. Assuming having preferences when it comes to what one eats or a person has to eat a certain food due to their age alone and no other health reasons is stupid.

20/06/03

Futa: ……huh? What’s your problem? You��re just leaving all your meat? What a weird kid.

Amane: You say that, but you’re not eating all of your food either. ……are you not able to eat your vegetables? Even though you’re an adult.

Futa: Huh, what, so you’re just eating grass? What are you, a rabbit or something? Since you’re just a brat, you should be eating your meat properly. You won’t grow if you don’t.

Amane: ……you make some really funny jokes, don’t you, Futa-san.

Eat what you like regardless of age isn't a hard concept to grasp. Going I can't eat this it's too childish or drinking something a way you don't like to seem more mature is a waste of your own time..if it doesn't taste good don't eat if you don't want it politely decline. If you actually do want it eat it.

Mikoto respects Futa's behavior here but ultimately gets the point that Shidou has been failing to get with Amane. If the problem is the act of consuming certain things has been intrinsically tied to a person's age you should remove that pretense entirely by going,

"I don't think it relates to being a kid or an adult."

Taste is just taste. Instead of continually pushing like you're a child, children like sweets come have some pancakes. Can I tempt you into these childlike pleasures, Amane? Shidou they're fucking pancakes they don't have an age restriction you absolute tool. A lot of adults enjoy them, too. Shidou goes through every possible reason Amane should try these things while missing the point of why she ultimately doesn't taste it. Because he's arbitrarily decided she should like and try these things because she's a child and has consistently chosen to ignore the fact she declined.

Unlike Mahiru, who gets yelled at and just leaves. To the point that even Mikoto says Futa should apologize for that. This is why I find the dynamic between Amane and Mikoto, and Futa and Mikoto so interesting. Because when they get upset he stays leveled for the most part and gives them space to be themselves without outwardly labeling their mindsets as childish and immature. Because on some level he gets it which makes him more likely to talk it out to them like they're people instead pf just blatantly lecturing them about being roo childish or immature.

Instead of going you're acting like a child he'll just bluntly go its a bother having you be angry all the time in a way of seeking attention.

20/06/15

Mikoto: Hey, it’s kinda a bother having you be so angry and tense all the time. You should stop trying get everyone to pay attention to you. You’re a uni student, right? You can’t act like that once you start working properly.

Futa: Huh!? Shut up. Not like I care what you say. Even though we’re in this shitty situation, you’re just chatting away, it’s stupid. Aren’t you the one who’s acting out of place here? ……also the fact you give everyone nicknames is just gross.

Mikoto: *sigh* It’s more stupid to be taking this all so seriously. I mean, it’s definitely just a reality TV program. There’s no way a real prison exists that’s this lax. Also, I don’t give nicknames to everyone. I don’t give them to young kids like Amane, or to the hard-to-approach types like Shidou-san. I mean, I’m not giving you one, right?

Futa: ……oi, which group are you trying to say I am?

Futa "I don't care what you say" Kajiyama. Also how do you feel about coffee, which group do I fall under there. You called out my anger as attention seeking well the way you nickname people is gross.

*sigh*

Is right Mikoto it's absolutely right. Even when reprimanding him and bringing something adjacent to age Mikoto still focuses on social standing. How it won't be beneficial and instead inappropriate for Futa to behave how he is here when he does join the workforce. It's a perspective hard to combat because it's reasonable and straightforward. It's also something Mikoto doesn't have to say at all unless he is genuinely concerned in some way. Futa's behavior can lead to him being ostracized or deemed unapproachable and rude in a work environment who cares it's not his job to correct that. He can just learn the hard way like everyone else has to.

Haruka's social skills are kind of poor and could lead to problems with others.

20/06/05

Haruka: Ah…… ah, u-um, Mikoto-san. The c-communication……? thing, that you were saying was important. I-I thought, I’d give it my best…… Um, so, Mikoto-san, what’s your favourite food……?

Mikoto: Ooh? Nice going, Haru-kun~

Yeah, we still have no idea how long this lifestyle will go on for, so it’s best if we all get along together here.

My favourite food…… I like pasta and horse-meat sashimi. Also bubble tea, and recently I’ve been big on custard puddings. What about you?

Haruka: ……ah, I, I wonder…… H-hamburg steak, and omurice, a-and also…… what else? Ah. Cotton candy……

Mikoto: C-cotton candy!? That’s the first time I’ve met someone who has that in their top three favourites!? ……man, Haru-kun, you really are hilarious.

Who cares it's not his job to tell him how to practice that or make sure everyone is communicating well with others. He is in this weird situation it would ve so much easier to just keep to himself and mind his business. Like Kotoko does at the start but instead he behaves in a way similar to Mahiru.

Yet, instead of just talking with others to include them, Mikoto gives them pointers on how to further include themselves. Whether they're talking with him or not. He goes well- Here are these tools that could make communicating easier and more beneficial to you. This is important to setting the right atmosphere now off you go. Then when it works out he's proud of them.

He states they've grown and changed into good people and he doesn't shove the thing in their face or even take any credit for it.

22/10/06 (Mikoto’s Birthday)

Haruka: Mikoto-san. Um, are you ok……?

Mikoto: Ah, Haru-kun. It’s been a while since we last talked, huh. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you doing ok……?

Haruka: Ah, I’m fine. I’ve been enjoying myself, a lot. Um, I’m sorry, for avoiding you. I was a bit scared. Of you, honestly……

Mikoto: Ahhh, yeah. I’ve been lashing out whenever I go to sleep, right? ……it’s fine. Even I think you’re right to be scared.

You know, I kinda just hate that I don’t even know what’s going on myself…… haha.

Ah, but despite all that you still came and talked to me because it’s my birthday, right? Thank you, you’ve grown into a good man.

Then he just continues living like oh that's good proud of you for coming so far back to the suffering I go now.

Haruka: Wait you said you were fine.

Mikoto:

Even when it comes to welcoming Amane back and seeing that she was upset after her interrogation. Why was Mikoto the one who did that and not Shidou?

Why did Mikoto see Amane being quiet and clock that something was up and not the guy literally attempting to force himself in a parental role over her. Why was it when Amane was actually upset he was the only one to take a second and go hey are you good oh wait yeah the interrogation of course you're upset- my god it must have been terrible for you!

Why was he here in regard to any of these situations? When literally anyone else could have been noted. Because Mikoto, unlike Shidou and possibly to Shidou's annoyance- Is good with those Shidou regards as children. When he talks to Amane, she listens and takes him seriously. She even takes notes when Shidou talks to her he gets pancakes thrown in his face. This is all because Mikoto's way of speaking respects that someone is a person first and doesn't emphasize the things they don't have control over and may be sensitive about.

Outside of blatantly telling them like here, being an adult or a child isn't tied to things like that. Because it's not tied to food preferences it's tied to the choices we make and why. Anyone can be a better and more considerate person if we just work on communicating properly with those around us. That sort of mindset and knowing when not to rub someone's face in something because he doesn't rub in Futa's face that he complains about the drink being bitter after complaining about being asked if he wanted sugar which at that point he clearly needed it. No he keeps that's shit to himself and just thinks pinpoints what caused Futa to respond in such a hostile way and goes I don't think that's how that works. He goes to the root insecurity and goes no what you like to eat is not tied to whether you're a child or an adult. It's just what you like to eat or don't.

Which is really good on so many levels and highlights so well why he does get along with most of the younger prisoners.

[beelmons]

love comes in moments.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader Rating: Mature, 13+. Tags: Angst, no happy ending, Reid!POV, slow burn if you squint Word count: 6,772 Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid writes a memoir about the 15 years he spent by your side, and everything you went through since the moment you joined the BAU. A/N: I wanted to feel utter pain, so I wrote it. Hopefully you will suffer with me. Also, this hasn't been proof read, so things might change a bit during the week as I re-read it. This fic ended up having an aftermath with an slightly happier ending, you can read it here Heavily inspired by these two songs: 1 , 2 Tag list: @hey-dw @cassiemartzz

“Entry 1: The humble beginnings. 

I still remember the day you first came through the doors of the unit. Shoulders down, your stare facing the floor, walking slightly behind Gideon. You were nervous, at the least, but if your body spoke as loudly as I was guessing, terrified would have been a more accurate word. 

I couldn’t shake your hand, the germophobia wasn’t always nice to me, but you didn’t care. You understood. You faked a high-five, and just like that we had our own little inside joke. I had made a new friend within thirty seconds of meeting her; that was a first, but silly me, twenty-something and naïve, I couldn’t notice right away that a woman like you was meant to be many “firsts”, and even greater “onlys.”

“She’ll be your partner, be nice.” those were Hotch’s words. 

Not until much later would I have come to realize the weight of that warning. Trained eyes could reach everything I wasn’t able to. I wonder if you noticed the utter adoration that man had for you, as a subordinate, as a friend, as a companion. Aaron always had that eagle-like eye to spot people who needed him just as much as he needed them. Emily and Derek were a clear example, but that’s besides the point. 

Now, believe me when I say I’m sorry I didn’t notice how beautiful you were the second I laid my eyes on you. Perhaps, that would have saved us a lot of pain, or rather given us a lot more happiness. I was, to my ill luck, blinded by my adoration for someone else. I wouldn’t label it a mistake, it’s fair to say it was just an unfortunate event at the time, that would later come in doubles, and then in triples, like a series of them. 

Do you remember that book? ‘A series of unfortunate events’ by Lemony Snicket. It was the first thing you gave me as a birthday present, that and the ridiculous hat that haunts me to this day. Engraved in my mind I have the expression you made when I told you it was a children’s book. 

“No way! I’m giving a children’s book to a genius?!” the anguish in your voice was palpable, you were truly ashamed. 

“Well, this is not the illustrated version, so it’s technically not a children’s book. I love it, thank you.” I tried to reassure you, but I wasn’t very good at that.

Maybe, you just wanted your partner to like you, to show me you were trying, or to prove that you could know me as much as the others in such little time, but regardless of the reason you felt like you’d failed. I could see it, and I regret not letting you know just how precious that possession would turn out to be. 

Months later, we would also come to know that you couldn’t stand for that long without moving, otherwise your legs would feel swollen for days. Six hours you spent with me at the shooting range, even after Hotch had given up. They had to kick us out, and out of hunger we found that indian restaurant that’s open 24/7. I refuse to believe I still failed that certification, you were one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, but I’ll always be thankful for every missed shot, since that night I found the wonder that butter chicken was. My first time having indian food. 

Interestingly enough, we didn’t go back to that place on our own, jobs, people, life always getting in the way. Now I understand, then, it was no wonder the chicken never tasted the same.  

Entry 2: Trial, one of many. 

I still wonder how you always managed to show up, regardless of the way I constantly seemed to juggle with my own life. The first time I died, courtesy of Tobias Hankle’s dad, I wondered if my mom was going to be okay. Funny, huh? Even in death I found it hard to put my life first. I know that always pissed you off, and I never knew better, and I’m sorry to tell you I’ve kept the bad habit, I’m afraid. 

Peaceful doesn’t quite describe the way it felt, my last breath I mean. Relieved, I guess, would fit better. I had told you before, hadn’t I? The hospital she was in, the books she liked best, the letters I wrote everyday. It was a hopeful relief, I craved that you would have come to care for me enough to look after my mother if I were to be gone. 

Luckily, you didn’t get the chance to prove it, but many years later I would understand that, back then and there, you would have moved heaven and earth for me; and I should have known by the way your arms found me amidst the dark of that cemetery. I should have known by the way you stayed in my messy apartment throughout the night, by the way you held my arm when I woke up shaking in terror, and by the way you repeated that same routine every evening for almost a week. 

Should have known after you dropped everything to meet me at Gideon’s cabin as I cried over his gun and badge, as I mourned someone that I hadn’t lost, as I yet again felt insufficient to remain, to make him stay. I’m still not sure why I called you. Perhaps you would share the burden of losing a mentor, or maybe you would notice that I was breaking down, that I was too weak to fix myself, and even weaker to ask for help. No one reached out for me because I never screamed, no one knew how bad I needed it. And yet, with a simple whisper miles away, you came. You showed up. 

I should have known right when you were sitting by the toilet bowl, your hair tie loosely holding my hair together so it wouldn’t get dirty. Did I think I looked good with that? Why did I ever leave it that long? Stop, I can’t also be rambling while I write, not that you ever minded the infinite data of nothingness, did you? Circling back, I still feel the coldness of your fingers, pale with concern, as they curled around my trembling wrist while I threw up my guts and soul in that white container. 

“You should go.” I would whisper in between gargles and spits. 

“And leave you like this?” you weren’t even looking at me. I guess the image of my body bent over a basin, sickly and frail, was enough to be engraved in your mind with one glance. 

“I’m just one of the 21 million americans that struggle with at least one addiction. I’m nothing special.” I grumbled with disdain “And you don’t have a magic wand you can wave and make it go away. You’re nothing special.” 

You sighed at my words, by then you knew how stubborn I could be, am I correct? It didn’t take a profiler to figure out something like that. “Only 10% seek help, though. Those odds make you special enough, don’t you think?” If you said anything else, I cannot remember. I could only focus on the fast speed of my beating heart, that I mistook for undesired side-effects of the drugs. 

Withdrawal can be hell, but I had already had a taste of that, so I figured I could handle a bit more of it. You, on the other hand, were not ready for the burden that was I. I could see the facade you put on whenever I said something so hurtful anyone else would have gone out running, the subtle swallowing of the knots in your throat, the deep, shaky breaths, the way your eyelids clung to the tears that threatened to come out. Yes, I should have known right then and there, after you met the worst of me, and yet stayed. 

Entry 3: Did I care to share? 

To be fair, you were a bit to blame for my obliviousness. A pure heart is a mystery for men who don’t know kindness, and life hadn’t been particularly tender to me. I had begun to question if, maybe, the lifeline that had become your gentle hand meant something else. But more often than not, I had learned that love follows after life, and if it had been gentle enough to give you to me, who was I, a mere mortal, to want more, to show greed. 

You were there for Elle and her revolting, for Morgan and his search for his truth, for Garcia and her desire to cling to life after her very own kindness had almost taken it from her, and for Hotch and his falling into the darkest of despairs. You would tell me how you had to cancel plans to make him company, how you woke up extra early to make sure he’d have breakfast, how you’d pretend to be walking by his new bachelor apartment as an excuse to check up on him, and spend extra hours just so you could get him to talk in his office.I watched you worry and give your best to put a smile on a saddened face. Just like you had done for me, and the many people that we both loved. It hurt, it selfishly hurt. Your love was so vast it could fill a dam and still pour, yet my thirst could barely be quenched. 

My skin still burns with the memory of your tears falling on my hand when I told you my cravings had started again. I saw the glint of failure in your eyes, like I had years ago with the children's book. It made me question if eidetic memory could translate to the sense of touch, to this day it is vivid, like they cover me again whenever I feel the urge, whenever I need to escape. 

Once again, you showed up. You showed up at my apartment to pick me up, like a toddler waiting to be taken to the doctors, only that the person that would fix me was not a medic, it was a sponsor. I don’t think I’d have been brave enough to show up by myself, to get help on my own, if I hadn’t been so scared to hurt you again, probably bad enough to finally push you away. 

It was okay, even if you were to be shared, if your heart had space for everyone else, I was happy to know I could belong as well, to be included. I was okay sharing you, as long as I got a piece. 

Entry 4: The dreaded distance. 

I never understood politics, or the system. Ironic, though, since human behavior is nothing but a mixture of different structures interacting together, creating a being that then I would dedicate my entire life to studying. But it was always so confusing, why would they rip you away from me? Didn’t they see how good you were? Perhaps that was the issue.

I still remember the way you clung to my chest when we were saying goodbye. Did the DEA really need you? Did it really have to be you? It wouldn’t be the only time the bureau would plot against me, against the hope I grasped on to continue doing my job, but it certainly was the hardest one, and mind you, the first one. The pain of having a friend ripped from my arms, a handful of things could only compare. 

Hotch would later come to confess that my hatred for the superiors was unfunded. You were not taken, you were a tribute. When Strauss came in arms, you had to surrender to protect me. They made Aaron choose between me and you, one had to leave, it wasn’t up for discussion, and you volunteered. Because you knew, I could barely make it anywhere else. 

“It’s been a while since I was hugged like this.” you said when we were strong enough to finally pull apart, when the clock was streaking 6, and there was no professional excuse to keep you in the building for longer. 

“Like what?” I had to ask. You deserved to be engulfed in arms every waking second. You deserved to be carried by the holiest of angels. Why wouldn’t I hug you like we were in a Shakespearean tragedy? 

“Like somebody was afraid of losing me.” you answered. 

Oh, my love, was I terrified.

Maybe I am dramatic. You weren’t dead, you weren’t gone, just in a different building, in the same city. I knew where you lived, where you bought your coffee, and your favorite place to dine in. Yet, you felt so far away, so out of reach I could barely handle it. I missed you, so dearly, so madly. 

Weekly escapades to the geekiest of places, a lousy street diner I was too scared to eat at, and that I would just because of you, the faking of high-fives whenever I got an idea, my favorite inside joke, the laughter in the bullpen at my unintentioned comments, the looking over my shoulder to see if you were still there, the joy in my chest whenever you entered the room, the love I didn’t know was love. All gone, away from me. 

Your midnight calls were balm to an open wound. Calming at the stake of some pain. And I knew, one of the very few things I knew, that you weren’t doing good in that place, that your pain was greater than you would express, but your body wouldn’t lie to me, it could never lie to me, the sighs between sentences, the strain in your voice, the tiredness in your breath. But I wasn’t like you, I couldn’t just show up, I didn’t know how. I didn’t know I helped. I didn’t know I was to you what you were to me. A beacon of light, of hope.  

I wondered what was hurting you. Was I not nice enough for you to tell me what, or who, was causing that to you? “Be nice” Hotch had said. Was he nicer? You always went to him for things like these, the matters of the heart. I had to hear from Garcia, months later, about that mysterious fellow agent that was making you cry, and I realized in that moment that I had never known rage. The pure, raw need to tear someone limb by limb. How dare he toy with a soul as giving as yours? Like using the crown jewel as a skipping stone. 

Fortunately, I was not the only one that wanted to protect you. Not the only one that cared enough. A visit from Morgan, a call from Hotch, and the rat was gone, for good, and you were back in the unit, for better. 

Entry 5: When I knew without knowing. 

You’d changed, I could see, and I’d heard heartbreak does that to a person. Yet your smile always seemed to shine bright. It shone for our boss, swallowed in deep grief, it shone for JJ as she was, to no one’s surprise, cruelly taken from us, it shone for Prentiss and her struggles, the ones that were there even when she wouldn’t confess to them. 

Do you remember the flame of my tears on your shoulder when I heard she was dead? I could barely stay home. The walls seemed to crush me if I was alone. I hopped from your house, to JJ’s, to the office, to yours yet again. Your arms were my solace, my God given solace. Whenever I turned, you were there. 

I don’t know what was harder to deal with: her death or her return to life. How did you manage to not take a side? You felt the same pain I did. You cried the same tears I shed. I wondered if you were always stronger than me. Stupid question, the answer was yes. 

“I’m just saying, Spencer.” you twirled around in my kitchen as you spoke, impatient since I was taking a long time to get ready, and there was an appointment to get to.

“Well, okay, then stop saying!” I was shoving a couple of books and other belongings, I can’t even remember what, as I subtly yelled at you. 

Time and again, the stupid book would slip out whenever I tried to close my bag. It was frustrating, infuriating. Kind as you were, you kneeled with me, your hand brushed mine, and a mere graze was enough to slow me down. I looked at you. Did you see pain? I know you did. You always did. My body couldn’t lie to you. 

“I feel it too.” you began to talk “The guilt. The wishing that she was still gone so you wouldn’t have to go through the excruciating pain of betrayal.” bullseye, as per usual. I started to cry; you always made me comfortable enough to break down without care. “If you truly don’t wish to make up with them, the girls, I’ll be on your side. You have the right to feel hurt. If you tell me, right now, hand to heart, that you want to skip Rossi’s dinner and go catch that ridiculous black and white movie, I’ll get up and walk beside you, like I’ve done countless times, and I will also be there, when you are filled with regret, and the words can’t leave your mouth to ask for their forgiveness for your attitude.”

Dragged by your hand, we showed up, and I felt it, the memory of a feeling long not emoted, the warmth of family. You were right, you were always right. I walked you to your place that night, stumbling a little from the wine, laughing about something Garcia and Morgan had said. We stood by your doorway, and you stopped. You looked at me, so deeply, so filled with pride. How could I be so stupid? I should have kissed you at that moment. I should have hugged you in a way you hadn’t before, in a way that told you that in this and many other lives, I needed you with me. I needed you to be mine. 

Entry 6: The start of my demise. 

I still wonder how you did it. How did you stand beside me with a straight face while you broke on the inside? Watching me slowly fall for someone else to a point of no return, a point of devotion you had long earned. 

You knew about Maeve before anyone else. I didn’t have to tell you, my smile gave me away, since you knew it better than anyone, you were the one that put it back there more than once. You supported my every move, my every whim, my every idea to please her, to make her love me. And she loved me, and I loved her, there’s no point in hiding it. 

How did you do it? Seriously, how did you advise me to court her and hear me rant about her  like she was the latest scientific breakthrough? How did you wear a straight face as mine lit up at the thought of her name? How did you pour your heart out to help me find her? All while wearing that damned smile, the cursed reason for my existence. How did you not fall in shambles as you watched me love her? I would have, without question.

So, I beg of you to tell me. How could you possibly love me while I loved someone else? 

It’s like a riddle whose answer is before me, but I can’t see it, I can’t find it. To this day it amazes me, the way that you remained outside my door throughout the night. Did you think I didn’t know you were there? The way you took care of my food and services. Did you know I couldn’t bring myself to even check my bank account? The way you saw through me when I came back to work. You knew I wasn’t okay, regardless of my attempts to prove so. 

You remained for months by my side, showing up at my door when the night got too cold, holding my head on your lap as I sobbed, as I, once again, mourned. You stood there with me trying to fix something someone else had broken, something you didn’t even know if you could glue back together. 

“If I believed in religion, at least I could cling to the hope of meeting her again.” I muttered, and you laughed a bit. 

“Perhaps in another universe, if you’re lucky enough.” smart of you to talk to me in terms I could understand.

“It doesn’t feel like it will ever end, you know? The grief.” I confessed to you as your fingers threaded on my locks, body too tired to hold up straight from crying, so my head laid on your thigh. 

“It will.” you reassured “Maybe not soon, but it will.” 

“Maybe.” I could only agree “but I can’t count on you to soothe my pain forever.” I only looked up because your fingers stopped moving, but I’m glad I did, I’m glad I caught your eyes, filled with endless determination, as you spoke. 

“Says who?” did you mean it? Forever? 

Entry 7: All that’s well… 

After JJ’s abduction, something drastically changed. Not just the two of us, but the entire team. Our secrets were no longer innocent and blameless, they were dangerous, harmful. They could tear us apart if not properly shared. They could push us away if we didn’t say them outright. 

My love for you was my deepest rooted secret, pushed so far into the drawer I had forgotten about it myself, too scared to pull it out, afraid I’d just have to push it back in without giving it a chance to show off. 

No more secrets. That’s the pact we all agreed on. I kept thinking about that as you walked with me. You knew it had hit me hard to see JJ so weak and hurt, reduced to bruises and agony; you also knew I would find a way to blame myself if I were to be left alone in that room, so you decided to make me some company. We dined in silence, utter absence of sound that did not, at any moment, feel odd. You walked with me, not next to me, with me. And you waited by the door for my invitation to enter. I could just stare at you, so beautifully patient, so wonderfully loving. So easy to love. 

“No more secrets.” I told you, my eyes unable to leave your face. 

“Yes, Spence. No more secrets.” you answered with that blissful smile of yours. You caught up rather quick that I was hiding something. I could never fool you, not you. “Is there something else you need to tell me?” you questioned me, and I could see the look in your eyes trying to subtly profile me. 

I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Over 7,000 languages are spoken in this world, and there were still not enough words to describe what I felt for you. I didn’t talk. My lips just found their way to yours, so naturally, so right. 

“This is a mistake.” you muttered. You were still unsure, you would tell me later, that life could be so kind to you, to have me love you. How silly of you, darling, to even dare to think I could not. 

Our bodies didn’t lie, they couldn’t lie to each other. Your tongue gave you away, it spoke of truce but tasted of war. Your hands explored all of my body, they felt my every vein, and tasted the pulse of a heart that beat for you. Your mouth spilled honey-like sounds as I greedily took every part of you for my pleasure. As I embedded your scent in my brain, to the record of things I loved about you. I had never made love. Sex, once or twice, but never love. I remember watching you sleep, your warm cheek on my bare chest; your hands, even unconsciously, clinging to my torso as if I were to slip away like a dream. But you felt so real, oh honey, you were so real. You were so mine. And I couldn’t remember the last time I was held so close I could touch love. 

I can still hear Hotch’s sermon. No more secrets, that’s what we pacted, and you were big on promises, but to be fair, so was I. An hour, I recall, we were shoved inside that office. Hands together, faces down, like children caught in the act. 

“Fraternization is dangerous,” it was his third time saying that “and if this were to come out, I would have to transfer one of you.” we didn’t care, and he could tell. He sighed, in defeat. “Just tell me one thing.” he changed directions “Are you happy?” 

He was asking you, yet pretended the question was for both. You didn’t entertain him with an answer. He already knew. He knew in the way you reached for my hand, in the way I held back a smile. He nodded. Did he approve? I don’t think we’ll ever know, but he protected us, he always protected us. 

That day, we drank and danced all together, as if our love was a reason for celebration. Apparently, it wasn’t a secret to anyone but us. Long ago they figured we’d end up together, even got some complaints for having been later rather than sooner. 

Life was good and kind with you by my side, filled with laughter, adventure, and pleasure. The darkest nights still glimmered with your presence, like a blindfold being lifted to reveal the cold truth; all it took for life to be kind was me loving you, and you loving me. 

Entry 8: Alone we stand 

When did I stop making sense? Curiously enough, that’s the one moment I can’t pinpoint. I broke a promise, and the downfall caught up. 

“Were you even going to tell me?!” you paced around my apartment in rage. 

“Come on, you know I was” I had gotten defensive, regardless of my wrongdoing. 

“When, exactly? After you had fixed it? ‘Cause you have to fix everything alone?” you snarked at me. 

“I don’t want to sound rude, but it’s a private matter.” worst phrasing I could have chosen, to be honest. 

“I’m your girlfriend, Spence. I think I have proven for quite a while now that I’m here for the bad and the worst. Instead, I have to find out your mother has Alzheimer’s through a hitman. You told a hitman before you told me!” I see now, that your anger was not unfounded. 

“She had a gun to my crotch! What did you want me to do!?” I tried to argue. 

“Oh, okay, so that’s what it takes to get you to open up?” 

No, you didn’t hold a gun to my crotch. You did way worse, you forgave me, and we moved on. But it was never the same, oh no, I could feel it, we both could feel it. How conversations seemed to require more energy, how the touches were more scripted than impulsive, how after a few hours you realized that you hadn’t thought about me in a little while. 

I tried to fix it. It’s what I always do. Perhaps if I could get us both in the same place, it would happen again, the spark that we had lost. I asked you to move in with me, and you agreed. We were happy again, not simply because of the fact, but because it was a great reminder for both of us, that the future was together, it had always been together. 

But alas, life isn’t kind enough. We had agreed to find a new place, somewhere we could turn ‘ours’ without getting rid of the ‘mine’. It was taking time, of course, since we wanted it to be perfect. And little did we know that time was the only thing in this world we didn’t have. 

The news of Hotch’s departure hurt us all in a way we never truly recovered from, but for you, for the never-ending-loving you, it left a wound I couldn’t close. I saw the always dreaded glint of loneliness in your eye, the same one I carried when Gideon left. I saw the breaking of a soul that had lost a mentor, a protector, you lost the ground you walked onto and never learned how to fly. 

We didn’t make it. I don’t think it was your fault, or mine, for that matter, life just happened so fast, so merciless. I loved you, that never stopped, and you loved me, I know that much. All I could do was hold on to the hope that I had made the right decision, the decision to push you away, to save you from the torture that our life would be. I would do anything for my mother, even if that meant standing back on my own, without you. 

I’m sorry, my love, that it took me so long to understand. That the strength you were lending me was not for me to judge, but to carry, to use as a tool to build what we dreamed of . I didn’t learn about it until JJ visited one day, when I was mourning the love that we had, that she told me what happened the day she showed up at your apartment, knees on the ground, to beg you to continue loving me. 

“It wasn’t my decision, Jennifer.” you said, barely allowing yourself to glance at her. 

“He’s just doing this because he thinks he’s protecting you, you know that.” she tried to argue on my behalf. 

“JJ, you are his best friend, if you’re asking me to convince him to change his mind, you know it would be easier to get Garcia to play soccer.” you were right, by the way. JJ was about to give up. 

“He needs you.” she kept trying. 

“No, he doesn’t.” you answered “He needs someone to be there for him, at his constant back and call, to dedicate their very being to his happiness, to pour out the entirety of themselves onto him, and I can’t be that person. I can’t.” 

“But why not!?” to her, it also didn’t make much sense. You always were, what was different this time? 

“Because I’m not whole.” you finally admitted. 

She had to hear you cry for hours at how lost you felt. I didn’t understand I’d become a part of you, and by taking me away, I was ripping a portion of who you were. With Hotch gone, there was no way you could fix yourself, not fast enough, at least. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t know. 

You stayed for the man that more than once had your back. You stayed to catch Mr. Scratch. I was no longer the hope you held on to, I was no longer the one you chased after, Aaron was your last hope, your last piece to make sense of whatever you felt like was happening around you. The person who would return to you the will to love something that wasn’t me. 

But he wasn’t there, and you were lost. 

Entry 9: Together we fall apart. 

I can’t blame you for leaving, you had no reason to stay, the job had long ago stopped making sense, it was the people that you loved what made you stick around, and now we were gone, in more than one sense. And believe when I say I missed you, with every pore of my heart, even if I couldn’t bring myself to reach out to at least know how you were doing. 

I did wonder, though, if having you around would have made a difference. If you could have seen something all of us missed, if you had protected me better, if you could had helped me when I didn’t know how to help myself. 

Cat Adams would ruin me in more than one way, sure, but regarding us, I’m sure now I’m the only one to blame. A series of unfortunate events by Spencer Reid.

“We told her you were in prison.” Emily said as she sat across the booth, with a crystal screen separating the both of us. There was no need to say your name. They all knew you were all I ever thought about. “She’s asking to be put on the list.” 

“Emily!” I yelled out of reflex .

“I’m sorry, Spence, but she’s really worried, and maybe she could help.” 

“My answer is no.” I watched her sigh as I said those words. 

“Can I at least tell her you’re thinking about it?” she still tried to convince me, for your sake. “And, will you think about it?” I nodded. 

I promise I thought it through, hard and well. It’s not that I didn’t want to see you, I didn’t want you to see me. I knew, I knew you would try to fix it, and I couldn’t do that to you, not again. Regardless, you still tried. You made sure my mother was safe and well, you made her company, it wasn’t your fault, I don’t hold it against you, they outsmarted us all. And I’m sorry, again, that after I was freed I still couldn’t bring myself to face you. 

Many things happened in the following years. I wish I could have seen you one more time just to tell you all about it. A coffee by my apartment window, a nap on that comfy living room couch, a laugh by the bullpen. The things I’d have done to have one more moment with you. 

The second time I died, it was way less scary. Guess I had some practice. If I told you who I saw, you wouldn’t have believed me, but it was the message that counted. I wasn’t ready to go, and I wasn’t ready to leave you. If I were to stay, I was going to fight to at least see you one more time, to hear your laugh once again.

My mom did tell me that I should be careful what I wish for, and when I woke up in that hospital room, after a horrible stroke nonetheless, I understood why. 

“Please don’t be mad at me.” Penelope remained for a second by my bed after my mom had left to get some water. 

My eyebrows furrowed the slightest, I couldn’t move that much. “What did you do?” 

“I didn’t know if you were going to make it, and I didn’t think much before I hit the call.” she continued to explain. 

Again, I could only tilt my head in confusion, something about having brain failure had made me the tiniest bit slower. The fog cleared very quickly, though, once I saw you walk through the door. You were as beautiful as the day I met you, only now I could see, and I would never cease to see. You walked to the bed and your hand reached out for mine, like it was supposed to be. 

“Hey, you.” you said softly. 

“Hey,” I muttered. If I had been able to breathe better, believe me I would have yelled out like an excited 5 year old “what are you doing here?” 

“I recently realized I’ve grown into the habit of showing up after you almost died.” you joked, and it was like time hadn’t passed at all “which, if you ask me, it’s a weird habit to have.” it was my turn to laugh, you always caused that in me. 

Penelope had stepped out, she knew we needed the space, as for our souls could only be bare if it was just the two of us. You came closer, and our eyes met, and time actually stopped, and everything was okay. 

“I will always love you.” I’m sorry I said it like that, I know it’s not what you expected. 

“Spencer…” you began to talk. 

“No, just,” I cut you off “I know I can get it right this time.” the way that you looked at me I will never forget, a look you had never given me, that you respected me too much to give me, the look of pity. 

“I’m not a second chances program” you started “I couldn’t just wait around until you were ready to notice that I was still there, that you allowed me back in.” 

Your tears threatened to fall. I could see them, that’s not what I wanted, that’s never what I wanted. I reached for your face, and you leaned against my hand. Old habits die hard, don’t they? I should know, since I had fallen into the habit of wanting you, of loving you. This and every other life. I couldn’t hold them any longer, the sobs, the tears, the pain, the pain only you could heal, only you could let me show. I love you because of your strength, since it allowed me to be weak without remorse. 

You did the same for me, your gentle fingers caressing my cheek, pushing away the salty droplets. “It’s okay, Spencer, it’s okay.” you whispered “we have to let us go.” 

“And if we’re lucky enough?” I asked. 

“If we’re lucky enough,” your face smiled, but the strain in your voice showed me the misery in your words, along with their genuinity “in another universe, you would have been with Maeve and I would have never loved you. And we could finally be happy.” 

You couldn’t have been more wrong to think, even for a second, that my destiny was any other than you. I didn’t have the words to prove it, I could form a sentence to save my life, save the love of my life. I tried to kiss you. I wish you had done it, you would have understood. 

“My boyfriend is waiting outside.” you muttered before my lips could meet home, and like that, you were gone. 

Entry 10: I think I’ll be alright. 

I never saw you again, but it’s okay. Years to come I would question every decision I had made, did they lead me to you, or just pushed you away? There was no way of telling. Regrets are a broken sword, dull enough to be harmless, and sharp enough to hurt. Would you have done something differently? I doubt so. 

I’m thankful, nonetheless, to have been given the opportunity to concur. To have been loved by you. I did wish for a different ending, but who am I to be selfish? I had it all, even if I lost it. Until years later I would hear about your marriage; you eloped, as we always thought we would do, planning a wedding was too much of a hassle. Did you end up having kids? If you did, lucky them, if something they were to never lack, it would be love. I hope he is treating you well, that you are happy, like you always deserved. 

Me? I finally had to learn. The grief finally went away, you see, someone once told me that love comes in moments, and later in life I found myself clinging to that thought. If love comes in moments, my darling, after everything we've been through, yours will last me a million years. 

Even if I got just a fraction of it.” 

The silence was covered by the rustling of book pages as the woman finished speaking. Yet her crowd of one didn’t seem to show much reaction, which was a source of concern. 

"Spencer, would you like me to read it again?" Penelope asked as she swayed back and forth on the rocking chair the staff had given to her. 

"Sorry?" he asked, seemingly lost in thought.

"Ma'am." a gentle nurse interrupted them "visitation time is over, Dr. Reid has to rest."

"Of course." the once blonde woman, whose hair now shone silver, said as she handed the diary back to his owner "Here, take this."

"Is this mine?" a still confused Spencer continued to question.

"Yes, it's your favorite book." she reiterated.

"Really?" his fingers fidgeted with the cover "What is it about?"

Penelope couldn't help the way her eyes filled with water, like they did every week whenever she had to leave the friend she'd visit in that mental facility without fail.

"The greatest love story ever told."

[chameleonspell]

HTDC commentary - 13: legs & 14: plan & 15: claws & 16: door

[Looking back at HTDC after nearly ten years: comments on lore, character notes, influences, art, whatever. May contain spoilers for later chapters.]

chapter text: 13: legs & 14: plan & 15: claws & 16: door

Four short chapters, in which Iriel prepares for and undertakes his first real Mages' Guild quest. Everything goes well, until it doesn't.

“Anaaaaarenen…” The slightly high-pitched, panicky quaver in Ire’s voice was unmistakable.

Iriel's fear of bones is something that comes up frequently after this, but fine, yes, it only started because I wanted to make this one joke. In my defence, it's an amazing joke. Anyway, I'm mostly making fun of myself, because I'm extremely arachnophobic, and I play out this scene with my long-suffering partner on the regular.

“It’s the only Conjuration spell I can do,” Ire said dolefully

Actually, I'm lying, there was another origin for this scene. I had Iriel learn a Summon Skeleton spell ingame as a plan to defend himself in battle, but when he tried casting it, safely shut away in his Mages' Guild bedroom to prevent any accidental aggro from other NPCs, this happened:

And the sight of it just... standing there... on his BED... waiting... LOOKING at him... was so horrifying and invasive and weird that Ire developed a phobia on the spot, and never cast it again.  They're so creepy, and they raise unpleasant questions. Whose skeleton is this? Where does it come from, when you summon it? A tomb, a graveyard? Does some poor bastard, who once made an ill-advised Daedric pact, go suddenly extremely floppy?

Iriel tries conjuring other things, later, and finds it differently uncomfortable. If magic is expressing how you wish to affect the world, then conjuration is... what? The ancient and mystical art of Delegation? It's just getting other people to do things for you, isn't it? Which is exactly what Ire's doing now, summoning Anarenen to protect him from the thing he summoned to protect him.

I do not think Dwemer animunculi are susceptible to pleading eyes and tragical expressions, which are your primary offensive weapons, as far as I can tell.”

Every time i see a sphynx cat, I'm all, "who leaked Iriel's nudes?"

You are extremely good at getting other people to take care of you

Iriel is baffled by this characterisation of himself, but you can see why Anarenen thinks it's true, since Anarenen falls for Ire's pathetic wooby act, and takes care of him. Iriel, though, is familiar with the downsides of a tactic that amounts to a display of abject weakness and vulnerability. The people who don't fall for it, (i.e. the ones without the intelligence, taste and compassion,) tend to want to punch him.

but it is no way to go through life. You are a grown man now, and need to learn to act like it.

And even the ones who start out compassionate quickly get judgemental and critical, trying to change him, fix him. At least, this how (if he hadn't stopped listening) Iriel would have interpreted Anarenen's mild scolding, though Anarenen is really only trying to help him survive. People are often tempted to be parental towards Iriel, but it doesn't usually go down well. Because Iriel has a terrible relationship with his parents, and the minute someone starts talking to him in ways that sound like his mother, he hears everything they say through a poisonous veil.

if this is the reality where I’m good at getting people to take care of me, I can’t imagine what my life is like in the reality where I’m bad at it.

Anarenen has no idea Iriel just got out of jail, or what his life's been like, recently. He doesn't understand why his comment made Iriel bluescreen from irony quite so hard. Since Ire is educated and well-spoken, Anarenen assumes he has a spoiled rich-boy on his hands, but that's not fair. Iriel isn't noble, grew up poor, and hasn't ever been spoiled. But he has been sheltered, and never before been in a situation where he had to fight for his survival - even jail was another form of enforced dependency.

Iriel doesn't know how to interact with the world, isn't sure if he even can. He often needs help from other people to do it, but hates all the possible ways this can play out. He hates living with his weakness on display, waiting to see which path others will choose with him, compassion or cruelty. He knows that even the compassion always comes with a price, sooner or later.

Edwinna Elbert trotted in. “Iriel, there you are. How are your preparations coming along?”

He doesn't much like taking orders, either, or getting sent on stupid errands. But advancing within the Mages' Guild is his current plan for taking control of his life. He's sick of playing Blanche Dubois, always depending on the kindness of strangers, and he knows he has magical skills. If someone like Anarenen can make a living via alchemy and enchantment, he doesn't see why he can't, too - but he needs to be higher rank.

He emerged from Arkngthunch-Sturdumz panting but triumphant, the Dwemer tube safe in his pack

I really didn't explain anything about the Dwemer, their ruins or anything else, did I? Oh well, it's a ~mystery~, right? Edwinna gives this quest, and instructs you to bring her a Dwemer tube. You don't have to get it from this ruin, and there are actually many others across Vvardenfell.

He had cast a Mark spell in the doorway, so an emergency exit wouldn’t mean trekking all the way back from civilisation again.

Teleportation spells, like healing spells, threaten to make a character's life too easy. Still, you can also have some fun with them, and the various ways their exact placement (or misplacement) can complicate their travel options.

Centurion spiders and spheres fell quickly to frost spells

Look at him go, doing destruction spells all on his own! It's much easier to handle, when you're not setting fire to a person, you're just turning off a machine. Quiet and clinical, no screaming.

there was a Steam Centurion, a huge mechanical warrior that shrugged off every spell he threw at it. [...] All brawn, no brains, thought Ire smugly.

Iriel's first encounter with an anthropomorphic robot, and I just want to point out that despite the scurrilous rumours his awful friends keep spreading, he was totally not weird about it okay? He paid it no special attention, and was just glad it didn't kill him! For fuck's sake, leave him alone!

he had turned a corner and come face to face with a frost atronach. Taken by surprise, he had run like hell, paying little attention to where he was going.

Pure gameplay record. Do not mess with Daedric ruins at low level.

All of this contributed to his decision, coming across a cave entrance on a small island, to [...] shelter inside. Where, in the damp, oppressive darkness, someone swiftly cracked him over the head, and knocked him out cold.

Again, pure gameplay chance that he stumbled into a smuggler's cave while trying to find Gnisis. Given that Ire was in no position to defeat a gang of slavers, it gave me an opportunity to send things in another direction. You can track Ire's little journey on this map, he ends up in Assarnud.

“Sarvur, do y… …. ….?”

My intention was that the gist should be intelligible from context, but if anyone wants it, the full conversation that Iriel barely hears runs as follows:

“Sarvur, do you recognise this elf?” "I have no idea who that n'wah is, but he's obviously a mage. What if the Telvanni are onto us?” “I don’t think that's likely. He's Altmer, so more likely to be Mages Guild or something.” “What are we gonna do now, boss? He might not be alone, there might be others.” “She's right. The Assarnud route isn’t secure anymore. We're gonna have to move out, fast. Forget the slaves, they’re too slow to travel with. We have to focus on the shipment, and get it out tonight.” “OK, Bazgulub. I’m on it. C'mon, you fetchers, let's pack up” “What should we do with him?” “Bah, just take anything of value and throw him in the slave pen.”

"claws" might be the first chapter I'm really happy with, in terms of achieving the thing I wanted to. It feels dark and bleak and confined, with moments of kindness and awkward humour that are warmer and brighter, for how small and pointless they might seem.

“Does the softskin yet live, Akish?”

Obviously I love a lot of things about Morrowind, but one of my favourite details is that the vast, vast majority of NPCs are named, including enemy smugglers in caves who exist only to attack you, and including slaves, who wait in the dark to be rescued by the player. Most games would have them all be copy-pasted "Orc Bandit", or "Slave", because that would be so much easier for the game devs, but not here. These are people. They have names.

It was an hour before Ire was in any state to talk, and another before he could sit up

Look, head injuries are no joke. You don't just get knocked out for plot convenience, have a little nap, and then wake up fine. Ire's lucky he only had a concussion, not a cracked skull or bleeding on the brain. Do not fuck around with head injuries! If you get brained by a smuggler, do not just take skooma, go on a hallucinogenic rampage and hope for the best! Consult a medical professional as soon as possible, and no, Telvanni wizards do not count!

“While there is life, I will do what I can to pressserve it.”

This sticks with Iriel, as an approach to caring for someone. Despite the awful surrounding circumstances, he doesn't hate the feeling of being cared for this way, because it's not about being pitied for his weakness. It's not about him, personally, at all, it's about preserving life, as an abstract principle. Ire's not sure if he agrees with the principle, necessarily, but he understands it, and he respects Akish for it.

An Argonian named Huzei, claiming to be a bard, tried to raise their spirits by singing a bawdy song involving fish 

This would be the song in question. I mention it, because Iriel's recent literary and media intake will be relevant, shortly.

Later, they slept, all together in a heap for warmth, the cold-blooded Argonians in the middle, and the furriest Khajiit on the outside.

You might read Lord of the Flies and assume it's natural for people to turn on one another violently, when trapped together in desperate circumstances. When actually, maybe William Golding was just cripplingly depressed and coming off the horrors of World War 2? Because in reality, when some schoolboys got shipwrecked, they co-operated and kept one another alive for over a year. Not to make sweeping statements about human nature based on one example, but if we have to pick a side, I do choose optimism. I think the vast majority of people will try to care for each other and keep each other alive, even in situations where it seems pointless to try. I think the point is to try.

Akish held out her wrist, placing it next to Ire’s. “What do you see?”

I almost didn't explicitly gender Akish in this chapter, on the basis that Iriel can't tell, and it never occurs to him to ask. But I thought people might assume she was male, if I didn't specify, which would annoy me.

Iriel does not immediately assume Akish only monitored his health for self-interested reasons, which is surprising, given his usual brain patterns. True, he's been hit onna head, but mostly, Akish was just so sincere and impressive with her life-above-all line that he doesn't think past that.

“You mussst. You are the only one with a chance.” Akish tapped the slave bracer with her claw, and left him alone.

What is magical capacity, or magicka, and how does it work? What is it, that a slave bracer drains away? For Iriel, in prison, losing his magic was part of the torture of it, to quote a later chapter, he felt it as a partial loss of self: locking around his arm, draining part of his mind away, taking parts of himself he went without for hundreds of buried days, some parts he was still missing.

I suspect that in Tamriel, the nature of magicka is, like so much else, the subject of debate. Probably mages like to claim it's a measure of your soul - of course they would! And there is a relation between complexity of consciousness and "soul value", i.e. how powerful a gem you need to contain it. But others might very reasonably counter that a lack of aptitude for magic is not a sign of an impoverished soul! You could take a middle way, and argue that all people have powerful souls, but not everyone can harness their potential for magic. It fits nicely with the idea that sleeping souls visit Aetherius, and sleeping recharges magicka. Maybe. Furthermore, in Morrowind, you almost always need Daedric components (and comberries, for some reason) for restore magicka potions. Make of this what you will.

Instantly, the white hot pain seared into his brain, and, gasping, he let the words fade, the spell lost.

Even if the soul is involved, I refuse to believe a head injury wouldn't affect spellcasting. Unlike the slaves, Ire is still technically capable of it, it's just causing the sort of pain that is very difficult to power through, because it feels like his brain is being torn to shreds by the strain, and for all he knows, that's exactly what's happening. It feels suicidal, and his survival instinct rebels against it.

It will hurt, yes He began again. and you do not like to hurt.

Iriel has to free everyone, but it's going to hurt. And his mind dredges up what Dro'Zaymar said about escape being painful, and Ire's fixating on the condescending little barb the Khajiit threw in, about Iriel not liking to hurt. As if not liking to be hurt was something ridiculous, as if that made him weak. Which he is, (Ire thinks,) since he still hasn't escaped his addiction.

Trapped in the dark and hanging by a thread in all manner of ways, it's not possible for Iriel to find the strength he needs in thoughts of being heroic, of being a good person, of helping others. He doesn't have the time or energy to construct that persona, doesn't even have a blueprint. So he turns to what he has plenty of: self hatred.

Once he deserved it, it was easier.

Iriel endures the pain by not enduring it. By surrendering to it. By smothering his survival instinct, drowning the parts of himself that don't like to hurt, because pain is bad and good people don't deserve pain. So he achieves something "heroic", but in doing so, he completely blowtorches any shreds of personhood and self esteem he has left, and destroys any ability he might have to see himself as a hero.

We are free!” A feeling of pressure about his shoulders… a hug, he thought.

To the point that it's actively painful, when other people react to him positively at all.

“No! Really. It’s fine.” He worked to make his voice sound warm and encouraging. 

It really is incredibly dangerous, when someone has gone so far into a violently depressive breakdown, that they put all their limited energy into pretending they're okay. Because even a cry for help requires being able to tolerate the idea of deserving help. Other people are a hazard to the self-destruction project, and must be removed as soon as possible.

“Ra'Mhirr found these in the cave, dropped by the smugglers in their haste. Ra'Mhirr… thinks you need them more than he does.” The Khajiit met Iriel’s eye, knowingly, and transferred two small bottles into his hand.

Ra'Mhirr knows the signs of sugar withdrawal, and is trying to help. Under other circumstances, this might have been a really stupid thing to do, and it does worsen Ire's addiction. But it also saves his life.

please don’t be like this now you have to get out of here, the door’s open, you just have to 

Iriel feels trapped, like he was trapped in jail, like he's breaking down the way he did in jail, like he's trapped in himself but also losing himself because he can't stand to be in himself. It is exactly the same sort of breakdown he has, much later, in Tel Fyr, in another situation where, by all logic, he should be happy and celebrating.

He looked at the skooma. He was well aware it was dangerous, but at this moment, his unadulterated brain was even more dangerous.

Drugs are not evil. Drugs are just chemicals that affect the body, and which ones are legal or illegal is often extremely arbitrary. Even addictions are not, in themselves, evil, and the people who have them certainly aren't. Life is hard. If people choose to self-medicate in ways that aren't available on prescription, they often have good reasons - or no other options. Ire is definitely out of options.

Ire chose life.

Yes, fine, I admit it: this is the single pop-culture reference in the fic. At least, I hope there are no others, I certainly intended to avoid them! (Song lyric echoes are not intended to be legible, and so I maintain don't count.) This one is only allowed because it's undetectable if you don't know the reference, and makes perfect sense without it. But also because the irony was so appealing: "choose life" in the Trainspotting quote is set in opposition to choosing heroin, but Iriel is choosing both at once. Life, in this moment, means doing hard drugs.

Playlist pick: Portishead - Roads. Because it sounds like how being trapped in a damp dark cave feels: all sad, wet and echoey. Subterranean drug-sick blues.

next: 17: VCDRKAA & 18: language & 19: knowledge & 20: again previous: 11: books & 12: silence

[nerves-nebula]

SO FOLLOW UP TO YOUR QUESTION

the reason my mother continued to believe I had powers because they worked on her apparently (I was tasked with healing her joint pain, arthritis, and also memory problems <- nothing says "hey 9 year old wanna bond?" like your mother pulling you aside in isolation so you can heal "the dementia she can feel forming" after she forgot your birthday lmao

IDK if it actually works or not (all the adults I had access to pretty much either ignored my mother's stuff or went with it, so they'd be like "yeppers this kid has powers :)") HOWEVER I can ""apparently"" heal her injuries, put her to sleep, make her laugh uncontrollably, give her "the power to not need food", and stuff like that.

She's also had (VERY VERY) minor cancer 3 time and partway believes that because ""I am a healer of the stars"" that I was what helped "fix her" and has been bugging me to go fix other people so there's no more cancer. That delusion hasn't been around for a while but BOY those are odd times.

For the clouds, weather and wind honestly it was literally just like. If you look at a cloud long enough it's going to change shape. If you look at a blank spot in the sky there's a chance a cloud will form. I had this whole system set up where I had explanations about "there is [insert thing here] that lowers the possibility of this happening, so the effects take longer and may be harder to tell without special focus" so I could get out of trouble if I wasn't able to stop it from raining because she forgot an umbrella or stuff like that.

(bonus points. I was always blamed for when it snowed and if she heard about any car accidents or whatever that happened in our area she'd tell me and told me I shouldn't do that because I was going to kill people. If I said I liked the rain she told me I was going to influence the world to make that reality and if I did so anyone that died then was because of me. General quirky stuff like that.)

She REALLY wanted me to learn the fire trick but I never managed that, however I supposedly "can raise the temperature of people's bodies to combat the cold". which honestly that was just a way for her to not need to buy more clothes or shoes without holes because "I can warm myself without those things".

If you don't mind me telling a small story, I feel like you'd like to hear about the era where I was "taught how to transmutate liquids into other liquids"! <- (side note: I am not jesus)

it's literally what it sounds like. We were at a Pizza Hut and I was about 13 or 14 and had recently had an argument with her (that she'd forgotten) about how autism is real and not ""humans that are more closely related to our ancestors because their last past lives were of non-human entities and they failed to fully adapt to their new form"" AKA I wanted to get tested for autism because there are signs:tm:

But she completely forgot about that and decided that here, at a busy pizza hut while it was dark out that it was time that I branch out to making drinks taste like other drinks. Now at restaurants I was only allowed lemonade, water, and iced tea. At home I only had water. So my task, in a public space no less, was to "make the water taste like beer" and she would compare it to the beer my father ordered (he's not an alcoholic, he's mostly checked out of reality or agreeing with her).

So for the full length of time we were at the pizza hut I had to turn whatever glass of water they gave me into beer AND APPARENTLY (?????) IT WORKED because she claimed she could taste the beer-ness, but told me I didn't make it taste beer-like enough so they had me drink some of the beer so I could match the flavour. They decided I could work on that later and next my mother tasked me with being able to mimic drug states through the transmutation of water. SO, AGAIN in a public pizza hut where multiple people could and probably were overhearing, I was told to make the water not only taste like beer, but have the effect of alcohol.

My mother is very much a lightweight and after other days of training with this she'd sometimes act kinda drunk, and who knows how real that was. BUT after that I was given the task to ""channel the energy of weed"" to make someone high. I'd test on her because at that point she was sure that the witch hunters would kill me if I spoke to people and also that other people would be so jealous that they'd kidnap me or whatever. she was also very very pushy about the idea that people would kidnap me for a sex ring so. who knows what goes through her head

But anyways after that whole thing I wasn't given medication anymore (not that I ever really was. I've only had antibiotics twice and both times were enforced by CPS) because ""I could connect to the pure essence of the drug and heal myself with that"" because ""I am more connected to the true energetic nature of our reality"" etc etc

As a side note another reason why she thought I was a star child was because I was orphaned when I was pretty young and meant to die but didn't, and yeah she lied to be able to adopt me but viewed it as "destiny" and such. like, when I was 4 I was so strong that I warped our reality into one where I didn't die just because I like, could ig. I try not to think about that too much

TLDR I could tell you many stories about her weirdness and star/crystal/indigo child expectations but the reasons why she thought it worked was either because of coincidences, things just changing because time passed, and through her own beliefs being so powerful she gains the ability to ignore reality ig

good luck with all your busy stuffs and don't worry about never playing pokemon, the new games aren't that good xD

this all sounds SO INCREDIBLY STRESSFUL

if my mother asked me to do impossible things I would probably burst into tears, but I'm glad you had like, a system about it I guess??? the percentages thing is honestly really fuckin smart but I guess you did what you gotta do

also excuse me she lied in order to adopt you???? and called it fate?? and EXCUSE ME she blamed you for various car crashes and natural disasters???!???!??

and I thought I had bad experiences with parents at pizza hut,, damn

also wow twinsssss my dad was ALSO very concerned with me being kidnapped into a sex trafficking ring! we have sooo much in common omg :D

TBH the idea of a person so powerful they warped reality so that they didn't die sounds like a fun story to write. not a fun story to be told about yourself but, wow, what an imagination on that lady!

also im not actually worried about not playing pokemon i just wanna make it clear i cant really continue jokes about it cause i do not know much about it

[gender-critical-analytical]

I know a lot of tras most likely assume that when we say we worry for the health of those who are caught up in the movement, we're being disingenuous or we're assuming that they aren't capable of making their own choices, but at the very least, speaking for myself, I can say that concern and worry are justified. Putting aside the politics of it, just for a moment, let's get anecdotal, let's dig into the personal aspects.

I went to school with a childhood friend whose older sister was FtM. I'm the oldest in my family, and was left mostly to my own devices rather than being raised by my parents. In school, my friend's older sister was a role model for me, and for everyone else in our little group. She had advice on schoolwork, she had similar taste in media and a good sense of humor, and she was kind and parental. We had a joke that she was a father figure to us, and we would all literally call her dad (not in a weird way, it was something affectionate then). She was close friends with another FtM girl (now a polyamorous he/they nonbinary), the first trans person our school had ever seen.

I was working through understanding my sexuality, as was most everyone else in the group. Moving into high school, we were a group comprised of mostly bisexual and lesbian girls, two 'mlm' FtMs, and a gay boy. It was a very small school, our class was maybe 100 or so students, maybe a total of 400 in the high school at max capacity.

I met the younger sister of our 'dad's friend, and she was also FtM. This was back when I fully endorsed gender ideology, I picked up no pattern. I got along well with the younger sister, she was funny and we agreed on nearly everything. At the time, I thought I was a lesbian. I was working through some trauma regarding men that I didn't really fully understand, and this was right in the middle of the time that fake sexualities were on the rise and the meanings of words were really being swapped. I was out as a lesbian to all of my friends, and all of them were fine with it (since half of them believed themselves to be gay men anyways). The first time I ever even came close to doubting any part of trans ideology was when the younger sister made some jokes about me getting pregnant.

I was 14, she was 13. I was outspokenly and starkly against the idea of ever being pregnant at that age (and that hasn't changed, it's something that I can appreciate, I think pregnancy is astounding and I think it's incredibly beautiful and powerful that it's something my body is capable of, but I'm deeply afraid of it, it's an option I don't think I'll ever choose) and I made a joke that, being a lesbian, it was something I wouldn't have to worry about keeping track of. She laughed and replied, "unless your girlfriend is trans". I was caught off guard, but even though many tras will claim that they don't believe anyone has to be attracted to penises, even amongst my friends who I trusted, at the age of 14 I understood that I would be walking on thin ice if I did anything other than laugh. I tiptoed around the part where I didn't want to date anyone with a penis in favor of a 14-year-old-esque crude abortion joke, something along the lines of 'then I'll coat hanger it out of me if I have to', which was then met with "you'd better make sure your girlfriend doesn't want the kid first then, unless you want to get your lights knocked out."

This was made worse by the fact that the boy I'd dated for a week or so in middle school had asked me out again, had been reminded that I was a lesbian, and had promptly come out as a trans girl, and asked again a few weeks later. He took it better than I was afraid he would back then. Of course, I gave an excuse that I was into someone else (not a complete lie, but the girl I had my eyes on was straight, and wasn't an option, obviously).

I didn't question it any more after I dodged my MtF friend's advances. I gave him some old bath and body works perfumes as an awkward teenage sign of support, and things were smooth sailing for a good while from that point on. Two years in a row I attended pride with my FtM friends and the rest of the group, the second year ending in a sleepover with my best friend (a gay boy) and the younger sister FtM. We'd had a competition earlier to see who could snag more condoms from the sponsors who handed them out for free, and we wound up trying a bunch of flavored lubes (the tropical mango one really wasn't bad tbh). It sounds odd, but it was (sort of) innocent fun. We got some pizza for dinner, and things simmered down somewhat, all of us checking our phones after having let them be all day. The youngest of us, now 15 and a few months on testosterone, sent me a message on snap, about a concern she had regarding our gay friend, and I texted back, curious as to what was going on that she didn't want to say out loud.

She had asked him out a month or so beforehand, and was politely rejected, given the reason he didn't want to date anyone that wasn't in the same grade as he was, he was skittish about age differences of any sort, especially ones where he would be the older partner. She told me through text that despite what he'd said about age, she felt that she had been rejected because she was trans. Immediately remembering how panicked I had felt when my MtF friend had asked me out, I decided to be the bold, knowing she wouldn't say anything aloud while the friend we spoke of was there, and I said 'so what if it is because you're trans? some people just aren't going to be into that, you know that'. The conversation pretty much ended there, and the night carried on pretty regularly, though I could tell my friend picked up on some of the tension between us. He gave us both tarot readings (our FtM friend believed in it wholeheartedly, I found it laughable but fun) and I lit some (very mix matched) scented candles to add to the vibe. We had some typical sleepover late night conversations, and when I woke up the youngest of us had been picked up and taken home. My other friend stayed a few hours later.

I had another sleepover with my FtM friend before we finally had our falling out, some months beforehand I had begun reading into radical feminism and gender critical views, and found that radfems were asking questions that I couldn't answer. I had stumbled upon a 'terf' while looking into some trans people's blogs, being convinced that I was nonbinary or FtM for a good while beforehand, but nervous to talk about it out loud. I had gotten into a spat with a different trans friend over what being trans was, and had been called a bigot for saying that dysphoria was necessary to be 'really trans'. I was doing research into what trans was defined as, and what was needed to fit the label, feeling out of place in my body and feeling like something just wasn't right with me, mentally and physically.

The rest is history, a nonbinary friend called me out for being 'terfy' (the specific example given: I rbed a post on my main tumblr that used 'female' rather than afab) and ganged up on me with the help of the dad friend (who at this point had graduated over a year ago and was in college) done through both snapchat and 'anonymous' messages in my inbox (let's be real, I know damn well who it was).

Things came to a head with the younger FtM friend the night before my 17th birthday. I don't know how she'd managed to avoid hearing anything about the whole fiasco until then, but that's how it went. She sent me multiple videos on snapchat, all of them of a black screen with audio of her crying, asking me if I was actually a terf and begging me to tell her that it wasn't true. She was sobbing, and said things like 'please don't do this to me, you can't hurt me like this'. It, having been a few weeks after my initial falling out with the others, wasn't what I was expecting at all, after so much time had passed I assumed she had heard about it and thought it was just as blown out of proportion as I did. It sent me into an anxiety attack, it just caught me so off guard. I didn't respond, I just tried to lay down and get some rest before my birthday, but I found that I couldn't sleep, I was too tense. I fell asleep late, and after a lot of tossing and turning, and found that I didn't have to worry about responding, my friend had blocked me just like the rest of them had.

And after all of that drama, I still miss her, and I still think of her. I keep the jar full of moss she gave me on my bookshelf, and I keep it watered properly. I remember jokes she made and things she said, and I still have drawings she gave me tucked in a box with other notes and doodles from when I was in school. Through my change in ideology and through the nerves and drama, I never once hated her. I stopped laughing when she joked about cutting her own breasts off with a knife, yeah. I became more worried when she passingly mentioned her binder was digging into her skin or making it difficult to breathe. I thought back on how early she was allowed to begin hrt and how fully her mother and doctors encouraged and endorsed it and I began to feel sick to my stomach, because even just being a year older, I imagined being allowed to make that kind of decision at that age and cringed. I got my autism diagnosis and remembered things she and I had discussed and realized that she was likely autistic too, and I felt even worse that I had been so happy and excited when she offered to let me watch her take her third shot of testosterone, or when she shared that her uncle had donated $200 to her top surgery fund instead of getting her anything for her birthday.

I think of some of the FtMs I went to school with and I clench my jaw thinking about the gross things they said about gay men, or how they fetishized asian men and said things about 'cis' women that all applied to them twofold without a cent of self awareness, but I also think of the 15 year old girl who was giving herself shots of hormones and who dreamed of surgery more than anything else her future could hold, and I wish that I had tried to talk to her instead of freaking out and going to bed. I had made the same kind of jokes as she had, and I'd had the same thoughts of what it would be like, to go outside shirtless and feel direct sunlight on my chest without it being something that would feel perverse, and without being ogled. I didn't take any of the steps, I became gender critical before any damage could be done, and I'm thankful for that, but I wish I had done more. How do you have this kind of conversation though, with someone who's already started with the medicalization process? Someone who's running down the path with full faith?

I don't keep tabs on her. The idea of finding her on facebook and seeing surgery scars is nauseating, or worse, finding out that she's still unhappy like so many people who go through with the surgeries are. She's still a minor now. She's still just a teenager. It hurts to remember the stories she told me about her older sister showing her her cuts and talking to her graphically about wanting to cut herself apart, about hating her body. She was only 10 years old when her sister publicly threatened suicide and self harm because she was a girl and didn't want to be. Imagine growing up like that, with someone speaking of being female like that, with someone showing you cuts on their legs that they made because they hate their body. That on top of what girls already go through. What does that do to a little girl's mind? How hideous of a thing to go through is that?

I think of her showing me how hairy her legs have gotten and my newly radicalized self doing the same, and being asked "are you sure you're not trans?" 100% seriously, and I hope that when she finally gets it, she knows she can come to me, and that there isn't anything that can't be fixed with sisterhood. The worry and concern is real, and it's justified. She's just a kid. We were both just children.

[milfmacbeth]

tagged by @euphcme (thank you!)

1. why did you choose your url?

i'm interested in philosophy and a lover of both greek mythology and shitty puns.

2. any side blogs?

i used to be all "no side blogs we cram all our interests into our main like men" still am to a degree but i recently caved and made this aesthetics blog @oldgodscore

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

time is an illusion and i don't know exactly. years and years.

4. do you have a queue tag?

i do not. i will simply reblog 50 things my followers don't care about in a row onto everyone's dash like the gods intended

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

i honestly don't know. i was a lonely teenager who found a webbed site with some pretty pictures and anime characters to distract myself from the fact that i exist. fast forward a few years and now this is home.

6. why did you choose your icon?

didn't want a fandom icon cause i knew it'd change like every two weeks so i picked a character that i like from a show that i have a relatively constant level of interest in instead of a show that i'm obsessed with for a month and then largely don't care about until the obsession strikes again

7. why did you choose your header?

wanted something neutral but not boring. also black and red fucks as a color combination

8. what's your post with the most notes?

a post in the miette format about how i love people who comment on fics. no idea why that one blew up it sat at like five notes for MONTHS i forgot it existed and then someone found it and now i get annoyed when the post gets notes again because having a popular post on tumblr dot com is hell.

9. how many mutuals do you have?

uhh... i haven't counted. somewhere between 10 and 20 maybe?

10. how many followers do you have?

few. not displaying follower counts is one of the best features of this hellsite and i'd like to keep it that way.

11. how many ppl do you follow?

242

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

who hasn't

13. how many times do you use tumblr a day?

i close this site and 5 min later i'm back again. sometimes i literally open tumblr, look at the first post on my dash, then close it again. i have stopped counting. it's becoming a problem

14. have you ever had a fight with another blog?

yes it lasted the 3 seconds it took me to find the block button

15. how do you feel about need to rb posts?

go directly to hell. do not pass go. do not collect $200. fuck these posts. anyone who subjects me to that bullshit gets unfollowed. as soon as i see a "you need to reblog" the entire point you were making, no matter how good, evaporates into the fucking ether. yes i know you're pro-good things and anti-bad things and you feel very righteous about that but have you considered shutting the fuck up?

(sorry for the rant but god these posts need to die)

16. do you like tag games?

yup, they're fun and a nice way to get to know people instead of just observing them from afar

17. do you like ask games?

in theory? yes. in practice? every time i've reblogged an ask game my inbox has been a barren wasteland so i don't do it anymore.

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

probably @taxinealkaloids because her art is gorgeous and her taste is flawless

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

the bond mutuals on tumblr dot gov share goes deeper than any temporary crush could my friend

20. tags

i'm tagging @ante--meridiem and @first-only

[itsadamcole]

you’re not broken

fem!reader x kyle o’reilly

reader and Kyle go back to reader’s home in Philadelphia for Christmas. little does Kyle know that reader’s mother isn’t the nicest person .... “i promise you that you’re not broken”

word count: 2.5k+

warnings: angst, mentions of death / plane crash, verbal assault, fluff

— day 3 in a row ... out of (hopefully) 25 —

masterlist || request an imagine here

part 2

***

You smile as you walk up to the front door of your childhood home. Your boyfriend's hand in yours. You hope to God that your parents and siblings will be nice to you. Maybe because Kyle is here then they might.

Christmas at home hasn't been the same since your older sister's plane crash. It's been two years but since the year after she died, your family hasn't been treating you like they used to. They've started comparing you to your sister that passed, telling you that you'll never be like she was, telling you that you'll never achieve the same success that she did in WWE.

It hasn't been the same since she died. You miss your sister. You were best friends and tag partners. She was so understanding when Kyle asked you to join the Undisputed Era and was so supportive when you had a storyline against her after you joined the Undisputed Era.

Kyle knows about some of what your family has said to you, but he doesn't know about what they've said about you and comparing you to your sister.

Speaking of Kyle, he senses you're nervous even though you have a smile on your face. He tightens his grip on your hand and he says, "Relax, Y/N. If they say something to you then I'll make sure to say something back to them. No one hurts my girl without consequences."

You look up at Kyle and say, "You're the best." You smile.

Kyle smiles down at you and pecks your lips before you knock on the door.

There is shuffling behind the door as you smooth out the front of your dark red dress and move closer to Kyle.

Your younger sister, who is thirteen years old, answers the door. "Y/N! You're here!" she says happily.

"Hey, shortie," you say, laughing. "You're not exactly short anymore, are you. You're almost as tall as me. Have you grown since I last saw you?"

She giggles and says, "It's been a little bit since you've seen me, Y/N. Come home more often." Her giggles stop and she starts to pout.

You hug your younger sister and say, "I would love to come home but I have a title to defend." You look at Kyle. He smiles at you.

Ever since your parents changed their attitude toward you, you've stayed away from Philadelphia. You've been staying with Kyle in Orlando to be close to the Performance Center and Full Sail. You haven't been back home since July and it's now December. Your sister turned thirteen in the time you've been away.

"I know," your younger sister says. "I just miss you."

You kiss the side of your sister's head and say, "I miss you too. You can always come down to Florida. I'll even buy you a plane ticket if you want to come visit. Maybe get Y/B/N to come with you since he's 18."

Your older sister was almost 30 when she died. You're 28. There's a ten year difference between you and your brother and your youngest sister is 13.

Y/S/N says, "If Mom and Dad will let me go. They've been strict since the accident and they won't even let us get on a plane."

"I'll talk to them tonight," you say. "Maybe you guys can come spend New Years with Kyle and I."

Kyle nods and says, "The boys will be there too with their girlfriends and wives but we'd love to have you come down, Y/S/N."

She smiles and says, "Yay." Your sister skips inside the house and you sigh, looking up at Kyle.

"Are you naturally that good with kids or what?" you ask.

Kyle laughs and says, "Naturally that good."

You smile and reach up, pressing a kiss to Kyle's lips. You walk into the house holding Kyle's hand.

"Mom!" you call. "I'm here!"

Your mom says, "In the kitchen, sweetheart!" You walk into the large kitchen. You're greeted with the smell of roast beef as soon as you walk into the kitchen.

Y/B/N sits at the kitchen island with Y/S/N and they're playing something on Y/B/N computer. You run up behind your brother and attack him with a hug from behind. "Hey, baby bro," you say.

"Jesus, Y/N," he gasps. "You scared me and I'm trying to win as imposter."

That's when you realize he's playing Among Us. You see his name in red. "Ooh," you giggle. "Let me in at some point tonight. I wanna kick you ass."

You, Kyle, and your siblings laugh. You mother scolds, "Y/N! Language please."

"Ass isn't a bad word, mother," you sigh. "Relax."

Kyle looks at you then looks at your mom, who says, "You know such language is not allowed in this house."

You roll your eyes and say to your brother, "I'll play after dinner, if I'm still here."

Your brother nods and you take Kyle's hand, leaving the kitchen and walking into the living room. Your dad sits on the couch with wrestling on the TV.

"Hi, daddy," you smile, kissing the top of his head. "What are you watching?"

Your dad smiles and say, "Hi, pumpkin. I'm watching one of Shawn Michaels' old matches."

You sit beside your dad and Kyle sits beside you. "Nice to see you again, Mr. L/N," Kyle says.

"You too, Kyle," your dad says. "Is there a match the two of you would like to watch?"

Kyle says, "How about Randy Orton versus Drew McIntyre at Hell in a Cell? That match was amazing."

You dad says, "I agree. It's such a good match." He puts it on. "You have good taste in matches, Kyle."

He laughs and says, "Y/N and I have very similar taste in matches. We both like the matches that involve cells or weapons. Y/N likes tables."

"They're the worst to go through in real life but it's fun to watch other people go through them," you say.

Your dad laughs and says, "Your sister liked table matches too. She said the same thing. They were a pain to go through but she loved watching them."

Your mood tanks at the mention of your sister. Kyle notices this and takes your hand. You rest your head on his shoulder and watch Drew lose his title to Randy.

It's close to twenty minutes later before your mother calls, "Dinner!"

Your dad gets up, walking to the dining room. You look up at Kyle and you say, "Whatever they say, either ignore it or just let me handle it, okay?"

Kyle says, "I'm jumping in if it looks like you need help. I'm serious."

You nod and walk into the dining room with Kyle. Your mother is serving your father dinner. A lot sits out on the large table. A plate with cut up roast beef, corn sits in a bowl, mashed potatoes right next to the corn, biscuits, green beans, and a bowl of mac n' cheese all sit on the table.

You help yourself to some mac n' cheese and say, "Dinner looks amazing, Mom."

"Thank you, Y/N," she says. Her voice is cold. Obviously she's still mad about you saying the word 'ass' in front of her.

Kyle grabs some roast beef and takes a bit. "Mhm," he hums. "This is the best roast beef I've had in a long time."

You smile and say, "Mom slow roasts it in the oven. It takes all day but so worth it." Kyle smiles and takes another bite.

Y/S/N says, "Mom, can Y/B/N and I spend New Years in Florida with Y/N and Kyle?"

Mom looks at you then at your sister before asking, "How do you plan on getting back here, Y/S/N?"

You look at your mom and say, "I can accompany them back. Kyle and I leave in two days to go back to Orlando so we can just book Y/S/N and Y/B/N seats on the same flight as Kyle and I."

"Please, Mom?" your sister pleads.

"Yeah, please?" your brother chimes in.

Your mom looks at your siblings and says, "You both know how I feel about planes. They crash."

Your sister gets a sad look on her face and you say, "It's very rare, Mom. I've flown plenty of times."

"You were supposed to be on the flight that Y/OS/N was on," your mother snaps. "You realize that, right?"

A pang of hurt hits you in the chest and you say, "I'm well aware but it's not my fault that the plane crashed, Mom."

Your mother looks at you from across the table and says, "It should've been you on that plane, Y/N. Instead it was your sister, who actually made this family proud."

Kyle says, "Woah, okay. Mrs. L/N, that's not fair on Y/N's part. She had no idea that the plane would crash."

Tears well up in your eyes and you say, "I make this family proud too, Mom. I've held tag titles, I currently hold the only women's singles title in NXT. I'm in a group that has made history in NXT. I've made history with Y/OS/N as longest reigning and most reigns as WWE Women's Tag Team champion."

Your mother says, "Your sister held the Raw Women's title for a record breaking 450 days. How long have you held the NXT Women's title for?"

"348 days, and counting," you spit at her. "I'm only behind her by 100 days, which I plan on breaking. Then I plan on breaking Asuka's longest reign of 510 days just to prove to you that I can do every fucking thing that Y/OS/N did!"

Your mother's eyes widen and she says, "Curse one more time in my house and you will never be allowed back in."

You stare at her and say, "Fine. Fuck you, Mom. Fuck you for ever comparing me to Y/OS/N and fuck you for never being proud of me even though I've achieved the same success as she did." You look at your siblings. "Go upstairs and pack a suitcase. I'm taking you two with me."

They nod and run upstairs. You slam your silverware down on the table and you stand up. Your mother says, "That is not how you talk to your mother, Y/N."

You cry, "You have not been my mother since my sister died. Not the way that you've been treating me."

As you walk away, you hear Kyle say, "She's grieving too. She knows that it should have been her too, and she'll carry that with her for the rest of her life. She doesn't need her mother of all people telling her that it should've been her in the plane instead of Y/OS/N. Her sister was her best friend and she lost a lot that day too."

Your sister and brother walk down the stairs and you look at them. Your sister runs to you and hugs you. Your brother hugs you too. You hug them back.

Kyle walks out into the foyer and you look up at him. He says, "Come on. I'll change our flights to tonight and we can be down in Florida by midnight. We'll buy Y/S/N and Y/B/N some clothes when we get back to Orlando."

You nod, leaving the house with Kyle and your siblings.

***

It's right after midnight when you, Kyle, and your siblings get back to the house you share with Kyle.

You moved in with Kyle about six months ago after a year or so of dating. The house is three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, and two floors. You sigh as you walk in the door.

Kyle sets your siblings up in the guest bedrooms as you go and lay in your bedroom. You finally change out of the dress and get into one of Kyle's shirts. You curl into a ball and let out what you've been holding in.

Your face is in your pillow and your makeup is being cried off your face.

The door to the bedroom closes and Kyle sighs, "Your siblings are in bed and they're both all set up in their rooms."

You sit up and look at Kyle. He looks at you and his face falls. He grabs a box of tissues and you say, "I'm a mess, I'm sorry." You take a tissue and wipe your makeup stained tears away.

"You're okay," he says, sitting next to you. "It's okay to cry, Y/N. You don't have to be strong every day, especially after what you have been through."

You crawl over onto Kyle's lap and say, "I feel broken, Kyle. I have since my sister died in that plane crash. I feel like I haven't healed at all."

"Hey," Kyle says. "I promise you that you're not broken, Y/N. You're sad, you're grieving, but you're not broken."

You start to cry softly and say, "I miss her, Kyle. Why couldn't it have been me instead of her?"

Kyle says, "Don't say that. Please don't. I need you here. Your sister and your brother need you here. The WWE Universe needs you here. Adam, Roderick, and Bobby need you here. Don't let your mother tell you otherwise."

You look up at Kyle. He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. You say, "I love you, Kyle. I'm so in love with you."

Kyle smiles at you and says, "I love you too, Y/N. I need you here. Selfishly, a part of me is glad you were on that plane because I don't know what I would do without you."

You lean in and press a lingering kiss to his lips. Kyle kisses you back before he pulls back and says, "Marry me."

"Kyle," you say, meeting his eyes.

He says, "I'm serious. Marry me. You can come to my family's house in Canada for holidays, we can spend the rest of our lives doing this. I love you, and I want to start a family with you."

You don't hesitate to nod and say, "Yes. I'll marry you, Kyle."

Kyle smiles and kisses you. You smile into the kiss. You smile for real for the first time in a very long time.

That smile doesn't leave your lips as you lay with Kyle in bed, cuddles up to him. He holds you in his arms and your legs are intertwined with his.

His fingers run through your hair. Your eyes are closed and he says, "I don't have a ring yet, by the way. I didn't even know that I was going to propose until I did."

You giggle and say, "We'll go ring shopping eventually. I just want to lay with you right now."

Kyle shifts a bit and gets comfortable. You smile and begin to doze off.

"Merry Christmas, baby," Kyle whispers. "I forgot to tell you at midnight."

You mumble, "Merry Christmas, Kyle."

Then you fall asleep.

[renee-writer]

Autumn

One Shot Moodboard challenge. Thanks to @molecularstardust for the beautiful moodboard.💓💓💓💓

It is her favorite time of year. With the beautiful colors and the crisp but, not yet cold, air. She doesn't like the common name for it, fall. Autumn more describes the taste of cider, the sound of crunching leaves under her boots, smell of the coming winter.

Besides, autumn is when she meet him. She was sitting on a bench in the park, her head laid back, doing nothing more then enjoying the feel of the breeze against her skin. Between classes, she can't handle being inside.

“May I join you lass?” She looks up into the bluest eyes, the color of the cloudless sky above her and a head of hair as red as a changing maple leaf.

“Ah sure.” He sits beside her, drawing his long legs under the bench.

“Jamie Fraser.” He offers his hand.

“Claire Beauchamp.” She takes it. He gently squeezes it.

“Beauchamp? French but your accent is English.”

“I had a very unusual childhood. I am surprised you picked up the English Mr. Fraser. Must people hear the many combined ones and can't quite place it.”

“Jamie. I've an ear for the English accent.”

“Growing up in Scotland?”

“Aye. I guess we are both outsiders here.”

“Yes. My Uncle said Harvard was the best so..” she shrugs.

“My da said the same. What is your field of study, Miss Beauchamp?”

“Claire. Medicine and yours Jamie?”

“Law. Seems we are two ambitious people, eh Claire?” She thoroughly enjoys the thrill that runs up her spine at the way he says her name.

“Seems so. Oh, I must be off. Have class. I will see you around Jamie.” She stands and he stands with her.

“Wait lass.” He places something in her hand. She looks down to see an small index card with his name and number on it. “So we can stay in touch, eh?”

“Thank you Jamie. Not much of a caller but will text you.”

“That will be fine Claire.” She walks to class on lighter feet.

She does text him later that day. She had returned to her little apartment, a mile of campus and pulled the card out of the front pocket of her jeans where it had been all day. She smiles as she enters his number in her phone, saving it under Jamie, the scot. She then kicks of her boots and, curling up in her favorite chair, she text him.

“Hi Jamie. It is your favorite future doctor.” She then turns to her course work. She is in the midst of studying the names of the bones in the hand, when her phone dings.

“How do you know you are my favorite future doctor, eh?”

With a smile, she replies,” So I've competition?”

She watches as little dots appear and disappear, as he changes his mind. Then.

“No.” A few more dots. “No in no way Claire.”

She stares at the phone. What she had meet as a tease, he had made serious. How was she to respond?

“I was teasing.” She decides on honesty.

“I wasn't. Don't..” Dots appear and disappear again. “Run Claire. I know... Bloody. Can I call?”

She debates only a second. “Yes.” Her heart hammers as she waits for it to ring. Finally.

“Hi.”

“Hi Claire. Have I scared you? Will you block my number?”

“I wouldn’t have answered or even gave you permission to call, if that were so. I am puzzled though.”

“At what?”

“I was really teasing. Your response..”

“Yah. I thought about joking back but… I know we just meet and hardly know each other but I feel a pull between us that won't allow me to be nothing but less then honest.”

“I do too. What is this?”

“I don't know but I know I want to see you. Want to talk with you. Want, well, a lot. But will start with dinner. Will you let me take you out?”

“Yes.”

She is in a semi panic state as she gets ready that night. She hasn't had a serious boyfriend for years and that was in upper school. Never as an adult. This feels serious. As serious as they come.

She pulls her hair up then lets it back down. Slips on slacks then changes into a dress. “Get a grip Beauchamp.” She firmly orders herself. Finally she decides hair down and a red dress that shows her figure to perfection.

He knocks on her door right on time and she almost trips over her heels getting to it. She will never make it through dinner if she doesn’t get her nerves under control. So before opening the door, she takes several cleansing breaths.

She opens the door to find Jamie in kakis and a blue button down shirt that shows off his eyes. Lord, he is gorgeous. She finds him staring at her.

“Jamie?”

“Lass, God you are so beautiful.”

“You are quite handsome yourself. Shall we go?”

“Ah yes before I.. Yes let's go.” She locks up and he takes her hand. It feels good and she links their fingers. With their wrist resting against each other, she can feel his heartbeat. It is as fast as hers.

The restaurant he chose has a stunning view of the changing leaves. He pulls out her chair and she glazes out the window at them. They bring her some much needed peace. After their drink orders are taken and the hostess leaves, she fully turns to Jamie.

“You like the changing of the colors.” He states.

“I do. It is my favorite season, Autumn. With the cool but not cold nights, the beauty of the changing leaves, hot cider and sweaters. Truly what is not to love.”

“Aye but you missed one.” He is smiling mischievously at her and she can’t resist the bait.

“That is?”

“It is also cuddle under a quilt or tarden weather. Cuddle weather, eh?”

“Yes.” Her breath is coming short again. His hand reaches across the table to cover hers. Their waitress arrives with their drinks and take their orders. Jamie asks her to come back as they hadn't even taken time to look at the menus yet.

“Shall we decide and then talk?”

“A good idea.” She agrees.

He looks down at the menu then up at her and finds her doing the same. She blushes and he smiles. After they order, he reaches out to take her hand again.

“Shall we talk about it?”

“Yes let's. This thing between us, it is quite powerful. I've never felt anything like it. I dated a bloke in upper school. Went as far as to sleep with him but never felt like I do when you simply rest your hand on mine. I am fascinated and scared. Thrilled and terrified.”

“There has never been anyone who made my heart pound with just a touch, a look. Never been anyone I can see sharing a life with, children with. Grow old with. There is heat, aye. But it is more then the urge to join bodies. Oh, and it scares me to death too.”

“Oh!” she is breathless and speechless. To know it isn’t just her is reassuring. But, he is talking marriage and babies on their first date. It is all a bit overwhelming.

“Not that I am proposing anything but dinner right now.” He is quick to add when he sees her face. “We need to go on dates. Get to know each other.”

She lets out her breath and he smiles. “That is what we will do. So Jamie, tell me about your family?”

“I've a big brother William and sister Janet, called Willie and Jenny respectively. Willie runs Lallybroch, our families estate since my da, Brian retired. Jenny married my best mate, Ian, five years ago and they have three bairns, Jamie, Maggie, and Kitty.”

“Three, in five years?”

“Aye. Jenny wants a large family and none born after she is 35.”

“Sorry, go on.” He grins at her. They still hold hands across the table. He starts to run his thumb over her palm and she lets out a deep sigh.

“Jenny stays at home with the bairns. Ian runs Lallybroch Distillery. You see, Lallybroch is many things, a working farm, a historic site( it has been in our family for over 300 years), and, the extra grain is made into spirits.”

“Sounds fascinating.”

“It was a good childhood.”

“Your mam?” That he hadn't mentioned her didn’t escaped her notice.

“Ellen. She passed two years ago from cancer.”

“Oh Jamie!” She moves to his side of the bench seat and draws him into her arms. He buries his face in her neck and let's her comfort him. That is how the waitress finds them when she delivers their orders.

“Is all alright?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Claire replies. She gives them a concerned look before setting the food down.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

“Claire, tell me about yours.” He needs a distraction. She stays on his side and tells him.

“I am an only child. My mum and daddy tried after me but.. So, I was fairly spoiled. My dad and mum are both doctors. My dad a surgeon. My mam an OB/GYN. Growing up, I knew a lot more then I should about the human body. When I was ten, my parents, Julia and Henry, let me spend summer holidays with my dad's brother, Uncle Lambert, who I call Lamb. He is an archeologist, so I spend my summers all over the world. It was wonderful.”

“Wow. That is quite nice Claire. That you was able to experience so much.”

“It was.” They stop talking to eat.

“What was the most unusual thing you saw? When with your Uncle Lamb?” He asks as he walks them back to his car. He holds her hand and she leans against him.

“Hmm, I guess it would be a completely intact room. He and the others uncovered it in Israel. It was a kitchen. The table was still set. It was awesome and strange at the same time. Like the people were just lifted out. Uncle Lamb and the others were quite excited. I was 13 and just wondered where the people went.”

“Did they figure it out?”

“Yes. Seems that it dated to the time of the Roman occupation. They fled and left everything as it was.”

“Wow.” They had reached his car and he opens the door for her. She grins and enters. He joins her. “Is that what fueled your desire to be a doctor, all you saw those summers or was it more your parents?”

“A bit of both. Seeing all the needy people. People dying from lack of simple meds, simple hygiene and clean water. My parents have always done what they could. They have did medical missions, volunteered at free clinics. So yes, both I would say. How about you? What drew you to the law?”

“”Well, I was always argumentative as a child. Had an answer for everything. My sister would tell me,’ You should be a barrister, Jamie. A joke between us, at first. As I got older, I started to see the appeal of it. At first, it was just the idea of getting paid to argue. But, as. I started to research it, I was drawn to the since of fairness, rightness. The idea of justice. Of setting things right again.”

She smiles at him as he starts his car. “A romantic not just monetary draw. Something else we have in common.” She lays her hand beside him and he covers it with his own.

“Aye. Anyone who gets into the law just to get rich, is in it for the wrong reason. Whether on the prosecution or defense side, you are serving the public good. That should be the motivation”

“I feel the same about medicine. You can't be in it for what you get out of it. A public good, as you say.”

“Aye.” He links their fingers as he drives off. He doesn’t want this date to end but knows it must. They need to do it right. This, what is between them, is to important for less.

“I feel it too, you know.” He turns quickly to look at her. “The hesitation about ending this date. I want to..” she trails off with a blush,” But, it is far to soon.”

“Aye, I was thinking the same. You are worth more then that.” He had arrived back at her place and they both sigh. He parks and gets out and opens the door. Taking her to the door “I really want to kiss you., which is why I mustn’t.” Another sigh. He bends down and brushes his lips across her forehead. He then lifts her hands up and kisses them.

“I've classes and then a test to study for tomorrow night. But, the next night can I take you out?” she asks him.

“Aye lass. Can I text you tomorrow?”

“Yes please.” She stands on her toes to reach his own forehead. “I will miss you way to much if you don't. Good night Jamie.”

“Good night Claire.”

She wakes up to a text from him.

'Good morning beautiful.’'

She smiles as she responds.

'Good morning my handsome scot.’

She is making the bed when her notification bell rings.

‘My. Like that.’

A flush covers her face. She had claimed him and isn't sure if it was intentional or not.

‘We do belong with each other.’ She text back, recalling what he said about honesty.

'Aye. And to?’

She swallows hard as she stares at her phone. He is right but, it had been just three days since she meet him.

'Claire, I'm sorry. Don't run.’

She feels the fear coming through his text. Her heart gives a lurch as she quickly replies.

‘You are right. And to each other. I am scared Jamie.’

A few seconds later.

'Don't be. There are two of us.’

'Coffee? Before class. I need to see you.’

‘And I you. Coffee aye.’

Her heart slows as soon as she sees him. He sees the relief reflected in his eyes too. He draws her into a hug, unmindful of the other people waiting.

“Better.” She says against his chest.

“Aye. Much better.”

She giggles. “How are we ever to do this Jamie. Not able to go a day.”

“Coffee and talk, eh?”

“Yes.” They order and he takes her to the table farthest away from the others.

“I've a crazy solution.” She looks at him with a head tilt. “Hear me out. Okay?” She nods. “We could get married.” Her mouth starts to open and he reaches across and covers it with his hand. “I know insane. But so is this. All of it. I am not saying jump into bed. Just join names and households. So we can live together.”

“We can do that without marriage.” She replies under his hand. He moves it. “It is 2019.”

“Aye. It is just not how I was raised. We are heading there. We both know it. So, keep doing this. Longing for each other. Or. Marry. Share a house and a bed, when we are ready.”

“Give me a day or so.”

“I guess I can do that.” She grins at him, reaches over to kiss his cheek. “Have class. I love you Jamie.”

“I love you Claire.”

“Marry!” her mind screams as she tries to focus on her classes. “It is crazy. Insane.” But, it has a strange appeal. A pull. To wake up in the same place, the same bed, well, it makes more sense then this crazy longing. Then finding herself unable to go a day without seeing him. Touching him. But, on the other hand, should she be running from the strange power of this? Shouldn’t it scare her? It does but in a thrilling way.

“Did I just propose, to a lass I've known for three days, at a coffee shop?” Jamie thinks in a kind of fascinated horror later. “Have I lost my mind?” Aye, his mind, his heart, his soul, his future, everything important to him, is hers. Totally and completely hers. They are heading towards marriage. Despite how crazy it is. They were made for each other. So, in that regard, it makes sense. He shakes himself and refocuses. He decides to do it right. Well, as right as he can now. He will get a ring and ask her proper.

His last class is over an hour before hers. He hurries to his apartment and takes out his lock box. He opens it and takes out the ring that is inside. A silver and gold mix that has a diamond crown cut in the middle. It had belonged to his grandmother. At her death, his mam had gifted it to him. “Fot the woman who will be my daughter-in-law.”

He bounces in his hand, the ring that his grandpa Simon had placed on his grandmother’s Vivian's hand when he asked for her hand 60 years ago. He wonders if they would approve of his choice. Yes, he thinks. Claire is a lot like her. Has the same intellect and ambition. He smiles. She had reared five children while taken night classes to get her business degree. She ran Lallybroch while grandpa served in the military. Yes, they would like her.

She meets him where they first meet mere four days ago. She is nervous so is he. “Claire, I am sorry. I should have never blurted it out like that. Right before we both had class.”

“No. It made concentrating hard.”

“Sorry babe. Besides the place and timing and place, what did you think?”

“There is a kind of logic to the illogical idea of it.”

He laughs aloud. “Christ Claire, your way with words. That is a perfect description.” She laughs with him. “Does that mean yes?” She looks deep into his eyes and sees all she has ever dreamed of. With a deep breath she nods.

“Yes, as crazy as it is, yes.” He drops down before her. He slips the ring out of his pocket. “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, I know it is crazy but there is no one else I want to hold hands with, the only one I want to wake up beside, the only one I want to see in our children’s faces, the only one I want to fight with, make up with, laugh with and cry with. Will you do me the honor of stepping into the future with me. Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes Jamie!” He slips the ring on her finger. It fits perfectly. “Did you go out and..”

“No. It was my grandma's. Does it suit because I can.”

“No. God Jamie. It is beautiful.”

“Like you.”

“You know we have yet to even kiss.” His fiancée reminds him.

“Hmm we should remedy that.” He stands up and pulls her to her feet. Placing his hands on her face, he meets her eyes before lowering his head.

Neither are sure what to expect but are not prepared for the power behind it. She clings to his shoulders to avoid falling. He holds tight to her back to prevent the same. She feels the power he is holding in check. He feels the trust she is given him and is exquisitely careful with it.

They both look awed as they come apart. She rest her head against his chest. His arms come tight around her.

“So, do you want a long engagement.” He asks against her head.

“No. I think a short one would be best.” He chuckles.

“I agree. You want a church wedding?”

“I think simpler is better. Maybe a church wedding later. Like on an anniversary.”

“Okay. Claire I don’t even know if you are a Catholic?”

“I am. Nominal but yes.”

“Good. That is good. Children, you want children?”

“Boy are we doing this backwards.” She says with a laugh. “Yes, I want children.”

“We are. Okay Claire, let's go..”

“To your place. And talk.”

“Aye. My place it is.” They join hands and the feel of the ring does strange things to Jamie, and he takes her to his flat.

His place is tiny but neat. He was verra glad he followed his mam's advise and always kept it straightened. “Yah ne' ken when you will want to bring a lass home.” She had advised,” so always assume you will.” Because he followed that rule, he knows he won’t be embarrassed by wet towels on the floor or dishes in the sink. This is not just any lass, but his fiancée. He is thankful for the good first impression.

She smiles as she walks in. An efficiency, with the living room/ bedroom together. The perfectly made bed is off to the side. The sofa has a tarden style blanket over the back. A bookshelf is filled with both law books and novels. The kitchen is clean with just a few dishes in the drainer.

“I am impressed. Mine isn't this neat.”

“My mam. She always told me to leave the house as if I would be bringing someone back to it.”

“A smart woman.”

“Aye, you would have liked her and she you.”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Come Claire, let's talk.” She takes a seat on his couch and fingers the soft fabric of the tarden.

“Your families colors?”

“Aye, the Fraser colors.” He takes it and spreads it out over their laps.

“Beautiful.” She runs her hands over it.

“Aye.” But he isn’t talking about the tarten. He meets her eyes and they both swallow. “Talk. We need to talk.”

“Yes. How many children do you want?”

“Two or three. Siblings teach you a lot, I've found.”

“Yes. I always wanted one. So, are you a ‘attend mass every time the doors are open' type or..”

“Or. I should go more. But..”

“Ah, that is me too.”

And so, they slowly get to know their future spouses for the first time. They discuss family, their own and what they expect for the one they are building together, values and mores, and then they get to the more intimate stuff.

“I was 16. He was 19. I was in Paris with Uncle Lamb. He was sweet, and very French. We were at his flat and I felt myself very grown-up. Well, until I missed my cycle.” His eyes get comically large, “I wasn’t. Just nerves. It was only a week but put me off the whole idea for awhile. Besides, I couldn’t figure out what the attraction was. It seemed a messy affair that only brought pleasure to the man.”

“You didn’t..”

“No. I hardly ever do. I know it is harder for a woman but..”

He is shaken his head. “The man must take his time and pay attention. Though, my first probably didn’t get much out of it either. I was seventeen, a bit older, eh. She was also. We were out in the barn, fumbling in the hay loft. I took her in three strokes.”

“Three.” She is giggling.

“I've gotten better.” It is without thought that there lips come together, that there hands fumble under the tarden that still covers them. Hers land on his thighs. His glaze her breasts. Their moans blend together. She finds herself under him as he kisses down her neck. Her hands twisted in that wonderful hair.

“Please,” she whispers, as his hands work under her sweater.

“Are you sure?”

“Very. I want you.” He eases it up as she pulls on his. He lifts hers off and then his own. She watches his eyes as he looks at her. Her breasts are one part of her body she is insecure about. To small, she has always thought. But, the awe she sees in his eyes makes her start to think differently.

“Claire, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”

“You don't think them to small?”

“No,” he lowers the bra straps. “God no. You are esquist.” He reaches back to take it off before moving his hands to the front to cup her. She shivers at the contact. “With nipples like cherries. Shall we see if they are as sweet?” Her eyes drift closed as he lowers his head. Only to fly open with his first deep suck.

“Oh god!” It feels so good. So very good as his pulling mouth works her nipple deeper in. His fingers pull on the other one. He then switches sides. Her left is even more sensitive and she cries out as he starts to love on it. The thought that he is to be her husband and her breasts will have this type of attention all the time is what causes her to tear up. He feels them fall on his neck and looks up.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No. I just realized that, as my husband, you can love on my breast, like that all the time.”

“Ah lass, and we have just begun.” He pulls her jeans off and kisses down her belly.

“Where? What?”

“I think you know.”

“Yes, it is just..”

“Aye?” he rests on her hip bone and looks up at her with raised eye brows. “Ah, there is an odor.” She is blushing.

“True. You smell of your desire for me and it is intoxicating. Please Claire, let me bring you pleasure. “ She nods and tries to relax as her eases her panties off. He kisses back up her legs, easing them open. He licks up her inner thigh, and she starts to shake with anticipation.

He kisses her mound before opening her with his hands. She closes her eyes as he starts to lap her, up and down. He hits her clit with every swipe and she is soon panting for more. He fully turns his attention to it.

“Ohhh!” She had never felt anything like his mouth holding her in place as his tongue pulled at her. His hand comes up and finds her left nipple and she is gone. Pulled almost out of her body by the surge of pleasure, her legs start to shake and quiver, her body bows up and over him. He keeps a hold of her breast and clit and waits for her to come down. When she does, he pulls her back over with a deep suck and a gentle squeeze. This time she screamed.

“That,” he breathlessly tells her. “Is what it is supposed to feel like.”

“Yes! Oh yes. Thank you.”

He grins from her belly where he had worked his way too. “Shall we continue? We don’t have to. Can wait if you want.”

“Sweet man, I want you. Let's go mess up your bed.”

“Oh aye,” He pulls off his clothes before taken her hand and leading her into his room. “Claire, are you on something?” he asked her.

“No I, well I've not been.”

“Right. No worries I've,” He reaches into his bedside drawer. “My da taught his sons to always have rubbers around. That you will never know and.. well, I listened.”

“Thank God you did.” He grins in agreement before pulling one out of the just opened box.

“Aye.” She climbs on the bed. He joins her and runs his hands down her body. “You are so very beautiful, my wife-to-be.”

“Soon Jamie. I wish to be married soon.”

“Aye, me too.” He is playing with her breast and she starts to gasp and keen. “Claire, may I?” In answer, she takes the rubber from him and slips in on. Her hands on him are almost his undoing. He groans and then gasp as she guides him between her legs. “Oh God. “ The feel of her, surrounding him, he knows he was exactly where he was born to be.

“Yes, Jesus Jamie, yes!” her hands hold tight to him as he starts to move. He watches her, gaging her reaction so he can find the rhythm that suits them both. The slow slide, in and out, that has her clawing at his back, seems to be it.

“Close. Oh God. Jamie I think..” he smiles and lowers his head, drawing that wonderfully sensitive left nipple in. It is all she needs and, with his next slide in, she gasps, and cries out as she clamps around him. “Oh!”

“That's it, my love. “ he sooths as she comes down. He had stopped as she came around him, not wanting to cum himself, just yet.

“Oh wow!” He kisses her deeply before picking it back up. He moves a bit faster and her legs come up to hold him in place. “Jamie!”

He is determined to bring her there again and lifts her wonderful bum up, drawing her closer. Her pants and gasps get more frantic and he feels it build back up in both of them. “Come baby. Cum with me.” She starts to move with him and a minute later whimpers and groans as the pleasure runs back through her. He follows within seconds, crying out her name.

“Well okay then,” She says after a few more hundred heartbeats that slowly return to normal. “That is what it is supposed to feel like.”

“Aye.” He lays breathless and sweating beside her. “Aye but that is making love. Was new to me. The intensity.”

“Good. Good to know I am not alone.”

“Never again.” He rolls over and faces her,” that is my vow to you. You will ne' face another day or night alone.”

“God Jamie. I so love you.”

“You are my world. When do you wish to make the wedding then?”

“Do you wish your family here?”

“We can have ceremony for them later. Just you and I is fine for now. Unless you wish your family here?”

“No, just us sounds perfect. Can we just go to the register tomorrow?”

“Aye, my love. We can if that be your wish.”

“Yes please.”

“Then that is what we will do.”

That is what they do. After stopping to purchase simple gold bands, they walk into the registers office, hand in hand.

“We would like to be married, please.” He tells the lady at the counter.

“Excellent. Need you to fill out this license. You have ID?” They hand it to her. “Very good.”

“So, we can get married now?”

“Yes you may. In three day.”

“Three days?” Claire complains.

“Yes. We have a three day period from when the license is filed and when it is picked up. Gives us time to see if you are married elsewhere and you time to cool off, not to marry in haste.”

“It is only three days. I am going nowhere.” Jamie tells her.”

“Right.” She smiles at him. “We can be married here though?”

“Yes. The day you pick up your license.”

“Thank you. We will be back.”

“I bet she thinks I am pregnant.” Claire teases as they leave, still hand in head.”

“Undoubtedly. Well it matters not what she thinks. We know why we wish to be married so fast.” She smiles at him. “Because I canna live another day without you.”

“Nor I, you. Well, it is only three days and with classes and all.”

“Time will go fast. Aye.”

“And it doesn’t mean we can’t be together. Neither of us have class until tomorrow.” His eyes shoot up.

“Well then, future Mrs. Fraser, your place or mine?”

“Oh, we have to figure that out. Later.”

They stand before the judge three days later. Holding tight to each others hands and looking deep in each others eyes, they repeat the words that bind them together. They slip the rings on and kiss. They take a selfie with the marriage license and their ringed fingers. They send it to their families and then hide in her apartment for a week, waiting for the explosion to die down. Their families eventually come to understand and except the marriage.

A year later, August Julia-Ellen Fraser is born. The grandparents and aunts and uncles come to meet the chestnut haired blue eyed lass. When they see how in love her parents are and how the are making it work, still keeping up with their classes still on the right track, the last of their doubts fade away.

They return to Scotland after finishing school. They build their practices as their children grow. Every Autumn, they take a week, just them, and go camping. Exploring the monros, making love under the stars, keep warm by her husbands heat, reminds Claire why it is her favorite season.