#I was not expecting the four of them to only be in two categories. Tumblr posts

[myriadxofxmuses]

What subtle way of saying "I love you" are you

Tagged by: @the-thieves-gambit

Tagging: @savagecuhnt , @ruinedsoulsrp (Annie, Brock, Nick, Stephen), @reevezs (Eric & Zach), @huntrcssqueen (Theo), @thccraft (Belinda), @lostxones (Finn, Molly), @the-thieves-gambit (retagging for Charlie, Alejandra),

Ivy, Ethan

you're the exception

your emotional walls have walls. seriously, you've guarded yourself so well, you sometimes forget how to look over your own walls and see the beauty of the world outside the safety of the protection you've set up. you forget how to escape the confines you built for yourself, that is, but some people (some incredibly rare people) somehow know their way through that intricate maze of walls and thorns around you. they're the exception, and terrifying as it might be at first, you'll let them know eventually. you smile at them where you'd scowl at another. you crack a joke where you'd usually stay quiet. you find yourself opening up more than you'd ever imagined. don't tear your fortress down if you don't want to, but maybe try to build your loved ones a little home inside it instead. you don't have to be alone. you deserve better than being alone in there.

Emily, Liam

I'll wait for you.

you're a restless person, always moving from one place to another, perpetually occupied with something or other. people call you impatient. hell, you might even call *yourself* impatient! and that's fine, that's just who you are. but you'll wait for some people. you'd sit down and wait for them if they needed you to, and the first time you do, the first time you show them you'll stretch your limited patience to something limitless for them if they need it, it feels almost like a confession. you might not be very patient with the world, but there are exceptions you're more than willing to make. you're so good at making people feel like they're not a burden.

[almondmilktargaryen]

Duty & Sacrifice (Part Three)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Fem!Reader

Category: Flangst

Content warnings: Mourning child loss (written by someone who's not a parent), lying

Word count: 4.6k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four ✍️

Just as when he left Flea Bottom, the guards do not look twice at Aemond as he walks through the Keep. They do not see his face, nor the two cloaks he wore (Criston gave him his to hide the blood). No, all they see is his boots as they bow upon passing. The only words they utter are, “My prince.” Aemond faces forward. His eye does not stray. And his head stays up.

He turns sharply after climbing the stairs, finding his chamber doors in the east wing. The guard outside mimics the expected behavior before Aemond pushes himself through.

Out of all things unexpected in one night, Floris being absent was jarring. She sticks to a routine, just like him. With the candles already snuffed out, the smell of smoke had been replaced by the open air from their balcony. She should’ve retired hours ago.

Perhaps the gods wanted to leave him alone after… all of it, reminding him how alone he truly was. Still, Aemond looks around, peering past corners and squinting into dark areas at the far ends of their chambers, straining his vision with the distance as he feels the chains in his chest. They weighed down his heart and lungs as he staggered and lifted the bedcovers. Caution camouflages with his grief and takes hold just as strongly. Floris could be anywhere.

The weight, the chains stacked on themselves. Aemond discards the cloaks and mixes them in their shared dirty clothes. The view of King’s Landing taunts him; the capital he once saw from a safe distance nearly two years ago. Even in daylight, the people were nothing more than specks of dust. None of them could hurt him. He never thought it would be the reason, once again, why he felt this way. It was only more proof that he has not changed, still stupid. Three and ten, self-loathing, and stupid.

Luc used to represent his self-loathing. Now he sees Alyssa.

She was warm whenever he held her to his chest, like the sun washing over the cityscape. She was a blaze as fiery as her hair. Now she’s snuffed out like the candles in his chambers, but this time far away from home.

Aemond grips the barrier of the balcony as he falls. The stone scratches his skin as he clings to it like a cliff’s edge, yet he sinks down and down. A heave escapes him, squeezed out of him as the imagery of it all floods back, every angle pouring in as he convinces himself there was something he could have done. Before the alleyway, before Chataya’s. Surely, there was a step he missed. He had to have, so he retraced it all while shivering, like winter was here.

The door creaked open, making Aemond’s head spring up like a deer hearing a twig’s snap. He plugged his grief, picking himself up in the shroud of darkness and rubbing his face.

“Aemond!” Floris’ silhouette is barely in view, but he still recognizes it as she pushes her bangs from her forehead. Her rapid breaths grow louder with each step toward him before she’s fully in the moonlight. She’s in her nightgown. The black one from her mother that matches her hair, both now in crumpled waves. “Where have you been? Daeron has been in a state demanding to see you.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

A hand remains in her hair, the other on her hip. “He won’t stop crying. A nightmare, maybe? I put him to bed hours ago, and the handmaidens said he woke up screaming.”

“I’ll go to him.”

“Wait.” A palm meets his chest, square in the center. “What’s wrong?”

Aemond stares into the dark of their chambers just above her head before falling to her blue eyes. It was wiser not to speak.

The tips of her fingers are cold as they brush under his eye. Her short nails barely scrape his unmarred cheek. The wetness shines under the moon as she turns her palm to him.

He pulled out his usual excuse, putting a hand over his patch. “Eye pain.”

“Eye pain?”

“Yes.”

“Your upsets usually force you to rest, not tears.” She observes the residue before wiping it on her gown. “I haven’t seen it this bad since Baelon’s last name day.”

“Well, it happened. It comes in waves. Or sometimes a moment’s fit.” Another way to cover himself in the future. He’s discovered grief rises in him at inconvenient times. Gods love to torture. “I can’t control when they occur, Floris.”

“I never said you could. I just—”

“I need to see Daeron.”

The children sleep in the west wing of the Keep now. After what happened to Jaehaerys, Aemond insisted their rooms be away from the royal quarters. He made sure there was a guard at their doors day and night. Jaehaera included. Tonight, however, there were two guards outside Daeron’s door, appearing dazed and confused. Yet they still had the sense to bow to their prince.

Aemond opened the door to find five handmaidens completely helpless. But like the guards outside, Aemond was also confused when finding his son not screaming. His body only bounces in place like he had the hiccups. His head was down and he gripped his little golden blanket.

“He’s tired out his throat, my prince,” one handmaiden says. Her voice shakes.

Daeron looks up when hearing the title. His little eyes are puffy from crying so hard, and Aemond’s heart, merely hanging by chords, can still twist in on itself as he watches his boy’s lip quiver.

“Leave us, please,” Aemond says.

“Forgive us, my prince. We tried our best.”

Daeron rubs an eye with the heel of his hand. “Papa, my… throat hurts.” His voice sounds like he swallowed gravel from the training yard.

“I’m sure, sweetling. Hold on,” Aemond turns his head to the group. “My son is thirsty. Please, one of you fetch him some water. Add some essence of nightshade to help him sleep.”

Their curtsies blend with their departure. The door shuts behind him.

The candle on Daeron’s bedside table revealed the redness across his face, hot and sticky with tears. Aemond walks to the foot of the bed. He’s careful not to let his weight go too suddenly, recalling the height difference this time between this bed and Baelon’s. He’s not hesitant though with stretching out his arms. “Come here,” he says.

Daeron springs from his covers, leaving behind the small golden blanket as he crawls into Aemond’s lap. He hugs him at the neck while Aemond holds him at the waist. It’s a long hug, something they both need. He smells like outside, earthy yet sweet. He lets himself feel the boy’s fragile ribs steadying themselves. His father was here now. There was no need to worry. So they took in air as they needed it—with ease. When he pulls back, Aemond grabs the spare handkerchiefs left behind. Daeron still sniffled, but refused to blow his nose. Aemond pinches it instead.

“What’s upsetting you so much?”

“Am I to be Lord of Storm’s End?”

“What?”

Snot dribbles on the handkerchief. “I had a dream.”

Aemond cocks his head. “Tell me about it.”

“I had a dream that… that we went to Storm’s End to see Uncle Royce. But I was alone. And-and—”

“It’s alright.” Aemond rubs his son’s back. “It’s alright.”

“You wouldn’t let me fly Morning. I couldn’t get back home.”

Aemond gave pause as he listened to Daeron. The boy’s lip quivers again as Aemond’s thoughts swirl, shushing his son as he remembers Helaena. Aemond clears his throat. He smiled down at his son. “I know what this is,” he says with an exhale. “Come with me.” He holds him close as he stands up, walking across the rooms to settle at his window, the other side of King’s Landing before them. Aemond used Daeron’s fleshy arm to point. “What’s that building there?”

“S-Sept?”

“That’s right. The Grand Sept. Your Aunt Helaena is there. You never got the chance to meet her.” He petted Daeron’s head, white fluffy hairs that swept to the front and covered his forehead. He looks back up at Visenya’s Hill. The sept’s cylindrical corners and golden domes draw eyes to the center of the city. One of them held three bejeweled urns with their ashes inside, and Aemond dares not sniffle. “She would have dreams like yours, except she would often be awake. They would overwhelm her all the same. We didn’t understand them.”

“What happened?” He doesn’t look up at Aemond when he asks, only straight ahead at the sept. Meanwhile, Aemond blocks the memories; gore and blood still trailed the back of his mind if he ventured far enough. His leg bounces as he exhales slowly through his mouth, sounding like a haunting wind. Daeron didn’t notice. Aemond couldn’t gather an answer. What could he say? His sister went insane. She killed herself. He found her on Maegor’s spikes. She blamed herself for something that was his fault, and he never got to apologize.

“She lost her sons in the last war. Your cousin Jaehaera’s brothers.”

“Were they soldiers?”

“No, no.” He’s perfectly between Jaehaerys and Maelor in age. The ages they remain for the rest of time. He skips that. “But she loved them so much, losing them was too much to bear for her.” He rests his chin on Daeron’s head, just catching the tear streaking down his cheek before it dripped onto his son’s scalp. Observing the sept again, he longed to be ignorant of such despair. He shook Alyssa from his mind (as best as he could) to come back. “That’s how I feel about you.”

Daeron relaxed a little, his back touching Aemond’s chest. “But what about—” he coughs. “Uncle Royce.”

Aemond ignored the name. “These dreams can be very vivid. About things we already know. Your uncle named you heir, so you will be Lord of Storm’s End one day, yes. But you will go when you are ready.” He kissed Daeron’s head, inhaling his scent as he tried sniffling subtly. “We will ensure your brother receives proper training in royal proceedings as king. Your mother and I will ensure you’re prepared as a lord.”

Daeron doesn’t speak. He picks at the leather of Aemond’s jerkin.

Aemond, in return, hugs him tight with both arms. He gets close to his ear. “You’re not leaving me for a long, long time. Is that what you needed?”

He finally nods. His little white sideburns tickle his nose.

“Good. Because it’s the truth.” He picks him up again. “Now, time for bed.” His sniffling boy buried his head into his neck as he cuddled close, his fingers wrapped around the back. It was painful to do so, he could admit, but he still pried him off. His fingers slipped off him like broken stitches as he made him settle back in bed. He was reluctant, but gave him the golden one, avoiding the black stag sewn in the corner. He kissed the boy one more time before walking to the door.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

“Uncle Royce. Where is he?”

“I assume at home.”

“But in my dream, I didn’t see him there. I said I was alone.”

Aemond blinks rapidly. “Perhaps… you didn’t venture far enough to find him.”

He rubs the satin edge of the Baratheon blanket.

“He loves you very much, Daeron. He wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“I know. I just don’t feel like he’s there.”

Aemond said nothing, only watched his son. His purple eyes, swollen and exhausted, darted up at Aemond briefly. They eventually went back down as he pulled his bigger blankets over his lap. Aemond could feel there was something else there, more his son wanted to say. And Aemond, for all the love he bears for his children, didn’t want to hear it tonight. So, he slowly turns on his heels.

“Papa?”

He suppressed his curse. “Yes?”

“Was… Aunt Helaena… were all her dreams true?”

Aemond swallowed thickly as he saw his wife do hours before he left for Flea Bottom. The truth is painful to keep down as he hears Helaena’s voice speaking of rats, then Jaehaerys’ head rolling on the floor just hours later. Still, Aemond looks his son in his beautiful purple eyes as he sternly says, “No. Now go to bed.”

Daeron doesn’t move for a moment, but eventually lays down. Neither of them say goodnight.

Finally, Aemond exits and heads back to his room. Keeping his head up, he pushes down his anguish with each step. He’s not out yet.

Floris barely waited for the door to close before she pounced. “Where have you been?” She is now the starkest thing in the room, all the candles alight again and casting a deep orange across their chambers and she is as dark as tonight’s sky. Only her cream skin contrasted with her hair and attire.

“I told you,” Aemond said. “At a meeting with the City Watch.”

“Her arms crossed over her small belly. “For two hours?”

“Yes.”

“When have you had a City Watch meeting last two hours?”

“Just now.”

“Aemond.”

“Floris, please.” He walks past her, cornering himself on the damn balcony. He lacks the courage to even glance at the city, choosing the brush below instead.

“What did this meeting consist of?” Her voice gets closer.

“My business with the City Watch.”

“Our baby boy wailed for his father.” Aemond can hear the way she bares her teeth. “And wherever this City Watch meeting occurred in the Keep, you were nowhere to be found.”

“It was a meeting in the city.” He spat out the first retort in his mind. “A dire meeting.”

“What could be so dire that you could not tend to your own son?”

“Someone killed a baby.”

The brewing storm halted with a catch in her breath. Her suspicion, though, is still strong around her. Aemond could smell it like rain in the air. He didn’t speak further. Rather, he found the nearest chair and fell into it. The barrier’s small columns blocked the city, similar to a cell as he thought of the woman he loved near the Old Gate. He cannot tell which one is the prisoner, as he pressed his temple with two fingers.

Floris crouched in her gown. Her gaze was heavy as Aemond did everything to keep from letting unnecessary information slip from him. “We took care of the killer. That’s what matters.”

Floris’ pale hand meets the crook of his arm. A thumb doesn’t brush back and forth like it did when his mother succumbed to her fever. The other arm does not wrap him in closer like it did when his nightmares of war jolted him and woke them both. Her thick brows didn’t slant in sympathy. They were straight and stern. “Whose baby was it?”

“What?”

“Whose baby was it?”

Aemond rips his arm away, the leather of his sleeve squeaking sharply from her grip. “What relevance is that?”

“Because you’re a kinslayer.” It rolls off her tongue so naturally.

“I’ve told you not to—”

“It’s what you’re known for, Aemond. I don’t understand how one baby would concern you.”

Aemond slams a fist on the arm of the iron chair as he stands, turning his back to his wife before facing her again. “You know I lost my nephews in the Dance.”

“After killing another.”

“Don’t!” His fingers curl into a fist. It’s when his father crosses his mind that he throws the force against his hip and lets out a shaky exhale. “Floris.”

“With your brother’s bastards rotting in the alleyways, I just don’t understand the difference.” She picks herself  up, pushing with her knees  and holding her belly. Aemond doesn’t help her.

“Because she wasn’t a bastard.” He spits out the words. Another lie, but he doesn’t care.

“Then whose baby was it?”

The chamber doors groan slowly. Aemond doesn’t move from his wife, but refuses to answer. Even as he sees her anger boil her skin and streak her cheeks, he keeps his mouth shut and watches the doors.

“Forgive me, my prince. Princess. I do not mean to disturb.”

“Cole.”

Even in a tunic and linen breeches, he stands like he wears his Kingsguard armor: feet apart, hands collected at his front. No blood in sight, and his hair is disheveled as if someone tore him from bed.

“Leave us,” Floris snaps over her shoulder.

“Cole, what news?” 

He delays in reply, clearing his throat. “Once again, we require your presence, my prince.”

“With what?” Aemond slips around Floris before she can stop him.

“With, uh, burial arrangements.”

Aemond stood still, frozen.

“If the baby has a family, they can decide for themselves,” Floris says. “I don’t understand why such matters require my husband.”

“The family is quite… distraught, princess. As a mother, I’m sure you can understand the idea of such pain.”

Floris’ eyes falter slightly to the floor before glaring back at Criston

“The maesters have wrapped the body and prepared her for her final journey.”

“I’ll go,” Aemond says.

Floris snatches Aemond at the arm. “No!” Her heels skid on the stone floor.

“Do you wish to see the child’s body yourself?” Aemond snaps back at her. “For proof she’s real and your husband has a heart?”

He expected Floris to let him go, in every sense of the phrase. But her small fists only coiled tighter around his forearm. Everything hard about her expression fractured before him. The blue in her eyes glisten brilliantly as she shakes. “Please, Aemond.”

“It won’t take long, princess. I assure you. Your husband will be back soon.”

“Don’t leave.”

Aemond sighs. But he looks his wife in the face as he pulls his arm from her hold a second time. He walks to Criston.

“Please.”

It falls on deaf ears.

Neither speak a word as they make their way through the Keep, nor create any sense of urgency with their footsteps. The only ones who look them in the face are a number of Gold Cloaks, either nodding or appearing extra sullen.

They don’t exit through the front doors. No disguises with them now. Instead, the pair navigate through Maegor’s tunnels to find their escape, opening one (of many) secret doors. The scale of Aegon’s High Hill meets them, the white waves of the Blackwater and a bobbing rowboat just below.

“How did you do it? Is Alyssa—”

“Not now.”

Criston jumps down first, landing on a small area of flat rock. He scales down the small mountain with ease, and Aemond follows with enough distance to not disturb each other’s footing. They hug the jagged walls and Aemond keeps his eye focused down on his own feet, his impaired sight working against him more than ever, with only moonlight just barely revealing shadows here and there. Criston even turned around to help him with some of the hill’s slimmer edges, but he refused, wanting to retain his focus. Over time (and with an absurd amount of patience), they meet at the bottom. They let the steep decline guide them to the small beach, meeting the rowboat.

“We have paid some Gold Cloaks to act as alibis in case your wife wants to inquire. They have already spread the word to others.”

The pools of Floris’ Baratheon blue eyes stick with him. She barely faltered upon word of her father’s fall in battle, nor a tear shed at his funeral. She maintained a grace fit for an unmoving force like her. Yet it was Aemond who pushed her tonight. He pushed her to tears. “And the maesters?” He inquires while clearing his throat. “What you said back there, that was true?”

Criston stretches his arms out to steady the boat. “Watch your step,” he tells him. But before Aemond can even take a step, he’s holding out his hand. Aemond looks down at it.

“I can get in fine on my own, Cole.”

“Just…” He gestures again and keeps it out until Aemond reluctantly takes it, one palm meeting the other. Criston guides him in and continues holding tight as the wood creaks under his boots. He doesn’t let go until Aemond sits down, the boat wobbling. Then Criston steps in on the other side, the Blackwater just missing his ankles, rocking the boat all the same. He grips the edges as he steadies it before reaching down.

Even the late night couldn’t hide the bundle of white waxy cloth, the small bloodless being that he held himself just hours ago. He can still feel the phantom wriggling in his arms from her twin’s screams. Now she is here, still. Still and cold as Criston handed her over. But even as the wind blows, Aemond hovers over her to shield her from the chill. He whispers to her as he does.

“I asked Maester Orwyle to wrap her, so we have another alibi should we need it. With her… injury…”

Aemond traces over her eye. Where her eye would be.

“There was no reason to suspect she was anything but a peasant child.”

“And Royce?”

“The less you know, the better.” Criston then pulls their weight with the boat’s oars as Aemond’s fingers brush the outline of his daughter’s face. The noise of moving water surrounds them as he pictures her. He pulled her into the world first, and he never thought bringing his third child into the world would affect him as deeply as his first two. He never imagined she would leave the world the way she came: wet and screaming.

It wasn’t until Criston docked the boat on the other side of the bay that he thought about asking where he—they—were being taken. He still stood unsteadily when stepping out, eyeing the breathing mountain amongst the young trees: his Vhagar. White birds that were perched on her spine flew when she picked up her head. She doesn’t yawn as she normally does when she wakes up, leaving Aemond to wonder, again, just what they’re doing here.

She peers from her high vantage point, neck fully stretched out as her acid green eyes peer at them both, watching them trudge through the brush of her dwelling. She sniffed the air harshly, sounding like a long hiss if Aemond wasn’t looking. Criston continues pushing the vegetation aside (as he had clearly done before, given the faint imprints of feet in the lush grass). It’s not until they make a circle around her that he sees the pyre; a shadow of dry black timber. Thick logs made the foundation as smaller sticks crossed each other to make the bed.

“She was a Targaryen,” Criston says. “She deserves a proper sendoff.”

Aemond clings to the cloth, securing her against his chest as if he is concealing her under his cloak all over again. He stares at the stick bed, and Vhagar lying behind it. Her chest rumbles, something like a hum that causes the earth to tremor under them. Her neck cranes down for a closer look, and Aemond can see the slashes in her pupils as he feels the creaking of her ancient joints when she tries standing.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond tries adding some force behind his High Valyrian.

She doesn’t listen. One foot forward, and the ground quakes. Roots and leaves shiver. The length of yellow teeth come into view as she takes another sharp breath.

“Lykirī!”

Still nothing. Her snout is inches from his forehead as her sniffs are smaller and more rapid. Her pupils drop to his chest, then back to him as she nudges him. Aemond has to step back to replant himself, but doesn’t order her to be still. His hold on Alyssa remains firm, closer to his chest than her mouth. She closes her lips, and the vibrancy of her eyes disappears when they do the same. Aemond’s forehead meets her snout, and Vhagar is silent as Aemond keeps his sobs down. He clenches his teeth hard and his jaw already aches from the tension.

Eventually, Vhagar steps back, leaving Aemond to walk to the pyre. He was not sure how long it took him to get there. Neither Criston nor Vhagar spoke. The strain from his temples to his eye, and now his jaw, made every step feel glacial. But eventually he did. He couldn’t imagine the sticks being more comfortable than that cot, but he didn’t pick her back up. He swallowed the snot and bile, meeting in the middle of his throat as he stepped back. Criston stood next to him. Vhagar looked at him.

“Dracarys.” He orders it as pathetically as he did before.

Again, she doesn’t follow him. She opens her mouth with no dragonfire. Her massive head twitches to one side, looking at him as she did the first time he ordered her to fly at Driftmark. But just as Aemond can feel the ache in her bones, she can feel the chains in his chest.

Neither of them wants to do this.

Aemond takes a breath, swallowing something like courage. “Dohaerās, Vhagar! Dracarys!”

Her head drew back with another hiss and her pupils thin out before her eyes close. Her neck curls back and she stretches her jaw. It’s always slow. Even the green color that lights up her mouth. He would be convinced that the pyre lit at the same speed, but Aemond fell into the grass; his knees giving in like the wood did under the intense heat.

Criston is still there as Aemond sobs freely, the sounds of it drowned out by the cracks of sticks and logs. He holds Aemond tightly as he buries his face into Criston’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” he tells him. “She’s ascending to the heavens where she belongs. No one can hurt her anymore.”

Aemond blocks his nose in the cloth of Criston’s shirt, sucking in air through his mouth so he doesn’t smell any of it. He remembers how Helaena wailed when she held Jaehaerys, his body limp and the blood soaking into her dress. The woman he loves screamed the same way. The cry of emptiness, a gaping wound inside. Aemond doesn’t have the lungs to scream like that. He just thinks of Helaena on the spikes. “I have to go to her,” he finally says. He pulls away, and Criston’s silhouette is nothing but a bleary shadow. “I have to before—”

“You know she doesn’t want to see you.”

“It doesn’t mean she won’t need me. We still have a child to take care of.”

“She has a child to take care of. You have three. Two of them are here. Another will be in the coming months, and your wife does not need the extra stress of questioning your whereabouts.”

Criston now sandwiches Aemond’s face between his hands. He doesn’t scream at him, but the force of the bones in his hands is hard against his skull.

“Don’t make me build a pyre for your fifth child, Aemond.”

His voice catches in his throat. Neither mother of his children wishes to see him now. Helaena once felt the same, but Aemond’s mistakes called him and Aegon to war, leaving her to grieve on her own. He turns to the pyre, a green haze that occasionally spits at the sky. The smoke burns his nose, making his eye clench shut against the sting. In that darkness, he remembers his mother and the knife to Rhaenyra’s eye. She understood sacrifice. And it was now his turn.

Criston stands up. His outline is still blurry and black, but Aemond can just see his hand outstretched for him. “Your family needs you.”

Aemond remembered his role. And he took Criston’s hand.

Taglist: @paprikaquinn @immyowndefender @teal-anchor @dixie-elocin

[dontfearrr]

ask and you shall receive! @elia-the-bibliophile

i have a few warnings, i’m coming out of fan fiction retirement so bare with me. i didn’t proofread that well so don’t mind any spelling mistakes, i used some shitty sindarin translator on google so i do apologize if it’s incorrect, and. i think that’s all! :)

In my arms

gif not mine!

Summary: Thranduil isn’t very fond of you and legolas’s relationship but nonetheless he bares it.

Pairing: Thranduil x reader

Warnings: small hint toward sex (nothing specific)

Word count: idk tbh i forgot to check

Category: hurt/comfort(?)

—————————

“final count, forty-two.” Legolas spoke matter-a-factly across from you as he ran his fingers over his perfectly crafted, elvish bow. You gave him a raised eyebrow and drew your sword in a blink of an eye, plunging it into an orc that had its axe raised behind Legolas’s back.

“forty four”

—————————

It was midday in middle earth, you and Legolas had volunteered to clear the rogue orcs that ravaged near by villages, burning and spilling blood mercilessly. It wasn’t often you got to spend time with him due to your other duties in Mirkwood.

The Woodland Realm had been your home for many ages, you were an elf but a fool in their eyes. Woodland elves aren’t the wisest of the bunch but nonetheless, they’re your home. Legolas was the closest you’d ever get to a brother, he cared for you as family.

However that could never sit right with Thranduil.

He was a stubborn man, possessive some may say, which is why you and Legolas’s little adventure wasn’t mentioned to the elven king. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest choice considering he will find out eventually, he had men everywhere you look. At the end of the day, you’re accompanied by one of the most skilled princlings you’ve ever came across, so what could justify Thranduils brooding this time?

You and Legolas were on your way back to your residence, small talk was made but you both enjoyed simply just each others company, even if it was in silence.

“and what do you suppose daddy dearest will have to say once we return?” you inquired, not looking up from the ground as the both of them walked walked. “something along the lines of ‘no one leaves here without my knowledge, i’ve told you many times legolas’ then send me off as if i’m some child” He mocked his father, which earned a small smile in amusement from you.

As you entered the throne room, you and Legolas stood near the doors for a moment, exchanging farewells for the day. He embraces you in a warm comforting hug as he always did before he let you be, smoothing down the back of your hair and nodding his head before exiting to mind his duties. You took a deep breath to prepare yourself for what was to come as you walked down the long stone walk way to the throne, which sat the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes upon. He sat nearly diagonal, legs crossed with his arms on either side of the throne. Glittery gems littered his fingers and crown that complimented his usual flawless elven apparel.

His long white hair shifted with his gaze as he spotted the smaller elf before him. He gave her no expression which was expected. He stared, waiting for you to speak, you could feel his mood from where you stood, it reeked of attitude.

Thranduil had spotted the interaction between you and legolas, it burned a fire of rage inside of him, only he was allowed to lay even a finger upon the elf. She belonged to him. His mind raced with thought but never cracked even a sliver of visible emotion.

“my lord” you began to bow before him until he raised a hand, putting a halt to your actions. You stood back up straight in confusion and shifted on your feet, Thranduils eyes staggering into you.

He finally spoke. “i don’t think i remember warranting your leave.”

You stood your ground, after all, the king would do anything for this she-elf.

“orcs were bringing treachery over near by villages, surely you saw the fires, my lord.”

You dipped your toe into the water, testing him.

His eyes narrowed at you, his thick dark eyebrows coming together, he was unimpressed. “and what does that have to do with me?”

“nothing, my lord. Me and Legolas simply volunteered.” you took no more than five steps closer toward the tall man. “we both had a free morning, i see not the problem.” Thranduil uncrossed his legs slowly, rising from his seat. His garments fell into place, the long white, detailed over coat trailed behind him as he made his way down the wooden steps. You were eyeing him like the finest piece of treasure, his grace and royalty always intimidated you.

“very well. however, i see no reason why my son had to accompany you.” he challenged, standing only a few feet from you, hands intertwined at his front.

“i mean not to disrespect you, my lord, but i don’t see a problem with the company of your son. would you have had me go alone? perhaps getting killed?” you know he would react to that, and he did. A long sigh drew from his nostrils, getting quite impatient despite having lived for more than 8,000 years.

“Thranduil, it is to you.” he steps even closer to you and peers down at you like an animal hunting prey. “you two seem.. close.” he followed up, taking the knuckle of his index finger to push a strand of misplaced hair behind your ear. “yes. he’s the only one who will even speak to me in this realm, other than you.” you finally raised your head up to meet his piercing blue eyes. “he is the only one who treats me like family. a brother.” you continued to further solidify your point.

This wasn’t the first time you’ve had a conversation like this with Thranduil. He’s a curious yet jealous mess, whether he likes to admit it or not. This conversation was slowly taking a toll on his heart, nasty remarks threatened his throat and boiling tears threatened his eyes. He remained calm, the elf in front of him reminding him of his purpose.

“he touched you.” Thranduil simply said while tilting his head to the side a bit. If this was his attempt at intimidating you, it sure as hell was working. He made something in your heart weak, yearning for him. “surely you aren’t jealous of your very own son, right?” your tone changed, attempting to take the upper hand in this situation, and based on his expression, it was working. your crossed your arms behind your back and gave him your best doe eyes.

“i mean not to make you feel this way, you know Legolas doesn’t think of me that way, and nor do i.”

Thranduils hand fell from your cheek down to your waist, gripping fairly tight as if you were going to disappear. “i know my son shall never dare to try my woman, but you are special and you know that. it wouldn’t take a lot for him to change his mind.” At this point you were bored of the conversation, you only ever had eyes for Thranduil, but that is hard for him to understand. He’s not used to this kind of love and anything that happens under his nose makes him rethink every single thing that has ever come to him. you were his star.

“oh meleth nin” Your heart ached for the king in front of you. He has seen many a heartbreak. He couldn’t bare to handle another. You were much younger than the elven king, but you knew when his heart was hurting, and you were going to fix that. Both of your hands raised to his face, his skin was like porcelain, flawless and pale. Your thumbs ran over his cheekbones, he instinctively leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. He may seem intimidating, but sometimes even the most wretched need comfort and reassurance.

“Legolas is no more than a brother to me. you need not worry. I pledged my heart to you a long time ago Thranduil and that is how it will stay.” you got as close as you could to him to where you could still reach him. Your hands never left his face and his arms came to wrap around your waist completely. “Im nifred i er aur im lothron ú- n- farn an cin.”(i fear that one day i may not be enough for you) He whispered just loud enough for you to hear. Your heart shattered at the broken man. You wished you could take all of his trouble for yourself so he’d never have to bare them again. His head fell to your shoulder, nuzzling his face into your neck. You’d never seen him so vulnerable before. You held the back of his head, gently smoothing over his hair and scratching his scalp.

“meleth nin, my heart and soul belongs to you. there’s nothing in this earth that could give me the love you do.” You whispered into his ear, kissing the pointy tips and they flushed red. You felt his body shudder at the action and held him closer. “don’t let a simple adventure spoil your mind.”

you lifted his head to face you and leaned yours against his. “im mel cin”(i love you).

Thranduil sighed in content and took your small hand in his, holding it to his cheek as his eyes fell shut once again. He kisses your wrist and opens his eyes. “i apologize for my behavior. it was unnecessary” he drops your hand and pulls you into his large figure, engulfing you in a warm embrace. You returned the embrace by holding him tight, breathing in his woodsy scent as you did so. your head just barely reached his chest, you felt like a princess in his arms. “your apology is accepted. you never have to question my devotion to you. Ask for reassurance and i will give it to you, sweet king.”

He released you and captured your lips in a soft but passionate kiss, he tasted of pine and elvish wine. you savored the kiss as your hands cupped his face, using your thumb to draw gentle circles over the points of his ears. You always loved his body language especially since you’re the only one who ever sees him express emotion besides Legolas. As the kiss ended, you smiled up at him, to which he returned but quickly was replaced with a huff of defeat, his eyes dared to close and his legs nearly trembling.

“you witch” he feigned the insult, merely joking as you gave his ears attention. Causing him to sweep you off your feet into his arms and head toward his chambers.

[matthewfuckinggraygubler]

Could you do Spencer x reader where he’s holding a cast party and reader goes to his home to help get the party ready and confesses that she is attracted to him and he likes her back (Smut/ cute Fluff if possible)

Or could you do where the reader is starting to show her baby bump/ tell Spencer she’s pregnant? Thank uuu

Party with a surprise | Spencer Reid +18

· Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader · Category: fluff, smut-fluff, Angst · Warning: Sex, pregnancy, body-shaming · Words: 4854 · Summary: You and Spencer are really close, and lately, you've been hanging out a lot. You're excited to help him set up his party, hoping to spend more time with him. You had no idea things would change so quickly between you two.

· Spanish on Wattpad. English isn't my first language, be kind!

· Masterlist

"Hey, have you sent animated invitations to everyone for Saturday’s party?"

You heard a voice complaining behind you as a coffee flew through the air and landed in your hands.

"Yes, don’t you like it? They turned out pretty good, didn’t they?"

"Big social event at Spencer Reid's house. Please be on time, if you've been invited it's because you're a very special person… The time, the day... the address... a heart, another one... moving animals... very creative, yes." He complained, barely holding back a laugh.

"I think it was successful… everyone liked it, they all confirmed their attendance, by the way. You’re welcome for the help," you responded sarcastically.

He hadn’t asked for help with the party, but you wanted to do it. It wasn’t something he would normally do, though you thought it was great, and it was as good an excuse as any to spend time together. You’d been friends for a long time, but lately, you’d been feeling more attracted to him than usual, something you tried to deny to yourself.

"I didn’t ask for it, no need, really, just you coming is enough." You knew he didn’t mean to bother you, which only made him more adorable.

"I’ll be there early on Saturday to help with everything. And don’t try to argue! I know you." You said with a cheeky smile but a certain authoritative tone, and he couldn’t help but smile too.

On Saturday, you arrived at his house at four sharp, loaded with bags full of decorations, food, and drinks. You climbed the stairs, feeling sweat trickling down your back and your heart racing. You wanted to look perfect for him. Once at the top, you dropped everything with a sigh. Your hair was a bit tousled, and your cheeks were flushed. Just as you were about to fix yourself up, the door opened.

"Hey… What are you doing…?" A shy smile appeared on his lips.

"N-nothing... I was… resting. I carried all these things up." You were still panting.

"You should’ve called me! You’re so stubborn... You’re early." He protested as he helped you bring in the bags.

"There’s a lot of decorating to do... Why are you throwing a party if you're going to complain so much?"

"Okay, okay, sorry. I’m just nervous. You... You look really pretty, by the way."

Your eyes widened, and you fought to keep your cheeks from turning red.

"Oh… Thanks…" You turned away, trying to hide the fact that the comment affected you, and started taking things out of the bag. "Come on… Help me..."

Before you could finish your sentence, Spencer was beside you, helping you take out the decorations and placing them on the table. His arm brushed against yours, and it was affecting you more than you'd like to admit.

"Hey, look." Spencer wrapped your head with a garland. "It really suits you," he said with a laugh. You were standing quite close, and your heart raced at his adorable gesture.

"Oh, so funny." You put a bow on his head. "Now you’re a gift."

He smiled when you didn’t pull away. He looked at you intently and, with a moment of bravery, said, "I don’t mind if I’m a gift for you."

Your cheeks flushed, and you lowered your gaze, feeling your heart pound. You didn’t expect such a direct declaration. Was he openly flirting with you? Was Spencer Reid flirting? He was, and you liked it, but the idea of crossing that line with your best friend terrified you.

As you both decorated the living room, the tension between you increased with every accidental touch and prolonged glance. Your body responded instinctively to his closeness, but a part of you fought to maintain distance. When you finished, you both sat on the couch.

"Have you thought about the music? Parties have music, Spence..." You grabbed your phone and searched for a lively playlist.

"Good thing you’re here, or else…" Suddenly, you felt his hand gently stroke your arm, casually, as if it were something he did all the time. You glanced at his hand out of the corner of your eye but tried to ignore it, focusing on your phone, but your body betrayed you, and your skin tingled at his touch. You looked up and realized he was much closer than you thought. The tension was palpable, like that typical movie moment where the protagonists kiss. You felt it, you wanted it, and you could tell he did too. But oh, right... just as you were about to get closer, the doorbell rang—a timely yet inconvenient coincidence. You both cursed internally; it was clear on your faces.

"I’ll get it..." Spencer said as he stroked your arm once more, pressing gently. You didn’t know what they had done to your friend and colleague. He was so bold, so confident, you couldn’t believe it, though you loved it.

When he opened the door, Penelope burst in, with Derek and JJ following behind.

"Heyyy!" The blonde greeted cheerfully.

"How’s it going, lovebirds? I brought this," Derek placed something to drink on the table.

JJ entered and sat in the living room, looking at you curiously when she saw your frown. She smiled.

Soon, the others arrived, and honestly, you were all having a great time. You kept handling the music for everyone's sake, and watching Morgan and Garcia break into dance quickly got the party going. Rossi pulled you out to dance, Emily and JJ made amusing comments, and Hotch stayed off to the side, sipping his drink and "smiling" at the spectacle. But noticing how Spencer never took his eyes off you for a second made your heart race non-stop. If there hadn’t been music, everyone could have probably heard your heartbeat.

You spent the whole night flirting, glances here and there, a touch now and then, a subtle comment whenever one of you got close to the other… Tonight you felt like you were on cloud nine. You went to Spencer’s room, where you had all left your personal things, to grab some lip balm from your purse. As you were about to leave, you bumped into him.

"Oh..! You scared me... Sorry."

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you." Spencer had a relaxed smile on his face. He had followed you, clearly wanting to be alone with you, and at that point, you had no control over your nerves.

"N-no, it’s fine..."

"You still… still haven’t danced with me," he said, raising his eyebrows, giving you those puppy-dog eyes that made you melt. You hadn’t really been aware of it until now. And suddenly, you realized you were in his room, in the dark, with only the light from outside and the sound of the music from the living room and your friends having fun.

"No, you don’t dance..." You said with a nervous giggle.

"I would dance with you," he replied, stepping closer.

The shy laugh that escaped you as you lowered your head, embarrassed, seemed like more than enough of a sign for him to approach, with a soft but determined touch on your waist. His touch was slow, cautious, waiting for any sign of doubt or rejection, but that never came. Instead, your hands slowly moved up his arms, tracing the path to his shoulders, and you were completely pressed together as you started a slow, swaying dance.

Your gazes locked, trapping you in the warmth of his brown eyes that seemed to speak without words. Slowly, he leaned his face toward yours until your foreheads touched. He smiled—a smile full of tenderness you could see even with the dim light that entered, making you shiver.

With a slight movement of his foot, he closed the door, isolating the two of you from the rest of the world. The darkness surrounding you seemed to intensify your heartbeat. His hands, which had rested on your waist, began to slowly slide down, while yours, almost without realizing it, moved up to his neck, seeking more closeness.

Your noses brushed in a sweet, innocent gesture, but it was loaded with restrained desire. Your bodies, once swaying in sync, now moved erratically, but in that lack of coordination, there was something deliberate, as if every small accidental touch was a game you both wanted to keep playing. You could feel it—his body reacting, and yours responding to his touch.

Almost at the same time, you both leaned in, meeting in a kiss that, though passionate, was slow, delicate. With each touch, each caress of his lips on yours, you felt your mind fog, and time seemed to stop, letting only your deepest instincts guide the moment. Your tongues tangled together, while Spencer’s hands tenderly caressed the rest of your body, pulling it as close to his as he could, wanting to treat it with all the care in the world, and that’s when he seemed to realize he wanted to kiss every part of you. There was nothing innocent about the way your tongues intertwined, exploring each other with a sweetness that made you feel like you were floating. Spencer’s hands were careful, starting to explore your body with the same tenderness with which he kissed your lips.

He pushed you gently against the door, his ragged breath hitting your skin as he began a trail of kisses down your neck, slowly descending to your collarbone. Each kiss ignited a spark, making your thoughts completely vanish. The softness with which he treated you was a delicious contradiction; his kisses were soft, but the desire only made you burn more.

In the background, you barely heard the music and distant voices. Laughter, conversations, even Derek’s booming laughter or Garcia’s loud voice faded away. All that mattered was him and how his hands drew you closer to his body, as

In the background, you could barely hear the music and distant voices. Laughter, conversations, even Derek's loud laughter or García's booming voice faded away. All that mattered was him, and the way his hands pulled you closer to his body, as if he never wanted to let you go.

With a gentle movement, you pulled Spencer, and the two of you fell onto the bed. You on your back and him on top of you, his lips never stopped moving across your skin. A mixture of desire and tenderness filled every second. His body against yours enveloped you, not just physically, but emotionally, as you felt the intensity that only kept growing. And there, while Spencer's hands continued to explore your body with that infinite devotion, you knew that moment was just yours, perfect in its mix of passion and love.

His lips didn’t stop exploring every part of you they could reach, while his ragged breathing brushed your skin with an intoxicating warmth, the way his mouth lingered on your skin was slow, but filled with an intensity that made you shiver. Your hands weren’t still. They slid to his hair, tangling in it, tugging slightly, trying to feel him even closer. You could feel how every one of his movements seemed intentional, designed to make you feel loved and desired at the same time. He paused occasionally, breathing deeply. The silence in the room, broken only by whispers, shallow breaths, and the music in the background, became even more palpable when his lips finally met yours again in a deeper, more desperate kiss.

His hands rested on your face, caressing your cheek with an overwhelming softness. He looked into your eyes as his breathing steadied slightly, and then, in a low and husky voice, he said, "You can’t imagine how much I love you." His confession hung in the air, filling it with a warmth that pierced your heart.

You shivered, your body trembled, and your mind went blank. In that moment, it felt like you were floating away, all the feelings you'd been ignoring, and there he was, confessing that he loved you and making you feel like the most desired person in the sweetest way.

As his lips met yours again, Spencer couldn’t help but smile against your mouth. There was something mischievous in that gesture, something that seemed to remind you both that you'd been away from the party for too long. Your stomach fluttered, and you said, "I love you too, Spencer." The urgency started to grow more palpable. His body on top of yours pressed slightly, as if time itself was conspiring to make sure nothing and no one interrupted that moment.

Between kisses, soft laughter, and ragged breaths, he whispered in your ear, with a warm and conspiratorial tone: "They're going to look for us... they must be wondering where we are by now."

"Let them wonder," you replied with a half-smile, almost panting, as you pulled him closer, making your bodies fit together even more. You felt the heat on your skin, the fast beat of his heart, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. There were no longer just brushes of skin, his hands sought your breasts, caressing them beneath your clothes as he kissed your neck.

The hand that had been exploring your torso moved down to your abdomen, unbuttoning your pants. His hands began to slide more firmly over your waist, moving down, pulling off your pants and underwear. Despite the urgency you both felt, there was a softness in his touch that countered the fast pace of his kisses. It seemed like every gesture, every caress, was filled with love and devotion.

Between kisses, Spencer paused his mouth near your ear. "Tell me if you want me to stop..." His voice was a deep whisper, filled with that perfect mix of desire and respect, his words echoed in your mind as you bit your lip.

"No… Don't stop," you responded quickly, your fingers tangling even tighter in his hair, pulling him closer to you. You got rid of his belt, and his hands moved even faster, exploring every part of you, while his mouth reclaimed yours in a deeper kiss, full of that urgent desire. You knew that at any moment someone could knock on the door or ask about you two, but that only seemed to speed things up. You shivered when, in one swift movement, you felt him make you completely his.

Spencer breathed against your neck, his lips moving up and down, leaving a trail of kisses that made your skin burn with each touch. Between whispered moans of pleasure, you felt how his movements became faster, more intense, but never lost the sweetness that had characterized every touch, every kiss.

"You're perfect," he whispered against your lips, his voice ragged from the intensity of the moment. His hot breath brushed your skin as he kissed you over and over, his hands gripping you as if he didn’t want that moment to slip away.

You felt it too; that delicious mix of urgency and emotional connection that made you wish time would stop. As your bodies moved in unison, Spencer kept his eyes closed, as if that allowed him to thrust with more force, as if he wanted to savor every second. But when he opened them, he looked at you with such intensity that it almost took your breath away.

Words were replaced by unintelligible whispers, small confessions of love and desire that escaped between quick breaths. The urgency that had started when you fell on the bed now reached its peak, but even in those most intense moments, Spencer never stopped being tender. His hands, which gripped you more tightly, still kept that softness that made you feel protected and loved.

Finally, the moment culminated in an explosion of sensations, and he had to cover your mouth with his hand between laughs to keep quiet, though luckily the music was loud. The two of you clung to each other, breathing together, sharing the heat and the rapid beat of your hearts. Spencer buried his face in your neck, breathing deeply as he tried to calm down, letting his hand that had been over your lips fall.

After a few moments, both of you started laughing softly, your bodies still close. Spencer sat up just enough to look into your eyes.

"They definitely suspect something," he said, but his tone was light, playful. He didn’t seem too worried.

"I don’t care," you replied, laughing, as you caressed his neck.

That night meant something new for both of you. Monday morning when you arrived, he was there, and you looked at each other nervously, unsure of what to say. You had confessed your love to each other in the middle of the frenzy and hadn’t talked about it afterward. For the rest of the party, you were affectionate, more than usual, and of course, your friends noticed your absence and the playful flirting afterward. You didn’t escape the teasing comments either.

“Hey, lovebirds, here,” Derek handed each of you a drink. “You need to replenish your fluids.” My face turned as red as a tomato, and Spencer laughed, lowering his gaze.

“Morgan... leave them alone, don’t be cruel,” JJ was at least on our side, thankfully.

“I love it when there are new couples! The beginnings are so beautiful!!” García is undoubtedly the team’s biggest blabbermouth. I didn’t know where to hide, and I couldn’t understand why Spencer wasn’t feeling awkward about the situation.

“Alright, alright... Guys, stop, y/n’s going to bolt,” Rossi gestured with his hands as if calming everyone down. “So, where were we? Can someone turn up the music and bring me another drink?” Emily had definitely taken over a couch and was in her happy place.

After the party, I went home. JJ, Emily, and I took an Uber. Spencer and I said goodbye normally; I think we were embarrassed, with everyone there, we didn’t know how to behave. And for the rest of the weekend, we didn’t talk again.

When we saw each other again on Monday, it was a bit awkward. He greeted me when he saw me, and I didn’t know how to react.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How are you...?” He seemed like he wanted to say something more, but I think he was feeling the same as me.

“Uh, uh... I’m fine, and you...?”

“I... Well, I’m fine...” There was a pause. “Actually, no, I’m not.”

“You’re not? Okay, why not?” You thought this was the stupidest conversation you’d ever had.

Even with the silly conversation you were having, you cursed when you were interrupted.

“Hey, Reid, I need you to come with me to a crime scene.” Damn Morgan, he’s always so freaking inconvenient.

You spent the whole day at the office nervously trying to do the profile, but you didn’t make much progress. You kept glancing at the door. “Where had they gone?” you wondered.

It wasn’t until the middle of the afternoon that Reid appeared, exhausted from running all over the city, collapsing into his chair. When you saw him, you moved closer, sitting in the chair next to him.

“Hey... how did it go? You took a while.” You were worried when you saw his tired face, and you had the urge to hug him.

He slouched further in the chair. “It went well, it was just a long investigation. I’m tired,” his eyes locked on yours. “I... wanted to see you.”

You tried to contain a smile that was fighting to come out, but you lost the battle. Spencer gave you one in return, sincere, kind. And you saw him extend a hand, inviting you to take it. You didn’t think much about it; you wanted to feel his electrifying, warm, and comforting skin against yours again.

“The day felt so long without you.” You were starting to lose filters; you didn’t want them with him.

“It’s been endless. The thing is, I’ve had something on my mind all day, and I need to ask you.”

“Oh, okay... Go ahead, ask.” You were a nervous wreck, but you acted normal.

“Um... You and I... ? Are we... are we boyfriend and girlfriend...?”

Your smile grew wider without meaning to; you found it so adorable how he was asking to be your boyfriend, how he wasn’t sure if he already was after what had happened. He was sweet even for this. Though to be honest, you didn’t really know either.

“Hm... I’d like that... Do you... do you want to be my boyfriend...?” You asked with a bit of hesitation.

He gently pulled on the hand you had grabbed a few minutes ago, and with the other, he cupped your face and kissed you with a softness and tenderness that made you melt. Yes, he definitely wanted to be your boyfriend.

You spent a few dreamlike months together. You were in love, enjoying your time like any newly-started couple: many hours in bed, just as many out walking, countless more on the couch reading and eating chocolate ice cream like you loved so much, enduring the comments and teasing from your friends... You had been together for a month and a half, and for the last few days, you hadn't been feeling well. Some dizziness and more exhaustion than usual, though you didn’t think much of it.

A week later, and suddenly, the foods you once loved were making you feel sick. Everything disgusted you. By the time two months had passed, the lack of sleep and food, along with body aches, was getting to you.

"Hey, you've not been feeling well lately, babe. We’re going to the doctor," he insisted, kind but firm.

"Seriously, just leave it, these past few weeks have been stressful. I just need to finish this case."

"Stress? You can’t stop moving at night, your back hurts, you're irritable, you're not eating... It’s like…" His face changed completely, becoming sad.

"Like what…?"

"We started dating, and now you… Is this all because you don’t want us to be together? Do you want to go back?"

"W-what?" My eyes were wide. Had I made him think that? I had been so focused on myself that I hadn’t noticed how he was feeling. "NO! I love you! Do you hear me?" I grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me.

Spencer nodded slowly and rested his forehead against mine. "I love you too. I’m just worried you’re not okay."

"You’re so adorable I could die right now, you know that?" His laugh, with his forehead still pressed against mine, made him even more adorable. He didn’t know.

A couple more weeks passed, maybe three, you weren’t sure. There was so much chaos in your life—working at the BAU had its downsides: traveling, long hours, constant outings... You hadn’t noticed a pattern until today. You had spent the last five mornings throwing up your coffee. “Sht…” you thought. Suddenly, you became aware of everything else: you were wearing leggings because your jeans were too tight, the aches, the fatigue, the chest pain, the nausea... “Fck… This can’t be, this can’t be…”

You panicked and got dressed quickly, trying not to think about it anymore. When you arrived at the bullpen, JJ showed up with some donuts and offered you one, but you refused as soon as the smell hit your nose.

“Ugh… no thanks, JJ…”

“Oh, alright… I’ll save one for later.” JJ looked at you closely.

“Hey, for how little you’re eating, you’re looking extra huggable. Love looks good on you,” Morgan joked about the obvious change in your body, and it crushed you. It was an innocent comment, seemingly positive, but you couldn’t take it.

“S-sorry, I need to go to the bathroom, guys.” You rushed off, the door closed behind you, and you started crying uncontrollably.

A few seconds later, someone came in. “Hello…? Hey…” JJ was fully aware of what was happening to you. She had been watching for a while—she had gone through the same thing. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“I screwed up, JJ…”

“Well… It’s not exactly that, right?”

“How could I not use…? Damn it, I should’ve known better. I forget to take the pill sometimes. I’m so scatterbrained, and with the time changes, the trips… What do I do?!”

“Hm, I think you two need to talk, honestly. You love each other, don’t you? It’ll be okay.” JJ seemed so calm, and it was actually helping you, but all you wanted to do was scream.

The rest of the day, you were a bit distant with everyone, even with Spencer, who seemed worried about you. He tried to take care of you without overwhelming you too much, always attentive to your needs. He always did that, but now he wanted to make sure you felt better; leaving water on your desk, lollipops you liked next to your monitor, hand cream… At the end of the day, he approached you.

"Hey, um, would you… do you want to come over to my place today?" You could see his concerned, almost pleading expression.

That automatically brought a small smile to your face. "Of course, I want to. Let’s go."

When you arrived, you were determined to talk to him, no matter how hard it might be.

"Um, Spence, can we talk? I need to tell you something." Your face was full of complete and utter distress.

Spencer let out a deep sigh, took your hand, and gently led you to the couch, inviting you to sit beside him. His attitude struck you as odd, though he was always tender with you.

"Alright, uh… I have something important to tell you," you said firmly. You wanted to be direct, not knowing any other way to do it.

"I know what's going on." His face, though serious, radiated affection, empathy, and kindness.

"Oh. Uh… How do you… know?"

"If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s recognizing patterns. And for the past three months, you’ve had some pretty obvious symptoms: nausea, vomiting, aches, fatigue, gaining a bit of volume…" He squeezed your hand, and a small smile appeared on his face.

You felt like you were breaking slowly. "Why… didn’t you say anything?" Your voice sounded high-pitched, on the verge of tears.

"I was giving you space, I thought you needed it. At first, I thought you were sick, and then I realized that wasn’t it. I just wanted you to come to me when you were ready…" Your face was a mix between a pout and a smile.

"It’s just… I didn’t notice, it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, I just wasn’t aware. My god, what a stupid thing… Not even with my body, my clothes don’t even fit."

"Your body is perfect, I love it, no matter what it is now or what it will be, I’ll love it always. I love you in all your forms." He lifted your hands and kissed them with his eyes closed, showing all the devotion he felt for you. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest, and a huge smile spread across your face.

"Look, I haven’t actually taken a test yet, so I don’t know if I really am or not… I also don’t know if… I mean, what now? If it’s real, what are we going to do? I can’t think of anything else right now; it’s like everything is foggy—my work, the future, us…"

"Okay, okay, okay… Stop. Listen. Tomorrow we’ll go to the doctor, and this time you can’t say no. Once we know more, you can decide what you want. I want you to know that I love you and I want to share my life with you. The idea of starting a family together makes me really happy, but what matters most is that we’re okay together." Tears streamed down your cheeks, maybe because of the hormone cocktail, or the mix of happiness, love, fear, uncertainty… and he wiped them away with his fingers, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"Everything is going to be okay." His words soothed your hyperactive mind. "I love you."

"I know." You said, gently holding his wrists, wanting to keep him close.

· Requests via DM ·

[andhumanslovedstories]

I was in the ICU last night taking care of medsurg overflow patients—that’s when you aren’t sick enough to be in the ICU anymore but we don’t have a bed anywhere else for you yet. I don’t like floating to the ICU. It’s such a coin flip as to whether you’re gonna have a hard night or an easy one. You almost never get a full load of four patients, and that’s so nice, but the one or two or three patients you do have are all sick enough to have needed intensive care six hours ago. They’re usually still not doing amazingly. But they’re floor status now, so it’s medsurg patient ratios. But if you were a medsurg floor, the charge would probably be like “let’s not give three patients of this high an acuity to one nurse.”

Also some of them are NOT floor status. They’re just “slightly less likely to die in the next 12 hours status.” What we really need is a step down unit which is somewhere between the extreme high acuity of the ICU and the catchall category of medsurg. Instead we have a couple units that are “essentially step down units,” which means they are just medsurg units but you know your night is probably gonna be so hard.

Besides the patients, the ICU is just so spread out and lonely. Most critical care patients have a 1:1 ratio—one patient to one nurse. That’s on account of how intensive the care is, you see. But it also means whenever you’re like “I would love some help,” everyone else on the floor is like “if I step more than six feet away from my patient, he will die so badly.” It makes it really hard to casually engage in conversation, especially since I’m not qualified to do like anything in the ICU rooms, so I would clearly be going over there to expressly talk to them. And I don’t want to have a conversation! I just want to establish some rapport. I love bounding ideas off other staff! I love being about to shoot the shit a lil bit and then be like “well I have rounds” when one of us has to wander off. No one here has rounds. They are already Right There.

Anyway then the shift ends, and it’s time to pass off your patients. If you’re lucky it’s to another medsurg nurse who also looks a kid realizing too late into the lecture that this is not their class. But sometimes you give report to an ICU nurse who asks questions that are so pertinent and are so fair to ask, but they’re also like. the kind of questions you ask when you expect the person you’re getting report from is another critical care nurse who only has one patient. At a certain point, I just wanna be like “what do you want from me, dude. i’m stupid. every lab you’re asking about is in the chart and you understand them better than I do. can I go home”

That also means when they give you a real softball like “and how many IVs does he have” and you’re like “uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh let’s go count them together shall we” you feel like the biggest dipshit in the world. And then they ask you three more questions each easier than the last as you have traumatic flashbacks to nursing school, specifically the parts where you failed a quiz and also misspelled your name. It just ends the shift on a bad note. Not even a bad note. Real burp of a shift change.

I’m feeling particularly salty because I overheard a couple critical care nurses last night joking about how medsurg nurses are so nervous about the medical boarders and basically saying that we’re always freaking out over nothing while being completely oblivious to the actual symptoms that matter. And as a nurse who once called rapid response because my patient’s heart beat weird for about twelve seconds, I was like “hey. you’re correct. but also must be nice to have just one patient and all shift to read every single thing about them and to sit outside their door next to your fully stocked equipment cart, and to be able to watch them all shift.” And it’s like yeah, critical care nurses can take all the blood out of a person and then put it all back better than before. But I know to turn off lights when I leave a patient room at three in the morning, and apparently in the ICU that’s an even more illusion trick.

But anyway it’s twelve hours later and I’m on the other side of a good good sleep, so I’m less cranky, and back to being appreciative of the specific skills critical care nurses being that are so essential, and also I was like, how pressed can I really be about one group of nurses joking about another group of nurses. that’s like 25 percent of my blog at this point.

[exilepurify]

“You know a lot of big words.” — Determining Shigeo’s Kanji Literacy

An analysis in four parts:

Jouyou kanji and Japan’s compulsory education system, explained.

An introduction to the analysis—what I did and why I did it.

A presentation of data, evidence, and counterarguments.

The truth revealed: can Shigeo write a reasonable amount of kanji for his age group?

Jouyou kanji and Japan’s compulsory education system, explained

Let us begin this analysis by establishing a basic understanding of how Japan’s education system is structured.

As you may already know, only elementary school and middle school are compulsory in Japan, meaning that high school and college are completely optional. Therefore, compulsory education in Japan consists of grades 1-9, with grades 1-6 being 小学校 (primary school) and grades 7-9 being 中学校 (middle school).

The term 「常用漢字」(jouyou kanji, “Daily-Use Kanji”) refers to a list of 2136 kanji that the Japanese Ministry of Education requires be taught throughout education grades in Japan due to their importance and frequency of use in Japanese daily life. Knowing all 2136 is defined by the Japanese government as the baseline for basic, functional literacy in Japanese. The jouyou kanji list is further divided into two sub-categories: 「教育漢字」(kyouiku kanji, “Education Kanji”) and 「中学・高校漢字」(chuugaku • koukou kanji, “Secondary School Kanji”).

教育漢字 (kyouiku kanji, “Education Kanji”) (A.K.A. 学年別漢字配当表 [gakunenbetsu kanji haitouhyou, “list of kanji by school year”]) is the Japanese term for the 1006 kanji that are taught over the 6 years of primary school in Japan, grouped into different grade levels by difficulty and complexity.

「中学・高校漢字」(chuugaku • koukou kanji, “Secondary School Kanji”) is the term for the 1130 kanji that students are expected to learn throughout middle school and high school. This list of kanji is not strictly divided by grade level, though a general grade level is often provided, because students in secondary school—whether it be middle or high—are expected to learn kanji more independently. Though the responsibility of learning these kanji is shifted from the classroom to the individual, the importance of knowing these kanji by the end of one’s education, if that be middle school or high school, cannot be overstated. Once again, these 2136 kanji are considered the basics of Japanese kanji fluency.

According to the “Kanji Frequency Number Survey/漢字頻度数調査” conducted by the National Cultural Affairs Division in 2000, in 385 books published by a major publishing company, 8474 different kanji were used (not including duplicates). However, speakers are able to understand 99% of them if they know the top 2457 kanji, and 99.9% of them if they know the top 4208 kanji. And as is true for speakers of every other language, people can generally read more words than they can write.

I determined the “grade level” of each kanji in this analysis according to the grade level provided in my Japanese-English dictionaries, but consideration will be made for Secondary School Kanji due to the lack of official grade divisions and the less organized circumstances involved with learning them.

An introduction to the analysis—what I did and why I did it

In this analysis, I focused specifically on Shigeo’s ability to write kanji, not to read them. This is most obviously because it’s much harder to determine whether or not someone can actually read something, especially in anime, without it being explicitly mentioned. However, it is also because the meaning of kanji can be inferred from knowing the meaning of radicals, and as mentioned above, it is common for people to be able to read more words than they can write. The true mark of knowing a kanji is being able to write it.

To determine Shigeo’s kanji-writing ability, I studied screenshots from a few scenes from the anime, specifically a couple of scenes from the Reigen OVA where Shigeo is writing a LOT, and a couple scenes from the regular anime where Shigeo is explicitly seen writing stuff down and the audience is shown the writing.

The data has been organized into two different excel charts—one for kanji he uses correctly, and one for kanji he doesn’t know or messes up. The kanji in each of these charts have been color-coded and organized by grade level, with readings, translations, and explanations provided. There is only one kanji in the entire analysis that is not considered a part of the jouyou kanji, and this kanji has been marked by “N/A” in the grade level section.

I will provide each chart alongside a percentage likelihood that Mob will know any given kanji from each grade level based on the information gathered from the anime. Please note that the sample size is obviously limited, but I’m working with what I have. If there is a kanji with some sort of detail worth consideration, I’ve marked it with a (**) in the chart and will explain below.

Lastly, I included kanji used in names in the chart here after some deliberation. Name kanji are tricky in general, because multiple kanji share the same pronunciation and people usually don’t know what kanji are used in someone’s name unless they are shown by that person (unless it’s some crazy common name like 高田 or 森 or 田中).

A presentation of data, evidence, and counterarguments.

Shigeo’s known kanji:

Shigeo’s unknown kanji:

IMPORTANT NOTE: There are one or two instances of Shigeo NOT using a kanji at all that I’ve decided not to include on the chart. This is because it is common for Japanese speakers to omit kanji for super common verbs and write them in kana instead, either for personal style reasons or for convenience. Since the verbs are so fundamental and commonly-used, it’s unlikely that they will be misunderstood or mistaken for another word if written in kana. So, if Shigeo wrote the verb for “to read” or “to eat” without using kanji, I didn’t include it, as I highly highly highly doubt he doesn’t know those kanji and I felt like it would unfairly skew the results against him.

米** = I don’t blame Shigeo for not knowing this kanji. It’s fair to assume that Mob might not have seen Mezato’s name written out and therefore wouldn’t know which kanji to use. On TOP of that, “me” for 米 is a special nanori (used for names only) reading and is super obscure and uncommon. I couldn’t even find it in my name dictionary by searching “Mezato”, I had to find her name written in kanji in S1E3 and go from there. I wouldn’t expect this kanji to be in anyone’s top ten possible kanji guesses for the “me” in “mezato”. I included it because rules are rules, but wanted to mention this to make it fairer on the boy.

世** = I want to make it known that Shigeo does successfully write this kanji in the image shown here, when he writes 「世紀」(century):

HOWEVER. However. He messed it up SO BAD before that I think it actually overpowers him using it correctly and brings it back around to a “not properly known” kanji, especially because it’s a kanji taught in second grade that he shouldn’t be messing up at all:

The subtitles intersect it but I’ve rewritten what Shigeo wrote there at the bottom. He tried to write 「世の中には」”In the world…”, but tried to write the kanji, messed up, crossed it out, and then rewrote it in kana. Didn’t even try to write it a second time. This is egregious and, in my juror’s power, cancels out his later usage. This would be like misspelling “world” in English. I’m willing to entertain arguments that he just wanted to write it in kana for some reason, but as it is now, I don’t think that excuse is compelling enough against such damning evidence, so in “missed kanji” it goes. (It’s partly cut off but what gets me is that it doesn’t even look wrong in the first place lol but if he crossed it out, it means he didn’t know it well enough, which allowed him to doubt, which is still damning enough.)

造** = Just like above, Shigeo actually does successfully use this kanji once in the show when he’s filling out his paperwork for the Body Improvement Club in S1E2 (forgive my awful kanji, it’s hard to draw on the phone lol): 

However, that was not only on an official school document, it was also in the presence of a student council member and Saruta (#2 in the grade lol) so I have to assume he either asked someone for help or got corrected. Either way, the instance where he doesn’t use the kanji is when he’s in his bedroom alone, writing in his personal notebook—a much more casual environment, and one that takes place AFTER s1e2 (can’t argue he learned it):

This leads me to believe that Shigeo does not naturally know the kanji, as he can’t reproduce it in casual day-to-day or when alone.

焉** = This kanji is not only not included in the jouyou kanji, but it is also used in an obscure word. In fact, it took me a minute to locate it in my Japanese-English dictionary app. It is absolutely not reasonable to expect Shigeo to know this kanji off the top of his head, and he probably wouldn’t know it even if he were a kanji ace. It is included and working against him, however, because the kanji he initially tried to write in its place was 「円」, a.k.a. the kanji for YEN/¥:

Sure, 「えん」is a reading for「円」, that part makes sense. But 「終焉」means “the finals years in one’s life”, so I’m really struggling to understand why Mob would think the yen money kanji would be a part of that word and why he would try to write it with that kanji instead of just writing it in kana first, like the majority of the kanji he didn’t know. It’s truly an enigma to me. I’m bewildered he even tried that, and for that, I’m holding it against him.

BASIC STATS:

GRADE 1 KANJI:

- Total known: 17

- Total unknown: 0

- Grand total: 17

- Shigeo knows: 17 out of 17

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 1 kanji: 100%

GRADE 2 KANJI:

- Total known: 16

- Total unknown: 3

- Grand total: 19

- Shigeo knows: 16 out of 19

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 2 kanji: 84.2%

GRADE 3 KANJI:

- Total known: 13

- Total unknown: 6

- Grand total: 19

- Shigeo knows: 13 out of 19

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 3 kanji: 68.4%

GRADE 4 KANJI:

- Total known: 11

- Total unknown: 0

- Grand total: 11

- Shigeo knows: 11 out of 11

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 4 kanji: 100%

(Baby apparently had a great year in fourth grade.)

GRADE 5 KANJI:

- Total known: 3

- Total unknown: 4

- Grand total: 7

- Shigeo knows: 3 out of 7

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 5 kanji: 43.9%

GRADE 6 KANJI:

- Total known: 0

- Total unknown: 2

- Grand total: 2

- Shigeo knows: 0 out of 2

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 6 kanji: 0%

😭

GRADE 7 KANJI:

(No known or unknown 7th grade kanji found)

GRADE 8 KANJI

- Total known: 5

- Total unknown: 6

- Grand total: 11

- Shigeo knows: 5 out of 11

- Percentage likelihood of Shigeo knowing a grade 8 kanji: 45.5%

^ To Shigeo’s credit, this isn’t bad at all considering he’s only halfway through his eight grade year at this point in the story.

% OF JOUYOU KANJI SHIGEO KNOWS:

% known from observed data:

65/86

75.6%

# of jouyou kanji: 2136

75.6% of 2136 = 1615 jouyou kanji

Here’s a graph for your visualizing pleasure:

Finally:

(All values are rounded up)

There are 1006 kyouiku kanji. There are 1130 secondary school kanji. Because high school in Japan is not compulsory, we’ll assume that the secondary kanji are to be learned over the three years of middle school. That means about 377 words per middle school grade. If Shigeo is halfway through eighth grade, let’s say he should generally know 1006 + 377 + (377/2) kanji, which comes out to 1,572.

There are 80 kyouiku kanji assigned to first grade, which Shigeo should know 100% of—80 total.

There are 160 kyouiku kanji assigned to second grade, which Shigeo should know 84.2% of—135 total.

There are 200 kanji assigned to third grade, which Shigeo should know 68.4% of—137 total.

There are 200 kanji assigned to fourth grade, which Shigeo should know 100% of—200 total.

There are 185 kanji assigned to fifth grade, which Shigeo should know 43.9% of—81 total.

There are 181 kanji assigned to sixth grade, which Shigeo should know… 0% of…. 0 total.

This all totals out to:

80 + 135 + 137 + 200 + 81 + 0 = 633/1006 elementary school-level kanji. That’s 63% of the kanji required for elementary school.

(Didn’t include a calculation for middle school kanji due to having 0 data on seventh-grade kanji and also him being halfway through eighth.)

The truth revealed: can Shigeo write a reasonable amount of kanji for his age group?

Uh… no. Maybe? Well… probably not, no.

I mean, of course there are flaws with my methods. I had a super small sample group and applied the stats there to all of the jouyou kanji, which is almost guaranteed to be lower than reality. I just didn’t really have another choice. Also, I’m very certain that Shigeo MUST know some 6th grade kanji, even if in the results here I considered the probability to be 0%. That’s assuredly not accurate. There were just, by chance, only two instances of sixth-grade kanji in all of the sample writing and he happened not to know either of them. This is just for fun, anyway. I can say with confidence, though, that he certainly isn’t a writer, and he definitely knows less kanji than the average eighth grader, but I wouldn’t take my numbers for anything more than entertainment.

But yeah. Shigeo is…. a little kanji-impaired. Which explains why he struggled with Emi’s writing and is only ever seen reading Shounen Jump volumes lmao. I believe in him though. He makes it work. My illiterate king. Who needs the other half of your elementary sight-words anyway?

All jokes aside though, he really started to scare me with the 世 and 円 things 😭😭😭😭😭

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 11 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - Just an FYI - the fics being posted now were finished months ago. I haven't written anything for the fandom in quite a long time and at present have no drive to do so. Once Midnight and Rusty are finished posting that will be it from me for the forseeable. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Chapter Summary - Spencer pushes through another barrier on his way to recovery. But when a face from his past shows up out of the blue it threatens to destroy everything between the two of you.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - male masturbation, Spencer’s incredibly dirty thoughts, brief mention of three ways, handjobs, oral sex (f receiving) and penetrative sex (both p in v and p in a) all by way of Spencer’s imagination (Spencer is basically writing his own smut fic in his head), self inflicted wounds, talk of weight loss, swearing, arguing, yelling, tears, sad Luke, bit of a cliff hanger ending. WC - 7.6k

Chapter 11 - All My Ex's Live in Texas

The sentiment, to be able to love someone we must first learn how to love ourselves, felt oddly poignant in this moment, as Spencer stood in his bedroom, in front of the full-length mirror tucked away in his closet. 

It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, he often gave himself a cursory glance before he left the lodge of a morning, giving himself a brief once over. 

It also wasn’t something he made a habit of doing. He kept the mirror inside the closet for the purposes of not having to look at himself for long periods of time. 

But this was for entirely therapeutic purposes. 

And the idea of having to love oneself before allowing others into our heart rang true in an entirely different way. 

Spencer needed to be able to engage himself physically before he could expect anyone else to do the same. 

It had been four days since his trip to Doctor Ortega’s office. In those four days the two of you had participated in a string of increasingly heavier make out sessions, three of which fervent enough to yet again cause Spencer to come in his pants, but as yet had not graduated onto anything more intimate. 

Yesterday the two of you had ridden your respective mares into Pipe Creek for Spencer to collect his new prescription and Doctor Ortega had caught him on his way out. 

She’d taken him aside and reminded him that in order to take back control of his own body, he had to truly own it himself before he frivolously tried to hand it over to someone new. 

And that’s what led him here. Standing in front of his full-length mirror, naked as the day he was born. 

The only part of his body that was concealed was his casted arm, he’d even gone as far as to remove the dressings from his bicep, thigh and stomach. 

The wounds were all at various stages of healing, scabbing over and starting to scar. They would all leave their marks upon his skin for the rest of his life, a constant reminder that he’d been to hell but was desperately trying to claw his way back. 

He focused on them for longer than necessary, trying to distract his mind from the task at hand for as long as he possibly could. You’d gone to the grocery store with Rusty and wouldn’t be back for a while. He had time for his introspective. 

He inspected each cut with a keen eye, taking note of how each brandished him, pictured what they’d look like once solid and pink against his alabaster flesh. 

This was not an activity Spencer relished. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at his naked form in such a manner. It felt clinical. Yet another experiment. 

Spencer liked experiments so he tried to keep that in mind as he took himself in as a whole before slowly ingesting each individual facet that made the full Spencer Reid picture. 

Start at the top, work his way down. Cold, removed, distant. 

Still got a good head of hair, not like William. Good hair. Thick hair. No greys. Almost forty and no greys. That’s pretty good going considering the stress I’ve been under. 

Nice eyes. Friendly eyes, that’s what JJ called them. Or was it kind eyes? Nice no less. Brown with gold flecks mom always used to point out. 

Bags under the eyes aren’t so nice. When did they get so purple? I look like I’ve never slept a day in my life. 

Nose. Lips. Chapped lips, such dry lips. How does Y/N kiss me? Need to buy chapstick. Must remember to buy chapstick. 

Need to shave. Or do I? I don’t hate the stubble, it makes me look tougher. Wonder what Y/N’s opinion on it is? Maybe I should ask her. 

His eyes trailed slightly lower to his torso. 

Still so skinny. Didn’t I put on weight? Where did that go? Mom always says I look like I’m not eating. Have I been eating? When did I get this skinny?

Lost weight in prison. Couldn't eat after…my mouth was always too sore. Thought I’d put it back on. Did I lose it again? How? When? 

He raised his hand in absent-mindedness and ran his fingers along the visible bones of his sternum, protruding through his milky skin. He pulled a face and dropped his hand again, somewhat unamused. 

His eyes briefly flitted back over the cut on his left side, garnering his attention once again before flicking to his stomach. 

Definitely lost weight, but how? Hip bones are more prominent. Got one of those little v-cut muscles I was always jealous of on Luke. Did I get that from riding? It does require core strength. I’ve never noticed it before. 

He continued quickly past the appendage where his attention was supposed to be, down to his legs. He’d always had strong thighs, thick thighs but they were somehow even meatier than he remembered. 

Is that from riding too? Must be. Good legs, definitely not terrible legs. Sturdy. Load bearing. 

I’m stalling. 

He closed his eyes with a loud huff, feeling incredibly self conscious all of a sudden. Opening his eyes again he forced his gaze between his legs where his flaccid member hung in a bed of pubic hair. 

And here we are, the thorn in my side. The bane of my goddamn existence. My…

…it’s not gonna get hard if you berate it. 

He grit his teeth and stared almost aggressively at the length of flesh and muscle between his legs. 

Masturbation should not be this difficult. 

It felt forced. He wasn’t aroused, not even a little. On the occasions in his life he had turned to self pleasure, it was only because he was incredibly horny, which wasn’t a regular occurrence for him unless he was in the act itself. 

He’d never just sat and thought I’m bored, maybe I could jerk one off. What was normal protocol here? 

His new phone had the internet and he would probably be able to look up a porn site. But what porn? Spencer didn’t even know what kind of porn he liked. 

He found both men and women attractive, where would he even begin? In an ideal world, what kind of sexual desire would…oh…oh! 

He stared at his cock as it twitched very slightly, heart beat picking up at the simple thought. He kept his eyes trained downwards while he contemplated it again. 

I like both men and women, I find them equally attractive. Specifically one man and one woman so what if I could have both? 

Again he twitched, before his very eyes his cock started to swell. His mouth fell open, chest heaving with his breaths. 

Y/N and Luke? Together? And me. All three of us. Together. Touching. Kissing. Or I could just watch, I’d be pretty happy to watch. 

Again he was amazed by the sudden jerk of his shaft, swelling slowly but surely. 

Oh this could work. I think this might work. 

He wrapped his hand around his shaft without too much thought in case he might talk his way out of this. He was only semi-erect but the speed in which it had happened meant he could be fully aroused in no time. 

He kept his eyes open, trying to force himself to watch as he started his slow strokes but his mind was wandering quickly down a sinful rabbit hole. 

Standing over them while she straddles him, her bare thighs pressed against his bare thighs, taking hold of his hard cock in her hand. 

Hearing Luke moan as his Adam’s apple bobs at her touch. Her beautiful, petite hand, unable to wrap all the way around his shaft. But she tries, she tries so hard. She wants to make him feel good, wants to give me a show.

Luke’s looking up at me, his eyes blown out with lust. 

“Come closer, cariño, let me touch you.” 

Oh how I happily oblige. 

Whilst she’s stroking Luke I kneel on the bed next to them and Luke is immediately taking me in his own large hand. I moan and my head falls back against my shoulders at his touch. 

He strokes me in time with her strokes on him. The sound of flesh on flesh echoing in the room. Moans and heavy breaths. 

There’s another hand on my jaw, I look at her and she draws me in for a deep kiss. Her tongue explores my mouth while Luke’s hand pumps my cock. 

My other hand finds her breast and I knead it beneath my fingers, pinching her hardened nipple in my hand. 

Yep, that’ll do it. 

He was fully erect in his hand now, stroking himself at an almost furious pace. His hand twisted and tightened, staring at his cock in his own hand in the mirror. 

Laying on my back and she’s on top of me, lowering herself down, slowly, slowly. Inch by inch I watch myself disappear inside her silken walls. I can feel the way her body stretches and pulls around my hard cock. 

Luke is behind her, palming her tits, kissing her neck. She’s whining, moaning because she’s so tight and I’m so big. 

“How does he feel, baby?” Luke whispers against her flesh once I’m completely sheathed inside of her.

“Fuck, he feels so good.” She starts to rock back and forth on top of me, eyes staring intently down at me. 

One of Luke’s hands travels downwards, to the juncture where our bodies meet. His index finger pressing against her clit. 

She vibrates around me, sending shockwaves down my cock. The moan that leaves my lips is nothing short of feral. 

Frantically fisting his own cock whilst imagining the pleasures of being with the both of you and his head was already leaking against hand. He swiped his thumb through it, legs buckling a little at the sensation and using his precum as lube. 

He was gnawing on his lip, watching the way his cock throbbed in his hand. It was a heady sight to behold. He thought he’d be disgusted by it. Was it wrong that it turned him on more? 

He looked good like this, strong, virile, dare he even say, sexy? He felt powerful as he watched his face contort in the pleasure he was bestowing upon himself. His staunch thighs shook beneath him. 

His thick and heavy length pulsed against his palm. 

She’s on her back, legs spread for me. I leave a trail of kisses across her soft skin but I’m in a hurry, I need to get to my final destination. 

Once my face is buried between her folds, I lap up at her arousal before my tongue settles on her swollen bud. She writhes beneath me at the contact, trying to move away. But I stop her with an arm across her abdomen. 

She moans and screams as I take her in my mouth, suckling on her sensitive clit. Like a man possessed I work between her legs, like she’s my favourite meal. 

I can feel a heat behind me, and hands on my hips guiding me up onto my knees. I comply because I’m so wrapped up in the way she tastes on my tongue. 

Then there’s something pressing into me from behind, I’m being stretched but in the best possible way. 

As Luke fills me up I moan into her core, making her squirm. The sounds in the room are melting into the walls, the smell of sex is heavy in the air. 

Luke thrusts into me hard and fast and I take two fingers and plunge them inside of her waiting heat while keeping my mouth on her desperate clit. 

She’s rocking against my face, coating my lips and chin in her arousal as my fingers sink inside of her. 

Luke is grunting as he fucks me, filling me up in a way I haven’t been filled in so long. Between my legs I can feel my cock twitching, pulsing, close to the edge without being touched. 

“Oh fuck,” Spencer mumbled, legs trembling. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ.” 

More precum leaked from his tip, coating his hand as he thought of eating you out while Luke fucked him. His head was hazy, his breaths ragged.

“Fuck, Spence, I’m close. So close.” She screams as I plunge my fingers in and out of her and swipe my tongue over her clit. 

Luke’s thrusts are growing more violent, his balls slapping against my ass. 

“Make her come, Spence. You can do it, cariño.” Luke encouraged me and I pick up my speed.

Soon enough I feel her walls clenching around my fingers and she’s coming undone at my will. She’s convulsing beneath me and I know it’s all because of me. 

And as I feel her coming, moaning my name, my own orgasm starts to pinch at my stomach and I know it won’t be long before I’m…

…“fuck, fuck, fuck!” Spencer screamed as he gripped the base of his shaft and started splattering streaks of his come all over the mirror. 

He kept stroking himself through his orgasm, his legs undulating back and forth as he expelled himself on the reflective surface, covering his hand in his sticky seed. 

He watched every small movement of his body, his quivering thighs, his leisurely strokes on his spent cock, his chest dragging up and down with each shallow breath. 

His brain was foggy but his vision was exceedingly clear. He was fascinated by the way his body moved, how one small ripple in one muscle caused another to flex and so on and so forth. 

The contours of his body seemed so sharp in his post orgasm haze, every pull or push, every pulse, every dilation. 

He’d never looked upon himself with such startling clarity before as his shaft started to soften in his hand, it was all becoming clear.

This is my body. I can see it. I can feel it. My body belongs to me. My body doesn’t belong to anyone but me. 

I am whole. I am whole. 

I am Spencer Reid and I am whole. 

He was so lost in his newfound captivation of his own frame, he didn’t hear you enter the lodge or call his name. He also didn’t hear the bedroom door open or your footsteps on the wooden floor.

It wasn’t until your face appeared in the reflection behind him that he registered his company. 

“Uh, hi?” A smirk adorned itself on your features as you regarded him, soft cock in his hand and the distinctive come stains on the mirror. 

You couldn’t stop your gaze flitting up and down his body. You’d never seen him completely naked before, uninhibited, exposed. 

You tried to make a mental note of every dip and curve of his glorious body. He really was a sight to behold.

“Hi,” he replied, returning your smile. 

“Everything okay here?” 

He let go of his length, turned to face you. His pupils were blown out wide. 

“More than okay.” He nodded. 

And suddenly he advanced on you, smashing his lips against yours and not caring in the slightest that he was naked and sticky with his own come. 

He grabbed at you, pawed at you hungrily. His wandering hands got you out of your clothes in no time at all and soon the two of you were falling back to the bed. 

He was on top of you, kissing you with reckless abandon. He could already feel himself growing hard again between your bodies. 

His tongue desperately explored your mouth as though it were the first time, he manoeuvred you both so he was on his back and you were straddling him. 

He hissed as he got an unhindered sight of your breasts as you sat atop him. Needy hands wandered until they were palming them, pinching your nipples between his deft fingers until they stood to attention, not allowing himself to be impeded by his cast. 

You moaned and rocked back and forth on top of him, his hard cock gliding between your folds. Spencer whined and bucked against you. 

He removed his hands, letting his casted arm fall back to his side. His good hand circled around your wrist, gripping it tight and moving your hand so it hovered above his cock.

You stared at him, silently questioning him. Spencer simply nodded in response and let go of your wrist. 

You sucked in a breath, cautious as you lowered your hand closer to his throbbing member. When your hand wrapped around his base he moaned in fervour. 

His eyes rolled back into his skull, back arching off the bed. You slowly started to move your hand up and down around him but he was soon bucking into your hand, setting the pace for you.

His desperation was evident in the surges of his hips snapping back and forth fiercely. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as his eyes landed on you again. 

He smiled up at you, the ethereal being perched on his thighs whilst working to bring him the utmost pleasure. 

He was whole. He was finally beginning to feel whole. 

***

It was getting late by the time the BAU finally wrapped up in Texas. Luke had agreed with Rossi that he would take one day off to visit Spencer before he joined them back at Quantico. 

Given the hour, Luke intended on getting a hotel for the night in Bandera town. He drove those forty some miles north from San Antonio in his SUV, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel as he tuned into a country and western radio station. 

The back seat was full of gifts and cards which Garcia had sent to the police precinct for Luke to deliver to their old friend for his birthday which was just a few days away. 

Luke’s nerves flooded his body, causing his stomach to form into tight knots. The closer he got to Bandera, the more anxious he grew, palms sweating against the wheel. 

He was under no illusion that Spencer would be happy to see him, especially with him showing up unannounced. But in Luke’s defence he had tried to call Spencer several times over the last few days to inform him of his visit. It wasn’t his fault Spencer didn’t answer. 

It was nearing eleven pm by the time Luke arrived in Bandera and try as he might he couldn’t get himself to the hotel. 

He couldn’t wait another minute. He needed to see Spencer now. 

He took the turning off the main road with the directions Garcia had sent him. He drove a little ways up a dirt track until he came to a stop next to another car. 

Killing the engine he frowned himself. He didn’t think Spencer had a car. He supposed he could have purchased one any time. 

He slid out of the SUV, dropping to the dirt and closed the door behind him. There was a small single storey lodge a few hundred yards up on the left. 

There was a light on. 

Luke swallowed, smoothing out his shirt and running his fingers through his hair. His chest swelled with nerves and his legs shook a little as he started towards the lodge. 

***

Spencer’s second orgasm seemed to come quicker than the first, your small, dainty hand bringing him to completion in no time at all. Chest heaving with his breaths, he immediately pulled you down by the back of your neck so he could kiss you. 

He was whole. He was whole. They didn’t win. 

He kissed you fiercely, his come sticky between your bodies but neither of you minded. His hand stayed on the back of your neck, pinning you to him. 

“You’re amazing.” He mumbled against your lips. 

“No, you’re amazing.” You replied. 

You wanted to tell him you were proud of him but you didn’t want to make a big deal of it or have him think you were patronising him. Instead you continued kissing him, grinding your bodies together as you did so. 

Spencer felt like every single one of his nerve endings were on fire. He was overstimulated, he could feel every thread of the sheets beneath him, feel every negligible movement of your body as it moved against his own. 

It was eye opening. He’d forgotten how this was supposed to feel. Intimacy wasn’t meant to make him feel guilty, pleasure wasn’t designed to cause him pain. 

He’d neglected to remember how it should feel. Two bodies coming together, becoming one. Becoming whole. 

He felt as though he could well be floating, his body lighter than air. He needed more. He needed so much more. He needed everything and he needed it with you. 

He gripped the back of your neck firmly, tongue roughly exploring the deepest recesses of your mouth. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room alongside soft moans and the friction of skin on skin. 

And for the second time that night, Spencer didn’t hear the door to his cabin open or the heavy footsteps on his hardwood floor.

***

Worryingly, Luke found the door to Spencer’s lodge was ajar, not quite closed all the way. His hand immediately pressed against the butt of his gun in its holster, ready just in case. In his experience, nothing good came from doors being left open. Least of all way out here in the sticks. 

He hesitantly pushed it open and took a step inside. The space was small and mostly full of books which didn’t surprise him at all. There were a few paper grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Nothing looked out of place or disturbed. 

He let his hand fall back to his side, trying to calm his erratically beating heart. Spencer could be scatty sometimes, perhaps he’d just been in a hurry. There was nothing to panic about. 

He stepped closer towards the closed door past the kitchen, for which he assumed was the bedroom. It was only as he drew closer that he started to register the sounds of heavy breathing.

His first thought was that Spencer might be having a panic attack. He’d had them a lot after prison, Luke knew all too well what they looked like. Perhaps he’d started to have one when he arrived home with groceries, it would explain why the door wasn’t closed properly and why the bags were still on the counter. 

Another wave of unease washed over him and he quickly pushed open the door without a second thought. 

The two bodies on the bed came into view and Luke felt as though the whole world came crumbling down around him in a single second. The body on top with their back to him was definitely female. The body beneath, laying on the bed was obscured from view but Luke would recognise those soft moans anywhere. 

“Wow,” he croaked out the single word as tears flooded his vision. 

Spencer suddenly sat up in bed, glaring at Luke over your shoulder. His mouth fell open, eyes wide in shock at the ghost standing in his doorway.

“L-Luke?” He stuttered. 

“Luke?” You hissed without looking over your shoulder. “As in…?” 

“Hmm.” Spencer nodded. 

You were still in his lap, trying to hide your naked frame against Spencer’s. You needed to leave. You couldn’t be part of this. You swung yourself off of the bed and in one swift move sprinted to the bathroom before you could give this stranger an eyeful. 

You’d left Spencer exposed and he quickly pulled the sheet around his body despite the fact Luke had seen him naked hundreds of times before. He hadn’t seen this version of him though, the one with the cuts and scabs from self abuse. He stared at Luke and Luke and him. Seconds seemed like hours.

He noticed Luke’s gaze flicker down to his arm and his brows pinched together.

“What happened to your arm?” Luke asked in concern. 

Spencer didn’t know whether he meant the cast or the cut on his bicep but he didn’t ask. 

“Riding accident.” Spencer clenched his jaw. “What are you…why are you here?” 

“We were in town for a case. I tried to call, you didn’t answer. The door was open and I thought something might have happened to you.” The hurt in Luke’s voice was palpable and Spencer felt a little guilty that he’d had to walk into this. 

“Uh, lemme get dressed okay? I’ll meet you outside?” Spencer chewed on the tip of his tongue, half thinking his overstimulated brain was imagining the man in front of him. 

Had he given over so entirely to his fantasy that it had begun to feel real? Was this all part of his vivid speculation? Was he in fact still masturbating in front of his mirror? 

No, it was all too real. The sadness in Luke’s eyes, the way his shoulders slumped with the weight of seeing his ex in bed with someone else. The way you’d so hurriedly scampered off to the bathroom. 

This was real life, even if it did feel like a nightmare. 

Luke nodded stiffly and turned about on his heels. Spencer watched his retreating form pad out of the bedroom and close the door behind him. 

Spencer got to his feet and started gathering up his clothes from the floor. He tapped on the bathroom door as he was fighting with his boxers.

“Are you okay?” He called when he got no answer. 

“Your ex is here, what do you think!” You hissed in response. 

“I had no idea he was coming here, Y/N. I didn’t invite him.” He was stuffing his legs back in his jeans, trying to ignore the way the fabric scratched his open wounds. 

“What the hell is he doing here then?” 

“I don’t know! I have no idea.” He grabbed his t-shirt whilst still working on the button of his jeans. “I need to deal with this, hopefully I won’t be long.” 

“Okay.” You whispered, hearing his footsteps head away from the door. 

He pulled the t-shirt down over his torso as he swung open the bedroom door. Through the window in the front door he could see Luke pacing the length of his porch. 

Spencer exhaled, raking his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it from his previous activities. He swallowed around his dry tongue and stepped towards the door. 

A frigid burst of air hit him as he stepped outside, joining Luke on the porch. Luke stopped in his tracks and glanced at Spencer. Even in the darkness he could see the tears in Luke’s eyes. 

“So, you’ve moved on, huh?” Luke folded his arms across his chest. 

“It’s been two years, what did you expect?” Spencer shrugged. 

He hated that even after all this time Luke could still cause all the air to leave his lungs. He looked much the same as Spencer remembered in his mind's eye that last time he saw him. He had an extra few creases around his eyes, a few more greys peppering his hairline, but otherwise he remained unchanged.

“What did I expect? Well for starters I expected more from you than leaving without a damn word! I expected that you wouldn’t completely cut me out of your life! I expected…maybe I hoped that I wasn’t the only one still pining like an idiot.” He choked back a sob. “So she gets the healed Spencer Reid? She gets to have you now you’ve worked through your trauma? When I was the one that spent a year by your side after, trying to help you? How is that fair?” 

“You think I’m healed?” Spencer’s voice raised a little. “You think I’ve worked through my trauma?”

“It looks that way to me. I seem to remember the last time I tried to get you into that position you pinned my arm behind my back!” Luke spat. 

“You have no idea what this is like for me.” Spencer shook his head angrily. “She is the first person I have been able to get close to and even still I’m terrified I’m only one second away from breaking down at all times. It’s been four years and this is the closest I’ve come to moving past what happened to me but I am by no means suddenly shiny and new. I haven’t had sex with her, is that what you want to hear? At this point I’m not even sure I can! 

“You can’t just show up here after two years and think you know what I’m going through. I have to take medication every day just so I am not completely crippled by my trauma. I blackout when the stress gets too much, I dissociate because my mind can’t handle the pain. Don’t come here and assume you know what I’m going through. You have no idea.” 

In the bathroom you heard raised voices outside and worried about Spencer’s rising anger and what could happen if he let it get out of control. You snuck back out and found your clothes, quickly redressing and creeping into the living room. 

From the kitchen you could see them through the glass pane in the front door without them being able to see you were watching. You told yourself you weren’t eavesdropping, you just wanted to be ready in case Spencer needed grounding. 

You tucked yourself away in the corner, eyes on the side of Luke’s face. You felt that swell of familiarity again that you couldn’t place. Your fingers kneaded your achy jaw as you listened.

“You were supposed to come back! I gave you time, I gave you space. I thought if I did those things you would come back and we would be okay again.” Luke rubbed his eyes to try and stem his tears.

“That’s not my fault, Luke. I didn’t ever give you a reason to believe that would be the case. I’m sorry I left without telling you, I know I should have said goodbye. But I can’t change that. This is my life now, I have no intentions of coming back to DC. I’m sorry if you thought that I would, but I never gave any indication that I would.” Spencer rubbed his hand on his jeans, focusing on the rough texture. 

He needed to stay tethered, he couldn’t let the anger bubble and cause his mind to detach. 

“Did you love me?” Luke’s voice pitched. “Did you ever really love me like you said you did?” 

You knew that voice, you were sure of it. You just couldn’t place it. 

“How can you even ask me that?” Spencer softened. “Of course I did.” 

“But it was easier for you to run away than try and make things work with the man you supposedly loved?” Luke exhaled. 

“I had to leave. After everything that happened, after Merva, it was just too much. I needed to get away from DC, away from it all.” Spencer sniffed loudly. 

“You could have talked to me instead of running away, Spencer. It’s what I was there for. But you never talked to me.” 

“I couldn’t talk to you, Luke. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I just wanted to forget.” Spencer’s eyes filled with tears and he rubbed his palm roughly against his thigh, focused on the material of his jeans. 

“You know I know what happened right?” Luke shrugged. “I know what happened to you in prison. I read the medical reports.” 

Spencer froze. His rampant rubbing of his thigh stopped, he felt like his breathing stopped. He glared at Luke while he processed his words. 

He’d read the report. He’d known all along. 

Inside your brows pinched together. Prison? Spencer was in prison? Surely you must have the wrong end of the stick? Spencer did not seem like the type. There must be something you were missing. 

“You…how could you?” Spencer croaked. “How could you do that to me?” 

“You wouldn’t talk to me. I was worried about you.” 

“Worried? You were worried? So you invaded my privacy? Those reports were not your concern Luke! I figured Prentiss would have to see them but you…I can’t believe you would do that to me.” Spencer’s voice raised again and felt the anger in his stomach. 

Deep breaths, take deep, calming breaths. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. Feel something beneath your hand, ground yourself. This will be okay. One, two, three, four, five.

“Maybe if you’d talked to me I wouldn’t have felt the need to.” Luke didn’t know why he was trying to justify himself, he knew what he’d done was wrong. “How did you ever get cleared to come back to work? You were clearly struggling.” 

“Oh please, we wrote those questions. You think after fifteen years of profiling I didn’t know the right things to say to the bureau shrink so she would reinstate me?” Spencer clucked. 

“Did you ever tell her you were ra-”

“Don’t you dare you say it.” Spencer cut him off. “Don’t you dare.” 

Your head was spinning with the new information. Prison. Profiling. Bureau? What did this all mean? Your cell phone was on the counter next to the bags and you reached for it before hiding back in your corner. The arguing continued outside while you brought up a Google search. 

Spencer Reid + bureau

Within less than a second, hundreds of search results popped up on the little screen, articles upon articles. You quickly skim read some of the search results as your hand shook around the device. 

The youngest academy graduate recruited to the FBI’s illustrious Behavioral Analysis Unit, twenty two year old Doctor Spencer Reid…

With his three PhD’s, and IQ of 187, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid was hand picked by BAU founder Jason Gideon…

After a high speed chase in Mexico the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit are on the scene. It’s thought that a member of the team is involved…

BAU Member SSA Doctor Spencer Reid acquitted of charges against him…

Hostage situation involving two members of the BAU…no further information is known at this time…

Your head swam. Your stomach lurched. This couldn’t be true, yet it was here in black and white. 

You were sleeping with the enemy. The sweet, kind cowboy you’d rescued from the desert was a former FBI Agent. 

Three PhD’s? An IQ of 187? Doctor? 

What the fuck was going on? You knew there were things he hadn’t told you but did you know him at all? And what led to an FBI agent going to prison? And what happened to him in prison that Luke had ascertained from his medical records?

You felt dizzy. You pushed yourself back up against the wall so you wouldn’t collapse. Luke’s raised voice brought you back around.

“You could have told me! I would have understood, I could have helped!” 

“No one can help me! Why don’t you understand that?” Spencer yelled back. 

“She seemed to be doing a fine job.” Luke scoffed, nodding his head towards the door.

“Goddamnit, would you let that go?” 

“Let it go? How the hell can I let that go? Every time I close my eyes I will see her on top of you!” Luke threw his arms up into the air. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger, okay? I’m sorry I pushed you away. But I am finally starting to move past what happened to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you but Y/N is…she makes me feel like I can heal. And I need that Luke, I need to heal.” Spencer sniffed again, feeling his tears dangerously close to falling.

Luke didn’t appear to be listening though, his brows pinched together as he rolled something over in his mind.

“Did you say Y/N?” He rubbed the side of his neck. 

Your back went rigid. Hearing him say your name dislodged something distant in the back of your mind.

“Have you seen this woman? Her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N and we have reason to believe she’s been seen in this area.”

“Yeah, why?” Spencer’s voice broke through your memory. 

“I…I’m not sure.” Luke looked deep in thought. “Can I…? One sec.” 

Spencer watched in confusion as Luke turned and headed down the stairs towards his SUV. He wrapped his good arm around himself in protection and to stave off the cold night. 

“Have you seen this woman? Her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N and we have reason to believe she’s been seen in this area.”

“I don’t know nothing, ‘bout nothing.” 

“Can you take a closer look at her photo ma’am? Your neighbour seems to think she’s been staying here.”

“Again, I don’t know nothing, ‘bout nothing.” 

“Would you mind if we took a look around?”

“You got a warrant?” 

“No…”

“Then get the hell off of my property.”

Magnolia Springs, Alabama. Mrs Royce, the kindly old woman for whom your mother had been best friends with all throughout childhood. She’d offered you a place to stay after you escaped custody. That was until her nosy neighbour recognised you from the wanted posters. 

You’d buried your mom’s money under a tree in the wooded area behind her house and watched from a distance as two FBI Agents had come to her home to question her. Even though she hadn’t seen your mother in more years than she could count, Mrs Royce was fiercely loyal, and hadn't said a word. 

You hadn’t had a great vantage point for which to see the agents, only caught small glimpses of them from where you hid in the back of the house. But they’d introduced themselves as -

- Agents Phil Brooks and Luke Alvez. 

Luke was hurrying back from his car with a manilla folder and Spencer stayed stock still while he awaited him. Luke opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of paper which he proffered to Spencer as soon as he was close enough. 

“What is this?” Spencer frowned at the paper.

“Is this the woman? I only saw her from the back. She coulda changed her hair? Is this her?” Luke jabbed a finger at the photograph in the corner of the page. “She escaped from a max security facility a few weeks ago. Phil called me.” 

To Spencer’s credit, no matter how many years it had been since he’d needed to to use his poker face, he was still an expert at it. His expression didn’t even so much as flinch as he looked at the photograph of you on Luke’s printout. 

He was right, you had changed your hair. But it was without a doubt you looking back at him from that mugshot. He glanced away, back at Luke and shook his head.

“No.” He lied. “I’ve never seen this woman before.” 

Luke’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny, watching for any little twitch, any tiny hint that Spencer was keeping something from him. But the truth was, even though they had dated and Luke thought he knew Spencer better than anyone, he never could read Spencer. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you, Spencer? Because this woman is dangerous, and if you’re lying to me, that’s harbouring a fugitive. I don’t need to tell you that comes with a prison sentence.” Luke observed again. 

Even at the mention of prison, Spencer’s features didn’t change. 

“I’m telling you Luke, I don’t know this woman.” He waved the paper in front of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

Your own brows pinched together. You peered out the window to see the paper in Spencer’s hand but it was too dark to see exactly what was on it. But you were certain he would know it was you in the photograph. So why was he lying? 

“Right, I’m just being paranoid I guess.” Luke huffed, snatching the paper back from Spencer.

“I think you should go Luke, it's late and you shouldn’t have come here.” Spencer returned his arm to its position wrapped around him. 

“I’m staying down the road for the night. Maybe we can meet tomorrow for coffee or something?” Luke tucked the file under his arm.

“No,” Spencer shook his head. “I don’t want this Luke. I moved out here for a reason, to get away from my life in DC. To get away from…from…”

“From me?” Luke croaked. 

“From everyone.” Spencer corrected him. “You will always have a place in my heart, Luke. I did love you but I’m not the same man I was when we started dating and I’m never going to be him again. You have to let me go, Luke, please? Please just let me go.” 

Luke wanted to argue, he wanted to argue with every fibre of his being. He didn’t drive all the way out here to have it end like this. 

But Spencer’s sad eyes and downturned lips forced him to bite his tongue. Spencer had been through an immeasurable amount of trauma and he was just trying to make it through to the otherside. Luke couldn't help him, he tried, but he’d failed. Perhaps the best thing for Spencer’s wellbeing was for Luke to walk away, to let him go once for and for all. 

Luke huffed a breath out through his nose and took a few steps backwards. He navigated the steps whilst never taking his eyes off of Spencer. 

“I wish it could have been different.” Luke’s first tear fell and he didn’t try to hide it. “You were the love of my life.” 

“I know.” Spencer scrunched his face up as he felt his own tears ready to escape. 

“But I wasn’t yours.” Luke spoke for him with a weak shrug of his shoulders. “I want you to be happy, Spencer, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Just promise me you’ll check in? I’m not asking for daily phone calls or anything like that but please stop ignoring me when I reach out. I’d really like to still be a part of your life even if only in a small capacity.” 

“That, uh, sounds reasonable.” Spencer nodded. 

“And call Penelope more. She worries about you more than anyone.” Luke shrugged, still walking backwards toward the SUV. 

“I will.” He nodded, swallowed thickly. But he was sure if you were who he now knew you to be, he’d never be able to talk to any of his old team ever again.

He felt overcome with discomfort. The goodbye he’d avoided two years ago now here at his feet. Spencer didn’t like goodbyes, it was why he’d left without them the first time. 

Goodbyes were endings. Full stops. The closing of a book. Spencer had wanted to keep the story open, unfinished, just in case he ever had the impetus to write that final chapter. But it had been penned for him. Luke had snatched the metaphorical pen from his hand by coming here and effectively completed their story. 

“Uh, goodbye then I guess.” Luke shrugged as he reached the car. 

“G-goodbye, Luke.” Spencer whispered. 

The book slammed shut. Or perhaps it was the car door. Either way, Spencer Reid and Luke Alvez’s story had come to its bitter end. 

He stood on the porch and watched as Luke started the engine before putting the vehicle in reverse. He continued to observe as the headlights cast an eerie glow on his land as the SUV turned around. He still just stood there as Luke’s car took to the dirt track back to the main road and soon vanished from sight. 

He huffed out a breath, rubbed his eyes to disperse the tears before turning to the door and practically throwing it open. He marched inside and found you in the corner of the kitchen, back pressed up against the wall. You’d been listening, of course you had. 

Spencer stayed on his side of the kitchen counter, worried what he might do if he came too close to you. He needed the barrier between you. He slammed his good hand on the counter top but you didn’t even flinch. His eyes were manic as they looked at you, large and wild. His chest was heaving erratically.

He opened his mouth several times to speak but the words kept getting stuck in his dry throat. Minutes of painful silence stretched between you while you kept your eyes on each other. 

Eventually Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw set in a tight line when he finally spoke. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He spat the words like venom on his tongue. 

You straightened yourself, squared your shoulders as if it might somehow intimidate him. When you spoke it was with equal malevolence. 

“I was going to ask you the same thing, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid.”  

More silence followed, reaching out into the sparse caverns that gorged their way between you. The wicked talons of the unspoken words weaved around you, wrapping you both in their icy clutches. 

You were both acutely aware that whatever conversation was about to transpire between you would inevitably make or break this fledgling relationship. You were no longer who you had been just hours before. A lonely cowboy and a weary traveller no more. All that remained was an FBI Agent and a Fugitive. 

It seemed inescapable that this could only end in one of two ways -

Either he called the cops on you and you were thrown back in prison, having the key thrown away and left to rot for the rest of your life behind bars. Or one of you would wind up dead. 

And you were not going back to prison. 

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[destinedfordiaperstories]

My Stories and How to Find Them

Welcome to my story blog! My main blog is @destinedfordiapers, but I'm using this blog for my longer stories. Its easier that way.

To make it easier for everyone to find them, I've curated the search function on my blog by individual story names. I'll also try to link each part or chapter to this, but I may forget. In any case, just click the magnifying glass and the following stories will come up:

My New Babysitter: Ever wonder what it's like to have a babysitter your own age? To desperately want to be treated as the adult you think you are, despite being babysat by a beautiful woman who's responsible for your diapers? To maybe, just maybe, find a woman that's interested in you, diapers and all?

Then read along with Jack and his life with his new babysitter.

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

Sammy's Little Problem: In a world where humans have evolved into three distinct genetic categories: Caregivers, Neutrals, and Littles, everyone is Classified on their last day of high school. What happens to the those who've mapped out their whole life—dreaming of college, careers, and relationships—only to find out they're heading straight back to diapers?

Follow Samantha on her journey to becoming the Little she never wanted to be, but forced to become.

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Twenty-One, Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three, Twenty-Four, Twenty-Five, Twenty-Six

All Part of the Plan: A collaboration with Boys R Babies about a man who suddenly finds himself having accidents and forced into diapers. His girlfriend seems to be enjoying his diapered descent more than he ever expected...

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four

Your Saving Grace: You listen as your doctor confirms your diagnosis: shrinking virus. You're doomed to shrink down to the size of a toddler--or worse. Your wife promises she'll be the loving new Mommy you deserve. What's it like entering a second babyhood?

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four

Taylor's New Role: Taylor's last year of college was supposed to be the best year of her life. At least, until she started having accidents. Her boyfriend is supportive but diapers will forever change the nature of their relationship. Follow Taylor as her boyfriend becomes Daddy.

Parts: One, Two, Three

[y-rhywbeth2]

D&D Vampire Lore Dump #3

Hierarchy (Spawn VS Spouse VS Lesser VS Greater) How they're "born" and the pecking order and what distinguishes a vampire spawn, a vampire bride/groom/spouse, a "lesser" vampire and a "greater" vampire. Also, the various ways a vampire is "born". With a brief nod to the various random species that crop up; for example there are vampires who are elves and there are elven vampires and these are two different things!

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER FOR FIRST TIME READERS: There are two things to note about the lore presented here: First, while the standard stat block in the monster manual is the default, in terms of lore vampires have this annoying tendency to be incredibly, stupidly varied. They are magical monstrosities ruled by the power of symbolism and superstition above anything else.

The next is that D&D is decades old, spans five editions, several settings and hundreds of writers. One guy establishes a piece of lore, and then the next picks it up goes "nah" and writes something else. I collected info from four different source books, all from different editions, which naturally don't entirely agree on how vampires work. Lore never stays consistent and may contradict itself. You may see information somewhere else from a source I don't have that contradicts what I wrote here. If you read this and like some of this stuff but not other bits, take the good and ditch the rest. Larian themselves have not written BG3 totally compliant with some established D&D lore or the original games.

Welcome to D&D: In your own story canon is what you say it is.

Feeding | "Biology" | Hierarchy | Weaknesses and Cures | Psychology

Ultimately, while they can be classified separately, a vampire is a vampire is a vampire. In every edition newly created vampires are enslaved to the wills of their creator, but the concept of vampire spawn as a separate category wasn't introduced until third edition. Even then, they were mainly just normal vampires enslaved to the will of the vampire that made them and the only difference was that they couldn't create spawn, turn into a wolf or command animals. Prior to 3.5e what set the "spawn" apart was the age difference: vampires grew stronger with age, and the fledglings were impossibly outmatched by their seniors.

Age is the cornerstone of the vampire world; it is expected that a vampire is to show due reverence/fear towards their elders while in turn expecting the same respect/fear from their juniors. Younger vampires are to refer to their elders as "Eminent [Name]," "Ancient One"... while older vampires tend to refer to younger vampires contemptuously as "Child" or "Fledgling" regardless of their actual age and power. The age categories shown are used more by scholars and hunters to classify the degree of threat, rather than by vampires themselves. Fledgling - 0-99 years old Mature 100-199 years Old: 200-299 years Very Old: 300-399 Ancient: 400-499 Eminent: 500-999 Patriarch/Matriarch: 1000+

-

Generally spawn are created almost exactly as Astarion tells you. A vampire kills you by draining all of your life energy and you get up with the next sundown as a member of the undead. If you were buried then you are bound to your gravesite, sometimes a vampire who is not buried will rise again, being bound to the site of their murder. Generally though, those killed by vampires who are not buried in a grave are simply dead. Sometimes vampires are bound to the soil of whatever they consider their homeland instead of their grave. …and also some of them have toxic saliva that turns you into a vampire, and some of them are born of curses that they cast on you by making eye contact that make you sicken and mysteriously waste away and rise again a vampire. A vampire is limited in the number of spawn it can create/control. The more powerful the vampire, the more it can have.

Spawn remember both their death and the identity of their killer on waking, and generally grasp what they've become within seconds.

Other ways to create vampires includes necromancy, the influence of Fiends (devils and demons) and divine will. Bhaal, for example, can cause a slain creature to rise as any form of undead he chooses. Vampires made this way are forced to complete whatever purpose they were created for and after the task is complete usually have full free will.

Vampires created by other vampires are freed of their master by either their death or by the master explicitly dismissing them from service. 5e has added a ritualistic gift of blood, but the key factor is still the vampire freeing its spawn willingly. The Turn/Command Undead ability of a cleric can also break a vampire's control over its spawn, temporarily.

There's conflicting information on the extent of the control vampires wield over their spawn. Some state that spawn are forced to not only obey but have a sensation of affection for their master forced upon them (even against their will) and spawn can be forced to take actions that will harm and kill them if ordered. Another source, however, states that while all vampires have an inborn compulsion to obey their maker, the exact level of control is not guaranteed and particularly stubborn offspring may be able to fight back, and that spawn build a resistance to their master's control over time.

Whatever the truth is, vampires don't trust their offspring and don't take chances. When it comes to educating their "children" about their condition, vampires will omit vital information or even teach them flat out lies to keep them ignorant of their own potential and dependent on their maker. One vampire is on record laughing about how he's convinced his spawn that if he dies they will die with him. Vampires are also known to kill their spawn if they're worried that they're growing too powerful or seem to be learning too much… or just because the vampire is worried by the mere idea that they might, even if their spawn are innocent of whatever slight their master is imagining. Vampires do their best to abuse and gaslight spawn into a state of self-debasing terrified obedience where they truly believe their master is an indestructible, powerful being they could never stand a chance against, while they are weak and helpless. Just in case.

-

Aaaand then there are vampire brides/grooms/spouses: Sometimes a vampire develops a fixation on an individual and decides they're going to keep them bound to them for all eternity, untouched by time. To do this they turn the target into a vampire through a slow, drawn out murder via draining the blood out of the target, followed with the vampire feeding the victim their own blood. The spouse-to-be may be permanently lost to bloodlust and die within 24 hours, and even if not the trauma this inflicts on the target is usually too much for the new "spouse" to cope with. Assuming death doesn't follow, the pair are bound together by a sensation of obsessive affection and telepathically linked, much as if they're drinking each other's blood (but without the ability to control each other). Their bond enables them able to share thoughts and share the experience when their partner is feeling a powerful emotion.

Vampire marriage follows a pattern: Eventually, the spouse gets tired of the utter repetitive tedium of existence as combination of a favourite decoration, pet and sex toy that's been put on a display shelf somewhere, and gets rebellious. They start wanting to use their powers and have and do things for themselves outside of their significant other. Said SO then responds by getting jealous and possessive and tightening their grip and putting extra locks on the bars. The emotional link creates a toxic feedback loop and everything escalates from there. Vampire divorce also exists, though only the sire can end the bond (the spouse must agree, but that agreement doesn't have to be given of their own free will). The spouse is then free. Generally the vampire, being so bound up in their chosen spouse and not wanting a free vampire running around on their turf, doesn't want to divorce and instead it's all downhill until one fatally tears the other apart in a rage.

A vampire can't have more than one spouse at a time.

-

At the other end of the spectrum are Greater Vampires. These guys are created when a succubus drains the life out of a living being - a sensation that makes you believe you're in the throes of passion but is actually "quite painful, giving no satisfaction, only utter emptiness." It also destroys their soul beyond recovery. What makes them "greater" than everyone else is simply that they cannot be harmed by sunlight. They have all the same powers as a "lesser" vampire.

Outside of that we have garden variety vampires. They die in the sun, have all the powers every other vampire has and aren't enslaved to another vampire's will. That's it.

All vampires have the following abilities*:

The ability to turn into mist, giving them the ability to fly, very good escapist skills (if you're made of air you can just enter a locked room through the keyhole, after all), and make themselves invulnerable to most forms of damage.*

The ability to mind control others by making eye contact "crushing the will of another."*

The ability to climb or walk on walls and ceilings similar to a spider.

The ability to completely heal from almost any amount of damage within minutes.

Immunity to paralysis (so a Hold spell won't work)

The ability to drain the life energy and/or blood out of a living being, and in the process create a new vampire enslaved to their own will.*

Upon being freed they gain the additional ability to summon rats, bats and wolves to do their bidding, as well as transform into those animals.

*(Most of these traits do not appear on the vampire spawn stat block in 4e or 5e's Monster Manuals, despite spawn being capable of all of the above until that point save creating their own spawn. Only spider climb and regeneration was included.)

There are also other kinds of vampires. Nosferatu are mutated by their curse into obvious monsters, and aren't harmed by sunlight. While typical vampirism affects anything, there are other types of vampirism that are pickier about hosts. Elven vampires are killed by moonlight instead of sunlight and hate plants so much. Gnome vampires age rapidly, can turn into ghosts and inflict seizures on people they touch. Then there's the vampire dragons, and the vampire illithid (which is what you get when you somehow infect a tadpole with vampirism and use it for ceremorphosis) and the vampyre - which is a type of vampire with a pyromania problem…

D&D gets a bit silly with vampires, sometimes.

EDIT: OK, apparently I didn't specify enough. Astarion is a normal vampire with the sunlight weakness. Elven Vampirism is a different type of vampirism that affects elves and half-elves, but he doesn't have it. Otherwise Cazador wouldn't be able to have human, gnome or tiefling spawn.

[friendofcars]

I finished my data analysis for POV distribution in TRC! Figure captions are in the alt text. Other observations, discussion of the analysis and results, and some supplemental figures are under the cut. This is perhaps the most self-indulgent project I've worked on <3

Other observations: I went into this analysis with the hypothesis that each of the four protagonists would have the most chapters and/or pages in the following pattern: Blue for TRB, Ronan for TDT, Adam for BLLB, and Gansey for TRK. This mostly held true, although Blue had more chapters and pages than Adam in BLLB. This trend was more significant in terms of page distribution compared to chapter distribution. Mean chapter length differences were infrequent and did not follow the expected pattern, although I did see trends towards shorter chapters for antagonists not grouped into "all others."

There is a relative lack of back-to-back chapters for the same POV character, although this does occur in all books (twice for Blue in TRB; once for The Gray Man, twice for Adam, and six times for Ronan in TDT; five times for Blue [two of which are back-to-back-to-back], once for Gansey, twice for Adam [one of which is back-to-back-to-back], and once for Greenmantle in BLLB. I mention all of this to say that in TRK, this occurs once for Ronan, once for Blue, once for Adam, and thrice for Gansey- but in one of these instances, Gansey has SIX chapters in a row. Nine of the chapters from 48 to 58 are from his POV. The Raven King indeed!

Analysis notes:

For each book, I counted how many chapters each POV character had and how many pages each POV character had. Page numbers are based on the UK paperback editions of the series. In the figures, I show raw # of chapters and pages, as well as the proportion of chapters and pages attributed to each POV character over the total number of chapters or pages. I also compared POV characters’ pages/chapter ratio and tested for differences in mean chapter length with a one-way ANOVA with multiple comparisons.

For most measures, in cases where chapters had multiple POV characters in sequence, I divided the chapter by # of characters. For example, chapter 44 in TRB starts with Adam, switches to Whelk, and ends with Blue. This chapter counted as 1/3 chapter for each character. In BLLB, only the prologue contained multiple discrete POV sections (Persephone, Calla, and Maura) and Piper only had her POV featured in the epilogue so I grouped these two chapters as “All Others” and excluded them from statistical tests. For TRK and TRC, I did include the "All Others" category in the analysis. (“All Others” includes chapters/pages with ambiguous POV (Kavinsky’s text in TDT- are we reading it from the sender or the recipient’s POV?), mixed/omniscient POV (the Gray Man’s tarot reading in TDT – we get internal thoughts and feelings from multiple characters), and in TRK, any character aside from Blue, Gansey, Adam, and Ronan.)

In figures that represent raw counts of chapters or pages, the dashed horizontal line represents the expected number of chapters or pages per POV character if the distribution was equal. The p values on these figures represent the results of a Chi-square test to test whether the actual distribution of pages or chapters was different from an equal distribution.

For the pages/chapter ratio data and the Chi-square tests, I did not apply this calculation and counted each discrete POV as a full chapter because I needed counts and sample sizes to be integers for the statistical analysis (Gansey having an n = 8.5 was not making GraphPad prism very happy with me). I had to do a bit of rounding to the nearest number which was not ideal, but I did this as little as possible. (There is probably a workaround for this, at least for the ratio data, but I am not a statistician). To at least approximate what results would look like without the skew towards a lower pages/chapter ratio, I also ran the ANOVA only with chapters containing a single POV character, which is why you’ll see two figures for the pages/chapter metric for each book (except for BLLB).

I am considering p values < 0.05 to be significant; I have included non-significant p values on some figures to provide additional context. If there is no p value on a given figure, you can assume I found no significant differences amongst POV characters’ chapters and/or pages in my analysis.

If you have questions about the analysis please let me know! :)

Supplemental figures: TRK data shown for all unique POV characters (these figures do not have captions in the alt text; the four on the left depict distribution of chapters and pages across the 19 different POV characters in TRK; the vast majority of the chapters and pages are attributed to either Blue, Gansey, Adam, or Ronan. The two figures on the left show mean pages per chapter for all characters, with no clear/statistically significant trends across the data. The demon's chapters are noticeably short.)

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Co-Workers Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ You Drive Me Round The Bend by TheCellarDoor / @donotdialnine {M, 77k}

In which Louis is a spoilt rich kid who’s always on the phone while he drives and Harry is a struggling musician making his way down the mountain. It’s just a matter of time before they crash and burn.

2️⃣ Have Love, Will Travel by @kingsofeverything {E, 97k}

Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series.

It soon becomes obvious to their viewers that there’s something more than friendship between them. Eventually, they figure it out.

3️⃣ Looking Through You by @allwaswell16 {E, 41k}

Just as Louis and Liam were starting out in the music industry, writing and producing for up and coming artists, a fateful meeting with new pop singer Harry Styles changes everything. Four years later, just as Harry is set to embark on his next world tour, a drunken confession causes a rift between once inseparable friends. As Harry tries to make sense of his feelings for Louis, he begins writing his next album to express them as it may be the only way to break through the walls that Louis has built between them.

4️⃣ After Hours by thilia {E, 99k}

Liam is bored with his job at the law firm. Nothing exciting ever happens. That changes drastically when he agrees to mentor the boss’s sixteen year old son, who turns heads wherever he goes. Especially Liam’s colleague Louis seems unable to resist the boy’s charms. Liam never thought he’d get to see this much of both of them, or that mentoring would turn into an R-rated event or that it would suddenly make his own love life a whole lot more interesting…

5️⃣ Take Me Higher Than I've Ever Been by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel {E, 51k}

Harry is pretty simple. He goes to work everyday, comes home, then watches Netflix with his cat. And if he happens to have a tiny little crush on his coworker, then that’s just his own business.

[Or the one where Harry and Louis work together and Louis starts to notice Harry back. Featuring a wedding, a sassy cat, and first times.]

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 you are my destiny (you are the reason that i still believe) by @alwaysxlarrie {M, 98k}

Being a new employee at a company means that you have to learn to brush off the shitty bosses, shitty coworkers, and not getting the credit you actually deserve for things. At least, that's been Harry Styles' experience. Coworkers who steal his ideas in pursuit of getting praise and a raise, and a boss who's indifferent at best and condescending at worst. Harry has learned to expect this reality for the foreseeable future. He's accepted it.

What he hadn't expected was for Louis Tomlinson to waltz into their company, and his life, and change around everything he thought he knew about fate. A Cinderella AU.

💎 You Ain’t Gotta Feel Fear Just Mingle by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {T, 32k}

Harry has been at his dream job for less than three months, and he knows two things for sure; first, his project manager doesn't know what he's doing, and second, someone in the office is apparently pure evil, and no one will tell Harry who it is.

Oh, and the guy who works in conservation at the other end of the building is the most beautiful man Harry's ever seen, even when wielding a hot iron as a weapon.

💎 what's left of my halo's black by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove {E, 22k}

As Harry sucks lovebites into Louis’ neck, Louis hopes that one day those marks will cover the way he can still feel Alex’s handprints burned into his flesh.

As Harry’s nails drag scratches along Louis’ back, Louis hopes that one day the scabs on his heart will heal and drop away just like the scabs on his skin.

As Harry fucks him down into the mattress, the bed shaking with every thrust, Louis hopes that one day his mouth will forget the shape of Alex’s name, won’t trace it over and over as the heat builds inside him, won’t want to scream it when he comes. Maybe one day he’ll open his eyes, as he slowly floats down from his post-orgasm haze, and won’t expect to see Alex’s face smiling back at him.

But today is not that day.

A year after a devastating breakup, Louis is still trying to put himself back together - but getting over a breakup is hard when you work as a wedding planner. Thankfully, his coworker Harry is the most supportive friend Louis could ask for. But Harry has some secrets of his own, and they send Louis' world spinning off its axis all over again.

💎 You Tilted My Hand by @taggiecb {G, 12k}

Harry Styles arrives in Avonlea, Prince Edward Island for his first day of a coveted and prestigious summer internship at the Avonlea Chronicle. He's quick to realise that he's out of place in the little band of journalists as he's an art major and they didn't choose Harry to be part of the team!

Thankfully his new boss, Niall, wants to give him a chance. Unfortunately that will mean trying to keep up not only with the stress of the job, but PEI's golden boy Louis Tomlinson, who has a perpetual smile on his lips, and mischief in his eyes.

💎 Blame It On Christmas by Kikiberoski16 / @larrysballetslippers {E, 7k}

Life was good until a new coworker showed up. It’s a little insane but not even a little bit funny how much Harry instantly despised the new guy. He’s always late, but always shows up with the most charming smile so nobody can get mad. His desk is a mess and he doesn’t seem to have ever learned the words ‘thanks’ or ‘sorry.’ And as if a bad employee isn’t bad enough, this particular bad employee is none other than the CEO's nephew, Louis fucking Tomlinson.

Or, Harry is the six-time winner of the yearly Christmas sweater competition, but it all changes when a new coworker shakes up his whole world.

[almondmilktargaryen]

The Girl Who's Got Agoraphobia (Part Three)

*pictures not mine. layout made via canva

Summary: You're the girl with agoraphobia Michael told Oliver about. You're known for not leaving your room much (obviously). But that doesn't stop Michael from checking on you.

Couple: Fem!Reader/Michael Gavey

Category: Flangst, friends to lovers

Word count: 1.7k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

N.F.I., Me and You

There was a college Christmas party tonight. You and Michael heard about it. No one told you, of course. You just overheard it from people who didn’t know you were listening. They didn’t invite you. That was a given. When you asked Michael if he was upset about not getting an invitation, he responded (oh-so maturely) by blowing raspberries. Not in your face, though. He’s not an animal.

You quickly learned that not being invited to a college party (of any kind, because you weren’t invited to any of them) had a bright side - the library was all for you. Completely vacant. Quiet and vacant. Your go-to spots are in the back, where shelves wall you in and gawkers can’t peer in through the windows and interrupt your flow. No one does that, but it can feel that way. There was no need to look over your shoulder here. There was no open space for a person to exist. Only books and just enough room to scoot out of your chair. The air smelled faintly of dust and old paper, a comforting scent that always made you feel at ease. The yellow lights in the ceiling cast a soft, steady hum, adding to the peaceful silence.

Most people who show up to the library treat the place like it’s social hour, gathering around tables to chat shit, drown in coffee (that they weren’t supposed to have inside), and not touch a single book. Which is another reason you choose this location every time; no one finds this area entertaining for long. You wouldn’t be surprised if only a few people knew about its existence.

And speaking of only a few people, Michael emerged between the bookshelves, peeking from the side like he was going to scare you.

Well, he did scare you. Startle is a better word for it. You jerked in your seat at the sight of him in your peripheral. The look of instant regret played on his face; wide eyes and a gaped mouth. He apologized with a frantic, “Sorry, sorry!”

You laughed in spite of it. “If you wanted to kill me, then just say it, Michael.”

He snickered at you. “I knew you’d be here. And I wanted to see you.”

Then you looked down at what he was holding. Not books, as expected.

Michael’s eyes darted from the table to you. “Here, I brought you something.” He set the mugs down (a decaf Americano for him, a white macchiato for you). The thud of ceramic against lacquered wood echoed in the quiet, similar to the thud of your heart against your ribs, only on repeat. The rich aroma of coffee wafted up, mingling with the scent of the old books, creating an oddly comforting blend.

You were stunned by it. Not just because of the gesture (it was such a sweet gesture), but because of the obvious. “Michael,” you said to him, “you know the rules.”

“I do.” He smirked, then took the seat across from you, adjusting his glasses.

“Then why’d you bring open drinks from the shop?”

“Because no one stopped me.”

“If we get caught, then we’ll get in trouble.” The anxiety alone of getting into trouble was enough to make your leg bounce. Yet you tried to swallow down the fear. Your throat was already so dry from the winter weather, and you could already feel a sweat percolating under your collar.

“No. They like you too much. Because you don’t do anything.”

That was true, at least. You didn’t know if they necessarily liked you, but for someone who doesn’t leave the dorms much, you’re at least recognizable considering that they smile when you visit.

Michael pushed your macchiato toward you, and you worried it would spill. You pondered, looking at the coffee, then back up to Michael as if he were making you choose between the red or blue pill. The macchiato beckoned you in anyway, so you lifted it to your lips like there was no turning back. It soothed your throat from the winter air. “Thank you.” You pulled a napkin from your blazer pocket to wipe the froth off your mouth. Michael didn’t pick up on how deep your breaths were (because he wasn’t looking at you. He was poking around in his satchel). It was difficult to capture a good amount of air to fill your lungs and rid them of the lingering anxiety. The sip of caffeine you just took was definitely not going to help, but at least it was delicious.

“Also, I wanted to give this back to you.” He held up a collection of Kate Chopin’s short stories. He extended his arm across the table for you to take it.

You did and quickly flipped through the book before putting it in your bag. He completed reading The Awakening a week after he began and was delayed in cracking open her short stories. “So, what did you think?”

“I see why you like ‘A Story of an Hour’ so much. Very much your style of humor.”

At least this time at the end, the woman dying had a funny layer to it; seeing her husband actually not dead from a reported accident made her “die of joy” when she, once again, was happy to not be married anymore.

He picked up his Americano. “I definitely see the pattern you’re talking about. With the marriage part. But it makes sense why it would be so consistent. Given the time and all.”

“Yeah.” You nodded as you said it. Despite your hesitation, you still reached out to take another drink. You could already feel the caffeine coursing. As you tried to steady your breath, you scanned your notes again. You could feel Michael’s eyes on you, and you were afraid he was noticing. “How’s Oliver?”

Michael sighed. “Dunno. I’ve seen him staring a lot at Felix Catton and his group of fucking losers. He’s been acting differently.”

“Really? You think they’re friends?”

“Michael shrugged, his arms still flat on the table. “Not sure. I’ve never seen them together. He still doesn’t talk much, so not the same on the charisma scale.”

Maybe he has a crush on him. Has he talked about him?” You asked slowly, as you swallowed.

“Not around me. He didn’t know about the party either.”

“Hm,” you simply said. Your fingers twitched as the energy reached the ends of your feet. You swore you heard footsteps somewhere between the shelves where Michael came in. You were almost convinced that someone would catch you, clenching your teeth as you prepared for inevitable embarrassment.

Michael leaned back in his chair, looking down the aisle. “No one’s there.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I think someone was just walking by. No big deal.”

“Okay.” Your exhale was slow before picking your pen back up. You lost track of where you were in your rewrites. People like Felix and Venitia Catton and their peers may be more popular, drunk, and social than you’ll ever be, but their grades matter by the end of the semester. At least one of them always needs notes for classes they didn’t attend, especially if they need to retake the class. They’re just as vain, so aesthetically pleasing notes will sell more. You searched through, trying to find where you left off. But your leg bounced once more, the small heel of your shoe growing obnoxious.

“Still nervous?”

You nodded as you searched, finding where you left off and trying to concentrate on your handwriting; being slow and methodical to keep it as neat as a font.

“You can dare to take risks now and then, you know. It’s not always going to turn out as bad as you think.” His tone was earnest as he leaned forward slightly.

But you gripped your pen to instinct, pausing as your stare turned hard, finding Michael in your crosshairs.

He rested his head on the table. His lips disappeared into his mouth briefly as he started to put together that he may have fucked up. “What?”

Okay, maybe not.

“You know it’s not that simple for me. You, of all people, should know that it’s not that simple, Michael.”

“Phobias are irrational. They feed on an extreme lack of logic.” He said it with a mix of defense in his argument. It was as if this was something up for debate.

“I understand how phobias work, Michael. Like you, I am a student at Oxford University. I may not be a genius like you, but I understand my phobia from years of my research and experience.”

Michael picked his head back up. Perhaps the growing heat from your anger started brushing against him. “I just…” his back hit the chair and his posture sank. “I’d rather not see you miss out on four years of Oxford University.”

“My time at Oxford University is for education. Just like yours.”

“You know what I mean.” He blinks as his glasses slide down his nose.

“Do I?”

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” He leaned forward, reaching a hand out. He was literally trying to bridge the gap. Any other time, you would’ve taken it.

“You can’t control that.”

“But you can control cows?” The hand was gone, and his tone turned sharp as his words sliced through the library's quiet. “You deserve a break from the academic side of all this. Like everyone else.”

“You think the outside world is a break for me?”

“Well, not exactly but—”

You snapped your notebooks closed and stood to put on your overcoat. “I need to go.” You struggled to keep your voice steady, mapping out the typical path from the library to your dorm.

“Wait, don’t.” He reached out, but you gave him nothing.

You didn’t respond or even look at him. The Christmas party was likely still happening, given it was only seven in the evening. You hoped Michael wouldn’t get up. You hoped he’d let you leave. He knew you didn’t like feeling trapped, but he didn’t seem to know (or care) as much as you thought he did.

You were mindful as you walked between the shelves, conscious of the bookbag you held against your hip and making sure it didn’t knock any books to the floor. The trickle of tears lined your eyes and burned as you tried to hold them back. The library's warmth, once comforting, now felt suffocating, and you longed for the crisp air outside.

Taglist: @anukulee

[aliciavance4228]

Before starting to talk about this subject I want to make one thing clear: Hephaestus is one of my favourite Greek Gods (either in Top 5 or Top 10), so I'm not writing this post because I dislike him, but because I cannot stand superficial/surfface-level depictions of greek gods' personalities, nor the simplification of them and the erasure of their nuances (either through romanticization or demonization).

I do appreciate the fact that a lot of people start to realize that the relationship between Aphrodite and Hephaestus was a disfunctional one and that both of them are happier with different people (Ares and Aglaea, respectively). However, the fact that many people are usually focusing only on Aphrodite's actions and ignore Hephaestus' abusiveness rubs me in a wrong way.

Now, referring to Hephaestus as an Incel or choosing to villainize him for that is not the best solution either. He wasn't the only god asking Zeus for a wife, nor the only one who presents a more or less misogynistic attitude towards women. We're talking here about Ancient Greece, so expecting the deities to act how we would expect them to act based on nowdays' principles and standards is unrealistic and juvenile. I would also like to point out the fact that Hephaestus is, according to Hesiod's Theogony, happily married with Aglaea, who is also described as his first and only wife. They also have four daughters according to Orphic Rhapsodies Frag. And yet he is the exact same deity that you guys claim to be an Incel, which is a contraditiction to the original meaning of the term. The word was ment to reffer to a category of men who blame their appearance for not being able to have sex (when in truth the reason why women don't want them is rather due to their personality and beliefs; and by beliefs I mean their tendency of objectifying women and having ridiculously high standards for their future wives while simultaneously getting offended when a woman has her own standards too). I can see Apollo and Hades falling into more Incel Stereotypes than him, considering the fact that one of them cursed many women for refusing to sleep with him, whereas the other literally had to kidnap a woman in order to have a wife. And yet nobody dares to call them Incels, just because they two aren’t described as being disabled nor falsely considered unattractive, unlike Hephaestus.

That being said, negating his wrongs and turning him into a woobie who did nothing wrong just because you cannot stand Aphrodite isn't a good way of perceiving their relationship either. While Aphrodite was indeed manipulative towards Hephaestus and her sleeping with his own brother in his bed was hardly admirable, I would also like to point out the fact that Hephaestus was pretty much toxic and revengeful towards her too.

Now, there are a lot of versions on how they got married as well as a lot of lost fragments, which leads to speculations rather than something 100% certain. So I won't talk about it purely because I want to avoid misinterpretiation and misinformation, and discuss directly about what intetests me the most.

Wheter or not Aphrodite willingly married him or loved him, what do we know for sure is that she preffered Ares more and had an affair with him all this time. Being cheated on is a form a betrayal from a partner, so Hephaestus being angry on her is understandable. However, instead of divorcing her directly, he decided to humiliate her in one of the worst ways possible before separating from her:

Quintus Smyrnaeus, Fall of Troy 14. 40 ff (trans. Way) (Greek epic C4th A.D.) :

"With cheek shame-crimsoned, like the Queen of Love, what time the Heaven-abiders saw her clasped in Ares' arms, shaming in sight of all the marriage-bed, trapped in the myriad-meshed toils of Hephaistos : tangled there she lay in agony of shame, while thronged around the Blessed, and there stood Hephaistos' self: for fearful it is for wives to be beheld by husbands' eyes doing the deed of shame."

On top of that, Hephaestus directed his wrath towards one of Aphrodite and Ares' daughters (Harmonia) and her descendants as well, despite the fact it wasn't technically her fault that she was fathered by his brother:

Statius, Thebaid 2. 265 ff (trans. Mozley) (Roman epic C1st A.D.) :

"The dread necklace of Harmonia . . . The Lemnian [Hephaistos], so they of old believed, long time distressed at Mars' [Ares'] deceit and seeing that no punishment gave hindrance to the disclosed armour, and the avenging chains removed not the offence [of his affair with Hephaistos' then wife Aphrodite], wrought this [a cursed necklace] for Harmonia on her bridal day to be the glory of her dower [description of the necklace follows] . . .

The work first proved its worth, when Harmonia's complaints turned to dreadful hissing, and she bore company to grovelling Cadmus, and with long trailing breast drew furrows in the Illyrian fields [the pair were turned into serpents in Illyria]. Next, scarce had shameless Semele [their daughter] put the hurtful gift about her neck, when lying Juno [Hera] crossed her threshold. Thou too, unhappy Jocasta, didst, as they say, possess the beauteous, baleful thing, and didst deck thy countenance with its praise - on what a couch, alas! to find favour; and many more beside. Last Argia shines in the splendour of the gift, and in pride of ornament and accursed gold surpassed her sister's mean attiring. The wife of the doomed prophet [Eriphyle wife of Amphiaraus] beheld it, and at every shrine and banquet in secret cherished fierce jealousy, if only it might be granted her to possess the terrible jewel, nought profited, alas!"

Furthermore, I would also like to emphasize the fact that Hephaestus had a considerable amount of lovers. And while timeline is another uncertain aspect and he might have slept with those women before he married Aphrodite and/or between the moment when he divorced her and the one when he remarried, the possibility of him cheating on Aphrodite isn't an impossible one. In this case, that could be taken as a Double Standard, and his reaction when he found out that Aphrodite was cheating on him would be completely hypocritical.

As I said, Aphrodite was abusive and toxic towards him as well. But deciding to solely demonize her instead of acknowledging that both of them were abusive and toxic towards each other -I don't like to use this term but I can't find another one for the moment- is purely slut-shaming. Some of you guys are complaining about how "Hera has no agency" and were praising Kaos for portraying her as cheating on Zeus despite the fact that this is out of her character because "He finally got a taste of his own medicine", yet when Aphrodite cheats on her possible unfaithful husband she's suddenly a whore. You guys want a goddess who can be sexually active without any sort of inhibitions, yet when Aphrodite is brought into discussion there's at least one person who won't hesitate to call her all slurs for that, whereas Demeter is turned into a prude on top of being a Helicopter Parent in many fanfictions and retellings (because apparently when a woman becomes a mother she cannot care about anything else).

So instead of choosing one extreme or another where a) Aphrodite is a brainless slut and Hephaestus a poor woobie or b) Aphrodite is a helpless victim and Hephaestus an Incel who deserved to be cheated on, perhaps it would be a better idea to treat them as humane, realistic figures, instead of some sort of cartoonish caricatures who can easily fit into whatever labels and tropes you want them to fit in.

[brainworms-all-night-long]

New and all inclusive intro to the hellspace that's my brain and this blog!! Do not attempt to find any parallels in my blorbos to my behavior and desires I promise it says nothing about the very core of me as a living being haha

Every silly appearing above lives fulltime in my brain and refuses to pay the mortgage, in fact, is very adamant they will never do so. Henceforth, I yap about them sometimes!! Some more than others *coughNinecough* but they are always present

>Now to the tags I actively use!!

sonic prime / sonic the hedgehog / miles nine prower – The most of thoughts at the actual documented begining of life for this blog, and I like Nine!! A lot!! A character made specifically for me I think....

murder drones / arcane / nimona 2023 / dreamtale (UTMV) – Other stuff besides Sonic that I draw and yap about, although this is still mainly a Sonic blog

me does arts / littol doodl / actually finished doodl – My art tags!! I've been drawing the same character for over a year and a half now help :D Have no idea why I decided to split them into three separate categories but I belive the names are pretty self explanatory

me when I finish writing – I do a drabble or two sometimes as well just, don't expect for me to actually finish anything I start writing even though I say I will, that tag name is a lie

the silly text box – answered asks whenever I rember to use the tag lmao

silly brainwors – my yappings, Nine character analyses and headcannons!!

There's no talk tag, if you see my random unrelated thoughts, it was destined and once in a lifetime event

>I also have a few AUs but only of the "What if crossover variety

Prime bros – a more or less non commited collaborative effort of random.headcannons and drabbles between me and Marie and anyone else who has thoughts and wants to join in on the fun on the idea of having the Shatterverse foxes (Nine, Sails, Mangey and Tails) living together in green hill and causing mayhem because the way the show left them was bulshit and unsatisfying!!

The same but different is my own personal version of the prime bros universe than I'm.fighting tooth and nail to write and constantly failing gdhsg

Over the hills – is a Dreamtale and Sonic crossover brough on by The Nine-tailed travel guide through the multiverse event conceived by Donelywell and mashed with my long time held dreamswap au idea of Dream taking Night and running away from the village after taking some drastic measures (the second chapter is being written baybey!!!!)

running from a Nightmare – another Dreamtale au, this time about corrupted Nightmare being set loose on the Sonic world by none other than Eggman and the suffering that comes with it (also fighting tooth and tail to get it written, you see a pattern here?)

the n 'n n's (read as m&m's) – unserious crossover where I put Nine Night and Nimona together and have them be silly (perhaps Nuzi will tag along some day too...)

And because I keep having Dreamtale & Sonic thoughts, I do lump them all together under the dreamtale and sonic tomfoolery tag!!

prime arcane – as seen above, I like arcane!! Jinx and Nine are eerily similar in their sibling and identity struggles, I put them together, boom an Au :D other characters are there too but I need to get around actually designing them....

>This will most likely get updated in case I get possessed by something new or remeber a tag I forgor

——

Hey you scrolled this far might as well put some more random trivia abt me here :D

>paleontology and zoology nerd, but only as an avid listener to four hour documentaries, I don't actually know shit- (Miniminuteman, Casual Geo and Lydnsey Nikole hyper carry this special interest shoutout to them)

>Obviously a followup to previous point needed, favorite dinosaur is the Archeopterix and the animal ever is the Blunt Headed Tree Snake

>I have a pet snake, her name is Ebi and is a black head spider python!!

>Fourth (and last, pray for me please) year of studying Mechanical engineering, I also have no fucking clue what I'm doing, I don't know a lick of math :DD

>Favorite color is pink!! (In case you couldn't tell by my art and this whole post lmao) I went through a goddamn hero's journey to learn to love it alright you can pry the seven plain hot pink shirts from my cold dead hands

>I'm Slovak!! *zahučanie sokola a zvučka fujary*

>undiagnosed but there's.... something...

>Aro, ace and agender (that's where the AAA battery comes in lmao)

>I could recite the story of the ugly duckling backwards as a kid (unrelated to previous two points)

[bokettochild]

Hello, Ketto

I have had two of your concepts/ideas pinging around my brain in a manner vaguely reminiscent of the logo screensavers. So I’m asking a question in the hopes that vibes will solidify into actual plot bunny or that maybe brain will be satisfied and let it go for a bit.

Chain and birth order dynamics:

Wind and Twilight are oldest siblings

Time and Hyrule are baby siblings

Where do the others fall? Is Sky the weird combination of “whatever he needs to be” since he’s a ward of the academy/Gaepora?

Is Legend an oldest, middle, youngest or only?

I’ve read 😅 way too many versions of people’s backstories to remember.

So, funny story! I actually was exploring this concept in a fic that has been giving me troubles since I sat down to write it T-T

I wanted to write a fic about Wind big-brothering the chain into taking care of themselves but the boy rambles and I feared it would become tedious to read. Unfortunately, that's why I never post any of the stories I write about or from Wind or Wild's perspectives; they won't shut up and I can't make them speak more concisely.

Long story short though! Wind was going to sort of dig into the temperament and behavior of each hero and started to go "clearly a middle child, that one's a youngest, good golly Time you are 100% obviously the baby of your family" to himself. It felt sort of weird when writing it, but it also seems to have potential now that I've reread it.

I classify Twilight, Warriors, and Wind as Eldest children, Time and Hyrule as Youngest kids, and Legend and Wild fall into the middle-sibling category (I'll expound on that in the story if you all would like me to write it again). Wind classifies Four as a single-child (the irony) who is still adapting to having siblings out of nowhere, and is utterly innocent of how accurately he's assessed the smithy.

As for his methods of forcing them to take care of themselves, I have a snippet of one of my many drafts below if you want

“From now on, if you say or do anything self-deprecating or otherwise diminishing to your value as a person, which yes, includes throwing yourself into the way of a weapon to save someone who’s got it handled,” back comes the stern voice, just for Wild, who only cocks a brow back at Wind in a challenge (yeah, middle or eldest sibling for the champion, one of those), “then you have to add a rupee to the jar.” 

  The vet scowls at him- an expression that is more mature, but not too very far from Aryll’s pouts when he scolds her. “And why should we go along with that? You’re not the boss of us, Wind, we’re adults.” 

  The sailor crosses his arms, staring over at the vet sternly. “Because if we do this, then Hyrule’s not allowed to call himself lesser than the rest of us.”  

  The vet’s ears twitch forwards, treacherously curious. 

  “Because if we do this, Wild isn’t allowed to throw himself in danger.” 

  Twilight and Time both sigh in relief (they all do, but those two are the most noticeable). 

  “Because if you all go along with this, Warriors isn’t allowed to hide his problems in a bottle.” 

  The captain thinks he is sly, but Wind knows, and it appears the man hadn’t expected that as his gaze darts away shamefully. Time looks even more relieved though; both he and Wind have been watching since the war, they know. 

  “Because Legend doesn’t get to refuse help when he’s in enough pain to cry.” 

  Hyrule is the one pricking up this time. 

  “Because Twilight won’t be allowed to take on everyone’s problems and bottle up his own.” 

  Wild’s turn to sigh in relief, to glance at his mentor in worry as Twilight avoids his gaze.  

  “And Four can’t bottle everything up and yell at himself in the woods instead of talking to someone about his problems rather than the air.” 

  Unlike the others, the smithy actually just looks insulted, but while the shortest hero does open his mouth to protest, he closes it a moment later with a hiss of frustration, crossing his arms. Yeah, single child. He isn’t used to other people calling him out unless they are leaders like Time or adults like his grandfather. 

  Wind isn’t done though. “And Sky?” Crystal eyes meet his, curious and a bit confused. “This means you don’t get to agonize over whatever nonsense has been eating you and not get help. It’s making you depressed and your sleeping habits are reflecting that.” 

  People who sleep a lot are usually only ill, injured, or depressed in Wind’s experience, and while he knows there are such things as sleeping disorders, he’s snitched some of Four’s books and none of them mention anything that matches whatever is up with Sky. Depression though.... Tetra had slept a whole lot when she’d been trying to come to grips with her self-image and identity after their adventure, and the constant exhaustion through that time is a close match for Sky’s own behavior. 

  “Alright.” It’s Warriors who speaks, stepping up to take the lead and meeting Wind’s eye with a nod. “I won’t lie, I don’t like the idea of all of you fussing over me, but if this means the rest of you will be getting help, which yes, Wind, I do mean you too, then I’m game.” 

  The sailor chuckles. This isn’t a roll your eyes and huff in annoyance moment, this is a peacemaker moment. They are negotiating with the others, he needs to set an example and be mature. “I was planning on including myself, Wars. If I need help, I’ll ask, but if one of you thinks I’m failing to take care of myself you can call me on it, and if the others agree I’ll pay up just the same as you will.” 

  And that seems to do it. There’s some debate about it of course, Legend and Wild putting up the most fight about it (them being the worst at self-care as he’s seen) but eventually all cave at the promise of their brothers actually taking care of themselves, which is what Wind was counting on. 

  Rules are set of course, by Twilight’s insistence. “We can’t just punish each other for whatever we want, there needs to be ground rules and boundaries, even if they’re just a loose framework to reference.” The rancher insists. 

  That goes uncontested, so Warriors pulls out one of his notebooks and Legend one of his pens and, because Wild’s handwriting is the best, they all gather around the Champion and consider rules together. 

  In the end, they have nine. 

Rule 1: Self-deprecating comments regarding skills, the worth of a person and/or the validity of their life will result in a 20 rupee fine and extensive cuddles 

Rule 2: Blatant self-neglect (i.e. refusing to eat, refusing to sleep, not tending injuries or allowing help with injuries, lack of bathing/basic hygiene etc.) will result in both a 15 rupee fine and someone helping to ensure basic needs are met 

Rule 3: Self-injury and/or allowance of injury through purposeful carelessness in battle or throwing of self in the way of danger will result in a 20 rupee fine and a long talk 

Rule 4: Joking comments regarding a lack of self-worth will result in a 5 rupee fine 

Rule 5: Ask for help.  

Rule 6: The group must be in agreement regarding fines and consequences whenever an offence is made (with the exception of the accused) 

Rule 7: All money in the ‘care jar’ will go towards the group and will not be kept by any one person 

Rule 8: If someone believes they have not been judged fairly in regards to punishment they will be allowed to contest their sentence and defend themself without interruption or correction (all comments/questions will be saved for the end of the explanation) 

Rule 9: If someone hits a depressive state, punishment will be with-held and will be instead replaced with discussion in order to not further aggravate the deteriorated mental state 

  The last one is something Wild adds himself, but no one contests it; it’s a good one. Personally, Wind thinks it’s a good list in general, and he knows the others agree. Legend and Wild specifically look relieved when he suggests the eighth rule, which makes sense. He knows those two don’t have a great record with being allowed to speak up for themselves in certain regards. The champion has only hinted at being made to be silent, but they all know about the vet’s criminal record and how it resulted from misunderstandings he was never allowed to clear. 

  Once done, the list is carefully pasted to what Hyrule has aptly titled the ‘care jar’ and the thing is slipped back into Wind’s bag for the night, waiting (hopefully for a long while yet) to be pulled out for the first offence. 

[infamousbrad]

For a few years now, I've taken multiple opportunities to ask groups of my fellow Americans the same question: "do you think early 21st century America is a good place to raise a child?" Answers varied from person to person, even among parents of children, from "yeah, pretty good" all the way down to "oh hell no." Rather than give my answer, and go into my reasons (for now) let's look at a report card ranking 35 major countries by several criteria, that just rated only Mexico as worse than the USA as a place to raise a family.

Safety: F. Based on homicide rate, average fear of crime, risk of dying to war or terrorism, school shootings per capita, and protection of civil rights for all. We did okay on most of the sub-ratings, but barely mediocre on civil rights and, well, obviously insanely bad compared to everybody else on school shootings.

Happiness: C+. Based on the human freedom index, world happiness index, per-capita suicide rate, household income inequality, and whether or not some families are discriminated against in adoption rights. I couldn't quickly find the sub-ratings on this one, but the USA came out pretty average.

Cost: F. Based on child care costs, per household family support spending, out-of-pocket educational costs, out-of-pocket health spending, and income-adjusted cost of living. The UK and New Zealand were even worse on child-care costs, but the US came in dead last in every other sub-category. We are the only country that expects those costs to be entirely born by parents who currently have minor children instead of spreading them out across all households.

Health: D-. Based on maternal mortality rate, child mortality rate, access to contraception, air pollution level, and average life expectancy. Because we're not in the bottom 5, I again can't easily find the US ranking on each of those sub-ratings, but I imagine we really got hit on our maternal mortality rate.

Education: C+. Based on teen enrollment rate, early-20s enrollment rate, average reading performance, average math performance, and average science performance. We weren't in the top or bottom 5 so, again, I don't know our detailed rankings but we did end up above average. And finally ...

Time: F. Based on time off per worker, weeks of paid maternity leave, weeks of paid paternity leave, weeks of mandatory paid sick leave, weeks of mandatory paid vacation leave. Only Mexico gave its workers fewer hours off work, and we are the only country in the survey to have a zero in all four other categories.

Across all countries: Only 5 of the 35 countries got an A+ overall. Starting with the highest score: Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Luxembourg. Only two countries got an F, the US and Mexico. If you choose to have and raise a family in the United States, you will bear a higher percentage of those expenses than almost any country in the world, your children will be in more physical danger and health danger than anywhere in the industrialized world outside of an active war zone, and you will have less time with them, less time to parent them, than parents anywhere else surveyed.

So, you tell me: in your opinion, is the United States of America in the early 21st century a good place to have and raise children, or not?

Not to beg, but I'd really appreciate more eyes on this, please? Especially from my fellow Americans and doubly-so from people who have kids or who have recently raised kids?