#SUFFOLK WHAT???!?!?!?!?

[britneyshakespeare]

i cannot stop thinking about henry vi part 2

[landfilloftrash]

woe. me continuing to be normal about those birds. also ft. them all as creatures

[une-sanz-pluis]

the accounts of Humphrey Duke of Gloucester's deaths are like:

"we don't know how he died. Some said he just got really sad and just died, just like how Henry IV and Edward IV said Richard II and Henry VI got really sad and just died. Some said that he was smothered between two featherbeds, just how Edward II and Thomas of Woodstock were probably murdered. Others still said it involved a hot spit going into a place no hot spit should go just like the very famous and very untrue account of Edward II's death."

And when you finally stumble on a new one it's like

"Yeah, they drowned him in wine. Just like how George Duke of Clarence is said to have been killed."

[fideidefenswhore]

However, while there is no doubt that Anne is represented by Mantel in a negative light, a word of caution is required, as her sophisticated narrative technique makes it unadvisable for the reader to rush into conclusions. Indeed, the trilogy’s narrator appears to have full access to Cromwell’s conscience. However, this is nothing but an illusion. Clues are dropped in Bring Up the Bodies: the reader discovers that young Cromwell’s brutal beating, with which Wolf Hall opens and which Cromwell relives while being executed in The Mirror and the Light, is in fact the punishment that he received from his father for having stabbed a boy, resulting in the latter’s death (Mantel, Bring, 86). The narrator does not mention this until this moment, which may be seen to question Cromwell’s memory (O’Connor, “History,” 34) and even the narrator’s reliability. Such issues are visibly addressed in The Mirror and the Light, in which Cromwell is haunted by ghosts—a trademark of Mantel’s “spectral realism.” In fact, Cromwell recurringly dreams of Anne Boleyn’s execution (Mantel, Mirror, 25, 69), which suggests a sense of guilt and casts doubt on the accuracy of Anne’s portrayal.

The Changing Faces of Anne Boleyn: An Analysis of Contemporary Historical Fiction by Philippa Gregory, Hilary Mantel, and Alison Weir, written by JOSÉ IGOR PRIETO-ARRANZ AND PATRICIA BASTIDA-RODRÍGUEZ

[flufallo]

Beefing with Jackson 🥰

[woundedheartwithin]

Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is inaccurate

i recently found out the funniest thing about big horses recently which is that for centuries humans have sworn that the feathering on big horse’s legs has been bred in there for a reason, and the reason given is usually something to do with how it helps keep the joints warm and safe when the big horse is doing hauling work in fields.

the thing is: it doesn’t appreciably do that, because the feathers wick up water and mud, which cancels out any insulation advantage they might hypothetically confer, and also it wasn’t even put there on purpose.

the Leg Get More Hair gene is just linked to the Bones Get More Big gene. when you breed any lineage of horses to have bigger bones–not just taller, but chunkier–the leg hair just happens anyway. so every single breed of draft horse has feathered legs, and even carriage horses like friesians get feathers once they hit a certain threshold of lorge.

when you supersize your horse, mother nature throws in a free pair of booties. how cool is that?

[a-simple-gaywitch]

A Healing Light

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner's little sister comes running into the BAU, Spencer doesn't expect her to take up such a large part of his heart

Warnings: referenced/heavily implied domestic violence, referenced child abuse, PTSD, other canon-typical violence

Word Count: 9413

Author's Note: my life has been a total shitshow lately so here’s a fic I made to cope. Disclaimer, all of my knowledge of medical education comes from TV shows and brief Googling. Also I could easily write a part 2 to this I have so many ideas with this concept

“Nothing can dim the light that shines from within.” ~Maya Angelou

~

When Spencer heard the BAU’s glass doors open, he looked up to see a young woman rushing in. She was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and long pants, unusual for the warm weather the northeast was currently experiencing. 

“Ma’am, can I help you?” one of the agents asked, reaching a hand out towards her. Spencer saw her flinch back a bit. 

“I-I need to see Aaron Hotchner,” she said, her voice shaking. 

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but-”

“(Y/N)?” Hotch said, stepping out of his office. 

“Aaron!” The woman ran over and wrapped her arms around Hotch in a tight hug. Aaron hugged her back. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but-” Aaron froze as he took in your face. Makeup was caked on and there were obvious tear tracks cutting through concealer on your cheeks. Your mascara was also severely smudged under your eyes. Aaron brushed his thumb across your cheekbone, revealing a large, dark bruise. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“He showed up at the restaurant, Aaron. He showed up while I was at work. I-I’m just lucky Lucy saw him in the parking lot from the hostess stand. I ran to the back and Joey gave me the keys to his truck, told me to go somewhere safe, so I came here.”

Hotch looked over at the team, who were not-so-sneakily eavesdropping. “Let’s go talk in my office.” He gently led you through the door and pulled his blinds shut. 

Meanwhile, the team, minus Gideon, gathered in the bullpen. 

“Who was that?”

“His sister,” explained Derek.

“I didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Garcia said.

“Oh, yeah. Sean and (Y/N) are both younger. I only met (Y/N) one other time.”

“She definitely looks more like Sean than Hotch.” 

“Wonder where they get their looks from, mom or dad?” Emily chimed in. 

Spencer’s eyes drifted to the windows of Hotch’s office, where shadows were moving around. “Guys,” he said, nodding toward the opening office door. The team scattered back to their respective desks, Garcia perching herself on Emily’s. 

“Garcia!” Hotch called. 

“Sir!” She scrambled off the desk. 

“I need you to find everything you can on Nathaniel Walker. Credit card purchases, social media posts, everything. And if he comes even 50 miles from the city, you tell me immediately. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” she said, grabbing one of Emily’s sticky notes and jotting down the name before slipping off to her office. 

“Anderson!” He called. The blond man popped his head up from his desk. Hotch held up an envelope. “Take this to the DA. Tell her it’s a rush order from Agent Hotchner.”

“Yes, sir!” Anderson took the envelope and scurried off. 

“Reid, take (Y/N) to the cafeteria. Make sure she gets something to eat.” Hotch rested his hand on your shoulder. “I have to go call Haley, let her know what’s going on.”

“Oh. Uh, o-okay,” you said. 

“Go with Spencer, get something to eat,” he said, his voice soft in a way the team rarely heard. “I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go, okay?”

You nodded and walked over to the man indicated as Spencer. You followed him through the glass doors and onto the elevator. 

“So,” Spencer said, trying to break the awkward silence that had settled around you, “I heard you work in a restaurant?”

“Oh, yeah. Just to work my way through med school. Sean pulled some strings and got me a waitressing gig in Boston.”

“Medical school? Which one? Emerson? Suffolk?”

“Northeastern, actually,” you said. Spencer saw a hint of a smile on your face. “I have one semester left.”

The elevator doors opened to the cafeteria. Spencer gestured for you to go first. “So, uh, what are you planning to specialize in?”

“I want to go into Pediatric Oncology,” you said. 

“Wow, that’s-”

“Ambitious? Crazy? Unattainable? Believe me, I’ve heard it all,” you said with a dry laugh. “Mostly from Nate,” you muttered.

“Actually, I was going to say that’s amazing.” The two of you slipped into the cafeteria line. “So, last semester. You have a residency program picked out?”

You cleared your throat. “So, uh, what’s good to eat here? Aaron’s always complaining about the cafeteria’s food.”

~

Aaron sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. He’d just gotten off the phone with Haley. He sighed when there was a knock at his door. He looked up to see Gideon standing in the doorway. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

Aaron shook his head. “I’m about ready to drive up to Boston and give (Y/N)’s no-good piece of shit boyfriend a piece of my mind.”

“Hotch.”

He looked up. “She’s my baby sister, Jason. The bastard beat her to hell and back, and I wasn’t there to stop him.” 

Jason sat in the chair across the desk. “Aaron, she’s an adult, she can make her own choices. And she chose to drive hours to come see you for help. The best thing you can do right now is help her through the aftermath. Did you call Sean?”

“Not yet. I just got off the phone with Haley. She agrees, (Y/N) should stay with us until this is all settled. I just sent an emergency protective order to DA Martinez. Garcia’s watching Nate’s movements, making sure he doesn’t track her down.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to do. I mean, when it’s a case we’re working it all seems so simple, so obvious. But when it’s your own family…”

“I get it,” Jason said. “Look, why don’t you head home. Take a day or two, help (Y/N) get settled. If there’s anything major, I’ll call you.”

~

“Did you know that in the late 19th century, a surgeon named Robert Liston  was responsible for a 300% mortality rate in a single surgery?” Spencer asked as the two of you picked at the food in front of you. 

“Oh, that was only one of the crazy things Liston did,” you laughed. “The man was crazy egotistical. To be fair, he was considered the best surgeon in the world at the time.” You took one of the fries in front of you. “I mean, he cut off a man’s balls on accident, but he’s still legendary.”

Spencer couldn’t stop the laugh that erupted from him. When he saw Hotch walking over, he cleared his throat. “Sir.”

“Reid,” Hotch said with a nod. “(Y/N), you ready to go?”

“Sure. It was nice talking to you, Spencer,” you said. 

“You, too.” As you walked away, Spencer felt the butterflies in his stomach finally start to settle. 

~ 

The drive home was mostly silent. You knew Aaron was thinking, and you were coming down from the adrenaline rush. You felt your eyes drooping as you rested your head against the cool window. The radio played softly in the background. Aaron knew any real conversations about what happened would have to wait until you rested.

As the two of you pulled into the driveway,  Haley came running out, baby Jack on her hip. You and Aaron climbed out of the car. 

“Oh, (Y/N)!” She gave you the best one-armed hug she could. “Aaron told me everything. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

You were steered towards the house when the realization fully hit you like a freight train.

“I only have my purse. I don’t have any of my stuff.” Your breath started coming in heavy puffs. 

“(Y/N). (Y/N), look at me,” Aaron said, his hands heavy on your shoulders. “Breathe. Follow me. Deep breath in, count to five, deep breath out.” He coached your breathing back to normal, continuing to model deep breathing. When you were breathing normally again, he said, “I called Sean. He’s driving to Boston to clear out your apartment. He’ll bring your car down with him. And for now, we have plenty. If there’s something you need, we’ll get it, okay?”

You nodded, tears falling again. “Okay.” 

You walked into your brother’s house and were immediately met with the warm smell of Haley’s cooking. Even though you didn’t visit often, you always enjoyed Haley’s home cooked meals. 

“I made a roast. I hope that’s okay,” Haley said as she set Jack down in his pack-n-play. 

“That sounds lovely, Hales.”

After dinner, Haley ushered you upstairs and led you to the spare room. 

“This is your room for as long as you need,” Haley said. “I put some fresh towels and some soap in the bathroom for you. Help yourself if you need anything, okay? Our house is your house.”

~

It didn’t take you long at all to fall asleep. You’d taken a nice, long shower and Haley had given you a pair of extremely comfortable pajamas to sleep in.

You ended up sleeping for nearly 20 hours. When you did wake up, it was to the sounds of Aaron and Haley arguing. You followed their voices toward the home office. As you got closer, you were able to make out their words.

“She’s your sister, Aaron!” Haley hissed. “She needs your help!”

“And the team needs my help, too!” Aaron shot back. 

“So they’re more important than family?”

You cleared your throat and they spun around. “Sorry to eavesdrop,” you said, “but I don’t want to be a point of contention. If Aaron needs to leave for work, it’s okay. Really. I need to call the university and handle stuff with them anyway.”

“See? She doesn’t need me,” he said. “And we’re only going to Philadelphia.”

Haley sighed and rubbed her temples. “Fine. Go. We’ll be here. Like always.”

“You’re the best,” Aaron said, giving her a quick kiss and grabbing his bag. “Love you.” He kissed your forehead. “Love you too.” He practically ran out of the house. Haley glared out the window. If looks could kill…

~

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling in your new temporary bedroom. Your phone was on speaker, playing mildly annoying music from where it rested on your bed. 

Haley popped her head in, a basket of laundry in her arms. “That music’s been playing for like half an hour.”

You groaned. “I know. I’ve been on hold with the dean’s office.”

Haley clucked her tongue. “Unacceptable.” She walked over to the house phone sitting on your side table and dialed. When whoever was on the other end picked up, she said, “Julia, hi, it’s Haley. Tell your husband to get off his ass and call me on his work phone. Why? Because my sister-in-law has been on hold with Dean Wilkins for almost an hour. Yes, I know, she’s horrible.” Haley laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you’re so right.” She laughed again. “Okay, thank you Jules. I’ll see you at the next fundraiser. Okay, bye.” She turned to you. “My sorority sister is married to the president of the university. He’ll be calling us soon.”

As if on cue, the phone began to ring. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need anything.”

The call went better than you were expecting. After explaining the situation, the president practically bent over backwards to find a solution for you. 

“Let me put in some calls. You might be able to finish up down there.” Was what he had said. 

When that call was finally over, you sat staring at your phone for a while. You knew you needed to call the restaurant, let everyone know you’re okay. But for some reason, that was the call you had been dreading. 

With a couple deep breaths, you picked up the phone and dialed. 

“Park View Bistro, this is Lucy. Dining in or carry-out?”

“Hey, Luce, it’s me.”

She gasped. “Guys, it’s (Y/N)!”

“Are you okay?”

“Where are you?”

“Are you safe?”

You heard your coworkers chime in. You couldn’t fight the smile crossing your face. 

“I’m okay, I’m safe,” you said. “I’m at my brother’s.”

“Which brother?” Tad, one of the busboys, asked. “New York or FBI?”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “FBI.”

The response was a chorus of “that’s good” and “smart choice” and other positive comments. 

“Well, we gave you a bit of a head start,” Lucy said. “I called the police. They, um. They found a gun on him.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, fine. Is Jerry there?”

“Right here,” you heard your manager’s voice. 

“So, kind of obvious, but yesterday was kinda my last day. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he said. “Just stay safe, okay? Don’t be afraid to reach out if you need anything, though.”

~ 

You were laying on the living room couch, flipping through the flashcards you kept in your purse. Jack was happily playing in his playpen and Haley was grabbing a quick shower. 

“Peripheral nervous system,” you muttered to yourself. “the sensory and motor neurons that connect the central nervous system to the rest of the body. Voluntary movement of skeletal-“

Before you could finish your thought, the doorbell rang. 

“I got it!” You called up to Haley. “Sean!”

Your brother scooped you up in a hug. When he set you down, he gripped your shoulders and looked over your face. “How are you doing? And don’t bullshit me. I know you’re not fine.”

Your chin started to wobble and your eyes started to sting. You started crying yet again, for what felt like the millionth time in 24 hours. Sean pulled you into another tight hug. 

When you finally calmed down, Sean asked, “Where’s Aaron?”

With a sniffle and wiping your eyes, you said, “On a case.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Of course he is.” He walked over to his car and opened the trunk. “I grabbed some essentials. Your landlord was very understanding. He said he’ll send your stuff down, free of charge.”

“What? Why-why would he do that?”

“Because you’re a ray of goddamn sunshine,” he said. “You charm everyone you meet. You have a whole army of people ready to hunt down one man on your behalf. Everyone loves you, (Y/N).”

~

You were staring at the pile of envelopes on your bed. Sean had brought your mail in the boxes. He was helping you unpack them before heading back to New York.

“What’s up?” Sean asked, noticing your staring. “Did those letters personally offend you or something?”

“They’re internship offers,” you said. 

“(Y/N), that’s great! There’s like seven letters here!”

“Mmh.”

Sean’s brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” He gestured for you to sit with him on the bed. “This is all you’ve wanted since you were, what, seven years old? Why aren’t you more excited about this?”

You sat silently for a few moments, chewing on your lip. “Did you know that only 30% of interns make it through their residency?”

“What? (Y/N), what are you talking about?”

“What if I’m part of the 70%?” you whispered. “What if I fail out? What if I can’t do it?”

“Nate really messed you up, didn’t he? (Y/N), when people ask me about my family, you know what I say? Well, firstly, I say that my brother’s a jackass but we love him anyway.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. “But then I say that my little sister is a genius. She’s going to be the one to cure cancer. She’s so smart and talented, and works so hard. I couldn’t be prouder of her.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m not your little sister, I’m your twin, dickhead,” you said with a smile. 

~

“Why did you wait so long to open these?” Haley asked. “There are some really good offers in this pile. 

You chewed the skin around your thumb. “Nate. He wanted me to stay in Boston. I didn’t get an offer from Boston. He didn’t understand how internships work so he got mad. That, um, that’s actually what set him off this last time.”

“Oh, honey,” Haley said, pulling you into a hug.

Hours later, Haley said, “So, we’ve narrowed your choices down to Johns Hopkins Medicine-Sibley Memorial Hospital and George Washington University.”

Your leg was bouncing and you were chewing the skin around your thumb. “I don’t know. I mean, the peds department at any Hopkins hospital is world-class. But the research department at George Washington produces some of the most cutting-edge advancements. You rubbed your face with both your hands. 

“Hello?” came Aaron’s voice from the kitchen. “I’m home!”

“Living room!” Haley called. She turned to look at you. “Well, you want to help kids with cancer, right? Which place is going to allow you to do that the most?”

“What are we doing in here? Hey, Sean.”

Sean nodded toward Aaron as Haley explained, “Helping (Y/N/N) decide where she’s gonna intern in July. We’re down to two hospitals.”

Aaron looked at the letters on the table. “George Washington University and Johns Hopkins?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I can’t decide.”

He looked over the letters. “George Washington pays more. Go with them.”

Sean scoffed as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What? It’s practical.”

“It’s not that easy, Aaron,” you said. “I need to think about how they can propel my future. Which one’s gonna offer me the better education.” 

“Okay, how about this,” Sean offered. “Close your eyes, no thinking, random questions.”

“Sean, that doesn’t work here,” you said. “Yeah, it’s a fun game for easy choices when we were kids, but-”

“What about a pro-con list?” Aaron suggested. “I’ll get paper, we’ll write it out.”

You scoffed. “You sound like Dad.”

“Hey!” He gently punched your arm with a huffed laugh. “Uncalled for.”

In the end, after hours of debating, you decided on Hopkins. It was a short train away from the house, and it was going to help you get where you wanted to go better than the university hospital. And simply making that decision lifted a huge weight you didn’t even realize was sitting on your chest. 

~ 

Penelope rushed down the hallway from her office to the bullpen. 

“Hey-“ Morgan’s greeting was promptly ignored as she raced up the steps to Hotch’s office, “-babygirl.”

She knocked hurriedly on the door. 

“Come in!”

“Sir,” Penelope panted out, clutching her tablet to her chest. 

“Garcia? What’s wrong?” 

“You told me to tell you if any of Nathaniel Walker’s information changed. Well, his credit cards show he stopped at a gun shop in Maryland and he just got gas in Baltimore.” Hotch’s stomach dropped when she continued, “It looks like he’s heading for here.”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch said, doing his best to hide is panic. “You can go.” He reached for his phone and dialed. 

“Hello?”

“(Y/N), where are you? Please tell me you’re at the house.”

“Um, no,” you said. “Haley and I are at the mall. Why?”

“Don’t- don’t worry about it. Just, stay there, okay?”

“Aaron, what’s going on?” you demanded.

He sighed and said, “Might as well tell you. Nathaniel is looking for you.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. I have someone tracking his car. And, you have a protective order which means police have to intervene if he comes within 50 feet of you. Besides, it looks like he’s coming here first.”

“Is he really stupid enough to show up to a federal building?” Haley asked. The two of you had taken a bench in the mall, and you’d put Aaron on speakerphone. 

“He’s stupid enough to follow (Y/N). I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“What-what do we do if he finds us here?” you asked. 

“He won’t,” Haley assured you. 

“He doesn’t know where the house is. Go home, it’s the safest place right now.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Haley said. “Besides, Jack is starting to get cranky.”

When you got back to the house, you sat by the phone, staring, waiting for it to ring. What if he attacked Aaron? What if Aaron attacked him? He may be horrible to you, and you were definitely broken up, but a part of you still loved him. After all, you were together for over three years. You’d even discussed marriage with him. 

Finally, after what felt like years, the phone rang. You scrambled to pick it up. 

“Aaron?”

“Hey.” He was panting on the other end of the line. 

“What happened?

“Well, you won’t have to worry about him anymore.” 

“What? Is he-“

“He’s alive,” your brother said. “Probably wishing he was dead, though. He probably has some broken ribs and he definitely has a concussion. He’s also facing up to 20 years in federal prison.”

“What happened?” 

“Do you really want to know?” You heard him mutter “thank you” to someone in the office. 

You chewed your lip. “I guess not.”

~ 

July came much faster than you were expecting. Maybe that was because your spring was so busy - testifying in court about Nate, finishing your last few tests, and 

“Okay, what do we think?” You asked Haley, slowly spinning with your arms held out. “Too casual? Or too formal?”

“No, it looks nice,” Haley assured you. “Professional without being too stuffy. And your makeup is lovely.”

“Why are you bothering?” Aaron asked. “Aren’t you just going to change into scrubs anyway?”

You sighed with an eye-roll as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What?”

“It’s about making a first impression,” you said. “I’m going to be working here for at least 5 years, I need to start on the right foot.” You straightened out the blouse you had chosen. “Besides, they’re making us sit in a bunch of meetings for most of the morning, I won’t get my scrubs until later.” You took a deep breath before slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Today’s the day.”

~ 

It didn’t take long for you to make friends at the hospital. You clicked well with a few of the other interns in your class: Austin, Syd, and Ella. By some miracle, you were all scheduled off at the same time, after a long and grueling day. Syd suggested going to the bar down the street, and you all thought it sounded like a good idea.

“What are you guys drinking?” Syd asked, shouldering her way to the bar. “I’m thinking we start with a round of shots.” She started pointing around your small group. “Shots? Shots? Shots?”

You laughed. “Sure. Set me up. Ella?”

“I’m down.”

“Well, if we’re all doing it…” Austin joked. 

“Awesome! Four tequilas,” she said when she flagged down the bartender.

Before you knew it, you and your friends were loosened up and laughing around a table. 

“No way, you were totally ready to jump over Ness to scrub in,” Austin laughed. “I have never met anyone more competitive.”

“Ah, well, when you grow up with two brothers and a father who uses love and affection as a reward for achievement, you learn to fight for everything.” You took a sip from your run and coke before noticing the table went silent. “What?”

Syd cleared her throat. “Nothing. Did, uh, did any of you sit in the gallery for that transplant?”

“Oh, yeah, so cool,” Ella said. “Kidney transplant on a 5-month-old.”

Austin finished the rest of his drink. “Anyone want to dance?”

“I’ll go,” Syd offered, standing up with him. “There’s some cute guys on the floor. Ella?”

“Sure. How ‘bout you, (Y/N/N)?”

“No thanks,” you said. “I am gonna get a water, though.” After you flagged down the bartender for your drink, you felt someone step up beside you. 

“Looks like residency is treating you well.”

Your head whipped around. “Dr. Reid?”

“Spencer. Please, just Spencer.”

You smiled at him as the bartender placed your drink in front of you. “Is the whole team here?”

“Most of them.” He nodded over toward the dance floor where Morgan was clearly flirting with your girls. “Gideon and Hotch chose to go home. JJ and Garcia are over at our table with Emily.” He was about to say something else when his phone started ringing. “Damn.”

You chuckled. “Isn’t that how it always goes?” 

He smiled and you felt your stomach flutter in a way it hadn’t in years. Your eyes followed him as he met back up with Derek and the girls. 

“I’m telling you, he’s married!”

“Wouldn’t he have a ring if he were married, Syd?”

“No, he would take it off. Besides, what other reason can you think of for a guy suddenly needing to leave after getting a text?”

“You guys talking about Derek?” You asked.

“Wait, how’d you know his name? We didn’t tell you!” Ella said. 

“He works with my brother. They just got called for a case.”

“Ha! He’s not married, Syd! Take that!” Ella said. She turned to you. “You think he’ll call?”

“Probably,” you shrugged. 

“Wait,” Austin said. “You’ve known this guy for how long, and you’re not showing any interest in Mr. Muscles? What’s wrong with him?”

You scoffed. “Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just… not my type.”

Austin crossed his arms over his chest. “Really? Adonis isn’t your type?”

You shrugged in response. 

“Okay, so what is your type?” Syd asked. 

Your eyes were still tracking Spencer where the team was gathered. “Tall and lanky,” you said. “Kinda nerdy and dorky. Someone with a heart of gold.”

~ 

You were at the library, pouring over a stack of books. The intern exam was coming up quicker than you thought, and you were trying to be as prepared as possible. You marked down some notes before shifting back to the book. 

“Little light reading?” someone asked. 

You looked up, prepared to tell the person off, but the words died on your tongue when a familiar mop of brown hair and hazel eyes came into your line of sight. “Dr. Reid!” Your cheeks flushed and you mentally cursed yourself. “It’s uh, it’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So, is this your idea of a fun night off?”

You laughed and bookmarked the page you were on. “Kind of,” you said. “Intern exams are in 8 weeks so it’s cram time.”

Spencer hummed. “You want a study-buddy?” he offered.

“Dr. Reid-”

“Oh, Spencer, please. Just Spencer.”

You cleared your throat. “I don’t want to take up your night off.”

He scoffed as he slid into the seat across from you. “I didn’t have any plans. I was gonna check out some books and hide myself away in my apartment. This is definitely an upgrade.” 

You smiled and ducked your head to hide your ever-flushed cheeks. 

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, gesturing toward your notebook. 

“Oh! Um, sure.” You slid it across from him. “My resident wrote down some practice questions for me and I’ve been drilling the answers.”

After looking through your notes, he said, “So, just out of curiosity, why pediatric oncology?”

You took in a big breath. “I’ve known a lot of people who’ve suffered from cancer. My dad, my grandmother. But the one that affected me the most was my best friend’s baby sister.” Your eyes started to glaze over as you thought back. 

“Sophia lived two streets away from us. We spent just about every day together. When we were four, her mom got pregnant. Lindsey was born severely underweight and had a bunch of health issues from the beginning. She was barely four pounds. Because her parents were practically living in the hospital, my mom let Sophia stay with us. It was actually pretty fun for a bit. It was like we were sisters. And, you know, having two brothers, all you really want is a sister. But then they took us to meet Lindsey. It was rough. She was so small and so pale, hooked up to so many machines. I remember there was this light shining on her. I didn’t know then but it was for her bilirubin level. They didn’t know what was wrong so they were trying everything in the book. But after months of testing and testing and testing, they finally diagnosed her. Leukemia.

You wiped at your eyes. “We didn’t really know what that meant, of course. But we knew our parents were really upset about it.” You took a shuddering breath. “They tried everything. Chemo, surgeries, different radiation treatments. But nothing helped. We lost Lindsey before her second birthday.”

“I’m sure that was really hard for your families. It sounds like you were really close.”

“Yeah. We were. That was really my first real experience with death. And I just remember thinking, this is a brand new person. Why would the universe let her get this horrible, horrible disease? And why does no one know how to stop it? Well, anyway, that was when I decided I wanted to be a doctor and find a cure. For Lindsey and the McDermott’s.”

“So you’ve known what you wanted to do since you were six?” Spencer asked, his admiration for you growing.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“The only other person I’ve known who’s known what they wanted to do since they were that age is well… me.”

“Seems like we have a lot in common then,” you said with a smile.

You had a great time studying with Spencer. He had some great memorizing techniques, and he knew when you needed a break from cramming before you did. He made the time fly by, to the point the librarians had to kick you out so they could close.

You and Spencer were laughing together as you walked to the metro station. 

“Wait, so Sean thought zebras were fake until high school? How is that even possible?” Spencer laughed. 

“Well, it’s not like our dad ever took us to the zoo,” you said. “His idea of a fun family outing was making us sit in the gallery of a courtroom watching him prance like a peacock.”

“At least yours didn’t leave you to take care of your chronically ill mother before you hit puberty,” Spencer said. He then bit his tongue. He barely knew you, why was he compelled to tell you something so personal?

“Hey, fellow member of the Shitty Dads Club, high five!” You held up your hand and laughed as Spencer tentatively clapped your hand. Spencer felt the knot that formed unfurl. “Tonight was fun,” you said as you got to your platform.

“It was. I, uh, I had a good time.”

“Well. This is my train. See you around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely! Oh, uh, let me know how you do on the exam.”

“Sure. Yeah, I definitely will.”

~

Aaron was on the plane with the team when his phone started ringing. “Hello?”

“I passed!” you yelled down the line. “Actually, I didn’t just pass, I got it perfect!”

“Hey, that’s awesome!” He turned to the rest of the plane. “(Y/N) passed her intern exam!”

“Hey!”

“Alright!”

“Good for her!”

“Okay, that was it,” you said. “I have to get back to work.” You whooped, “I passed!”

Aaron laughed. “Okay, I’ll see you when we get back.”

“Oh, okay, bye!”

~

Spencer was distracted. Usually on the plane to a new case, he was pouring over the file. But this time, he was staring out the window, lost in thought. 

“Alright, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said, plopping down next to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?” Spencer snapped away from the window. “Oh, hey, Morgan.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“What? Nothing.” He looked around the plane, briefly making eye contact with Hotch. “No-nothing’s going on.”

Morgan looked at him for a moment. “Fine. Don’t tell me now. But I’m not dropping this, kid. I’ll find out what’s got you all distracted. I’m bringing this up again.”

Unfortunately, Morgan didn’t get a chance to bring it up again until much later. The case went off the rails faster and harder than anyone could have expected, with both Spencer and JJ disappearing. As the case continued to unfold, the team knew Tobias Hankle wasn’t going to come in easy. 

The team fought, and fought hard. They stayed awake for over 24 hours trying to rescue Reid. Finally, finally, the team succeeded. After what felt like hours of debating, Hotch convinced Reid to go to the hospital to be examined. 

“This is ridiculous,” Spencer said from the ER gurney. “I’m fine.”

“Kid, you’re not fine,” Morgan said. “You were held captive for two days and tortured. Let the damn doctors examine you.”

He sighed and flopped himself back on the bed. 

Derek leaned closer to the bed. “So, can we finally talk about this girl you got on your mind?”

Spencer’s head snapped over to him. “You-”

“You really thought I wouldn’t piece it together? C’mon, kid, we’re profilers. So, who is she?”

Spencer glanced around before finally admitting, “(Y/N).”

“Wait, wait, as in-”

“Hotch’s sister. Yeah. We, uh, I ran into her at the library a few nights ago, and we had a good time. Did you know she skipped two grades? Second and tenth. And she was valedictorian at her undergrad.” Spencer smiled up at the ceiling. “And she’s funny. She made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe.” He grew quiet. He whispered, “Thinking of her helped me get through it. Her smile, her laugh. When I thought about just giving up, I thought about how she lights up the room. She gave me hope.”

~

You were having a terrible day. You’d woken up late, meaning you nearly missed morning rounds. Then, you got stuck doing scut work for being late. Then, while you were working on some papers, you knocked your coffee all over the file and yourself. 

“Hate this damn day,” you muttered, grabbing the box of tissues nearby to mop up the papers. “God fuckin-”

“Well,” Ella drawled, sidling up to the counter, “I have something that might cheer you up.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“There’s a very handsome professor guy asking for you,” she said. “Says he wants to talk to you.”

You looked up from the desk, prepared to yell at whoever was interrupting your already terrible day. Whatever vitriol you were about to spill died when you saw who Ella was talking about. 

“Spencer!” You jumped up, completely forgetting about the coffee seeping into your scrubs. You ran around the desk. “Aaron told me what happened in Georgia, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m okay. I, uh, wanted to talk to you, though.”

“Sure. What’s-what’s going on?”

“Actually,” ‘he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “can we talk somewhere private?”

“Oh! Sure.” You led him to a nearby exam room that was empty. “So, what’s up?” He was looking everywhere but at your face. “Spencer?”

He took a deep breath. “Look, I had a really great time with you at the library. I loved getting to know you and-and I would love to get to know you better.”

You started smiling. “Spencer Reid, are you asking me out?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am. Or, well, at least I’m trying. I’ve never really been good at this kind of stuff.”

You were smiling so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. “Well, I’d love to go on a date with you,” you said. “And I promise, I won’t be wearing coffee-soaked scrubs.”

Spencer laughed and said, “Well, I still think you look great. You always do.” Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as Spencer gazed at you. “So, uh, I know you have a crazy schedule. Are you free Friday at 7?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I actually get done at 6. Meet here?”

“Absolutely,” Spencer said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

Your day went a lot better after that.

~

It was almost 3 in the morning when you got to the door. Your heels were in one hand, and you tried to quietly unlock the back door with the keys in your other hand. You winced as the door squeaked open and you started tiptoeing across the kitchen floor. You were halfway to the stairs when the light flicked on. 

“Shit!” you hissed.

Aaron was sat at the kitchen counter. “So, you want to tell me where you’ve been all night?” he asked.

You cleared your throat. “I plead the fifth.” Aaron looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Look, I’m an adult, I don’t need to tell you where I was or who I was with! I’m not in high school anymore, Aaron. And you’re not Dad.”

“So you were on a date.”

“Maybe.”

“With who?”

“Not telling.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Look, I get that you’re looking out for me, I do. But I’m not a teenager, and you’re not my legal guardian anymore. You have to let me live my life. Make my own mistakes”

“(Y/N), this is your first date since Nathaniel-”

“That you know of.”

“-are you really so surprised I’m worried about you?”

You sighed and sat down next to him. “No, I’m not surprised. But I really like this guy,” you said. “I don’t want you scaring him off by going all Scary Big Brother on him. If it helps, I know you’ll like him.” Aaron just hummed in response. You leaned your head on his shoulder and the two of you sat in silence for a bit. “For the record,” you said, “I’m glad you’re not Dad. You care more than he ever did.” 

~

Spencer hummed happily as he added sugar to his morning coffee. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, smiling at the message on the screen. 

“So, I take it the big date went well,” Morgan said, walking up next to Spencer and pulling his own cup out of the cabinet. 

Spencer hid his smile with his mug as he took a sip of his coffee. 

“Wait, wait, did I hear the word date in relation to Reid?” Emily asked. 

“You sure did. Pretty Boy’s got game. So, is there a second date in your future?”

“Possibly.” Spencer felt his face flushing and he took another sip of coffee to hide it.

“So, what’s the name of this girl that’s got you all starry-eyed?” Emily asked as they walked back to their desks. 

“I think I’m gonna keep that to myself for a little longer,” Spencer said, his eyes tracking Hotch as he walked from Gideon’s office to his own. 

“Okay, well, if you won’t tell us her name, can you at least tell us where you took her?”

“Well, we started at an escape room, like Morgan suggested, but we beat it way too quickly. They said we set a new record.”

“Wow. How long?”

“Five minutes. Then, since we couldn’t make any reservations, we just walked around the city, seeing what looked interesting. We found a bar hosting a trivia night. And then we just spent the rest of the night… talking. We just sat there, getting to know each other. It was- it was actually really nice.”

“Sounds like all that worrying was for nothing,” Morgan said. 

“Well, not for nothing,” he said. “There’s still that big elephant in the room.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Emily asked. “Morgan knows who it is?”

“Well, yeah. He’s the one that convinced me to ask her out.”

“And it’s more like the elephant in the big office,” Morgan quipped. “You’re gonna have to tell him eventually.”

“And we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But for now, she doesn’t want to tell him and I’m certainly not going to be the one to tell him.”

“Reid, please tell me you’re not seeing a married woman.”

“What? No! Emily, no!”

“Let’s just say she has a pretty protective family,” Morgan said. “Someone who’s known to flip his lid if his family is hurt.”

“Wait a second…” Emily took in how Spencer was avoiding eye contact and Morgan’s eyes flicked between him and Hotch’s office with a smirk. She gasped. “No way!”

~

“So, how’d date night go?” Syd asked the next day at work. 

“It was great. Until Aaron caught me sneaking back into the house.”

She barked out a laugh. “What are you, 15?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, Abbot,” you joked as you lined up for your morning rounds.

“So, is he taking you out again?”

“Yeah, next Wednesday. We’re going to see a show at the Kennedy Center.”

“Ooh, which one?”

“Abbot, Hotchner!” your resident snapped. “Something you’d like to share with the group?”

You cleared your throat. “No, ma’am. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“It better not, or you’ll be buried to your eyes in scut. Now, who’d like to present?”

~

“You sure you’re ready to do this?” Spencer asked you. The two of you had been together for four months, and had decided to make things official by telling your family. 

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, besides, I think he already knows and he’s just waiting to hear it from me.” You took a deep breath and unlocked the door. “Aaron? Haley?”

“Kitchen!”

You motioned for Spencer to wait as you walked in the room. “I, uh, I have someone I want you to meet,” you said. “Or, well, you’ll see. Uh, I want to introduce my boyfriend. Spencer.”

You motioned for him to come into the room and you gripped his hand. He gave yours a squeeze in reassurance.

Aaron smiled. “I was wondering when you’d finally admit it.”

~

Date nights with Spencer were probably your favorite nights. The two of you had decided to have a night in rather than go out. Dinner was simple: just pasta with some frozen garlic bread. Neither of you was a very talented cook. 

You were helping clean up, putting dishes back in the cabinets, when a plate slipped from your hand and smashed on the floor. 

Suddenly, you were back in Boston with Nate. He was yelling, cursing at you, and you were just standing there. 

You jumped when an arm landed on your shoulder. You cried out and scrunched in on yourself, expecting Nate’s harsh slap. 

Instead, you were met with Spencer’s concerned eyes and soft, “(Y/N)?”

You snapped yourself out of it. “You know, I-I just remembered, I have an early shift tomorrow. I-I should probably go,” you stuttered out before grabbing your purse off the counter and rushing from the apartment. 

“(Y/N)-”

The next day in the office, Spencer went to Hotch’s office. He sat down in the chair across from his desk and said, “(Y/N) made it home last night, right?”

Hotch looked up. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. She, uh, she dropped a plate and it broke. Then she just stood there, staring at it. I wasn’t thinking and touched and she freaked out. She got all defensive, her breath started racing and she rushed out of my apartment. She claimed she had to work but I know she has off today.”

Hotch frowned. “She had a flashback.”

“I think so. I want to fix it but I don’t know how,” he admitted. “I mean, what am I supposed to say? I promise I’m not like your psycho ex, I care more about you and your safety than a piece of porcelain?”

“Well, I would leave out the psycho ex part,” Hotch said, giving Spencer a small smile. “But sincerely, give her a little bit of time.”

“She seemed really distressed, Hotch.”

He sat for a moment before saying, “Okay.” He picked up his phone and dialed. “Hey. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I need a favor. It’s for (Y/N).”

You were sitting on the living room couch, bundled in a blanket. You were staring absently at the blank TV, your mind filled with what felt like static. When you heard keys in the door, you jumped. You let out a sigh when you saw Haley’s familiar blonde head peak in the door. 

“(Y/N)? Hey.” She walked over and sat on the coffee table in front of you. “You okay?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Do I look okay?”

Haley gave you one of her sympathetic smiles before saying, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You found you did. So you told her everything. “It was like I was right back there,” you said. “I was back in that Boston apartment and Nate was breaking things and throwing things because I wasn’t doing what he wanted.” Tears were running down your face. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Haley said, moving to the couch to pull you into a hug. “I’m so sorry. But you know, you weren’t back there. You were with Spencer, one of the most gentle, caring men I know.”

“I know, I know. Logically, I know that. Logically, I know Spencer wouldn’t hurt me. But in that moment, I couldn’t think logically. I was back in fight or flight.” 

After a few days, you decided to sit with Spencer and talk it out. You explained where your head was, and Spencer assured you the episode didn’t scare him away; he was in it for the long haul with you.

~

“You ever notice how we’re always at my place?” Spencer asked, breaking away from where the two of you were making out on his couch. 

“What?” You brushed some hair out of your face. 

“Not that I mind,” Spencer rushed out. “I mean, I-I get it. You’re still living with Hotch, he’s my boss, it’s awkward.”

“Yeah? Spence, where are you going with this?”

“You spend most of your nights here anyway. I think my closet is more your clothes than mine-”

“Spencer.” You gripped his hand. 

“Right, right. I’m rambling.” He cleared his throat. “Um, I was thinking. What if- what if you moved in here? With me?”

Rather than a verbal answer, you tackled him down on the couch, kissing him again.

When you finally broke away, Spencer laughed, “I take it that was a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes! I love you.” You froze. That was the first time either of you had said those words. A knot of panic was starting to form in your chest.

Spencer must have noticed because he gently took your hands. “Hey, hey, breathe. You’re okay.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you, too.”

~

You groaned as you unlocked the door. “You would not believe the day I had,” you said, kicking your shoes off by the door. Your boyfriend looked up from where he was reading a book on the couch.

“First, the coffee machine in the lounge was busted. Then, I was put in the ER which, you know, fine, whatever. But this group of drunk college girls come in because their friend passed out and we had to pump her stomach. Normal Friday night, right? Well, as we’re taking care of this girl, one of her friends vomits all over me. But, before I can go change my scrubs, an emergency trauma comes in. Apparently, this guy collects Civil War memorabilia and he and his buddy thought it would be fun to play with the musket. So this guy has a bayonet stuck in his abdomen and a bullet wound that’s stuffed with a sock that had clearly been worn recently so we have to worry about infection on top of him bleeding out. All over me, by the way. Then, finally, I get a chance to change my scrubs because they need me in L&D. So I’m helping with this geriatric pregnancy, which by the way is a term I hate, and the mom starts coding. So we’re rushing, trying to get a crash cart, prepared to resuscitate, and then we see the DNR order on the chart. At least the baby was healthy. And nearly 9 pounds.”

You huffed and plopped onto the couch. Spencer pulled your legs up into his lap. “I’m sorry, baby. Hey, you know what might cheer you up? Morgan got yelled at by the accountant for kicking down an unlocked door on our last case. And Penelope totally embarrassed herself answering the phone.”

You snorted a laugh. “Course she did.”

“Oh, and she invited us on a double-date with her and Kevin. Movie night. It might help you destress a bit. Take your mind off that chief resident decision I know you’re constantly thinking about. Which, by the way, you’re gonna get. You’re perfect for the job, they’d be crazy to pass you over for this.” He lifted your hand up and kissed the back of it.

~

Spencer was right, they’d chosen you as chief resident. And you loved it. It was stressful and difficult, but it was what you’d been waiting for. It came with unexpected challenges, like when an emergency trauma came through the ICU. 

You were on your way to check on the unconscious man when you noticed a crowd gathered in front of the room. 

“What is this?” You asked, pushing your way through the crowd of mostly interns and first-year residents. “Out of the way. Move.” When you finally made your way into the room, you saw a familiar group talking to the intern sent to check vitals. “Agents.”

Your brother was standing next to the bed, and you noticed handcuffs around both the patient’s hands. You pursed your lips before turning to the gathered crowd. “I know you all have somewhere to be. Go!” Finally, you turned back to the team. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“When will Mr. Holsten be awake?” Aaron asked. “Your intern here didn’t seem to have an answer for us.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “First of all, don’t talk about my intern in that way. Dr. Lester has only been here a few weeks, the new class just started. Secondly, we can’t say for certain. He had significant trauma, so he’s pretty heavily sedated at the moment and-“

“Can you wake him? We have some questions he needs to answer.”

“No, we cannot wake him, Agent Hotchner. Waking him could prove detrimental to his healing. Over the course of his treatment we will start to decrease the medications, but we will not forcibly wake him.”

“You don’t understand, Dr. Hotchner, this man killed-“

You held up your hand. “Right now, at this moment, I don’t care who he killed. He could have slaughtered a convent full of nuns and I would not provide less than adequate care. Within these walls, he is just a patient in need of medical attention. I refuse to violate my Hippocratic oath for your investigation. So, you have two options. One, let us care for him as our team seems fit and you can ask all your questions after he wakes up. Or two, you leave this hospital and wait for him to be discharged. The choice is yours.”

As you stared down with your brother, the team could clearly see the family resemblance. It was in your eyes, in the stubbornness you both exhibited. 

Finally, Aaron took a step back. “Fine. Call us the second he wakes up. But the cuffs stay on unless absolutely necessary.”

“Deal.”

~

It was a rare night when you and Spencer were both home, at a normal time, and at the same time. You’d had a nice dinner together and were laying in bed. Spencer was reading a book while you were working on a report for the research grant team. 

“(Y/N)?”

“Hmm?”

“We should go to Vegas,” he said. “To see my mom.”

You froze. “You want me to meet your mom?”

“Well, yeah.” He set his book on the side table and turned to face you. “I’ve already told Mom all about you. She loves you already and she hasn’t even met you. She’s been doing really really well on this medication and I really want the two most important people in my life to meet each other.” He took your hand and squeezed it. 

You gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, might as well get the hard part over with, right?” You took a deep breath. “I have to meet her sooner or later, why not make it sooner?”

The next day at work, you were telling your friends about the conversation. 

“So it looks like I’ll be cashing in some of my PTO.”

“You’re really going to meet his mom?” Syd asked. “That’s, like, practically a step away from getting married. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Definitely not,” you said. “From what Spence has told me, she’s, like, Superwoman. She was this awesome English professor for years and raised Spencer on her own after his dad left.”

“So you’re totally intimidated,” Ella said. 

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Hey look on the bright side,” Austin chimed in. “At least he doesn’t have to meet your parents.”

You laughed. “Yeah, just one of the many reasons I’m glad my father’s under the ground. Think I would have wanted my mom to meet him, though.”

~ 

The end of your residency was quickly approaching. Offers for fellowship positions were starting to come in, meaning your class had to finalize their specialties with the head of the program. 

“Dr. Hotchner,” the director of the program said, looking over your file, “you’ve shown much interest in pediatric oncology. Are you sure that’s the specialty you want?” 

“Absolutely.”

He set the file down. “You do know that specialty’s not easy? Not from a technical perspective, but from the very nature of who your patients are and what they’re facing.”

“I know, sir.”

“You show great promise as a trauma surgeon. Are you sure-”

“Sir, with all due respect,” you said, scooting the chair closer to the desk and straightening up in the chair, “I’ve wanted this job since I was a child. I know what I’m getting into. This is not something I’ve decided on a whim.”

He sighed. “Alright. In that case, I should let you know, I received a call from the chief over at St. Jude’s. They wish to extend a fellowship offer to you, of course with the condition that you pass your board certification.”

~

That night, Spencer came home to find you pacing and muttering to yourself. 

“(Y/N)?”

“Good, you’re home,” you said. “I, uh, I need to talk to you.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed in concern. “Okay?” He sat down on the couch with you. “(Y/N), what’s going on?” You were fidgety, looking everywhere but at Spencer. “(Y/N)?”

Finally, you took a deep breath and said, “I got some big news today. I, uh, I got a fellowship offer from St. Jude.”

“What? (Y/N), that’s fantastic! That’s, like, your dream to work there.” He took in how distressed you seem. “What’s wrong?”

“Spencer, fellowships are three years long. I’d be living in Memphis for three years. I don’t know if I want to live that far apart from you for that long.”

“So you’re torn between your professional dream and me.” He turned his body to face you. “(Y/N), I wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from your goals because of me.” After a few moments of silence, Spencer said, “I could go with you.”

“What?”

“Yeah! There’s an FBI office in Memphis, I could transfer there,” he said. “If you’re turning this down because of me-”

“Spence, it’s not just because of you,” you said. “I love working at this hospital. I love the team I work with, and I feel like I can learn just as much from Hopkins as I can from St. Jude. Plus, Aaron and Jack are here. I can’t leave them after they just lost Haley. And you can’t leave the team here. They’re your family.” You gripped his hand in yours. “I promise, I thought this through. It’s all I’ve done all day.”

After the end of your conversation, Spencer spent some time thinking. He impulsively offered to uproot his life so that you could follow your dream. Never did he think he would be the kind of person to do that. He thought back to six years ago, when you first walked through the doors of the BAU. If only he knew then how absolutely head over heels he was for you, While you were on the phone with your brother, telling him about your decision, he decided he needed to call Penelope. 

He needed help picking out a ring.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

SECOND ROUND: 11th Tilt

Gawain, The Green Knight (2021) VS. Prince John, Robin Hood (2010)

Propaganda

Gawain, The Green Knight (2021) Portrayed by: Dev Patel Defeated Opponents: - Sir Elyan [Adetomiwa Edun], Merlin (2008-2012) - Matrim “Mat” Cauthon [Donal Finn], The Wheel of Time (2021-)

“So, first off the movie is based on the anonymous poem from the 14th century so not only is the setting medieval, so is the story. The Green Knight is a vivid dreamscape of a film with all sorts of delightful weirdness to stretch 101 stanzas into a modern movie. And Dev Patel looks incredible whether he's flopping about the forest floor like a dying fish or enthroned in all the finery of the sun itself.”

Prince John, Robin Hood (2010) Portrayed by: Oscar Isaac Defeated Opponents: - Willow [Warwick Davis], Willow (2022) - Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk [Henry Cavill], The Tudors (2007-2010)

“I always love a hot villain, and how could he be otherwise when he's being played by a pre-breakout Oscar Isaac? He preens, he sneers, he's horny on main, what's not to like?”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Gawain:

“You look at Dev Patel's big, beautiful, brown eyes and tell me he's not perfect. To quote the director "He's incredibly appealing in every sense of the word and yes, he's incredibly sexy. I see no shame in wanting to capture that. I was like, 'I want to see Dev looking as beautiful as he is onscreen and I don't want to shy away from that.' He has such a nobility to him that hasn't been utilized in films because he's such an affable actor who's so quick to break into this boyish smile. It's what made everyone fall in love with him, but in addition to that, there's severity to him that's really captivating." A movie made to say this man is sexy and they did it.”

For Prince John:

[penny-anna]

anyway speaking of i encountered some kind of lizard-like animal on a trip to suffolk as a teenager and I've been trying to figure out what it was ever since

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Sheep

Debut: Super Mario Odyssey

Wow! Sheep, from Super Mario Odyssey! Sheep are such an extremely iconic animal, it's hard to believe they were invented by this game in 2017! The success of Super Mario Odyssey has gaslit us into believing that sheep were even one of the very first animals to be domesticated by humans. That just shows the massive impact Super Mario has on society!

Sheep in Mario's world weren't domesticated by humans, they were domesticated by skeletons! They are first seen in Tostarena, under the ownership of a Tostarenan farmer, and every last one of them wears a sombrero. These sheep are tired of their wool being used to make clothing for other entities. They decided THEY could wear something stylish yet practical, too! And they did it. Now they can graze in the desert without having to worry about sun in their faces! I don't know what they are grazing on, but they can do it safely, so don't worry about it!

Or ARE they wearing sombreros? They wear them regardless of region, and no matter how much the sheep get knocked around, their hats remain firmly affixed! Maybe... they are not hats at all! Perhaps these sheep have been selectively bred for bizarre horn shapes, resulting in a sombrero-shaped mass of keratin that naturally shields their eyes from the sun! Which is then decorated to look nice.

I don't mean to be rude to any fake pretend people in this fake pretend world in this videos game, but I don't think any of them are very good sheep owners. Every single sheep owner in this game, no matter the kingdom, has lost all of their sheep and needs Mario's help to herd them back! You would think sheep owners would be better at that, but I guess not. Maybe it's because they keep their sheep in shallow depressions in the ground with no fence to speak of. I personally would not do that.

These sheep seem to be based on the Suffolk breed, which is the most generic cartoon looking sheep there is, pretty much! I think there is such a charm in a real animal looking like the generic cartoon image. If you are in the northern hemisphere, it is currently Sheep Shearing Season! If you are able, I recommend going to see some shearing happen! It's funny. They get sat down on their butt like a person. Hee hee!

[theywhospringforth]

Sheep things

to help with writing and drawing if you so choose

Sheep's wool transitions to hair on their legs. Where exactly this transition happens depends on breed and genetics. Breeds that are all white will have white/cream hair, while breeds like the Suffolk and the Hampshire will typically have white wool and dark legs (brown or black).

Sheep get playful and bounce around. It can kinda look like a pogo stick on four legs. Absolutely look up lambs playing on YouTube they're the cutest little suckers. If you've ever seen deer bound, it's kinda similar.

Some of my sheep really liked their ears rubbed and/or the tops of their heads. Although I also has one who thought shiny things were just the best and chewed on my belts and ribbons and tried to snatch someone's keys so each sheep is a little different.

Sheep have this wax called lanolin that is what helps their wool repel water and keep their skin clean. It also helps protect any wounds to the skin. It used to be in a lot of hand creams and certain brands still due but it's a pretty big allergen so it's pretty uncommon these days. Works wonderfully though.

Shearing is a good thing. It can actually be more harmful to a sheep to go without shearing for more than a year or so (this is partly due to human interference with breeding, they've been domesticated and selectively breed for too many hundreds of years). Wool breeds are more like every 6 months. Most people try to do it soon after the last frost. Early to mid spring so that wool has more time to come in for the winter months. In my area we have this weed called foxtail, that burrows through hair and wool and will bury itself into the skin of animals and can cause infections. For us, shearing is vital to our animal's health.

Terms for sheep.

Less than a year old: Lamb

Year Olds are sometimes called yearlings

Over a year: Sheep

A Ewe is a female sheep, a Ram is a male sheep, and a Wether is a castrated male sheep.

Common terms/phrases: Ewe Lamb, Ram Lamb, Wether Lamb

Sheep actually have long wooly tails (think labrador tail length but not as maneuverable. It hangs between the legs), but they are often docked when they are young to help with health. Fecal matter and urine gets on the tail and can increase health risks for things like infections.

I'm most familiar with the Hampshire-Suffolk crossbreed. They were bred for human consumption. Different breeds have different characteristics, different behaviors, different tendencies.

Feel free to hit me up if you happen to have any sheep questions. I have a decent amount of knowledge and I'm happy to share.

Anywho. Hope this helps! Happy culting!!

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 23.

Summary: A conversation between you and Oliver as you both try to distract yourselves from thinking about the day behind, and the night ahead.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

A/N: 2957 words. i split the henrys dinner into two parts because the dinner itself was very different tonally to the conversation with oliver that needed to be had i think. this part is sfw but the next part Will Definitely Not Be :) also im putting more gratuitous shakespeare mentions because i love characters pointing out their own narrative parallels. i feed off of the lovely comments y'all leave, so if you have any thoughts you'd like to share, i always love to hear them!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

No matter what you wore, these formal events made you feel like you were choking.

Oliver finds you in the shared bathroom a few hours before dinner began, already dressed and agitatedly fussing with your collar in the mirror. Spotting him in the reflection, your scowl doesn't clear, but you do start vocalising the thoughts that had been running through your head.

"Lady Daphne has three children, all under fifteen."

"What?" Oliver, still looking entirely casual in sharp contrast to you, leans against the sink, watching you with interest.

"Tonight; the woman next to you who isn't Ven, she has three children under fifteen, their names are -" squeezing your eyes closed tightly, willing yourself to remember, you swear with frustration as the children's names elude you. You'd managed to find and memorise Henry of Suffolk's children's names - Henry Jr and Charlotte - but you're again feeling like it's not enough. Your collar feels too tight.

Unbuttoning your top button for what must be the fifth time in the past half hour of your indecision, you groan with frustration.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asks carefully, to which you try and waive off his concern. Clearly, it doesn't work, considering he's making his way over to you to rest a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"I'm fine, it's fine," you tried again, though it still comes out with clear irritation. Closing your eyes again you try and calm yourself enough to focus, "I saw their names the other night in my notes, I know this," you hissed under your breath, "Lady Daphne and Lord Henry; he's Sir James' godson and his own sons are named..." you wrinkled your nose, braced against the counter, "they're fucking French names, I know this!"

"Are Lady Daphne and Lord Henry French?" Oliver asks.

"No, they're just pretentious," you bit out, though suddenly it came to you, "Regis, Gabriel, and Louis." A grin lights up your face at that; the tension leaves you for the moment in the wake of your small victory. You feel like you can breathe again. Oliver gives you a hesitant smile, at least glad to see you're feeling better for having finally remembered. Breathing a relief sigh, you turn to him properly, "how are you, Ollie?"

"Should I remember Regis, Gabriel, and Louis at dinner?" He asks with faint hesitancy. You shrugged.

"I'm sure it couldn't hurt," logically you knew your own anxious preparations were often too detailed for what the night would actually require, but if you had information that could help ease Oliver into this world to which he was unaccustomed, you'd offer whatever you could to make him feel prepared.

But when he asks if you want to stay with him while he gets himself ready for the evening, you still find yourself hesitating.

Farleigh had found you that afternoon as you'd been coming back in from your gardening; he looked more than a little irritated, but refused to explain his mood. There was something unusually guarded about him at the time, something almost bordering on reproachful in the way he looked at you.

As your heart sank with realisation, you tried to find a way to explain to him everything that had happened between you, Felix, and Oliver. The tricky part of it all would most certainly be reassuring him that you believed him entirely, while also figuring out a way to explain why you'd given Oliver another chance despite knowing he was lying to you and Felix. There was no way you'd be able to explain yourself in this moment, and Farleigh seemed to realise this too.

"If you have something to say to me," Farleigh told you tersely, glancing over his shoulder where you could both hear Felix chattering loudly to Oliver down another corridor, "if you can bare to tear yourself away from your darling, little Iago," he spits, and you sighed deeply, expression clearly showing your disappointment, which Farleigh paid no mind to, standing to his full height and fixing his cool gaze upon you, "you know where I'll be."

So now, here you were, after almost an hour trying and failing to distract yourself by skimming through Shakespeare's Othello since Farleigh's latest cruel nickname for Oliver had reminded you of it, you'd decided to bite the bullet and get yourself ready. Really you should head over to Farleigh's room and sort things out with him, talk everything through and smooth it all over, but Oliver looks so helpless at the mere thought of what tonight would require. You tell yourself you can always talk to Farleigh later.

The afternoon eases itself into early evening with far less tension than the middle of the day had brought with it. Simply being in Oliver's company does wonders for your nerves. Even if talk between you is limited, the silence is not uncomfortable; Oliver gets himself ready, and you continue to skim the play while splayed out on Oliver's bed, and the duvet that used to be yours, easing each other's anxieties in quiet parallel.

You're looking for a quote you half remember from when you'd studied the play back in high school, a line that would be all too fitting of an offer to Farleigh when you saw him next, picking up on his allusion while trying to assure him you weren't just blindly believing Oliver over him - there.

I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.

You keep the text open on the bedspread before you as Oliver asks you questions about the unspoken scripts that you all must follow throughout the night. There's something like vindication that wells up within you when you realise how easy you find it to talk him through them.

"Do you always wear suits to these things?" Oliver asks carefully in the intimate moment in which you stand before him, doing up the cuffs of his dress shirt.

"The Henrys dinners? Yes," you nod, nimble fingers dancing against the fabric by his wrist. An amused smile makes it's way across your lips as you explain without even really thinking, "the first and last time I wore a cocktail dress to a Henrys dinner I made one of them, Henry Rochester I think, very uncomfortable," you smirked at the memory, and though Oliver's glad to see you're more smug rather than uncomfortable about the memory, he still doesn't quite seem to understand why.

"Because you're...?"

"Technically yes," you huffed a laugh, letting go of the first cuff to do the second, "because he now gets hard thinking about me in a dress and he doesn't know how to feel about it, and I don't want to deal with that." For a moment, the words simmer in the air between you both, and you finish up with the second cuff, stepping back with a pleased little smile. Oliver, however, still seems to be confused, and finally you acquiesce, giving him the final piece of the story;

"It was a very nice dress, Henry was just so bloody wasted he forgot I was the one wearing it when he couldn't see my face when he walked in on Fi and I in the wine cellar decided to stick around and watch with his dick in his hand," you shook your head dismissively at the memory, rolling your eyes but still grinning, "which isn't our fault, it's our wine cellar, he's the one getting drunk and going for a roam on someone else's estate."

It startles a laugh out of Oliver, the sound bright and sharp as his hand comes up reflexively to cover his mouth. Your expression scrunches up, pleased at the sound. In the few moments that follow, you straighten out Oliver's collar as he's giggling to himself, watching you from behind his hand with warmth and something almost adoring.

"I should show you some time," you wet your lips, crossing your arms as you gave him a leering look over, your intentions obvious. Oliver flushes a little, smiling under your gaze.

"The dress?"

"The wine cellar," you corrected, making Oliver laugh once more.

"You sure you're not going to get me drunk and brick me in down there?" He asked, and your eyebrows rose at the unexpected reference to Poe's Cask of Amontillado. At your obvious surprise, Oliver gives a half smile, reminding you that you'd left a book of Poe's work in the drawer by his bed. He'd read it? You're not sure why you're so touched by that, but you are.

"If we end up drunk in the wine cellar, I promise I won't be leaving you alone down there," there's a surprising amount of affection in your voice for what is ultimately some pretty on the nose flirting, but Oliver seems to appreciate it nonetheless.

When you return from your own room with a pair of cufflinks for him, however, his expression is pensive as he's sitting on the edge of the bed, flicking through the copy of Othello you'd left there.

"Thought my party had something to do with the Midsummer Night's Dream one," he says with faint confusion. You've already got the line you'd found earlier memorised, so you're not concerned that he's flicking through, losing your page in the process.

"No, it is, it's just Farleigh -" except you really don't want to tell Oliver exactly what Farleigh had called him, had implied about him with a single, derisive nickname alone. Iago. You shrugged, "he just said something earlier that reminded me of it is all." Then, sitting down beside him, you shoot for a smile, "what are you up to now; tie?"

For a long few moments, Oliver gives you this utterly unreadable expression. You wonder if he knows the play; if he did, he could almost definitely make an educated guess about what Farleigh's comment may have been, especially given the very recent circumstances. Even if you don't know exactly how Oliver would react to something like that, you're not exactly eager to find out.

The moment thankfully does pass without further comment on the play, with Oliver instead standing and heading to the full length mirror by the wardrobe.

"Is your family helping Felix's with paying for Farleigh's uni and stuff?" Oliver asks with genuine curiosity in his voice as he glances at you in the mirror's reflection.

"What?" The question seems to come out of nowhere, and your reaction is entirely genuine.

"I just wondered if that was, you know, part of the reason he was so loyal to you," Oliver shrugged, though there's something almost apologetic in his eyes, "and, I guess, why you knew you could trust him to be so loyal?"

How did he even know the Cattons were helping with Farleigh's education? Your suspicions were with Elspeth, whom you loved despite how much of a gossip she always was, but Oliver admits that Felix had told him about how he and Farleigh were cousins, and Sir James' guilt over his semi-estranged sister, all the way back at Oxford. Ah, makes sense. Part of it was probably to explain why Farleigh was always hanging around them despite his obvious distaste for Oliver. It takes you a beat to compose your thoughts; knowing both Oliver, and Farleigh, you had to be deliberately sure of whatever information you shared in this moment.

"I'd give Farleigh anything if he asked," you admitted, wearing a faint, sad little smile as you recall how coldly he'd looked at you earlier that day, "but he never has," you shook your head, "not about something like that at least. Why?"

Looking over at the mirror, you see Oliver with his tie done up, looking at you in the reflection as though you're a puzzle he's desperately attempting to solve. But, when you smile, he returns the look in kind.

"I think this might just be one of those times where I have to remember you telling me there's more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in my philosophy," Oliver says with a wry smile, and you can't help but laugh at the memory of your first proper conversation with him about your friendship with Farleigh on one of Oxford's many rooves.

"Farleigh is simply one of my best friends; I don't begrudge him his pride, it's part of who he is, and I love who he is," with your warm laughter, the mood in the room has lightened considerably, and you finally stand. Wrapping your arms around Oliver from behind, perching your chin on his shoulder, you take in the sight of you both in the mirror.

"You know, I think you'd look so beautiful in a dress if you ever wanted to wear one," you tell Oliver idly, handing over the box with the little, golden cufflinks that you'd been fidgeting with on the bed.

"Beautiful enough to give an old man a sexuality crisis?" He asked with a blithe grin, pulling out of your grip if only to make his way to the cupboard where his jacket had been hung.

"Oh, undoubtably," you don't even hesitate, sitting yourself in the arm chair by the window, watching him once more.

"Don't know if I could start with a cocktail dress," he says, gazing at himself in the mirror with a pleasantly thoughtful look in his eyes as he genuinely considers the idea. Then, "I think I trust you with this more than I trust me," he gives a suddenly self conscious chuckle, ducking his gaze, fidgeting with the collar of the jacket he was still holding.

"You don't have to start anywhere if you don't want," you assured him faintly, but Oliver's smile is so damn affectionate.

"It's fuckin' impossible to describe the kind of effect you have," he tells you, shaking his head, "if you say I'd look beautiful, all I know is that I think I want to look beautiful, just so long as it's you who's looking at me."

"I feel very lucky sometimes," you give an endeared hum at his words, grinning to yourself, "my beautiful boys." Oliver, jacket now on, freezes. He's turning a delightful shade of red at that, looking like he was trying and failing to fight off a pleased grin. Finally, he meets your gaze in the mirror, "would you let me put together a costume for you, for your birthday?"

"What?"

"It's a costume party after all, could I put together a costume for you? Not a cocktail dress, I promise," you teased, and Oliver finally turned back to you, regarding you with nothing but love and affection.

"You know, sometimes I still can't believe you give me the time of day," the words almost seem to surprise him as they leave his lips. Something in your chest tightens, and you pause, once again caught off guard by Oliver Quick. There's a sweetness to the way he speaks that has butterflies fluttering so strangely in your stomach, "you're so..." he turns the words over in his mind, looking for the correct one, before he finally settles, "you're a dream," he says simply, "I don't think you don't get enough credit."

His words fill the sudden silence of the early evening as he steps towards you, cufflinks in hand, offering them as a silent request for assistance. You agree without even thinking.

In the back of your mind, you hear Farleigh calling Oliver Iago, but you can't bring yourself to care. Yes, Oliver spent enough time around you, observing you, talking to you, being in your space, that he knows exactly what to say and how to say it to endear himself to you. Clearly he's genuinely fond of you, but it's not often he gives you a compliment like this. Everything always so deliberate.

But it feels so fucking good to have someone put in the effort for you, someone other than Felix. Felix had always known how you worked, what songs to sing to make you dance if the whim ever struck him. It almost overwhelms you to realise that Oliver had learned how to hum along to the quiet song your heart sings too.

You wonder if you should tell Oliver that he doesn't need to try and manipulate his way into your life, that you'd already made a place for him here, all he had to do was ask to stay.

"I keep giving you the time of day because I'm very, very vain," you can't bring yourself to face his sincerity with any of your own, or you think you may either start crying, or possibly jump his bones, and it's too close to dinner for either. Instead, you grin from ear to ear, teasing tone letting him know how clearly you were joking, as you fixed the first cufflink to his jacket's sleeve, "and you keep saying lovely things about me."

"Lucky for me then that I don't think I'll ever run out of lovely things to say about you," you'd forgotten just how well Oliver could flirt when he really wanted to. Eyes bright and smile brighter, you can see mischief sparkling in his eyes when you look up, meeting his gaze. You love this boy so much it feels like it hurts at times like this.

"Think that means I should keep you very close by, at all times."

"Very few places I'd rather be, sweetheart."

That beautiful bastard knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Later, out of this space, out of this moment, out of Oliver's arms, you could go back to worrying about the night, about all the lies oscillating around your whole situation, about Felix and Farleigh and Venetia. Later, you'll find yourself thinking that Farleigh may have had far more of a point with Othello than you'd first realised when you read 'one that loved not too wisely, but too well' before you put the text back on the shelf.

Later.

Right now, you let Oliver pull you in for a kiss.

[une-sanz-pluis]

In the end, if there is a single theme in the duke's career, it is one of obedience to Henry's personal authority, something which was gaining definition only at this time. The king's new prominence must play an important part in explaining his acquiescence during the years which followed. Faced with the destruction of his wife, a series of threats to his property and, finally, a thoroughly dubious charge of treason, Gloucester was unresisting. Was this because he accepted the central pretension of Suffolk's rule, that it was backed by the will of the king?

John Watts, Henry VI and the Politics of Kingship (Cambridge University Press, 1996)

[fideidefenswhore]

Never ended up adding this, but: 

I don’t believe DM ‘woobified’ Thomas Cromwell, but I see some sort of marriage of narrative in his own biographical apologism & the depiction in Mantel’s series and its adaptation that filed off some his sharper, less palatable, edges, including the TV adaptation (if not literal marriage, then certainly a feature now of this sort of Cromwell-focused subgenre/...fandom?). It’s Cromwell holding a kitten that we see, not Cromwell introducing a bill for the utter abolition of sanctuaries, Cromwell gently scolding an imperious Anne who insists Thomas More should be tortured ( ‘we don’t do that, madame’), rather than Cromwell as the orchestrator of the rather torturous executions of John and Alice Wolfe. In so many of these scenes, the characters opposite Cromwell feel like strawmen-- an irony, from an author that so often derided that infamous author of so many strawmen arguments where he came out the moral and intellectual victor, himself...

I also don’t think the criticism of misogyny as it concerns AB’s character in this series, the original source material nor the adapted TV series, is proportional to how eye-watering it was (dismissed because she’s so auxiliary, maybe...?). There is literally a scene where Anne tries to facilitate the seduction (and probable rape) of a teenage girl (presumably inspired by a dispatch of Chapuys in which he does not even report that there’s any rumor of this plot, just that he believes she might do so, that it is the goal and potential method of the isolation), as Cromwell stands on in silent, long-suffering, morally reproving judgement (which emerges as a pattern, another scene later or before is him being the calming voice of reason as she squawks in outrage at the wording of the Act of Succession). Paired with the absolute Mary Sue gender-equivalent of this character (in TMATL, even his own daughter-in-law wants to fuck him), it’s just nauseating. 

[hernakedmuse]

Can you imagine being Jason Carver's older sister coming back home from Suffolk University, where she was an art major.

She has come home for spring break and has dropped out of college, but no one knows this.

Jason and her couldn't be more opposite, she was known for her beauty back in Hawkins but she's always been odd and off, she has very Carol Kane-Madison from Splash-Alison Harvard vibes. She was always in her own world sketching or writing, or panting. She makes little dollhouse figurines and keeps to herself, her mother was always disappointed with her, thinking she's mentally handicapped.

Her parents weren't pleased that she decided to pursue art and she had to pay her own way.

In college she was a nude model, she was always known for curves and it madeher a lot of money.

But now she's back home, and she runs into Eddie Munson at Benny's where she's enjoying a strawberry shake and reading The Two Towers.

He has never seen this ethereal beauty before, but that's because Jason's mother had his sister sent to boarding school in Massachusetts.

Jason would call her and tell her about an Eddie Munson who was a freak that would try and steal Chrissy from him, but she had no idea what he looked like.

But seeing the handsome long haired stranger come over to her table, she was in awe. He's so gorgeous, and he knew about Tolkien and they ended up sitting and talking for ever about legends and elves and he found out this girl was more than a beautiful face. She rambled like an excited child, and had to take a few breaths as she showed him the sketches and watercolors she had made for her book.

They began to spend more time together, she would show him her favorite places in the woods where she imagined herself a druid or a wood nymph, lover of the God of the wood.

Eddie couldn't understand why this sweet, beautiful babe had no one else in her retelling, how she would always be alone. When he saw the lines on her arm he wanted to know who caused her such pain he wanted to kill whoever made her feel like she wasn't enough.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Pure Grey

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Guildford x Jane Rating: E Word Count: 4514

Summary: One day Guildford's pleasuring a strange girl with his mouth, the next he's watching her walk up the aisle at their wedding. When Jane doesn't seem quite as delighted to see him again as Guildford thinks she should be, he decides he won't make this ceremony easy for her. And the reception? Gods help her. ✨The sequel to "Bad Latin."✨

While his apparently delicate bride is examined by Dr. Butts, Guildford has time to think. He hates having time to think. He'll never say as much to her, this clever Grey girl his father has found to answer their horseshoe-shaped prayers, but he detests quiet contemplation. He needs people to talk to, things to do. Otherwise, life starts to seem a little hopeless. His nihilistic thoughts race inside an ever-shrinking pen.

At least she has given his thoughts a subject that is not his own sorry self: Jane Grey. Upstart flirt and dutiful eldest daughter in one. Guildford believed he was unique in his two very different ways of navigating the world. Not so. As in the tavern, Jane is apparently eager to outdo him. Well, as successful as she might have been at playing hard-to-get, harder-to-forget, she's been caught in the same net he has. Marriage. He feels a smug satisfaction over her sharing his sentence.

Knowing what he knows, of course, Guildford could bring this whole wedding down around his father's ears. He's aware of the reputation he has, and so are many of the attendees to this fine farce of an occasion. If this Affliction business doesn't work out for her, Jane can be the girl who cried "rake"—only he'll be able to turn it back around on her. Enjoyed it though, didn't you? Nobody wants a spoiled bride. Guildford? Guildford doesn't care a whit... but then, he's the one who spoiled her. Sort of. He's unclear what exactly the degree of spoilage is on what they did. In the eyes of the Church, of course, it's straight to hell for her and repentence for him (paid in cash). Fortunately, Guildford prefers a little nuance. He walks in shades of grey.

Inconveniently, he's a bit too curious to see where this goes to bother snitching about Jane's compromised virtue, though he's feeling slightly wounded and the prospect of getting back at her does appeal. She might have at least looked intrigued upon clapping eyes on him again. She said it, didn't she? "Maybe we can do it again sometime"? Not so keen now it'd be her wedding dress he ducked under, is she? Not so raring for a shag in the ol' marital bed. A mouthful of blood! Honestly. With his logical mind, Guildford knows Jane would have had to plan the blood beforehand (he's nearly positive it was fake), a revolt against the whole idea of marriage rather than him specifically, but his ego smarts. Something that is not his brain whispers that his bride would rather endure Butts's dubious doctoring than get to the other side of this ceremony and face him—all of him.

Insecurity he would typically drown with drink makes Guildford briefly wonder if he maybe wasn't very good. It's an insane thought, of course—didn't he have her thrashing against that tree?—but he hates that he never got to look her in the eye to see for himself. Sod being the bigger person. He wants to punish her for making him doubt himself. One doesn't achieve a reputation such as his without some skill. Oh, that Guildford Dudley, he can drink a tavern dry! Untrue, but he can hold his liquor better than the less-practiced. Guildford Dudley can best a man twice his size in a brawl! Certainly, if the man is blind drunk. Guildford Dudley has bedded every willing lass from here to Suffolk, and left them all wanting more! How would he possibly have the time? What he would assure anyone who asked him directly is that the quality of the encounters, however, is God's honest truth.

How he might get back at Jane doesn't come to him until the lady herself reenters the nave. This time, Guildford stands ready to receive her, not hiding behind his father and brother to pretend until the very last second that this isn't actually happening. Her gaze locks on his to communicate grim resolution. From that alone, he can tell it's her intention to endure this wedding stoically. What a martyr. The heart bleeds, truly. Probably expecting him to be praying for the same swift efficiency.

"From the vows, I suppose?" Guildford's father suggests to the bishop.

"The vows," the bishop agrees. "Yes. Lord Guildford, if you would..."

Yes, this is the moment when he will make all his promises to her again, not haltingly now, because the shock of seeing her has worn off and the words are familiar in his mouth. He'll fly right through them, quicker than reciting an oft-read poem. This is what Jane will be expecting.

"Actually," Guildford says, "d'you mind if I come up with my own? Change things up a little?"

The bishop and his father exchange a glance, so Guildford explains the impulse, trying not to laugh at the way Jane has stiffened next to him.

"My bride gave me such a fright with that spray of blood," he says, directing a tender look Jane's way (he sees her clench her jaw), "that I felt I should say something more. Something from the heart, you know, to acknowledge that precious occasions such as this one are so very fleeting."

"And yet this feels like an eternity," Jane mumbles under her breath.

"Hmm?" he inquires, cocking his head with malicious attentiveness.

Lucky for her, no one else hears. The bishop and Guildford's father are exchanging stuttered sentences about the irregularity of the request. Personalized vows? Between strangers? Does it make sense? Can it be permitted? It certainly isn't traditional. Only God could really say whether such a thing honours him or should be considered an earthly indulgence, and therefore absolutely not allowed.

Since they don't have God in the pews to ask him, the bishop turns to the next best choice: King Edward.

"Your Majesty?"

"Delightful!" Edward determines. "Nothing could be more pleasing to us than to hear Lord Guildford's words of devotion to our dear cousin Jane. Yes?"

The question is addressed to Jane, who smiles the tightest, most uncomfortable looking smile Guildford has possibly ever seen and repeats, "Delightful," clearly for the King's benefit.

"Proceed," Edward commands, and who is Guildford to disobey his king?

Guildford sighs as though overcome with the import of the moment. He takes Jane's unwilling hands in his, ignoring how she bites her nails into his fingers.

"Lady Grey," he begins, then corrects, "Jane," as though to take the first step in developing an intimacy they could not yet share. It's sort of true; he knew the name, and he knew (in a way) her, but he didn't know the name belonged to her until earlier this evening.

"Jane," Guildford says, "I vow to you all those things I said before, which I know you're dying to reciprocate—not literally!" This gets him a laugh from the assembly and a stare of molten fire from his bride. "I would only like to add how much I appreciate your presence here today.

"To pledge oneself to a total stranger is a daunting prospect. To meet for the first time inside a church is perhaps God's ideal, but so rarely achievable for us humans. In that way, you and I are so deeply fortunate that our paths never crossed sooner, that our union might be that much purer in His eyes. I almost want to get on my knees now, just thinking about it."

By now, Jane is displaying some blend of emotions he can't read with absolute confidence, but which seems to contain raw fury, alarm, and a violent promise of vengeance. He'll worry about that later. That knees bit also makes her blush, so it's not all bad.

"Anyway," Guildford concludes, "it is my great pleasure to do my part in uniting our family trees." He can't entirely fight his smile at the look in her eyes when he says "trees." "I sincerely look forward to sharing that pleasure with you."

After a knowing look at Jane, Guildford smiles blithely at the bishop to indicate he has finished.

"Jane?" prompts the bishop.

Jane lurches in Guildford's grip and he rolls his eyes. Surely she hasn't forgotten that she needs to make her vows to him as well.

"I think I'll just say the regular ones," Jane says.

It seems to Guildford that what follows her words is a sigh of disappointment from their witnesses. Guildford shrugs at the bishop to excuse his bride's lesser enthusiasm.

"She's tired, I expect. Took quite a turn."

"Do not speak for me," Jane hisses between her teeth.

"Go on then," he goads.

Jane speaks her vows with clarity and precision. No fake blood, no more tricks, just the words she must say. Guildford would like to sarcastically congratulate her on her elocution, but they're suddenly married. Right now, it isn't funny anymore.

They smile perfunctorily for their audience, then walk back up the aisle without looking at one another.

Jane does not take his arm.

—

"You're going to have to look at me," Guildford tells her later, the two of them seated for their wedding feast.

"Don't see why," Jane replies, staring steadfastly forward.

"You're going to have to kiss me too."

"Please refer to my last response."

"Jane."

At last, she whirls on him. "What?"

He grins at her. She sighs as though she is so fed up with him, which seems awfully soon. They just got married.

"Seriously," he says, not really being very serious at all, "I need to know how you're going to play our first kiss."

"What do you mean?" She sounds—despite herself—interested. Not necessarily interested in him (faker), but interested in not fucking this up. He can tell she likes to have a strategy.

"Will you be charmingly inexperienced, or will the divine rightness of our match make us so compatible at kissing it will almost look as though... dare I say it?" Guildford leans towards her and whispers, "...As though we've kissed before?"

"Ugh!" she exclaims. "I hate you!"

"Do not," he scoffs, reaching for his wine goblet.

"No, I do. I do. I do."

"Steady, Jane, we're already married." He takes a leisurely sip while she stares what he imagines she imagines are very pointy daggers at him.

"Oh, thank you. I had almost forgotten." Jane crosses her arms and slouches down in her chair with a huff.

"You know," Guildford observes after a space of time that is clearly not long enough for his wife, given how she glares at him when he speaks, "I really don't get what your problem is."

Jane laughs in disbelief.

"You're my problem. You!"

A bit exhausting, his wife. Hoping she won't make a scene by fleeing from him, Guildford gets up and scrapes his chair over to be closer to her. There are some cheers from guests who catch sight of his approach. Though Jane's eyes widen in alarm, she stays put. Likely moved into the you don't intimidate me phase, he suspects.

"We both know you don't hate me," he says softly.

"Don't tell me what I know."

"Fine," Guildford concedes. "I know I don't hate you. Even if you are ruining my wedding. Souring the mood." He has another drink.

"Forgive me for not celebrating the death of my freedom. Forgive me for not rejoicing in my shackles!"

"I knew I forgot something! Never packed the shackles."

"That isn't funny."

"That isn't funny, my lord," he corrects.

Jane immediately appears so incensed that Guildford's forced to hold up his hands to show he takes it back (he never meant it in the first place, but, Christ, it's fun to provoke her). She looks like she's going to storm away, and he can't have that. Here at the head table, they're visible but also ignored. They can speak openly to each other—quietly, but openly.

"We're attracted to one another," he says bluntly, gaze flitting around her features. She is a remarkably pretty scowler. "Why isn't that good news?"

"Because I don't want to be attracted to you!"

"You'd rather I was horrible?"

"Yes."

"Ugly? Rude?"

"You are rude," Jane contends.

"Rarely," Guildford says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Frequently," she counters, "in my experience."

"In your experience, which has been very brief."

"And yet, how very rude you've been!"

"So rude that I won't be permitted to tell you something?" he wonders.

Jane eyes him suspiciously. "What is it?"

For just a moment or two, Guildford unleashes it. He rakes his gaze over her—the loose twists of her hair that hang down over the back of her chair, the gauzy sleeves of her wedding gown that make her appear wrapped in a fog he longs to brush away, the heave of her bosom when she's cross with him and breathing hard—and he murmurs, "I want you."

This affects her; he can tell that it does. She gets all blink-y and blushes and shifts in her seat. She straightens the utensils that have been provided for the food she isn't eating.

"I thought you were going to say something-something useful," she stammers.

"Is what I said not useful?" Guildford twists in his chair and rests his arm across the back of Jane's so that he might speak to her with even greater privacy, closer closeness.

"Not particularly."

"Then let me tell you something else." He continues before she can interrupt. "In the intervening hours, my mind has barely strayed from thoughts of you pinned against that tree—"

"That is hardly surprising as it has not been many hours," Jane protests, stubbornly avoiding his eye. It doesn't matter. He can see what he does to her in the flush of her cheeks.

"It happened on the eve of my wedding, and still, my thoughts have been on you."

"Then you have been irresponsible."

"Crushing, coming from the most responsible girl I know," he teases.

Jane's eyes flash as she looks into his to remind him, "I am a lady."

"And I am your husband. What do you say to that?" Guildford challenges.

"That you will need to accustom yourself to a cold bed."

"How can you be so unfeeling?"

"When I promised in my vows to love you, do you mean?" Jane asks, wearing a taunting smile.

"When I swear to the gods I still have your taste upon my tongue." He's gripping the back of her chair desperately.

Jane looks down into her lap.

"I think we should speak in private."

Bollocks. He's gone too far. Far too far. Guildford knew not to slacken the restraint he's had on himself, but he had to, to look at her properly, and now he's gotten completely carried away. No matter what they did together before, Jane is correct: she's a lady. It isn't right for him to speak to her this way. This is her wedding day, this is their marriage. The very least he can give her is unadorned respect. When he saw in the church that she would not let them be familiar, then he should have resigned himself to a cool distance between them. It would not have been remarkable; arranged marriages are meant to happen between strangers. He could have tried harder, played the role expected of him, afforded her a despairing kind of peace that at least would have been hers. Instead, he insisted, intruded. He has been ungracious and catastrophically improper. He should apologize, immediately, and pray she—

Jane's hand is on his thigh. She squeezes.

"In private," she repeats. Her eyes flick up to his, and ask a question.

—

What's marvellous about his father switching out all the tapestries for new ones is that, while the walls hung bare, Guildford was reacquainted with everything the old tapestries concealed. Rather a lot of grimy grey stone, but some more interesting secrets too.

Guildford waits for Jane in the corridor outside the hall where their guests are feasting; it was necessary to leave separately, more discrete. When she appears, he turns, trusting her to follow. He guides her back through the estate, to the entrance hall, hefting the heavy edge of one of the new tapestries away from the wall. Jane gives him a funny look.

"There's a passage," he explains. She continues to look at him skeptically, so Guildford sighs and goes first.

He isn't lying: there's an archway set into the stone. He lets her catch up, step into the recess with him, then allows the tapestry to thump back into place over them. They both sneeze. Already, the thing has trapped an incredible amount of dust. It's black as pitch in here, the hall's warm candlelight effectively snuffed. In the dark, Guildford fumbles for Jane's hand, getting a fistful of her wedding dress with it, relieved when she doesn't snatch it back. He leads her up three steps and through a door. It is much less dusty once they've stepped through and closed it behind them, and slightly brighter; the passage leads past the kitchen, then up a staircase lined with windows.

"Where does this go?" Jane wonders, blinking as her eyes adjust.

Guildford is standing very close to her, inhaling the mingled scents of wine, smoke, sweat, and whatever she used to perfume her hair and body as she readied herself to go to the church and meet her husband. And now he is that husband. It's enough to make him hard, just that. He tilts his head and asks, "Does it really matter?"

Jane answers his question by gripping his hair and kissing him hungrily. His fingers trace her jawline and tip her face up to his liking. She has his back against the stones only as long as it takes for him to get his bearings and swap their places. Jane is panting. Guildford bites her bottom lip. He can hardly think. He presses his thumb on her chin to encourage her mouth wider, then licks across her tongue, making Jane whimper and scrabble at the long line of silver buttons on his velvet doublet. There are a hundred guests in the other room. They will laugh and talk and drink and eat and dance on, and the couple they'll forget they've come to fête will fuck in this passageway where no one can overhear.

His impatient hand fumbles the hem of her wedding dress higher and higher, and Jane abandons his doublet to open his breeches. He doesn't mean to stop kissing her, but suddenly, they're just breathing harshly into one another's mouths as his fingers skim up her soft inner thigh.

"Careful," she whispers. He halts immediately. But then there's a flicker of a smile from Jane. "You might find the touch of me on your fingers as indelible as the taste of me on your tongue."

"Gods," he groans, and brings his hand up to explore her, to caress her, to drag his fingers through the warmest, wettest part of her, rubbing and teasing until her head falls back against the wall. He buries his face in her hair and breathes deep.

Manhood straining as he presses himself against Jane's hip for the illusion of relief, he prods her entrance with a fingertip. He exercises so much control to go slowly, to prepare her without pain, that it makes his hand shake. One of hers closes around it, steadying him. They stare at one another with heavy-lidded eyes as he pushes inside her. Her mouth falls open as her body makes way.

"Just like this," he explains, he promises, pressed so, so close to her.

Jane's channel is tight around his finger—at first with resistance, but then with involuntary attempts to take him deeper. Guildford's groans rumble below Jane's high cries as he introduces a second finger. Slowly, gently, he curls them inside her. Her hips chase the movement of his hand, which gets smoother, slicker. She grips his hand harder and they fuck her together, pitching Guildford closer to madness.

Her cunt is seizing, and he could give her more like this—trying to tell her as much with the targeted pressure of his fingertips—but Jane says, "Now. Please now." And like that isn't enough, she wriggles her hand into his undershorts and boldly grasps his member.

"I was trying to—" He cuts himself off with a groan when Jane decides to investigate, gliding her hand up his shaft.

"My apologies," she says with a small smile. "Continue."

"I was try—"

Her fingertips slip deftly across the wetness gathered on the tip of his member. The touch is clearly no accident; it sends a tremor through him, and Jane's gaze darts around his face, studying the reaction in each of his features. Guildford snatches her wrist to still her hand. How is it, when he has her panting against a wall with two of his fingers inside her, that she can look at him like that? Like she is a hunting hound from the tapestry they pushed aside, and he the cornered rabbit?

"You have a curious wife," Jane breathes. That's no way to say sorry he's ever heard.

Guildford manages to smirk at her.

"Then my curious wife will find herself with a singularly focused husband."

Ever so slightly, her hand tenses around his manhood before letting go entirely, as though awaiting his move.

When he reacts, he doesn't know what the test was or which of them failed. He slips his fingers from her body and crouches slightly to hoist her by the back of her thighs. Her wedding dress is voluminous between them, but not enough to stop him bumping his hips against hers, or to stop her from reaching between them to align the relevant parts. He feels her legs lock around his back and gradually eases into her—a little forward, a little back until she's clutching all of him. He's breathing hard through his nose as he fights not to fill her this instant.

Jane does little more than cling to him as he begins with slow strokes. It's them in the passage, and the passage of him inside her. A space has never seemed so sacred, so unreachable, so impervious to the laws of men and nature that exist somewhere back on the other side of that door, the other side of that tapestry. Guildford sinks into his wife again and again and feels neither Ethian nor Verity, but a third thing it seems unimportant to try to explain. He bows his head to kiss the swell of her breasts above her bodice.

He adjusts his hold, leaning her differently against the wall, changing the angle of his hips. On his next thrust, Jane utters a distinct and forceful "Fuck." Guildford lifts his head to reposition his lips on her neck, then thrusts again. Again, "Fuck!"

He tries to be measured, he tries to show restraint, but Jane uses the legs she's wrapped around him for leverage to bear down harder each time he bucks upward. Their fucking becomes loud and hasty, fleshy and rough and uncompromising as they drive each other onward to what he's been craving since their eyes met in the tavern. Since she crossed the room without looking away. Since he thought he might risk a run-in with the Kingsland guards to tarry with her under the stairs. Since he went willingly to his knees in the woods. Guildford didn't expect it to be this long before he was able to share her pleasure (as he stated in his wedding vows), but he's grateful for how very pleasurable it is.

Grinding his hips into hers makes Jane jerk in his arms and pulse around his manhood. He gives her a tenderly disarming kiss, then repeats the motion of his hips mercilessly as her body tenses and strains. It's like she can't hold him tightly enough—her limbs as well as her cunt. It feels good. It feels so deeply good to be held. He moves one of his hands to support her backside. The embellished fabric of her wedding dress prickles his palm; his knuckles chafe against stone.

Tears born of a surplus of sensation roll down Jane's cheeks seconds before she begins bargaining for her pleasure, her plea a single word: his name. She has no need to beg; he witnesses her rise and rise and rise and crack like thunder through a rainstorm. Her frisson is his, and soon after she shudders with climax, Guildford has to scramble to withdraw and set his bride unsteadily on her feet. Turning away, he closes his fist over the wetness she's left on his member and frenziedly pulls himself off, spending himself against the stone wall. He groans, forearm bracing the wall above his head as he slumps forward in satisfaction. Ah well. This passage will likely remain disused until the next arranged-marriage-followed-by-newlywed-tryst. Though Guildford suspects he and Jane are blazing a new trail that few could hope to follow.

He tugs his garments back into place and turns to her.

Gods, she looks beautiful, mouth and nose rubbed pink by their furious kissing. She swipes tear tracks from her cheeks before righting her skirt and sleeves.

"Why'd you do that?" Jane asks bluntly, nodding to the spattered stones.

"I didn't want it running down your thighs while you danced."

"Thoughtful, but I'm not going to dance."

"Then I didn't want it ruining your wedding dress while you sat for the feast. Or maybe," Guildford adds, pushing off the wall and taking a step towards her, "I don't care about your discomfort at all, and I just didn't think I'd be able to control myself if I knew you were sitting right next to me with evidence of this fuck still inside you."

Jane looks leisurely from his mouth to his eyes. Wryly, she replies, "That does seem like the kind of selfish thought you'd have."

"Not entirely selfish."

They hide their subsequent smiles in a kiss. The spontaneous affection of it startles Guildford.

"We need to get back before they start to think you've run away," he says abruptly.

"I did consider it. Why do you think I asked where this passage leads?"

"Oh? You were going to hide from me in my own house?"

"Not from you, exactly," Jane confesses.

"Just the world then," Guildford interprets. His smirk is not without sympathy.

"But what we did instead was alright too," she's quick to add.

Of course, the girl who pretended to bleed from the mouth and collapsed to avoid a wedding is suddenly the queen of understatement. He watches her a moment, then agrees, "Yeah, it was alright."

"Maybe we can do it—"

"Don't you dare say that to me again."

Bickering over whether Guildford is allowed to tell Jane what to say, and what sort of flirtatious, post-fuck flippancy will and will not be tolerated, they backtrack through the passage and bat their way out from behind the smothering tapestry. They'll need to reenter the feast separately to protect the knowledge of this one private moment they shared between the ceremonial spectacles of wedding and bedding. But until then...

Guildford offers her his arm.

Jane takes it.