#Sea Slope

[haybug1]

It's National White Wine Day! Raise a Glass!

I love very few holidays more than a wine holiday, and this month serves up plenty of national days to toast. This includes today’s flavor-packed celebration. There is no better way to start the weekend than by celebrating National White Wine Day! Raise a glass with one of these beauties tonight or anytime this season. #Cheers Ram’s Gate Winery is known for its elevated, elegant Chardonnay and…

[arc-hus]

Villa Eden, Gardone, Italy - David Chipperfield

[vigilskeep]

What's current Morghaine's backstory? How did they end up hunting mages?

instead of the original morghaine’s archfey warlock patron, the questionable motherly figure in morghaine’s life was their high elf parent, from an influential family of morally dubious enchantment wizards. their mother claimed to be different from the rest, and perhaps she was... but with their memory repeatedly modified to keep them from leaving the “safety” of their home for the dangerous outside world, morghaine wouldn’t even know. after their stumbling attempts at wizardry summoned a familiar who led them on an escape, a young morghaine found themself in the middle of a baldur’s gate they didn’t even recognise, with nothing but a slowly clearing head and the need to get out.

morghaine might never have had quite their family’s gift for the arcane, but they learned enough about casters to know how to stop one in their tracks. plenty of mercenary bands know exactly the standoffish, intimidating gloomstalker to call when the fight ahead involves someone with a few too many magical tricks up their sleeve. morghaine always figured it was good training for the hunt ahead. they might not remember much, but they remember enough to know that one day, their family needs to be stopped

[robthepensioner]

Spring flowers on the cliffs at Blackpool, above the concrete, fake stone sea wall.

[mcphotovirtual]

[malbecmusings]

40-meter Turkish built Alessandro I

[so-much-for-subtlety]

about 9 years I was spending a few days in Tampa each month for work and it’s making me sick thinking of all the little wooden houses I saw as we drove around the area.

I have a couple colleagues in Tampa Bay Area but they’ve evacuated yesterday. This storm is going to be so horrendous :/

I hope everyone who’s there gets out or gets to a shelter asap.

[ultraweathercoremax]

Wow still sunny how exhilarating

[whats-in-a-sentence]

The trees of a mountain slope were scarfed, deeply notched work an axe on the downhill side, and then the trees on the ridge were felled onto those below so that the whole forest cascaded onto itself like dominoes, like the dominion the Bible endorsed.⁸

8. In Genesis 1:28, God grants humans 'dominion' over the Earth: 'And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth' (King James version).

"Country: Future Fire, Future Farming" - Bill Gammage and Bruce Pascoe

[hsundholm]

São Lourenço Lands by Henrik Sundholm Via Flickr: Visiting Ponta de São Lourenço on my first day on Madeira, Portugal.

[nezuscribe]

imagine a two or three years before the marriage with arranged!gojo, when you’re in your late teens and the gojo family invited some of the noble families to their summer estate near the ocean to relax there for a while.

obviously you and your family were invited (despite how much it angered your fathers wife that you too were included in the invitation), so you, along with four other prominent families, made your ways up north for the summer.

you were excited to be away for a while, even more excited that you were going to have an actual room and access to more things. you knew the kids there weren’t going to hang around you, so you tried making yourself comfortable in some of the more secluded places of the gojo estate.

it's one reason why gojo didn't really remember you a whole lot when you two were first married. sure, he knew he knew you from your family and all of those gatherings, but you were usually always in the background.

the north was truly beautiful in the summer, especially by the sea, so you couldn’t be too butthurt over their rejection when you had such views to remedy your pain.

most days you’d hide away in a corner of the library or walk around the grounds, steering clear of your sisters and all the other kids your age. you could hear their faint laughter near the lake or the way they stayed up all night around a fire near the gardens.

one of the nights when you were out on the beach, watching the waves as you read a book, you heard a hoard of voices getting closer and closer to you.

your head whipped around in confusion, heart sinking when you realized the other kids were coming here too. you could’ve sworn they said they were going to be out at town till midnight.

you quickly packed up all your things, ditching your little blanket as you scurried up the hill, trying to stay hidden in the line of trees as you watched them come nearer.

you could see your sisters laughing as some of the other girls and guys stumbled out on the sand, their heads thrown back in laughter as they all started to strip out of their usual garments and into the swim ones they had underneath.

you were about to leave when you heard somebody ask loudly about your blanket, wondering if it was any of theirs.

while still staying hidden you saw how the tallest one of the group, gojo, picked it up, surveying it and then the foot tracks in the sand that led away from it.

his eyes looks up the hill, into the trees, and to your horror, watched as he decided to follow it.

he told the rest of his group to stay there and start swimming without him, he’d just been looking for a little bit and coming back.

you had heard of his excellent tracking skills, how he’d lead the north to a steady victory when up against some other neighboring lands, which unfortunately meant he was freakishly good at tracking a girl who was awful at hiding.

you stopped breathing, crouching behind a bush as you watched him enter the forest.

he looked around, blue eyes on the ground as they looked for the footsteps, taking note of the deserted basket of cheeses and the book you had taken with yourself.

before you knew it he was near your bush, looking through they leaves when he caught your frantic eyes.

gojo stands up, confusion laced on his face as he towers over your still kneeling body.

“what...what are you doing here?” he asks bluntly, his voice cold.

you grimace, standing up as well as you scratch the back of your neck.

“well, i was reading over there,” you point out behind his back to the shore, where all the other kids had swarmed into the water, “i thought you all had left to go to the town.”

gojo’s eyes rake over you. the two of you had barely spoke a word to each other since your arrival, and this was the first time he’s really taken a good look at you.

his focused on the downward turn of your eyes, his you evaded his look. he skimmed over the slope of your nose, the slight press of your lips. there was a sort of sad look about you that he's always noticed when staring at you.

his arms cross over his chest, white brows furrowed. you felt heat rise to your cheeks, feeling meek under his heavy stare.

“we came here instead,” gojo simply says, his tone clipped.

you nod, your lips pulling into an awkward smile as you bend down to pick up your book, flicking off some of the dirt on its cover with your hands.

“i’ll head back” you murmur, picking up your basket, noticing your blanket that was still in his hands.

you decide not to care, you’ll just find another one.

“alone?” he asks incredulously, voice slightly raised as you give him a skeptical look.

this is the first time the two of you had really acknowledged each other, aside from the polite head nods and the two-word sentences. why was he questioning you so much?

"that was the plan," you tell him, your eyes squinting a little bit in confusion.

gojo knows the grounds like the back of his hand. he and his family have been coming here ever since he was a young boy. the estate is close to the shore, yes, but it's getting dark and you've only been here once. he almost wants to applaud your confidence.

"i'll go tell one of your sisters so they can accompany you back. they know the way better." he finally says, looking like he is about to turn to leave, but you scramble, tugging him back by the fabric of his loose tunic.

he looks at you in shock.

"no!" you almost hiss, a pleading look on your face, "i know the way back. don't tell them," you put your hands up as if you were surrendering, packing up all your things in a hurry as you shoot him a hasty smile, "just pretend i was never here."

gojo's apprehension isn't warded off. if anything, he's even more confused by your frenzied state.

you're finding the trail to the estate, leaving him as you keep poking around, not noticing the way he was still following you.

"your sisters wouldn't mind," he tells you, and you look over your shoulder with a raised brow.

"maybe if it was you who was asking to be led back," you say with a scoff, shoving some stray twigs and leaves from nearby trees out the way, "but they'd rather haul a sheep carcass than accompany me."

gojo blinks slowly.

when he doesn't say anything, you shoot him another confused look. what was he not getting?

"you do realize who i am...right?"

gojo rolls his eyes, pursing his lips together.

"yes...but," he kicks some pebbles away, "they don't care about...that, right?" he's hesitant to acknowledge the truth. the fact that you're only related to them by father. the reason why they don't even speak about your mother is because she's probably in a brothel somewhere far away.

you give it a second to sink in before you laugh, your head tilting back as your arms fall helplessly to the sides. gods he was daft.

"that's all my family cares about," you tell him, your voice dripping with something else, a buried emotion that you've been hauling around for years, "i think they'd rather me be eaten by a bear on my way back," you admit with a smile, but he doesn't reciprocate it. he doesn't really seem to be one for jokes.

gojo's arms cross over his chest, thinking. this entire time he just thought you liked being by yourself. were you alone because you had to be? is that why you've been avoiding the group?

before he can say something the shouts from the other kids reel you back to looking at the shore. they're calling for him to come back, asking what's taking him so long.

he looks back at you, conflicted.

"the water's nice," you say, your voice a little quieter as you give him a small smile, pushing him to leave.

he rakes his fingers through his white hair, staring at you longer.

that smile, he thinks, is the most melancholic thing he's ever seen

"there aren't any bears here," he says, as if that would do anything to help.

but your smile turns into something easier, a laugh, a genuine one, falling from your lips. gojo decides he likes that sound. better than all the other laughs he's heard.

"i'll trust you on that," you say, ducking your head down in a final nod as you turn around a final time and disappear behind the shrubbery.

gojo stands there for another minute, thinking.

and then he heads back to the beach, where all the other kids have already gone into the water. he goes to take off his tunic before he realizes he's still holding your blanket, the fabric searing into his skin.

he brings it closer to his face, his nose scrunching at a distinct smell, a small smile forming on his face when he can still remember the lingering smell on you too from when you were speaking to him.

lavender.

[arc-hus]

Ncaved House, Agios Sostis, Greece - MOLD Architects

[seapasture]

Also it's fun with the genre of mental illness how it's the 'i will be fully insane and delusional for several minutes to the point i can't stop shaking and i'm a bundle of sweat and fear and i'm scared and angry and paranoid and everything is wrong everything is falling apart' and how it can Literally change like the flick of the switch. I can torch a metaphorical building single-handedly because my mind has fooled myself into thinking I need to and then turn around with a smile saying, 'Ah, I'm terribly sorry; that was incredibly thoughtless of me. Let me just put that fire out' and I will have suddenly acquired the necessary clarity and desperation to do so out of absolutely nowhere, but... it's just too late. the damage has been done

[tenth-sentence]

Down the slopes also scampered, with all the rapidity of their long stilts, fine fat bustards.

"20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" - Jules Verne

[piper-2244]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

[nereidprinc3ss]

baby names

in which spencer comforts you after you wake from a good dream about becoming a mother

fluff! warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader sort of wants to be a mom sort of doesn't, they discuss having a child in the future, talk of pregnancy stuff, I think that's it! a/n: another short sweet fluff piece that is by no means going to get me a pulitzer but is cute nonetheless!! love u!!! let me know if u enjoyed!!

Spencer wasn’t in the room when you fell asleep into an impromptu nap, induced by the pattering rain, the low light of your bedside lamp, the warmth of your favorite throw blanket—but he is when you wake up. Home from work, sprawled on the bed next to you, long legs crossed and as close as he thought he could get without disturbing your slumber. 

“You came home,” you whisper groggily, curling into his side and letting your sleepy eyes flutter shut again. 

He pulls you closer against him, rubbing your arm. “I always do.” A low, affectionate chuckle that buzzes from his chest and dizzies you. “You tired?”

You hum a distant affirmation. Visions of diaphanous pink, of sweet cooing, of a haloed Spencer doused in warm light and smiling down at a some blanket-bundled creature in his arms, still burn behind your eyelids, fading with every passing second. The gentle classical music you’d been playing earlier now blends with the sound of evening rain tapping ceaselessly against the window. Spencer is warm next to you, scent familiar and comforting and only contributing to your drowsiness—but a lingering sort of sadness still claws at your stomach. Emptiness. It bites like a shock of icy water. It’s just a small thing. You feel silly for being upset, but you are upset, and you want to tell him. 

“I had weird dreams.”

Spencer offers a hum of his own (perhaps a habit you’d picked up from him) and you open your eyes, watching him watch the rain. The stark angle of his jaw, the sweet slope of his nose. Any baby he had a hand in creating would be absolutely cherubic. “You know, Carl Jung said dreams are hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul.”

You fiddle with the knit of his sweater, and he covers your hand with his own, looking back down at you, deep eyes full of easy contentment. Like as long as you’re together, he can’t imagine a thing to be worried about. 

“Wait—the dreams are the door? Where does the door go?”

His brows pinch slightly as he recalls what is no doubt an exact quotation. 

“Uh—he said they led to a primeval cosmic night, that is soul long before there was conscious ego, and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.”

You frown, sleepy head aching as you twist your brain into knots trying to decode the ornate language. “Was he the weird incest-y one?”

Spencer chuckles again. “Nope. That was Freud. Jung was essentially saying that there is something primal and instinctual about our dreams. He said they were our way of accessing the unconscious, which can process things the conscious psyche can’t, and our consciousness was a ship on the great sea of unconsciousness.”

“You’re losing me, Dr. Reid.”

The corner of his mouth flickers up. 

“He just meant they offered us an unbiased look at our lives. Our desires, our needs, unburdened by conscious ego.”

Our desires. Our needs. 

You chew your lip. 

“What does dreaming about having a baby mean?”

You say it because Spencer is your closest friend as well as your partner and you trust him completely with every thought in your head—but the way his hand pauses on your arm makes you nervous. 

He takes a moment to dissect your answer, digging for a hidden meaning like a precious gem, and then, once he decides there are no landmines, proceeds cautiously. 

“Well… some people say that a baby in your dream is a representation of you. It could indicate a desire to nurture, or a need to be nurtured.” Again you make a noise of vague acknowledgement. His hand starts back up again on your arm, and he delves gently deeper. “Why? Did you dream about having a baby?”

For a moment, you can only nod. Suddenly you’re choked up, releasing an exhaled, “Yeah,” as tears cloud your vision. He gives you a moment, just holding you as you try to find the words to continue. “It felt really real. I mean—I think I knew it wasn’t, but I was so happy that I didn’t care. I—she—” You laugh tearfully. “I’m being ridiculous, I know, I just… I miss her. Is that crazy?”

“That’s not crazy,” he says quietly. A stretch of silence follows, and the brief deluge of tears fades to trickling stop. Spencer is probably used to you enough so that he’s not surprised when you huff dramatically, trying to dispel your melancholia with a hefty dose of drama. 

“I wanna have a baby!”

Your boyfriend releases a surprised laugh as you bury your head against his chest, but it only takes him half a second to root his hand in your hair and hold you there. 

“Because of your dream?”

“Yes!” You sniffle into his sweater. “She was so perfect, ’nd sweet. I wanna have a baby so much.”

“With who?”

You look up at him tearfully and visibly frustrated. His eyes betray only fondness. “You, Spencer! Who else?”

“No one! No one else.”

You collapse again, satisfied with his answer. 

“You were such a good dad. It was—oh my god, you were so happy. You were holding her, and smiling at her, and—can we please have a baby?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” he coos, half chuckle, voice tinged with pity. His hand sweeps over and over your hair in a soothing pattern. 

You pout, hiding even further away against him. “That’s not an answer.”

“We can’t have a baby right this second, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“Why not?”

He hums, pretending to consider the question, hand still carding gently through your locks, detangling. 

“You’re not pregnant, for one thing.”

“I might be.”

“I doubt it.”

“I could be.”

He angles your head up, smiling. Those warm brown eyes of his are full to the brim with sparkly affection. “Do you have something to tell me?”

“No, I’m saying, we could have a baby.”

The curve of his mouth lessens though doesn’t entirely dissipate, and the subtle lines next to his eyes soften as he regards you. There are a thousand reasons you shouldn’t have a baby right now, but Spencer knows you know that, and it’s still not what you want to hear right this second. 

“We could.”

He’s not being serious, but your heart flutters anyway. 

“Really?”

“Sure. Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

“Spencer. I’m not joking. You’re not taking me seriously.”

Spencer pulls you closer, and though you’re mildly annoyed, you allow it with a huff. 

“I am taking you seriously. Like the plague.”

“I know you want kids.”

“I do.”

“We can have kids.”

“Angel. We have time. I believe that you want a baby, and I’m overjoyed that you want one with me. And you know we’d need more time to talk about it.”

Of course, you probably will change your mind tomorrow, and again the next day, and Spencer will love you then and every time you change your mind thereafter. 

“Do you love me?” You ask softly, bunching the fabric of his shirt in your hand and not looking at him. Just to make sure. His eyes are liquid adoration on you. 

“More than anything in the whole world.” And maybe, you think, you’re okay with keeping it that way. For just a bit longer, at least. Spencer squeezes your arm. “I do think you’ll get to meet her again one day. I’ll get to meet her.”

You smile to yourself, imagining your little dreamy baby girl back in your arms. “One day.”

He kisses the top of your head. 

“Did we name her in your dream?”

“Elizabeth. But only because in my dream your mom’s name was Elizabeth, for some reason? I don’t… I can’t explain that.”

“Hm... I love my mom, but I don't know if I'd want to name my baby Diana. Feels too prophetic.”

“Hold on, I have like, a hundred baby name ideas. Can you hand me my phone? I’m gonna tell you all of them. First and middle name combinations.”

Spencer reaches for your phone on the side table. “Boy and girl?”

You scoff, settling into the crook of his arm, head on his shoulder, so he can see your phone screen. 

“We’re not having a boy, Spencer.”

“Oh. My mistake.”

You smile and tangle your legs with his, searching through your notes app with your non-dominant hand for your list of ridiculous baby names. 

“I can’t believe you would even suggest that. You're obviously going to be a girl dad.”

“Am I?”

“Yes! Oh my god, I’m so glad I'm not pregnant because you’re clearly not ready. You have a lot to learn. Okay, how does Artemisia Valencia October Reid sound to you?”

You’re lucky he loves you so much.