#anyway this is worded poorly but i don't want to put in the effort to elaborate but just. good god. you are all so annoying. God bles ❤️

[tkachukisms]

my only input on the wag discourse is that a( it's stupid, and, b( saying that lb is reducing herself to nothing more than a wag is, like, comical to me, because it's like getting mad at a cat account for only posting their cats. her socials are to talk about her experiences & the few other things she wants to show. it's not her entire life and acting like you know if she is 'reducing' herself or not is, in fact, reducing her as a person to nothing but an internet plaything, lol. you don't have to like her nor what she says but getting this mad over her saying the most milquetoast take possible ("hockey men will let you do a lot if you're conventionally attractive,") is wild. you might want to sit down for this one, but guess what man. the sky is blue also

[1427]

i love you (always forever) pt. 2

Daryl Dixon x sister!ofc (Ladybug)

Summary: In the winter of ‘95 Daddy died. Leaving Lady to finish up her senior year in high school, and Daryl to brood over when to sell the house. The summer of ‘96 is the first time Lady feels alive.  Daryl wants to give her one last summer before she has to grow up for real.

Setting: bumblefuck Georgia, doublewide in the woods, Dixon Property. Late June 1996. 

Warnings: INCEST, poorly written SMUT, hardcore mackin’, dry-humping, oral (all around & a lot), size!kink (explicit discussion of how big daryl is compared to Lady), public stuff, fingering. 

Word count: 7.2k (ish)

A/n: some things to note; Lady is 18, it’s mentioned in part 1 but I feel like I should still say that she’s not underage. Also, I feel like this has some pacing problems (more notes at the end) ?? Stuff that’s italicized in purple is dialogue being said in the movie they’re watching. Good luck guys

18+ mdni

// Part 1 //

I just keep on having all these strange thoughts.  

What kind of thoughts?  

Just thoughts.

Funny thoughts about you and me.  

Tell me.  

I couldn't.  

They're just thoughts.

They don't mean anything.

Lady, in the face of picking a movie for such an occasion, had put on Blue Lagoon. It was one of momma’s and it wasn’t like she had such a big selection to choose from, just a bunch of made for TV movies momma had recorded and a few tapes Merle had stolen from the video store.

Lady doesn’t understand subtlety anyway. 

You’re always staring at my buppies. 

Only because they look so funny.

Lady didn’t necessarily like the movie because it was cousins, just the feeling it gave her. She put it on thinking maybe Daryl might feel it too. The lightning coming from inside to throb at the surface.

She’s surprised she’s still even breathing. Knowing he’s just waiting for her to do something. But he’d said… Lady knows the move she has to make is to kiss him. That’s what he’d meant. That's what people do first, before anything else.

Kiss him? Lady’s frozen; how would she even do that? She doesn’t know. Can’t figure out for the life of her what she’d do with her hands, how does she even get closer? What about her legs? Where is everything supposed to go?! 

Lady would do it, she’d be on him already, if she could just figure out how.

“Bubba-“ her voice is soft. Too soft for Daryl to hear it. 

Daryl’s nursing his 6th beer. Or maybe 7th. He’s getting pretty lost in all of everything that was happening with Lady. Up in his own head in an effort to definitely and absolutely not think about what was happening now. Whatever move Lady was trying to pull here with him putting on this tape. Of all the ones she could have picked. 

Daryl’s gone a million miles away. Thinking about what had happened this morning. Again. Staring at the television unblinking as if it were projecting images of her. Lady and her sweet pink lips asking if she could touch him again. Her ass bouncing under her towel. And the way she didn’t even bat an eye when he came on her face. He feels like he’s fucking dying. His insides all twisted up. Gotta be because he knows it’s wrong. Definitely that and not because he really wants to feel her mouth again. Not because he wants to watch this time, and tell her how good she’s doing. Definitely. Not. That.  

Kiss me.

You're all sticky.

So what? Kiss me.

Every time he does stop to feel bad about it he remembers that he didn’t even do anything. Lady did. Lady had asked for a kiss goodnight, and Lady had put her hands and her tongue on his cock while she thought he was sleeping. Daryl figures it’s not his fault he can’t stop thinking about what Lady did. With her soft-as-a-kitten hands and her sweet wet mouth. Fuck. 

Completely stuck in this loop, he watches it repeat on the TV screen. Forgetting the reason he’d dissociated in the first place, the thing he was gonna be coming back to? Lady; probably definitely obviously wanting to do it again.

“Hey, Bub -“  Lady tries to get his attention one more time. “Daryl!” she claps her hands together so hard her palms burn.

Daryl blinks back to reality. “Huh?” he says it like a shrug.

The pause between getting his attention and what she was about to say is an eternity. 

“Can I kiss you?” Lady, feeling so brave and still so so small against how special she knew this memory would be. 

Daryl's heart doesn’t skip a beat, his breath doesn’t get caught in his throat. He looks down at the bottle he’s holding, trying not to smile, and shakes his head at her in amusement. He knows that if anyone else had heard what she was asking to do, if Daddy had heard? She’d be getting the whooping of a lifetime right now. But to Daryl it just sounds like something he knew she was gonna say. At least she didn’t say the word cock again, “Why, though? Why d’ya wanna? M’not even a good kisser, Bug. Can’t teach ya nothin’.”

Lady chews on the side of her lip, her head faced directly toward him while her eyes look anywhere else. Thinking of what to say, how to tell him. The words, her feelings, all jumbled up inside and trying to break out. She wants to be flirty and cute and romantic and have the one answer that would take away all his worries and shame and just be the brother she was used to. The one who aided in every scheme or plot or game she was playing. She pleads with her mouth to be fucking smooth. Be glib or flip or cool or sly or something. It’s not. Instead it vomits all her thoughts like she’d been choking on them.

“I was gonna ask if I could practice kissing on you. Ya know? Because I figured then you mighta felt like maybe you oughta. But then that felt too much like lyin’. Cuz I don’t wanna kiss for practice, Dar. I wanna kiss for real.” She stops to breathe, but there’s no second-guessing. “I just don’t understand what’s the big deal? I know it’s not allowed but I want to.” She finally looks at him, her voice serious, “I just want to and I don't get why you don't want to too.”

They both know she’s not just talking about kissing. “Jus’ not s’possed ta, Lay. ‘m s’possed t’keep ya safe.” 

Lady looks at him like he’s lost his fuckin’ mind. Where was she ‘unsafe’? He wasn’t making any sense to her. She stands up and chugs the rest of the now warm drink. “You’re not makin’ any damn sense, Daryl, I am safe.”

Lady’s frustrated but she’s not heartbroken. Leaving the fort/living room to go to the kitchen and get another drink. Muttering to herself the whole way out of the room, “Why the fuck wouldn’t I ‘be safe’? What does that even mean? Stupid dumbass horseshit doesn’t even make any fuckin’ sense. Shit. Ass. Shit!”

Sometimes when Lady got real good and mad she’d turn into a little version of Merle. Same way Daryl did when he was angry. Same way Merle turned into a little version of their daddy. When Lady did it though, it wasn’t scary. Just was funny. Lady, so little and so angry and too damn sweet to actually say anything mean. Just strings of curse words and questions to no one. 

She opens the fridge with an exaggerated sigh meant for Daryl to hear. Staring at the two wine coolers left, unsure if she actually wants another one. She thinks about what he’d said again. Keep her safe!? It was starting to sound like a lie. She clacks the underside of her knuckles against the fridge door and lets out another noise. A groan or a warble or shiver with a voice. Daryl isn’t sure what she's going on about but it makes him laugh from the other room. 

Lady decides against having another wine cooler. instead fixing to steal Daryl’s joint from his pack of smokes and figure out if he was lying about being ‘cross-faded’ or whatever he’d called it. Maybe if she smoked, just a little, she’d be able to figure out the magic words. Lady steps just outside the front door quietly, hoping Daryl would get zoned out again and not come looking.  

💕

Daryl’s still sipping at his beer and waiting for Lady to come back. Trying to find his own set of magic words to answer her question. Knowing without any doubt that he’s fucked, absolutely completely totally fucking fucked, the second he stops being able to come up with any reason at all. 

💕

Daryl finds Lady sitting out on the front step. Her knees hugged up to her chest, she’s leaning forward and ripping grass from the ground. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it just as fast. Deciding instead to walk down and post up next to her. 

Lady moves to make room for him but doesn’t acknowledge him more than that. Daryl feels around on the ground for the roach he knows he’s going to find because he can smell it. Once he does he brings it up to her face, “Ya smoke this?” 

“Aliens. Just missed ‘em,” laughing to herself. 

He puts the joint between his lips, smiling and feeling for his lighter somewhere in his pockets, “Yer real funny, bug.” His mind’s somewhere else. Doesn’t care that she didn’t listen and smoked the pot after drinking. She was safe. She was always safe. 

Daryl takes a drag just a little too long and coughs out the exhale. Passing the joint to Lady while he’s working through it. She takes it, hitting it gently this time, and manages not to cough at all. 

They just sit together for a while, watching the moon come out from its hiding place behind the clouds. Lady feels the shimmering faeries all over her skin, in her stomach. She can see them in the moonlight in her brothers eyes. 

Lady’s been looking at him. Can’t seem to stop. Just staring at the small space between his jaw and his ear and the curl of hair that didn’t belong there.  “You gonna grow it out now that Daddy’s dead?” 

He moves his chin in a nod, just barely, “Think so.”

Her hand flits to the spot, taking the same strands she’d been staring at between her fingertips. It had only been a few months but his hair was longer than she’d ever seen it. Daryl moves his head to look at her. He didn’t mean to move in a way that put her fingers just so gently against his cheek, but it was too late. 

They share a look in the same way they’d shared the silence - both of them knowing exactly what the other was thinking. Both of them thinking exactly the same thing. Daryl knows what she meant when she said she wanted to kiss for real. That she just wanted to feel it. 

Lady and Daryl both move like they’re going to go for it at the same time. Lady stops. Her heart is in her throat and the faeries are buzzing right out of her body. Had she seen that right? Was he really about to?

Daryl doesn't let her hesitation stop him, leaning over and taking her lips with his own the way she’d wanted the first time she’d asked. A real kiss. Slow and passionate and on purpose. He’s in his right mind but he’s not thinkin’. Just doin’. 

Lady eagerly returns every move of his lips with her own. Getting acquainted with the feeling and starting to understand the rhythm of it. 

Daryl was lying before when he’d told her he wasn’t any good at kissing. He holds her still by the back of her neck, moving into her deeper. Lady opens her mouth the instant she feels his tongue slip across her lip.

One second they’re kissing under the moon; and it’s taboo and it’s ‘wrong’ but it’s almost innocent. Still so sweet, and filled with uncertainty —-

and then their tongues meet. 

And they turn into something else. 

Lady moans just at the feeling of his wet something touching her wet something. Daryl’s never heard her make a noise like that before and it ignites a new part of him. He needs to hear it again. To feel it again. Lady’s perfect sweet voice coming apart against him. 

They’re immeshed. Their mouths moving against and with eachother, deeper and faster and with more everything. Like they were eating eachother alive. Legs knocking together, Lady’s clawing at his shirt and when Daryl moves his other hand around her waist she moans again, shaking. 

He pushes his tongue almost all the way to the back of her throat. Even with them closed, Lady can feel her eyes rolling back into her head. Moaning again into his mouth, but this time it comes from somewhere deeper. 

His fingers squeeze into her a little harder before he pulls away again. Just lookin’ at her. Eyes closed and trembling. “C’mon.” He pulls on her hand a little to get her attention, all lost in herself. 

Lady knows he wants to get inside and probably back to the a/c but she's afraid once this moments over she’s gonna have to try and convince him for 5 more hours to let her do it again, “I don’t wanna go inside, I wanna stay out here kissin’ you.” 

“Can kiss insi’, bug.” 

She’s beaming, fished her wish and then won the fuckin’ jackpot. “For real?” 

“C’mon.” Daryl gets up with Lady right behind. Before now it had always been the other way around. 

💕

The second they get to the living room they melt back together. Not even one step past the sheet Daryl grabs her wrist and pulls her into him again. He doesn’t want to wait for either one of them to get stuck up in their heads again. It was too late anyway. 

Doesn’t want to think about Lady. Wants to feel her. Needs to beg that tremble from her vocal chords again. 

He pulls her down to the bed and on top of him. Helping her place her legs on either side of his hips. Focusing in on how soft her thighs are underneath his fingertips, he squeezes. 

Lady pulls back, looking down at his hands so high up her thighs, his thumb dangerously close to her heat. She's beyond comprehending the things he’s making her body feel. A light almost inaudible gasp escapes her as he squeezes again, but that's not what Daryl wants to hear. 

Daryl isn't thinking about the fact that Lady's never done any of this stuff before, he's not even thinking about the fact that it's Lady who's ontop of him. It's Lady that he's touching. Sweet little girl Lady, who'd barely even been kissed before just now. He's staring at the space between her thighs. Her tiny sleep shorts riding up her pussy and he can make out every detail through the thin fabric, lips spread and almost spilling out the sides. Daryl forgets for a second where he is, moving his thumb over just an inch, pressing hard into her clit through her shorts. 

Lady let's out a surprised cry, her hips bucking forward into him, her body falling down with two hands flat against his chest. Daryl's cock twitches at the sound and Lady feels it right at her entrance. Her head shoots up and all of a sudden they’re looking each other in the eyes. With all the lights on. 

In this moment, there's no hesitation. No question of if they should or shouldn't be doing this. The look shared between them is only comfort. Lady, knowing it’s Daryl, knowing he’d never let her do something the wrong way.  

And when Daryl sees that blown out sparkle in Lady’s eye? Knows that look. She wants him. And if Lady wants it? Can't be ugly. Just can't. 

It's only two seconds, but it's everything.

Lady's mouth is back on Daryl's like it had never left, her tongue pushing through to his the instant they come together. His hands move to her hips, grinding her down into him. She can feel him, hard like when she had seen it pushing through his boxers. Now hard and pushing up into her. The feeling, the thought, groaning into his mouth at all of it. 

He does it again. And again and again. Pulling her and pushing her over his clothed length as she assaults his mouth. Her tongue and lips slowly losing rhythm until she moves herself to suck and bite on his neck instead. The noises coming out of her are the most precious he’s ever heard. 

Eventually Lady starts moving her hips on her own, and Daryl can feel the bump of her hard clit as she grinds herself on top of him.

Lady’s got one hand behind his neck and the other gripping at the fabric of his shirt like it's going to save her. She’s humping her brother like sometimes she humps her pillow, hips moving in deliberate circles, so close to an orgasm she can taste it. Soft light mews coming from her lips in breaths. She can't look at him, she wants to forget he's even there. She's embarrassed. But she cums anyway. 

Cascading through her limbs before tiding back to make room for the shame. Her hips won't stop shaking and she's afraid to look at him. 

Daryl’s high on the whole fucking experience. Watching, feeling, hearing Lady come apart ontop of him. 

Daryl's going to hell. Knows it and doesn't care. Something about it being his sister is sending him over the fucking edge. Of course it was gonna. Kissing is one thing. Being used for your cock so your little sister can hump you until she cums is something else.

He pulls her up against his body a few inches. Weaving his fingers through her hair to hold the back of her neck, he kisses her forehead. Smiling deviously against her skin, “Y’wanna make me cum again?” 

Daryl had only ever been comfortable talking to one girl like that, and that was a real long time ago. But with Lady he didn't have anything to hide or be worried about. Knows she's gonna say yes, knows she'd get mad if he'd wanted to and hadn’t asked her. 

Any embarrassment Lady had been feeling is forgotten like she'd never felt it in the first place. She sits up. Looking down at her fingers as they play with the fabric of his tee-shirt all bunched up against his stomach. “With my mouth?” she asks with a coy smile. 

“Only f’ya wanna.” 

“Well, is that what you meant?” she looks him in the eye, waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah, s’what I meant.” he nods, gliding a hand from one thigh, over her stomach, and then onto the other one. His other hand reaching behind her body to squeeze her ass. Daryl’s not worried about being too forward. Not thinkin’, just doin’. 

Lady shivers under his touch, his needful hands feel so much better than the ones she'd imagined. Never thought it would feel so much bigger than skin on skin and different kinds of pressure. To be desired? To be touched simply because he wanted to and couldn't help himself — it radiates into her soul.

“I wanna.” She nods with a whisper, moving off of him to sit and wait.

Daryl gets up and falls back into the couch, beckoning Lady over with a nod of his head. As she crawls towards him Daryl’s working on his belt, his button, his zipper, but he’s just staring at her. God, even his ex-girlfriend never looked that desperate to suck his cock. 

Lady was chomping at the fuckin’ bit waiting to taste him again. Sitting between his legs, staring. Waiting. He finally works himself free, and Lady is melting into a puddle of drool. She sits up on her knees to get closer, but Daryl’s stroking himself slowly and she’s never seen something so…

With Daryl leaned back and looking at her like that, doing that. She’s never seen anything so fucking hot. Doesn’t even have another word to describe it. So. Fucking. Hot. So goddamn fucking hot that it rewires her brain chemistry. 

Daryl smirks, which to Lady just makes it hotter, he can’t believe she’s watching like this. He can’t believe how much he’s getting off on her watching. Never did this in front of a girl, not even his ex-girlfriend, and they’d done everything. 

��S’what? Don’ wanna use tha’ mouth yet?” 

She shakes her head quickly, but her eyes are fixed, “I do, I do.” She opens her mouth like she’s gonna keep talking but closes it. Daryl notices the way her eyes go big and seem to sparkle when he gets to the bottom of his stroke. He holds himself around the base and lets the full heavy length of his cock wave back and forth. 

Lady’s so turned on that the, “Holy shit,” she’s thinking tumbles out of her mouth and into the air. 

Daryl, with his fingers still firmly gripping around the base, directs himself down toward her. His cockhead only centimeters from her open mouth. “A’least spit on it, bug.” 

She’s so mesmerized, she doesn’t look up, “For real?” 

“For real, gimme a good one like I taught ya.” 

She haucks a good one right on the tip, only an inch away from her mouth. He pulls himself up and out of her immediate reach again, using her spit to coat his aching appendage. Daryl wasn’t really jerking off, just showing off for Lady. Honestly? He was torturing himself. 

Now, covered in wet saliva, Lady can see every glimmering detail. Every ridge and vein and he’s holding himself tight again, it’s so fucking big. “Is everyones this big?” 

Daryl gives an unexpected laugh, “S’not tha’ big, bug.” 

She reaches her hand out and wraps her fingers around him, just above his hand. Daryl groans at the feeling of her. She’s trying to figure out if she can close her hand around him, but apparently she can’t, “Look, Dar, my fingers don’t even touch.” 

“Fuck,” the word comes out just like the groan. Lady likes hearing Daryl like this. All a mess because of her. 

She smiles before biting her lip, “It’s thicker than my wrist, bubba.” 

“Is it?” He asks her, with a playful smirk. He only asked to get her to prove it. When she lets go of his erection to hold her wrist next to it for comparison Daryl grabs her grabs her hand. Pulling her arm up by her palm he measures his dick next to the length of her forearm. Jesus fucking goddamn Christ. 

Lady, after being thrown off by him grabbing her like that, just gawks. They’re the same fucking size. His cock and her whole fucking forearm. “What the fuck?!” 

“‘m big n’all but Lady, yer little.” He lets her have her arm back but she’s still just holding it up next to him trying to figure it out. How was that ever gonna fit inside her?

“It didn’t look that big this morning.”

“Don’ gotta be scared. F’ya wanna stop, we can.” 

“No! No,” she puts her hand back around him, “don’t wanna stop.” 

Daryl’s hand is right below hers, he starts to move up on himself hoping she’ll follow. She does, placing her pinky over his index finger as they both start to jerk him off together. Lady’s not using nearly enough pressure, so he moves his hand from below hers to around. Squeezing her fingers tighter, moving her hand faster than they’d been. 

Daryl starts to finally feel it building, getting closer to an orgasm than he’d been all night. His eyes close for only a few seconds before he hears and feels Lady spit on his cock again. 

“Fucking christ, bug.” He says, looking down at her. Sitting up on her knees with her lips spread just waiting for him to put it in her mouth. He guides himself, in her hand, to her outstretched eager tongue. 

Lady just watches it get closer until she can devour him. Not like this morning, she laps at him with no abandon. Licking and sucking at his head like she was making out with it. Daryl’s eyes keep closing at the feeling, and he keeps opening them to watch. 

Fucking beautiful. Absolutely perfect. She doesn’t know a damn thing about sucking a cock and it shows. Still feels like heaven, still’s gonna make Daryl bust a fat one. Can feel it, he’s just about to, and then Lady takes his whole head in her mouth while looking up at him at the same time. 

“Fuck, Lady. M’gonna.” 

She knows what he means, but why was he telling her? Was she supposed to stop? She doesn’t, instead she takes him even further into her mouth, eyes flicking back up to his again. 

Daryl and Lady are completely locked onto each other as he cums down her throat.

Lady could feel it happening before it happened, his cock getting even harder before it pulsates between her lips.The first shot goes to the back of her throat, making her gag, but she stays put. Taking all of it. 

Daryl watches Lady doing her best to swallow it. Coming to terms pretty quickly that he came down his sister's throat. The fact that it was while looking in her fucking eyes is a little harder. He puts himself away before joining her on their bed. Laying her down on his chest while they both stare at the ceiling. 

“Didn’t have ta swallow it.” He tells her. 

“I wanted to.” 

“Did good, bug.” 

“I know.” 

He laughs, his rumbling chest shaking Lady’s head slightly, “Oh? Y’know? How’s that?” She didn’t do that good. 

“Shit, Bug, fuck. Jesus christ ‘m gonna cum.” She makes groans and grunts in between curses. 

“Alrigh’, quit it.” He regrets asking. 

Lady sits up to rewind the tape and Daryl stands to turn the lights off. Meeting back in bed, Lady curls up into him, and they both finally manage to fall asleep.  

💕

For about a week Lady and Daryl do that night on repeat. Drinking a few drinks, smoking a little pot, making out while Lady humps him until she cums, and then Daryl sits on the couch and Lady sucks him off. 

She’s gotten better at it. A lot better and real fast. Daryl had to show her a couple things, but he didn’t count it as teaching her. Just showing her how. Doesn’t know why he thinks they’re different, but one felt dirty and the other one didn’t. Didn’t wanna ‘teach’ Lady anything. Just wanted to experience it with her. 

Lady didn’t need much showing how anyway. She’d picked up the sucking part, using both hands, her tongue and her lips. She’s started using her cheeks and her throat too. 

Today Lady had asked Daryl if she could blow him while they drove around town. He’s got his keys in his hands before she even finishes asking. 

💕

Lady’s laying down on her stomach across the bench seat of the truck, feet kicked up in the air, Daryl’s cock lolling out of her mouth as she lays her head on his thigh to look at him. 

Daryl glances down for a second to see her hand holding his length flush against his leg, mouth around the head of him, suckling his cock like it’s a lollipop.  

At least once a day Daryl’s sure he’s witnessing the hottest thing he’ll ever see in his whole life. He pulls over onto the side of the road. Lady’s been at this for 10 minutes and he could probably last longer but he doesn’t want to. 

She doesn’t move while Daryl parks the truck. She’s learned to recognize the look on his face, and how it meant she was doing just exactly the right thing. She’s still laying on his thigh, one hand on his cock to keep it pointing down and into her mouth while she sucks just the tip of him off, swirling her tongue all around. 

Daryl throws the truck in park. Looking down, he grabs her head with both hands, pulling her just barely off of his thigh so he can move his hips. With both feet planted to the floor and his back against the seat he starts fucking into the back of her throat. Her cheeks stretching out around the girth of him made all the more explicit by the light of day. She starts making that noise again. Daryl pulls Lady off of him by both sides of her head, a string of saliva still stuck to his dick goes with her, glinting in the sunlight. 

At least once a day Daryl’s sure he’s witnessing the hottest thing he’ll ever see in his whole life, “Why d’ya like it like tha’?” 

She’s staring at him with wide eyes, her voice small, “Whad’ya mean?” If Lady could have it her way she’d live with his cock in her mouth.

“When ‘m rough. When ‘m doin’ the work.” 

“Never liked workin’, Daryl.” She goes to move herself back to him, but he holds her head still. 

“Lay, no. Wanna know why.” But Daryl can tell by Ladys expression that she doesn’t even know. “Figure it out.” 

He lets go of her gently, allowing her to go back to doing whatever she wanted to be doing with him. Daryl puts the truck back in drive, figures he’d give Lady some more time doing her new favorite thing. 

💕

“Y’good, bug?” Daryl leans down over her shoulder to ask. They’re walking the farmers market. Not some nice fancy fruit and veggies stand, the farmers market. Everyone and their momma trying to sell old tape collections and knick-knacks like it’s a permanent yard sale. As Lady was walking in front of him he’d noticed her moving around all funny. Doing an uncomfortable dance to readjust something without anyone noticing. 

“Shuddup.” She hisses back at him, an unmistakable blush spreading across her cheeks. 

This just spurs him further, he skips a step to be right up against her, “Wha’s goin’ on in yer pants?” 

She stops and turns around to face him, their bodies so close but not touching. Lady takes a quick look around, there’s a bunch of people nearby, walking right past them, but no one’s looking at them. 

She sighs, reaching down into her shorts before pulling her hand out and putting it in Daryl’s face. So coated in her own slick that it stretches to fill the area between her fingers when she moves them apart. Daryl wonders if he could blow a bubble with it, and then immediately pushes her hand back down and looks around to see if anyone else had watched her do that. 

Seeing that no one’s caught them at the very same time he feels it, his own hand, now covered in her. 

Daryl had been losing his fucking mind over her. Her down there. Her pretty pussy that he hasn’t gotten to see or taste or feel. Yet. He’s not ever gonna push her to do something, he’s not even gonna ask her. She’s the one that’s gotta ask for it. That’s gotta want it. So it can’t be ugly. 

Lady’s looking at him, waiting for some kind of reaction, til Daryl lifts his arm with a smile and a nod. Aggressively and publicly sucking on the side of his hand. The bit between his wrist and his pinky and part of his palm, all coated in sticky perfect sweet Lady. He looks down at her with a grin before walking away, knowing she’d follow. 

She’s on his heels, grabbing his wrist as he weaves through the crowd. Lady pulls hard on his arm to get him to stop moving right when they’re in the thick of it. People bumped up on every side, Daryl turns back to face her and Ladys right up against him, hugging him and pulling his hand between them. Pushing him down the front of her pants, she spreads her legs and urges him further by his forearm. 

It happens so quickly Daryl can’t even react at first. His hand just pressed against her. Soft, and warm, and so wanting. Her cunt was so wet and running down her legs it knocked the wind out of him. So wet his fingers slip right through her delicate folds and rub right up against her clit and her hole at the same time. Lady reacts with buckled knees, holding on to his arm for stability. Her eyes closed and her body shuddering around his hand. 

He pulls back out just as quickly, righting Lady to stand up straight. He doesn't look around to see if anyone's watching, just takes his wet fingers and slowly puts them against and past her parted lips. 

Time seems to stand still, eyes locked on each other, Daryl's fingers edging deeper into her mouth. And then someone bumps into Lady, her body rocking forward and into her brother's larger frame. Wrapping his arm around her, he starts pulling her back through the market. Ending up along the fence that bordered some woods. Thick and on a decline, Daryl knows no one will see them back here. 

Lady doesn't know the plan, but she's too turned on to care. So burning up that even the tall grass itching at her skin feels like little lightning kisses. 

It's not long before Daryl decides they've gone far enough. He pushes Lady up against a tree, just looking down at her while he tries to catch his breath. She’s looking between them, starting to mess with his belt before he stops her with one hand, “Thinkin' ya migh’ lose yer min’ soon if ya don' jus’ ask.” 

She lets go of his belt, keeping her hands in his, “...ask what?”

“Fer me ta touch ya, bug. Yer so fuckin’ wet I don' know how yer still walkin’ around.”

She blushes, and tries to get out of his grip on her against the tree. Daryl lightens up a bit but doesn't let her go, “are ya always like tha’?” he asks. 

She looks toward his chest instead of up at him, biting the side of her lip while nodding gently, “I mean, yeah….” 

“Need ya ta ask, bug.”

“Why?” She finally looks up at him, genuinely confused. 

“Cuz. Gotta be you tha’ wants it.”

“You don't want it?”

“‘nough ta ask.” He tries to clarify but she still doesn't completely understand. Daryl shakes his head, “Forget it. Jus’ cuz, Lay. Cuz I said.”

She nods, scanning the ground next to them like it has the words to put together, “I don't know what to ask for, Dar.” She puts her hand against his chest, “I want it all.”

Daryl smiles, can't help it, Lady doesn't even know what to ask for so she sucks his dick in wanton misery for a week and then when she finally does ask it's to go all the way. Lady fucking would. 

“Lay, ‘m not fuckin’ ya fer the firs’ time out in the fuckin’ woods behind the market. Jus fuckin’ ask me ta touch ya b’fore I take ya home instead.” 

“Touch me.” She says it before he's finished talking. 

Daryl's on her in an instant. Overwhelming her mouth with his own, finally letting his hands feel her everywhere. 

He starts at her breasts, which he's already touched over her clothes but never underneath, never pinching and rolling her nipple between his two fingers before now. Her gasp ebbs into a moan as he continues to squeeze and prod at her.  

Daryl leans back, breaking his assault on her mouth to pull up her shirt and assault her there instead. But once he's got his eyes on her exposed skin he just stops. His hand coming up to grab at her again, cupping the small soft mound of flesh with his whole hand. Watching as his thumb brushes over her nipple, hard and pink and perfect. He traces his fingers down her stomach, rubbing his free hand over his dick. 

Daryl's fingers come to rest at the hem of her shorts, looking up at her before pulling the waistband down past her hips, then onto the ground. 

Lady just watches, letting her body sway with the pull of her clothing being removed. Steadying herself with her hand on his shoulder to keep from falling over. Daryl feels her hand, and for some reason it makes him want to stay down there. Hadn’t been planning on it, was just gonna touch her with his hands. He figures touching with his tongue is still just touching, and she’d already asked for that. 

Besides, Lady puts her mouth on him all the time. Still, Daryl looks at her before he does, leaning in and peering up. Making it obvious what he was silently begging permission for. Lady meets his eyes, responding to his request by stepping one foot out of her shorts and spreading her legs. 

His face buries up and into her, licking every spot around her pussy. Her thighs and all the strings of her mess, his tongue taking large swathes up each side of her lips. Lady’s legs are already shaking so much that both her and Daryl realize she’s not going to be able to stay standing on her own. 

“S-sorry.” She squeaks. 

“S’okay, bug, just don’t know where to put ya.”

On your cock, she thinks. Lady’s brain can only think about his cock. How she knows it’s hard and in his pants and not in her mouth. Sure, Daryl’s mouth on her feels good, but it’s not the same. 

“Just want you inside, Dar.” She’d been good at just dealing with the ache, it seemed to ease when he was in her mouth. Even though it wasn’t what her body needed, she guesses it’s close enough. 

She's not looking when he invades her hole. One finger, and she’s shaking and shivering and every muscle in her body tenses up. 

Daryl goes to pull out and Lady scrambles to hold his hand where it is. He huffs a laugh, “Shit, Lay, was gonna put it back in again.” 

She’s not listening, her ears ringing, her vision whitehot and blinding. Daryl pulls out of her only to stand up. Lowering his head down to take her lips. And like it was every time Lady and Daryl kissed, they’re ignited. More than before. Everything seems to escalate their desperate need for each other. Their want, their desire itself, seemed to feed its own flame. 

Daryl’s hands are at her naked hips, Lady’s losing herself in his mouth. She hadn’t realized that she’d put her feet together until Daryl’s hand pushes between her thighs and moves her legs apart again. He pushes his finger back into her, breaking their kiss and pulling a moan out with it. He pulls his finger out slowly, not all the way, before pushing back in again, just feeling her warm walls clenching tightly around his finger. He can’t stop himself from adding another. Wants to stuff her full and change her whole fucking life. 

She groans and he presses himself against her body, fucking his two fingers into her as deep as he can reach. Daryl makes sure she’s braced tight between himself and the tree, pushing against her hard to keep her still, before he curls his two thick digits inside of her. His fingertips petting the so-soft spongy part of her, they don’t stop even as her back tries to arch her right off the tree and onto the ground. 

Daryl peels her from the bark, keeping my her up with his knees bent so she can reach her arms to wrap around his neck and hold on. He keeps moving his fingers hard against her g-spot, that groan coming out between gasps and other moans and yelps and every beautiful sound Lady could make. 

Daryl leans Lady back into his arm, still assaulting that spot with his fingers but instead of curling them into her he starts moving his hand back and forth inside her with his shoulder and forearm. Pulling and pushing, the sound of her cunt squelching into the air, the sopping sounds getting audibly wetter. 

Lady leans back so far in Daryl’s arm that he decides to just place her onto the ground. Hadn’t wanted to do that, but it’s too late. Lady, on the ground naked from the tits down and looking up at him like she doesn’t even believe what she’s feeling is real. “Please.” She whines, Lady’d never asked like that before. 

He wishes he could fuck her in the woods, even if it was gonna be her first time, but he just can’t. “M’gonna, jus’ lemme look atchya.” He’s squatted down next to her, rubbing his rough palm all over her blushing naked skin. 

“You can look when we get home for as long as you want, please, Daryl.” There she was saying it again. Begging him. Lady can’t take it, the cool ground feels refreshing against her flushed body, but the heat is coming from inside and Daryl was right. Lady was close to losing her damn mind. 

Daryl watches her writhing in front of him for a beat longer than he needs to. Can’t help it, definitely sure this time that this is the hottest thing he'll ever see in his whole life. Lady's bare body all down in the sticks and dirt with her legs spread. Her messy pussy swollen and red and waiting for him. 

He puts his hand down on her chest, running his fingers along her skin so lightly. So barely there. Lady trembles, closing her eyes at the feeling, her back arching off the ground, “Please.” She begs again, grabbing onto his arm and trying to push it between her legs. 

Daryl shakes her hands off his arm and continues to kneed at her breast. Grabbing hold of it harshly before bringing his mouth down to lick flat long purposeful strokes into her nipple. 

Her eyes wide as she raises her head to look down. Her tit in his hand is lewd. The nipple filled out with fat and puffy, she watches until he completely envelopes her between his lips. The wet muscle of his tongue flicking deep into her nerves, her whole body starts spasming underneath of him. 

And then it's. Oh, it's everything. Lady is on fire from the inside again, like when she hit Daryl's pot the very first time and she'd turned into a rabid dog. And now she's feral in heat in the woods, her desperate cunt being filled by her brothers thick fingers and she burns. Burns so hot and alive it rips through her body in screams that Daryl's never heard before. Don't think Lady's ever made before. 

She's primal. Screaming and moaning and panting and falling apart. Faeries burning alive and singeing every inch of her soul on the way out. 

As she's coming down, Daryl easing his fingers out of her, a high pitched whistle cuts through the air. 

6’ tall and dirty. Hairy and sweaty. Roughneck. 20 feet away and just staring at them. Daryl moves quick to cover Lady up as she scrambles her top down and back to her shorts by the tree. 

“Fuck off.” Daryl calls back flipping him the middle finger, while Lady wrestles her shorts on. The man just watches, doesn't do anything else. Watches as Lady and Darly hurry away and out of the woods. 

💕

Lady scoots over on the bench seat as they roll down the road back to their house. She goes to put her hands on his lap but he moves them away. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Know tha’ guy.” 

“So?”

“Wha’ if he knows you?”

“He doesn't.”

Daryl nods, using his free hand to grab a smoke. Lady helps him light it and they drive home in silence. Lady, curled up next to him. Daryl, a million miles away worrying, for the first time, that maybe he shoulda said no. To the drive, to touching her, to what they were doin’. To all of it. 

Didn’t think before now how maybe it could hurt Lady. How if anyone found out… 

Cursing himself to hell and not back because he doesn’t deserve it. Shouldn’t have taken her out in them woods like that. Not the same as their woods. Those woods don’t know shit about keepin’ secrets.

💕

A/n: I also cringe so hard when “bust a fat one” but it's Daryl and it's 1996 and I just. It just is, okay? It's in the middle of some of his internal shit and IT just IS. (I wanted to delete it so many times but I can't. I've come to terms with it, so should you. pls)

As far as pacing… this type of relationship takes buildup and I couldn’t figure out where to cut down. Like I took out about 1k in the first “scene” and it still feels like it’s dragging to me but I also feel like I’ve read it too many times to know. Also the smut parts… I feel this need to detail and describe and it’s probably overboard but when I’m reading fic I find myself always wanting more of that so idk. Maybe it’s too much? Idk I’m new I’ll figure it out. 

Ty for reading 💕💕💕

[rinalouu]

-> Summary: Ron realizes he may have just found someone who truly sees him for who he is. -> Warnings: they/them pronouns are used - generally meant to be gn, mentions of favoritism in families. -> Word Count: 600(ish) -> Abbreviations: (Y/n) - Your name | (N/n) - Nickname [I do not own harry potter, nor support the supposed author. This universe is merely a safe place for me.] Find related content here. (my Harry Potter master-post)

I can just imagine how he must feel, being the youngest of 5 brothers, knowing your mother desperately wanted a girl instead of you. On top of that, the never-ending ideals and expectations he needed to live up to. Having 5 older brothers created more pressure, and less of a space for him to be himself. - Then you came and changed everything. He didn't quite understand it, but you always found a way to see things no one else saw. You made him feel like he was worth something. It wasn't a struggle to be seen by you, and in your eyes, it was just him. Oh how he loved your eyes... But that's a story for another day. - "Happy birthday Ron!" The 5th year plopped a poorly wrapped present in the unsuspecting boys lap, causing him to look at them warily. "What-? (N/n), you didn't have to do that.." He mumbled, his ears turning read as he messed with the wrappings on the present. "Like I wouldn't get my best friend something? Rubbish that is, now open it before I do!" (Y/n) eagerly smiled, making themself comfortable in the open spot next to him. "Well.. alright.." He would sigh, glancing down at the lumpy present. It felt wrong to open it, he knew how much effort they must have put into wrapping it. The wrapping was a neutral color, with a tan ribbon holding it altogether. Carefully undoing the ribbon, his breath hitched as he got a peek at what was inside. Unable to stop himself, he tore the wrapping quickly, before gaping at what was inside. "You don't like it do you?" (Y/n) pouted, a skeptical eye on him as they tried to read his reaction, but worry filled them as tears begin falling down his cheeks. "Ah- Ron, don't cry! I didn't think it was that bad, here I'll-" (Y/n) went to grab it from him, but Ron quickly yanked it from their grasp. "Did you make this?" Ron quietly demanded, feeling the fabric within his fingers. It was a sweater, a knit one at that. It wasn't perfect, but it was just his size. But that wasn't what mattered. "I thought you would like it.. Honest. I didn't want you to cry." His friend would frantically begin to apologize before stiffening as Ron finally met their gaze. "It's orange." He gave (Y/n) a soft smile, adoration in his eyes. This only confused the poor thing even more. "Well ya? You hate burgundy." They stated, as if it was written on his forehead. More tears fell down his face, before he put the sweater down to envelop (Y/n) in a hug. "Ron?" They mumbled into his shoulder, his actions only concerning them further. "You're right. I hate burgundy." He laughed, holding them for a few more moments. The love he had felt festering all these years began blossoming even more. (Y/n) knew his favorite color, something his own mother struggled to remember.

Author's note: I told y'all I'm back! I missed you pookies! <3 Anyway, I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think! Please let me know of any suggestions or feedback! Please do remember this is meant to be a safe space, and I am still grasping my creative writing skills.

[dufferpuffer]

~~ Looking at Lycanthropy ~~

Part 2: Social Perception of Werewolves.

Looking at Lycanthropy (all parts)

Words: Approx. 8000

Social Perception (What people think of him; His social situation) Self Perception (What he thinks about himself)

PRISONER OF AZKABAN

Chapter 5 (In the last part, we saw that he was constantly described physically as being pale, ill, exhausted, grey-haired... but I omitted his other constant description: Shabby.)

pg 59 The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's robes which had been darned in several places.

Darning is to mend holes with stitches, creating a patch out of thread. This is a really nice image, alongside the lettering on his case: He has meticulously darned the holes in his robes. He has put his name on his case. He looks shabby – but full of effort and delicate care for detail, gaining skills to make do with what he has.

pg 60 'Well, I hope he's up to it,' said Ron doubtfully: 'He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway ...' he turned to Harry, 'what were you going to tell us?'

Chapter 7

pg 99 He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square meals.

Chapter 8

Notes: His clothes are really not up to par with how shabby, patched and frayed they are.

pg 107 'Look at the state of his robes,' Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. 'He dresses like our old house-elf.' But nobody else cared that Professor Lupin's robes were patched and frayed.

Chapter 9

Notes: Werewolf identification is common knowledge, likely for safety reasons Secondary Notes: Possible Remus has been avoiding the topic of werewolves, holding the class back to not reach it

pg 128/129 'Are you telling me that professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between–' … … 'Silence!' snarled Snape. 'Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognise a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are...' … … 'Very poorly explained... that is incorrect, the Kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia... Professor Lupin gave this an eight out of ten? I wouldn't have given it a three...'

It is common knowledge for magical folk, thirteen and over, to recognise werewolves. They're well understood – perhaps considered a likely danger, important to understand. Example: If you are out gathering ingredients on the Full Moon, or brewing a potion under its light, or simply traveling... you need to be able to tell a werewolf from a true wolf at a glance – so you know what spells to cast - whether to stay or run. Also – unless Snape is being hyperbolic and expecting far too much of the class – Lupin may be holding the class back intentionally so that he didn't reach werewolves, avoiding the topic for his own sake.

Chapter 10

Pg 139 Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face.'Don't worry, I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay.'

Lupin is happy the kids haven't done their essay. Rather than extending the due date, or shortening the length, or doing anything that encourages learning – he cancels the entire task.

Pg 147 Harry squeezed himself through a crowd of sixth-years and saw a sign hanging in the furthest corner of the shop ('Unusual Tastes'). Ron and Hermione were standing underneath it, examining a tray of blood-flavoured lollipops. Harry sneaked up behind them. 'Urgh, no, Harry won't want one of those, they're for vampires, I expect,' Hermione was saying.

Nothing to do with Lycanthropy – but I found this interesting: Honeydukes stocks lollies made for Vampires. Hermione might be wrong – maybe they're even for werewolves too – but the only Vampire we meet is introduced with some respect. Vampires are a topic that deserves its own meta-thingy, like this – but it is interesting that a 'Being' that is so dangerous, feared and possibly parasitic to Humanity is accepted enough to have lollipops! Is it a class thing...? There are ancient and powerful families of Vampires – while Werewolves tend to be Wizards-made-poor?

Chapter 12

pg 183 'They call it the Dementors' Kiss,' said Lupin, with a slightly twisted smile. ... 'He deserves it,' he said suddenly. 'You think so?' said Lupin lightly. 'Do you really think anyone deserves that?'

Remus seems to have strong feelings on the Kiss. He insinuates he doesn't believe anyone deserves it, through his calm and vague manner. Could just be his moral standing on the issue? His father studied them – maybe he just thinks they're awful. But consider, as a werewolf, he could face Azkaban with one misstep. I wonder if he dwells on that often.

Chapter 21 Notes: Werewolf and Murderer are suggested to the Minister with relatively equal weight. 'Werewolves are so mistrusted … his support will count for very little.' - given more weight than the fact he and Sirius are old friends.

pg 283 "Consider, Minister: against all school rules - after all the precautions put in place for his protection - out of bounds, at night, consorting with a werewolf and a murderer - and I have reason to believe he has been visiting Hogsmeade illegally, too -'

'Werewolf' and 'Murderer' are given relatively equal weighting. Both are 'monsters', I suppose.

pg 287 'Professor Lupin is currently deep in the Forest, unable to tell anyone anything. By the time he is human again, it will be too late, Sirius will be worse than dead. I might add that werewolves are so mistrusted by most of our kind that his support will count for very little - and the fact that he and Sirius are old friends -'

I didn't put this in the previous part: Just the small fact werewolves cannot talk when transformed. Seems obvious, but it's good to have confirmation.

Chapter 22

Notes: Lower your voice when talking about werewolves. Anyone would expect it'll send you packing. Lupin doesn't think the social backlash worth fighting, nor the danger worth mitigating. He failed once – and cannot trust himself a second time.

pg 308 'Blimey, haven' yeh heard?' said Hagrid, his smile fading a little. He lowered his voice, even though there was nobody in sight. 'Er - Snape told all the Slytherins this mornin'... thought everyone'd know by now... Professor Lupin's a werewolf, see. An' he was loose in the grounds las' night. He's packin' now, o' course.'

Note: Hagrid is a Half-Giant, hated just as much if not more than a werewolf – when he made a 'mistake' he was expelled and his wand shattered. He is sympathetic to Remus but understanding of the reality of needing to go. He isn't being callous here at all.

pg 309 'This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents - they will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you... that must never happen again.'

Lupin confirms that he cannot control himself when transformed. He see's himself, and his failure, as a true danger that is not worth trying to mitigate.

~~~ ORDER OF THE PHOENIX

Chapter 3

pg 47 Remus Lupin stood nearest to him. Though still quite young, Lupin looked tired and rather ill; he had more gray hair than when Harry had said good-bye to him, and his robes were more patched and shabbier than ever. Nevertheless, he was smiling broadly at Harry, who tried to smile back through his shock.

He is tired, he is ill, he is grey and he is shabby. More than that: Even shabbier than they were over a year ago. He has patched them more – are they the same clothes?!?

Chapter 5

pg 94 “And I’m not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community,” said Lupin. “It’s an occupational hazard of being a werewolf.”

He's being a little cheeky – but its clear he accepts his fate: people won't like him. He is lucky some of the community accepts him.

Chapter 9

Notes: Werewolf segregation laws exist.

pg 170/171 Hermione was talking very earnestly to Lupin about her view of elf rights. “I mean, it’s the same kind of nonsense as werewolf segregation, isn’t it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have of thinking they’re superior to other creatures..."

We don't get to see Lupin's reaction to this – but it's likely more nuanced than Hermione's assumptions, especially considering Remus' 'acceptance' of his situation. Hermione see's the plight of werewolves as similar to the plight of House-Elves... well-meaning, but false, and insensitive to both House-Elves and people with Lycanthropy. Her wording suggests she instinctively doesn't think of Remus as a wizard, a human – but as a werewolf.

Chapter 12

Notes: Prejudice people call werewolves 'half-breeds' – already an insulting term for actual part-humans, but factually incorrect for werewolves. Lycanthropy is not a race or species.

pg 245 “I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed — not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.” “If you mean Professor Lupin,” piped up Dean Thomas angrily, “he was the best we ever—”

I hate to say it: she has a point – but she should have kept it at 'irresponsible wizards'. She is being speciesist and offensive: werewolves are not half-breed or part-human. They are 'whole' humans with Lycanthropy. Calling them half-breeds suggests they are 'less than human' and/or have 'lost some humanity'. Remus is not part-human, he is an irresponsible wizard. Dean's got his back though. get behind him, Remus

Chapter 14

pg 302 “Yes, but the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters,” said Sirius with a wry smile. “I know she’s a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her.” “Does Lupin know her?” asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge’s comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson. “No,” said Sirius, “but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job.” Harry remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further. “What’s she got against werewolves?” said Hermione angrily. “Scared of them, I expect,” said Sirius, smiling at her indignation.

It's unclear if her anti-werewolf legislation was before or after Severus exposed Remus. I don't think it's ridiculous to think it was after, though that'd be more like 1.5yrs... Either way – soft confirmation that Remus is shabby from his financial situation, and that his financial situation is directly tied to social perception of his Lycanthropy. He also isn't entirely passive and accepting of his lot in life: he is angry about it when it goes too far.

Chapter 15

pg 308 Among those ‘eccentric decisions’ are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the hiring of werewolf Remus Lupin, half giant Rubeus Hagrid, and delusional ex-Auror ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody.

Remus listed right alongside a half-giant. More interesting that Moody is listed as one of them, making sure to call him 'delusional' and without even printing his actual fucking name. Disgusting. Being part-human, physically sick, mentally sick... all similar, right? None of them are any good.

Chapter 22

Notes: Even 'accepting' people question their safety around werewolves. Healers may be more sympathetic – due to understanding them more and dealing with them more. Hospitals likely have rooms prepared for werewolf transformations. Secondary Notes: A recent Lycanthropy case may have anger issues.

pg 488/489 "...But that fellow over there,” he said, dropping his voice and nodding toward the bed opposite in which a man lay looking green and sickly and staring at the ceiling. “Bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all.” “A werewolf?” whispered Mrs. Weasley, looking alarmed. “Is he safe in a public ward? Shouldn’t he be in a private room?” “It’s two weeks till full moon,” Mr. Weasley reminded her quietly. “They’ve been talking to him this morning, the Healers, you know, trying to persuade him he’ll be able to lead an almost normal life. I said to him — didn’t mention names, of course — but I said I knew a werewolf personally, very nice man, who finds the condition quite easy to manage. ...” “What did he say?” asked George. “Said he’d give me another bite if I didn’t shut up,” said Mr. Weasley sadly.

'Can Arthur stop being perfect for even one second' challenge: impossible. When talking about Lycanthropy: you lower your voice. It's a dirty topic. Arthur, at least, is also being mindful of the patients privacy... but Molly is reacting with prejudice. He is a werewolf so he is unsafe. Interestingly, the Healers seem to be sympathetic – and what Molly says suggests there are private rooms fitted for werewolves. Though that's likely a necessity for a hospital rather than a kindness.

The patient seems to have some anger issues right now... though I would too, if I had been infected by an isolating, degrading, painful illness and everyone kept telling me how 'normal' I could be. Arthur means well. He is sad he upset him. I love you Arthur.

Chapter 23

Secondary Notes: Lycanthropy may be enough to have you disowned by friends and family.

pg 507 Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley;

Did he have nobody in his life before he was bitten? Or has he lost them all now? I'm crying.

Chapter 28

pg 643 “How thick are you, Wormtail?” said James impatiently. “You run round with a werewolf once a month —” “Keep your voice down,” implored Lupin. pg 645 “I’m bored,” said Sirius. “Wish it was full moon.” “You might,” said Lupin darkly from behind his book.

James and Sirius are both loose-lipped and casual about his Lycanthropy. They see it as fun. Remus does not see it as fun. He is serious about it. Annoyed by James – pissed at Sirius.

Chapter 38

pg 867 Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair graying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers.

Threadbare, too... can someone please fund a shopping trip for this man? Hand-me-downs? Is he too stubborn about it? Molly I am begging you to knit him a nice sweater.

~~~ HALF BLOOD PRINCE

Chapter 6

pg 94 To Mrs. Weasley’s displeasure, Harry’s sixteenth birthday celebrations were marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Remus Lupin, who was looking gaunt and grim, his brown hair streaked liberally with gray, his clothes more ragged and patched than ever.

'Ship of Theseus' ass robes

Chapter 16

Notes: Most werewolves live outside of society, in groups following Fenrir Greyback. They are bitten young, taken from their parents and raised in cult-like societies that shun any who have contact to healthy Wizards – believing they are deserving of 'blood', revenge and over-taking society. They struggle out there with getting enough supplies and food, having to steal or kill to eat – and probably are largely uneducated. They follow Voldemort, through Greyback, in the belief his re-formation of society will benefit them. Remus is bitter about being 'equals' with these people, but has sympathy for them even if he sees them – and himself – as lesser than healthy Wizards. The idea he isn't is sweet but naïve to him. He doesn't fit in around them because he was raised and lives around wizarding society. Remus doesn't fit in with wizards either – and is extremely thankful for any help he receives. pg 281

Meanwhile, Remus Lupin,who was thinner and more ragged-looking than ever, was sitting beside the fire, staring into its depths as though he could not hear Celestina’s voice.

pg 283/284

“I neither like nor dislike Severus,” said Lupin. “No, Harry, I am speaking the truth,” he added, as Harry pulled a skeptical expression. “We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon.” “But he ‘accidentally’ let it slip that you’re a werewolf, so you had to leave!” said Harry angrily. Lupin shrugged. “The news would have leaked out anyway. We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful.” “Maybe he didn’t dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!” said Harry. “You are determined to hate him, Harry,” said Lupin with a faint smile.

Remus appreciates Severus' dedication to his health. He see's it as a kindness: Severus had every reason to mess with it but kept him healthy instead. He was dedicated to Remus' health. It was because of Severus that he had his most comfortable year since he was a teenager – and he see's Harry's insistence on seeing the worst in Severus as ridiculous because of it.

Pg 284/285/286 “Oh, I’ve been underground,” said Lupin. “Almost literally. That’s why I haven’t been able to write, Harry; sending letters to you would have been something of a giveaway.” “What do you mean?” “I’ve been living among my fellows, my equals,” said Lupin. “Werewolves,” he added, at Harry’s look of incomprehension. “Nearly all of them are on Voldemort’s side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was... ready-made.”He sounded a little bitter, and perhaps realized it, for he smiled more warmly as he went on, “I am not complaining; it is necessary work and who can do it better than I? However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing — and sometimes killing — to eat.” “How come they like Voldemort?” “They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life,” said Lupin. “And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there “ “Who’s Greyback?” “You haven’t heard of him?” Lupin’s hands closed convulsively in his lap. “Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback specializes in children... Bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people’s sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results.” Lupin paused and then said, “It was Greyback who bit me.” “What?” said Harry, astonished. “When — when you were a kid, you mean?” “Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me; I even felt pity for him, thinking that he had had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal the werewolves. I cannot pretend that my particular brand of reasoned argument is making much headway against Greyback’s insistence that we werewolves deserve blood, that we ought to revenge ourselves on normal people.”“But you are normal!” said Harry fiercely. “You’ve just got a — a problem —”Lupin burst out laughing. “Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He called it my ‘furry little problem’ in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved rabbit.”

- Werewolves live so far that they are 'almost literally underground'. - They shun 'normal' society so hard that they distrust and outcast werewolves that don't. Cult-like. - 'It is hard to argue with Greyback out there' – it really is cult-like. More on that in Part 4. - Survival is difficult enough that they steal and even kill just to eat. Good luck out there, Remus. - It is possible that Remus couldn't write because having connections to wizards is frowned upon – but also that the average werewolf cannot read or write. Greyback bites children and raises them away from other Wizards... its doubtful they get a decent education. - Almost all werewolves are on Voldemorts side. Damn. More on that in Part 4 – but damn, they really are desperate. - At the moment, Voldemort has promised Greyback children to bite for his dream of overtaking healthy wizards. - Harry thinks of Remus as such a normal guy that him being a werewolf barely crosses his thoughts, unlike Hermione and most people in general. They see him as "Remus the Werewolf" rather than "Remus the DADA teacher who taught how to be brave" ... ... - Remus see's himself unequal to other wizards. This confuses the Harry. - Remus is bitter not at Albus for giving him the task – but that it is his lot in life. He wishes he didn't have to do it, didn't have to be around 'his equals', when they are so awful. - Remus is empathetic to other werewolves (even the one that bit him) because he understands well the lack of control and the pain. - He has less empathy for Greyback because he plans to hurt people. Control is important to him. - Remus thinks Harry's insistence that he is 'normal but with a problem' is endearing and funny. It is an unusual stance to take.

Chapter 22

pg 400 “What was the werewolf’s name?” said Harry quickly. “Well, the rumor is that it was that Fenrir Greyback,” said Hermione. “I knew it — the maniac who likes attacking kids, the one Lupin told me about!” said Harry angrily.

Even amongst werewolf hearsay and bad press Greyback is a maniac of a werewolf. Going out of the way to bite children is odd.

Chapter 29

pg 523/524 “We don’t yet know,” said Professor McGonagall, looking helplessly at Lupin.

Oh yeah, sure. Because all werewolves know everything about Lycanthropy. Nice one, Minnie. I'm joking – he really would be the expert in the room, a werewolf himself and someone with interest in magical creatures. :^)

pg 525 “You see!” said a strained voice. Tonks was glaring at Lupin. “She still wants to marry him, even though he’s been bitten! She doesn’t care!”“It’s different,” said Lupin, barely moving his lips and looking suddenly tense. “Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are completely —” pg 526 “And I’ve told you a million times,” said Lupin, refusing to meet her eyes, staring at the floor, “that I am too old for you, too poor... too dangerous...”“I’ve said all along you’re taking a ridiculous line on this, Remus,” said Mrs. Weasley over Fleur’s shoulder as she patted her on the back. “I am no being ridiculous,” said Lupin steadily. “Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.”“But she wants you,” said Mr. Weasley, with a small smile. “And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so.” He gestured sadly at his son, lying between them.“This is... not the moment to discuss it,” said Lupin, avoiding everybody’s eyes as he looked around distractedly. “Dumbledore is dead...”“Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world,” said Professor McGonagall curtly, just as the hospital doors opened again and Hagrid walked in.

Bill will be disfigured and contaminated – but the social stigma of that isn't as bad as someone with full Lycanthropy. The Weasleys – even Molly – are supportive of Remus, Arthur specifically pointing out that disability can happen to anyone. McGonagall's views probably mirror Albus' who has been nothing but supportive to Remus. However I think its clear by now that these views are not the norm. ... ... Alongside classism, ageism and believing himself dangerous – Remus is extremely aware of his social standing, doesn't wish to fight it and doesn't want to drag someone 'young and whole' with him. He see's himself as 'incomplete'. If that has some parallels to Umbridge's 'half-breed' comments – it's internalised speciesism as well as ableism: Half-breeds are not 'incomplete' people and he isn't even a half-breed. There is no way Remus would think less of Hagrid or Flitwick so it's bigotry saved for people like himself.

~~~ DEATHLY HALLOWS

Chapter 1 (Extremist Pureblood views – but they reflect a stronger version of larger societal views: Fudge tries to appease the masses, as does Rita Skeeter, with similar sentiments to these. Even the Weasley's have shown negative knee-jerk reactions to werewolves. I say this to keep in mind that while society at large wouldn't burst out laughing in mocking disgust at their family member marrying a werewolf... they still wouldn't think warmly of it.)

pg 13 “I’m talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.” There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The great snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Malfoys’ humiliation.“She is no niece of ours, my Lord,” she cried over the outpouring of mirth. “We – Narcissa and I – have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries.” pg 14 “What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?” … … “Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring. “You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.” “Yes, my Lord,” whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. “At the first chance!” “You shall have it,” said Voldemort. “And in your family, so in the world... we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain…”

Death Eaters think werewolves 'beasts' no matter their blood purity. They aren't even human anymore, their children – despite not being contaminated themselves – are regarded as 'cubs'. The thought of having someone 'contaminated' with Lycanthropy in the family is literally laughable. It is better to kill the diseased than wear the shame of mere association. Eugenics? In the Death Eaters? In Wizarding society generally? Gasp. What a shock. Chapter 5

Notes: Bellatrix want's Tonks dead as much as she want's Harry – because she married Remus.

pg 70 Tonks landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere. “Remus!” Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom into Lupin’s arms. His face was set and white: He seemed unable to speak. … … “So what kept you? What happened?” Lupin sounded almost angry at Tonks. “Bellatrix,” said Tonks. “She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry, Remus, she tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I’d got her, I owe Bellatrix. But we definitely injured Rodolphus... Then we got to Ron’s Auntie Muriel’s and we’d missed our Portkey and she was fussing over us –” … … A muscle was jumping in Lupin’s jaw. He nodded, but seemed unable to say anything else.

Cute. He was so stressed, so scared. My man can't express himself – he was scared he lost her... he's busting a blood vessel realizing how important she is to him.

Chapter 7

Notes: The Ministry is so anti-werewolf right now Remus, Tonks and maybe Arthur feel it would be better for everyone – especially Harry – for them to leave rather than be in the vicinity of the Minister.

pg 108/109 They all saw it at the same time: a streak of light that came flying across the yard and onto the table, where it resolved itself into a bright silver weasel, which stood on its hind legs and spoke with Mr. Weasley’s voice. “Minister of Magic coming with me.” The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur’s family peering in astonishment at the place where it had vanished. “We shouldn’t be here,” said Lupin at once. “Harry – I’m sorry – I’ll explain another time –”He seized Tonks’s wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed over it, and vanished from sight. Mrs. Weasley looked bewildered.

Chapter 8

pg 123/124 “Arthur told us you were the one with the curly hair. Sorry about last night,” she added in a whisper as Harry led them up the aisle. “The Ministry’s being very anti-werewolf at the moment and we thought our presence might not do you any favors.”“It’s fine, I understand,” said Harry, speaking more to Lupin than Tonks. Lupin gave him a swift smile, but as they turned away, Harry saw Lupin’s face fall again into lines of misery. He did not understand it, but there was no time to dwell on the matter: Hagrid was causing a certain amount of disruption.

They all needed to be warned about the Minister – but I don't doubt some of that warning was for Remus. Arthur would know just how anti-werewolf the ministry had been... while Molly may not. It's so bad (and Tonks agrees with that assessment) that he scampered away over a fence. He willingly took Tonks with him and later looked miserable... he's probably found out she's pregnant.

Chapter 10

pg 157 On James’s left was Lupin, even then a little shabby-looking, but he had the same air of delighted surprise at finding himself liked and included... or was it simply because Harry knew how it had been, that he saw these things in the picture?

Chapter 11

Notes: Remus is extremely upset that he got Tonks pregnant – enough to regret marrying her at all. Association with him has made Tonks, and his child, outcasts – even to her own family. The treatment we see him get from Dumbledore's allies is far better than most, who won't even talk to 'creatures like him' – seeing him not as a 'Being' but a 'Beast'. It is so good he has come to expect being comforted rather than berated. Werewolves don't usually have kids, despite the condition not passing from parent to child. The stress of this entire situation has made him deranged and almost delusional. Baby is bad.

pg 185 “Remus,” said Hermione tentatively, “is everything all right... you know... between you and –” “Everything is fine, thank you,” said Lupin pointedly. Hermione turned pink. There was another pause, an awkward and embarrassed one, and then Lupin said, with an air of forcing himself to admit something unpleasant, “Tonks is going to have a baby.” “Oh, how wonderful!” squealed Hermione. “Excellent!” said Ron enthusiastically. “Congratulations,” said Harry. Lupin gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then said, “So... do you accept my offer? Will three become four? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe that we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined.” … … “Well,” said Harry slowly, “I’m not. I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually.” Lupin’s face drained of color. The temperature in the kitchen might have dropped ten degrees.

Remus is only just holding back his disdain for 'making a young and whole woman have his cubs'. He feels so bad that he wants to go and do something useful and good. Something that makes him feel Dumbledore's positive belief in him again. 'Will three become four'... he is desperate for it, pushing the point as their 'teacher' – he needs to be reckless to distract from his reality. Again. Hiding your condition to get an education...? Go on walkabouts you know are bad. Awesome job with Dumbledores support...? Go make every bad decision in PoA. Got someone pregnant...? Go help the kids with the biggest target on their back.

pg 186/187 “You don’t understand,” said Lupin at last. “Explain, then,” said Harry. Lupin swallowed. “I – I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgment and I have regretted it very much ever since.” “I see,” said Harry, “so you’re just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us?”Lupin sprang to his feet: His chair toppled over backward, and he glared at them so fiercely that Harry saw, for the first time ever, the shadow of the wolf upon his human face.“Don’t you understand what I’ve done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her, I’ve made her an outcast!” Lupin kicked aside the chair he had overturned. “You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts! You don’t know how most of the Wizarding world sees creatures like me! When they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Don’t you see what I’ve done? Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage, what parents want their only daughter to marry a werewolf? And the child – the child –”Lupin actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged. “My kind don’t usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it – how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!” “Remus!” whispered Hermione, tears in her eyes. “Don’t say that – how could any child be ashamed of you?” “Oh, I don’t know, Hermione,” said Harry. “I’d be pretty ashamed of him.” Harry did not know where his rage was coming from, but it had propelled him to his feet too. Lupin looked as though Harry had hit him.“If the new regime thinks Muggle-borns are bad,” Harry said, “what will they do to a half-werewolf whose father’s in the Order? My father died trying to protect my mother and me, and you reckon he’d tell you to abandon your kid to go on an adventure with us?” “How – how dare you?” said Lupin. “This is not about a desire for – for danger or personal glory – how dare you suggest such a –”“I think you’re feeling a bit of a daredevil,” Harry said. “You fancy stepping into Sirius’s shoes –” “Harry, no!” Hermione begged him, but he continued to glare into Lupin’s livid face. “I’d never have believed this,” Harry said. “The man who taught me to fight dementors – a coward.”Lupin drew his wand so fast that Harry had barely reached for his own; there was a loud bang and he felt himself flying backward as if punched; as he slammed into the kitchen wall and slid to the floor, he glimpsed the tail of Lupin’s cloak disappearing around the door. “Remus, Remus, come back!” Hermione cried, but Lupin did not respond. A moment later they heard the front door slam.

- Remus believes marrying Tonks was a mistake – because just the act of marrying her has made her, and their child, outcasts. - 'Her own family is disgusted' as if her family's values are worthwhile. - He is treated the best by Dumbledore's people. - 'My kind don't usually breed' he is a wizard. He is a human being with Lycanthropy. Others with Lycanthropy may rarely have children due to social stigma – but the language he is using... yeesh. - The condition is not passed from father to child, but Remus is convinced it will, that he has ruined everything and everyone forever... he's deranged and upset about it. - Believes his son will be ashamed of him for being a werewolf. He is better off out of his life. - Despite this deep belief he is shameful – hearing it from Harry still hurts like a hit. He is used to being comforted. - Harry insinuates 'half-werewolf' (I don't think he believes this term himself) with an Order father is worse even than being muggle-born. (He also says he should be prepared to die for his family like James did, which I don't agree with, but he is making a point so I'll let him cook.) - Remus says he isn't doing this for glory – and he is mostly truthful. He messed up so he is running away from home before people can yell at him. He wants to be useful instead. - Harry likens him to Sirius: stifled, near-suicidal, itching to do anything to help – which is apt. He call's Remus a coward and he gets so angry he lashes out and runs away because he can't deny that. Chapter 24

pg 421/422 “You buried the elf,” he said, sounding unexpectedly rancorous. “I watched you from the window of the bedroom next door.” “Yes,” said Harry. Griphook looked at him out of the corners of his slanting black eyes.“You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter.” “In what way?” asked Harry, rubbing his scar absently. “You dug the grave.” “So?” Griphook did not answer. Harry rather thought he was being sneered at for acting like a Muggle, but it did not much matter to him whether Griphook approved of Dobby’s grave or not. He gathered himself for the attack. “Griphook, I need to ask –” “You also rescued a goblin.” “What?” “You brought me here. Saved me.” “Well, I take it you’re not sorry?” said Harry a little impatiently. “No, Harry Potter,” said Griphook, and with one finger he twisted the thin black beard upon his chin, “but you are a very odd wizard.”

Werewolves are wizards – not House-Elves or Goblins. However we see them called beasts, half-bloods - regarded as 'less than human'. This makes Griphooks view on Wizards... interesting. He thinks Harry is a strangely kind wizard for saving his life, and giving a House-Elf respect. The bar is set extremely low when it comes to the treatment of fellow Beings, it seems. I wonder: are unloved werewolves given graves...?

Chapter 25

pg 446 “It is I, Remus John Lupin!” called a voice over the howling wind. Harry experienced a thrill of fear; what had happened? “I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret-Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!”“Lupin,” muttered Bill, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open. Lupin fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in a traveling cloak, his graying hair windswept. He straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there, then cried aloud, “It’s a boy! We’ve named him Ted, after Dora’s father!” pg 447 “I can’t stay long, I must get back,” said Lupin, beaming around at them all: He looked years younger than Harry had ever seen him.

His traveling cloak isn't shabby :'( how very OOC of him Love that his joy for his son being born is an 'emergency'.

Chapter 33

pg 578 “What’s Potter got to do with anything?” said Lily. “They sneak out at night. There’s something weird about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?”“He’s ill,” said Lily. “They say he’s ill –”“Every month at the full moon?” said Snape. “I know your theory,” said Lily, and she sounded cold. “Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care what they’re doing at night?” “I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are.” The intensity of his gaze made her blush.

A theory, a suggestion, of Lycanthropy is dire – enough to make a muggleborn react strongly on behalf of someone else. 'Trying to show you they're not as wonderful' – just because Remus has Lycanthropy, and the others shelter that, they are all bad.

~~~ SUMMARY OF THIS PART:

Lycanthropy is a dirty topic. Regardless of who is nearby - you lower your voice when speaking about it. People do not joke around with the topic of werewolves. It is not to be taken lightly - accusations are serious. Remus is upset even when his friends joke about his condition or treat it lightly.

Pureblood Supremacists regard werewolves as 'beasts' rather than people, no matter their blood purity. Lycanthropy has ruined them, even their potential children will be 'cubs' - they are better off dead. To be associated with such an 'animal' in any way other than as a servant is ridiculously tragic and shameful.

While slightly less extreme: regular society reflects these values.

They might not think of werewolves as 'beasts' but they certainly don't regard them as 'normal people'. They are thought of as dangerous by nature, untrustworthy - likened to half-giants, murderers and the mentally ill... called 'half-breeds' despite not being half anything. Just being bitten could be enough to have you disowned from your family and friends.

Even those who are more sympathetic can be guarded, likening them more to non-human beings or part-humans than accepting them as fully human. They are potentially less accepted than Vampires.

At school students learn how to identify werewolves as creatures like hinkeypunks and kappa. There are laws segregating people with Lycanthropy, preventing them from working almost entirely. Being seen associating with a werewolf by the Ministry will reflect negatively on you. They are truly pariahs. It seems the only kindness in society is within hospitals - where Healers will still care for them and might have facilities to support them... at least when first bitten, while they are seen as a tragedy.

It is shocking to a Goblin to even have his life saved, or to see a House-Elf given a funeral - and both of those species at least are not 'dangerous' and have a place, a role, within society (though narrow and without many rights or freedoms). Werewolves have nothing. They are segregated, feared, thought of as animals - most people won't even speak to them. Being bitten has taken some of their humanity away in their eyes. It's unsurprising that most werewolves live outside of society, so far out that stealing and killing is sometimes necessary for survival. That perpetuates negative stereotypes... but changing minds is not the popular argument:

Fenrir Greyback might be considered a maniac even amongst those who already distrust werewolves - but he is king. He bites children, takes them from their parents and raises them to believe they deserve revenge - they will one day overtake 'normal' society and Lord Voldemort will help them get there. It is cult-like in the way they shun even other werewolves if they have had any contact with, or were raised by, 'normal' society. Considering Fenrir's victims are taken from their parents when young - and no werewolves go to Hogwarts - it's likely most werewolves aren't well educated... which makes it difficult for Remus to fit in.

Remus was lucky to have been one of Fenrir's early bites, before he was a household name, before he snatched kids away. He grew up in 'normal' society with loving parents... but it isn't enough to escape poverty. He struggles to find work. His clothes are shabby, frayed, threadbare, ragged - he darns and patches them himself. … … Remus doesn't expect to ever fit in. He will have to sneak around forever, sticking to the edges of society, trying to never give anyone reason to suspect him so he can at least enjoy some politeness. Even that is more than he deserves.

While he does believe those like him, who try not to cause trouble, are worth a little more credit - Lycanthropy is still a black mark he can never wash off. He accepts people won't like him as a fact of life.

He relishes positive attention. He is pleased when his student's don't want to do their werewolf essay. He cancels it - he might have even been holding them back to avoid having to teach it.

Despite believing himself shameful - having Harry agree rather than comforting him made him flinch like he was hit. Harry's opinion means a lot to him. Dumbledore has always been kind to him - and he has just about dedicated his life to him in return.

Severus supplying him with Wolfsbane without messing with it to weaken him is, to him, an extreme kindness he has nothing but gratitude for... while outing him as a werewolf was deserved.

Remus see's himself as unequal to other Wizards. Any positivity aimed at him is an undeserved gift. Harry's insistence he is 'normal' with a 'problem' is appreciated but seen as naive. All his mistakes or failures are confirmation that he is dangerous, weak willed, disgusting by nature.

The biggest mistake of his life was marrying Tonks and having a child - because he will ruin them. He brings them shame, everyone will be disgusted with them just by association with him - and they are better off without him in their life. Similar to Pureblood belief.

He doesn't think fighting for his rights or better treatment is a worthwhile endeavour. He buys into the classism, ableism and speciesism that has been thrown against him - at least a little. He might not think part-humans are less-than-human - but he considers himself un-whole. He may not look down on others for their poverty or their physical issues but he looks down on himself.

However he believes himself a little better than other werewolves: He is bitter they are 'his kind', his 'equals'... because living with them, trying to fit in, he is more 'wizard' than they are. He does have some pride and empathy for other werewolves that, like him, 'try to be good': he is angry that laws have made it harder for the werewolves that are part of 'normal society' to get work. He is upset that Greyback has been biting and raising young kids to his side - putting them in a position where they must steal and even kill to survive.

He may have strong feelings on the Dementors Kiss as a punishment - perhaps due to it being something he may be subjected to easier than other people.

He goes and spends time with a lonely man in hospital, freshly bitten. In his mind these people, like himself, are ruined, part of their humanity stripped from them.

They are no longer 'whole'.

[desceros]

Y'kno. Leo could have taken that little secret to the grave. Woulda sucked to live with it and he'd have deserved some inner turmoil for treating some random chick like dirt. Yet V was naive, trusting and loving enough to let it go if he'd never had brought it up.

But no, he had to clear his guilt. Unburden himself. Dump that shit on her.

And fuck, he's so used to her giving he was probably half-expecting forgiveness for it.

Gotamn, V can't catch a break. One one hand you got a guy you thought you were BFFs with who

a) hated you

b) used you as an emotional crutch for his whole family

and

c) couldn't even shut up about it to spare you the extra heartbreak after literally EVERYTHING ELSE.

And another guy who you thought was as into you as you were into him because he apparently can't communicate about feelings since he's shut himself out from that part of life and you gotta use hyperspecific, robotic wording to not get your heart broken again like you're signing a contract with some fucked up version of the fae.

None of them are putting in the work to mend any of their personal shit and you're the giving type that gets easily taken advantage of, even unintentionally.

Honestly, neither of them are shitting rainbows to be worth all the effort you gotta put in their asses for any semblance of a functional friendship/situationship.

Also

"You weren't part of the family."

U kno what, he can keep it. They're the only people who'll be able to stand him at this rate.

so i addressed the first part of this in another ask re: ableism here but i'll briefly summarize things here.

leo didn't tell viola-chan what was bothering him because he wanted to "clear his guilt" or "unburden himself. dump that shit on her." he told her because she has made it repeatedly clear that she values honesty. i imagine he would have never told her... but keeping a secret felt like a betrayal. so when she asked, he told her. even though he knew it would hurt and change everything.

With a sigh, you fold your arms, then look at him. “What does this have to do with what you wanted to talk about, anyway?” “Everything,” Leo says, looking at you with a heavy stare. “Because… I have a confession to make. One that’s… that’s going to change how we are. One I really don’t want to make, but it’s—it’s eating me alive. And I don’t think I can continue being friends without telling you.”

that said. i'm not defending his actions. this is abominable behavior. but it's not selfish. not this time.

as for donnie. i'm going to take some righteous issue with how you're saying this. i've spoken before about ableism that's cropping up around this fic, but so far it's been pretty. hm. things i can brush off. but this, i feel, really crosses a line for me.

your framing of an autistic person needing someone to "use hyperspecific, robotic wording to not get your heart broken again like you're signing a contract with some fucked up version of the fae" is ringing quite poorly in my ears.

as an autistic person myself who has specifically made requests to my own loved ones that this is the exact kind of language i need to have smooth relationships, i don't appreciate your wording.

in symphony, donnie doesn't use the label 'autistic'. but he is. and he doesn't come up to you and say 'hey can i please have his kind of language used with me.' because he hasn't had to do that before. everyone around him has had his entire life to adapt to his needs. but viola-chan hasn't, hence why they have friction and misunderstandings. a large part of this story is the two of them learning to communicate. and part of that, i am sorry to tell you, is that autistic people often need language that can come across as "robotic" and "hyperspecific". so i'm going to ask you to deal with it, or perhaps look for a different fic. i'm not going to change that interpretation of things, because it comes from my own experiences as an autistic person.

lastly, you say "none of them are putting in the work to mend any of their personal shit" and that just?? isn't true??? this is literally just poor reading comprehension. an inability to look past the limited point of view of the protagonist. the entire first arc of this fic (ch. 1-11) is donnie stretching out of his comfort zone to tackle this serious problem he has. the second arc (12-20) is him pushing past things he's never done before so he can heal and touch his brothers again. leo comes to you and tells you about his issues with his sleep, where they come from, and lets you help him. not to mention mikey and raph, whom i assume you're leaving out of this ask since you haven't mentioned them. draxum even mentions, specifically, that viola-chan's presence is making them change. and the way he says it is very specific.

“Blue has been much more lively since you came around, and Donatello is much less crabby. Michael was also telling me you gave him some good exercises for his wrist. I was impressed. I’ve been meaning to ask you to work with Red as well on his trauma response since you seem to have a knack for it.”

work with. not on. i know i'm subtle, but come on.

anyway. this got quite long, but i'm not going to put it under a cut because i want these things to be open and visible. i've had a couple people say some somewhat similar things about donnie's part in this and i'm. getting kind of tired of it lmao. but thank you for reading, and i do appreciate you taking the time to send in your thoughts!!

[zmwrites]

Writemas 2024: Day 9

Thank you to @agirlandherquill for the prompts and for hosting!! I'm a bit behind but I am determined to catch up somehow.

WIP: Vessel WIP

Prompt(s): “I will take no more from you, consider this my mercy.”+ A church.

Words: 645

Notes: I'm not thrilled with this piece, but I don't want to put in the effort to massage it bc it's just something small for the event. Think of it as a first draft and enjoy anyways!

“Where is my wife?!” Rhaeus thundered, his voice shaking the stones of the church. 

Prima Phyrra fell to her knees. “Please, Your Holiness, have mercy. Sel Phyrra has been misbehaving and snuck out last night. I don’t know where she’s taken your wife.”

“You have one job, Prima, and that is to not lose the Vessel.” The sun god loomed over her, seeming to grow even taller as she shrunk before him. “Phyrra is in a delicate condition and needs peace, and rest. She cannot be taken galavanting about the world inside of some child!”

“I was never lost,” Fenna said from her spot in the shadows of the threshold. No matter how poorly Prima Phyrra treated her, she didn’t deserve to face the wrath of a god for something that wasn’t her fault. “I was exactly where I wanted to be.”

Rhaeus spun on her, face contorted with rage. “And where was that, child?”

“It’s none of your business. And I’m hardly a child; I’ve witnessed more than a hundred years of history, most of it from within this cage,” she said. She stepped into the room but didn’t get any closer.

“This is no cage,” Prima Phyrra protested pitifully from the floor.

“When did you grow a spine, little Sel?” Rhaeus asked. He stalked towards her, Prima Phyrra apparently forgotten.

“I’ve always had a spine. I’ve just never had a reason to stand up to any of you before.”

“What changed?”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I realized how much of a dick you are.”

She slammed into the wall, her head bouncing painfully against the stone, and she scrabbled at Rhaeus’ fingers where they wrapped around her throat.

“I am a god and you will address me with the veneration I deserve,” he snarled.

The toes of her boots barely touched the floor. She couldn’t breathe. Black dots swam in front of her eyes, slowly covering the coldness of his face, and a low ringing filled her ears. She wanted to laugh: how many people could say they’d been killed by a god?

“Put her down, Rhaeus.”

His head snapped towards the pulpit. “Phyrra?”

She dropped to the ground, gasping for air. She twisted to follow his gaze: standing between the pulpit and the throne was a woman wearing her face. This version of her was translucent, shimmering in the candlelight, and her hair was silver like moonlight.

“Phyrra?” Fenna rasped.

“Where have you been, wife?” Rhaeus demanded.

“Recuperating. My last death took a great toll.”

“You’re testing my patience.”

She smiled serenely. “Then perhaps you should not have burnt my last Vessel beyond repair.”

He moved so fast Fenna couldn’t even perceive it—one second he was two paces from her at the entrance to the church, the next he had his fingers digging into Phyrra’s jaw at the opposite end of the nave. “Perhaps you should have obeyed my orders.”

Phyrra glared up at her husband, and he stared back at her, like they were locked in a silent conversation. 

Fenna massaged her throat and pushed herself into a sitting position. She understood why Phyrra refused to take over their body if this was what was waiting for her. 

Rhaeus smirked and kissed Phyrra, who remained perfectly still. It wasn’t a gesture of love, or even kindness. It was pure possessiveness.

“I will take no more from you today,” he spat. “Consider this my mercy.” 

There was a flash of light and he vanished. Fenna jumped up and rushed to Phyrra as she wavered on her feet, reaching her as she started to lose what little solidity she had.

“Have you considered divorce?” Fenna asked.

The goddess laughed. It was tired, and it was a little sad, but it was a laugh.

Fenna held out her hand. Phyrra accepted it then faded from sight.

[jfleamont]

Put A Little Love In Your Heart

Here's a little something I wrote to stretch my creative muscles, let me know what you think :)

Word count: 700

Read here on AO3

“But I don't want to have a baby.”

Lily let his words sink in. The man in front of her was still looking at her, his brows furrowed.

She shook her head in an effort to conceal her reaction but it was fruitless.

As soon as James looked in her direction, she snorted and he followed her, doubling over with laughter.

“I don't see how this is funny. Have you been confounded? You must have, if you think I'm responsible enough to be your child's godfather,” Sirius whined.

Lily was the first one to recover. “Shit, Padfoot, I had no idea you'd take this so...” her eyes glowing with mirth.

“You're better than this, Lily...”

Lily grinned, reveling in the way she could rile him up so easily. “... Seriously.”

“Oh, come on!”

James, having finally calmed down, took a step forward and placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder, comforting his friend as well as himself.

“You're not having a baby, Padfoot, we are,” he gestured between him and Lily. “And contrary to what you might think, you don't live here. Oh, I almost forgot,” James winced, and ran a hand through his hair, “we're kicking you out of the guest room.”

“You're welcome to crash on the sofa anytime, though,” Lily offered.

Sirius sighed in mock defeat, and plopped down on the armchair. “Kicked out again, uh. Who are you, my parents?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Quit being dramatic, Sirius. Being a godfather isn't as terrible as you think.”

He shrugged, but the poorly hidden smile on Sirius' face didn't fool Lily. He leaned back on the armchair, looking rather uninterested, only his quirked brow betraying his curiosity. “Alright, but what does it entail, exactly?”

James opened his mouth but soon realised he didn't have an answer for him. He had never met his godparents, and both Fleamont and Euphemia were only children, too, so that was all he had known. He sat on the sofa opposite Sirius, Lily following him shortly after. Lily, however, had an answer. “I'm not sure, but my godmother gave me lots of presents and brought sweets everytime she visited. I also told her about my first kiss and she was so cool about it! She was the best.”

“So... All I have to do is spoil Bambi? And he'll love me and tell me all his secrets?”

“Told you it wasn't that bad.”

He seemed to ponder her words for a second, then tilted his head and looked at her amusedly. “Seems like you two got the short end of the stick, doesn't it? Have fun being the strict parents while I take him with me on my new bike.”

“You will do nothing of the sort.”

“Ugh, you're already so boring and he's not ever here yet.”

James, who had been silent up until then, cleared his throat and spoke. “There's also something else, but you don't have to worry about that. It's... You'd be his legal guardian so if something were to happen to us, he'd stay with you instead of Petunia.”

Understanding dawned on Sirius, and the two looked at each other. 

You're my brother, you're family. These were the words that James hadn't said aloud, but that Sirius heard anyway. This exchange only lasted a second, and Sirius' somber expression disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by his signature smirk.

“Well, I'd be more concerned about Vernon rather than Petunia. Imagine growing up with that as your father figure when you can have me!”

Lily chuckled and threw a pillow at him. “Don't be an idiot, we still have time to change our minds. Peter or Remus will be far more grateful, dont you think, James? I'm sure they'll—”

Sirius waved his hand in dismissal. “That won't be necessary, I accept. But I'm still bitter about the guest room, mind you, and I'm going to hold it over your head.”

James nodded, deep in thought. “Hmm. How do you feel about a dog house?”

“Neutral, but I could be persuaded.”

“What if I told you it had pillows and a silk duvet?”

Sirius gasped and brought both of his hands over his mouth. “You know me so well, Prongs.”

[iwriteasfotini]

Sometimes in the fandom I get terrible imposter syndrome.

My writing isn't good enough. (always going to be a problem)

My book binding techniques aren't refined enough. (certainly not yet, but I am hoping to improve)

My artwork is straight up not sharable material. (this is ok as I don't consider myself an artist)

And then I have to remember 99% of everyone else probably feels like me.

Except that one person who created what looks like a Smithsonian exhibit quality book bind. That person knows they are rocking it.

Anyways... for everyone else who gets a dose of imposter syndrome every now and then... You are not alone.

PS if anyone wants to see a truly hilarious (and not completely poorly done IMO) book bind of an EPIC book... I will potentially share my project from last December, binding a +500K word fic in SIXTEEN thin volumes because at the time I didn't have the capacity/knowledge to print in signatures. So I sewed about 50 pages together along the spine by hand... over and over and over. Anyways, don't ever think a fic is too long to bind if you are willing to put in the time and effort and get REALLY creative.

Also please bind legally and respect author's wishes regarding their fics.

[wafflebloggies]

the long con - part 2/7

a Don't Feed The Muse/Captain Disillusion crossover story. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

*

When Mark finally lifted his head again, he realised that, of the few people who had been sitting at the long table, there was only one other guy left. He was only a few seats away, eating fries, his eyes fixed on the screen of his small laptop with a poorly-disguised air of conscious embarrassment.

Mark realised that his conversation with Anthony had not been very quiet. The guy had probably heard every word of it, although to his credit he looked as if he’d much rather not have. Feeling rather hot in the face, Mark was ready to just slink off and follow Anthony, except that right behind the first realization came another, even less welcome.

He knew the guy.

Recognized, was the better word. He hadn’t realised right away, because the last time he’d seen him, he’d been sitting alongside Anthony in the hot darkness of the main auditorium. Not only that, but in costume and with half his face painted bright silver, up on stage under a bank of bright lights, pacing, talking, he’d looked a whole lot different from how he did right now. He looked like an entirely different person, just a nondescript guy in jeans and a faded shirt with his lanyard twisted round the wrong way, awkwardly eating fries.

He glanced up, and their eyes met.

Mark didn’t feel like he had a lot of dignity left to preserve, but he tried, anyway, struggling for the first thing he could think of to say to make this less uncomfortable. He half-laughed, indicating the guy’s food, his own.

“Sorry, I was just thinking how I picked the bad ending. Those look way better than, um, this.”

(Cool, great, Mark. Smooth. Well done.)

The guy smiled. “Vegetarian?”

“Yeah.”

“Plain fries are usually a safe bet, even a convention food stall doesn’t have a lot of scope there to...” He gave the lasagna a sympathetic, mildly horrified look, and slid the fries a little way towards Mark.

“Oh, uh, no, but thanks. I guess you go to a lot of cons?” Mark shook his head. “I mean, of course you do. I- you’re Captain Disillusion, right?”

The guy gave a head-shake of his own, a wry, self-deprecating half-smile. “No, just his intern. My name’s Alan.”

“Right, yeah, okay. Sorry.” Mark felt a queasy stomach-spike of embarrassment. Of course the guy didn’t want to be called by his character name, his YouTube persona, when he was just trying to eat and probably catch some alone time. “Uh, I’m Mark. Mark Mayhew.”

“Hi, Mark,” said Alan, lifting his hand in an artless sort of mini-wave. He was older than Mark by at least ten years, a little grey just beginning to fleck his dark, curly hair at the temples, and up close he had the worn, mildly abstracted look of someone who hadn’t slept well for at least a week straight. He was pink around the eyes and slightly sunburned across the nose, and- like pretty much everyone else around them- dressed in a way that suggested his clothes had been screwed up in a suitcase for longer than was good for them.

Mark sat himself up a little straighter. The inevitable sick tension was starting to grow somewhere around the bottom of his throat, as he tried to pull together the enthusiasm, wind himself up for the pitch. It was the absolute last thing that he wanted to do, but with this kind of chance thrown his way, he couldn’t give himself the time to even think of passing it up.

“Hey, are- are you busy right now?”

“Not exactly I’m waiting for...” Alan hesitated, indicated his laptop with a fry. “Well, anyway, I’ve been watching videos of Korean jelly rabbit desserts for like an hour.”

Mark took a deep breath. “I saw your talk on Friday. Really good, the effects, um, especially the way you used pre-recorded stuff? I feel like you put in more effort for just a talk about-” For a nightmare moment, he nearly forgot what the talk had been about completely, but a memory of Anthony raving happily about it afterwards saved him. “-citing sources and stuff, um, than literally anyone else we’ve seen this weekend. Just, really great. A- a lot of fun.”

Alan looked weirdly, wincingly uncertain about the compliment, but Mark thought he looked pleased too. He would have taken anything as encouragement, just now. He’d been doing this (as Anthony had been so quick to point out) in various ways, with varying flavours of abject failure as a result, all weekend. It did not get easier with practice, certainly not for Mark, who in some ways was more sensitive than he would ever been able to admit. Rejection struck him deeply in a very vulnerable place, no matter how he tried to steel himself beforehand.

And sure, while the channel had just been fun, with no pressure and no expectations, he’d only ever wanted the next video to be better than the last. He’d really cared, like Anthony cared, about how good they were for themselves, and how enjoyable they were to make. Fun and creativity, two aspects he’d thrown aside, had to, in exchange for this, for how they could potentially…

“And,” he continued before he could lose his nerve altogether, digging into the front pocket of his backpack and pulling out a card, “I thought, maybe, you might be interested in a collab? I know,” he said, quickly, wishing his hands didn’t feel so immediately sweaty or his face so hot, “it’s not exactly the same kind of content, we’re mainly about the movie reviews so far, but I know you’ve touched on movies before, you did that Ghostbusters thing, so it’s not so much of a jump, right?”

“Um,” said Alan. He looked immediately uncomfortable, and although he did take the card, it was very transparent that he was only looking at it as an alternative for looking up, or anywhere near Mark. “I mean, I don’t-”

“-and we’re not that big yet, but we’ve been growing pretty fast and if you could help us with some visibility I feel like our demographic would really-”

“Hey, listen,” said Alan, gently, “Mark- right?”

“Yeah.” It was on the card, along with Anthony’s name, their contact info, a nice professional embossed front which Mark was starting to really regret paying extra for. Nobody he’d managed to give one to had seemed too interested in actually looking at it. He had a wretched conviction that most of the cards he’d managed to give out over the weekend were lying around in various trashcans around the con, in corners, under booths, discarded in rooms.

Alan did look at the card, at least. He passed it uncomfortably from one had to the other, turning it over.

“This kind of thing really... wouldn’t be up to me,” he said. “You’d have to ask the Captain, but, um…”

He put it down on the table, on top of his own little pile of paper.

“I don’t think he’s looking to do any collabs right now.”

“Right,” said Mark. His stomach was a sick little lump, and his disdain for the guy sitting across from him was rising, despite his efforts to shut off, to not take it personally. Once the initial rejection was over, he was learning, it wasn’t always easy to extract himself without anything happening to make him feel worse. In this case, he didn’t appreciate this guy’s facetious tactic of hiding behind his own made-up character, like it was a joke, like Mark wasn’t even worth taking seriously. It was definitely the weirdest rejection he’d gotten so far, and probably the most cowardly. A kind of ‘you’d have to ask Management,’ when they both knew the Management in question was fictional.

“I guess ‘Captain Disillusion’ usually works with bigger channels,” he said, and the disappointment and humiliation – not just from this, more from this being a sequel of the entire miserable weekend- sharpened his voice far more than he intended it to.

Alan didn’t seem offended, though. He sort-of-laughed.

“I’m starting to see where the ‘Cynical’ part comes in,” he said. “It’s not really about that. When we make a video, we just kind of usually want to make a point, and if there’s a channel that wants to work with us that we feel like would help make it clearer, or more entertaining, and it’s relevant to what we wanted to do…” He shrugged. “It just kind of happens naturally, you know? It’s not always a great idea to push something just because you want to grow, or look better in the algorithm. It’s not how we work, anyway. I mean, it’s not how the Captain works, it… never has been. I really think, that if you just make the stuff you want to make, the right people will find it. It just… takes time.”

This was so close to what Anthony had said, that Mark felt his frustration and the fear in his chest kick up a notch just as if it had been Anthony sitting there saying it. He looked away, picking up his spork and poking at the rubbery cheese-adjacent substance on top of his lasagna. “Right.”

And then, ignoring the small voice that told him not to, the better instinct that whispered that it was a bad idea and he should just shut up about the whole thing and move on with at least a molecule of dignity intact, he said, “It must be great to have the option. Just work with whoever you want, right?”

“Uh-”

“We’re getting there, though,” continued Mark. On some level he was quite aware that he sounded stupidly petty, spiteful, the epitome of sour grapes, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “I know you don’t do sponsors, I mean, I noticed you’ve never had one that wasn’t, you know, made up, buuut... actually we’ve already had an offer from a pretty big concern? I don’t wanna name-drop until everything’s hammered out, but there could be a lot of money in the kind of stuff they’ve been talking about with us.”

(With me.)

“I mean,” said Alan, thoughtfully, after a pause, “congratulations? Maybe? But, um…” He hesitated, rubbing an ear, looking past Mark and across the disarray of empty seats as if looking for the right words, then sighed and pulled in his chair, leaning in. He had not, initially, struck Mark as the kind of person who felt comfortable making eye contact, often or at all, but now he looked up and caught Mark’s eye. His own look was anxious, but steady, and kind.

“Look, I’ve probably been on YouTube for a couple…” He glanced at the card again. “...or, um, fourteen, years, longer than you have, and if I could tell you anything I’ve learned, it’s probably that if someone… okay, if anyone’s offering a small channel a lot of money up front or… talking about exposure, like, they’ve got big contacts behind the scenes, stuff like that? Maybe?”

He looked up, but Mark had control of himself again, and his face was a wall.

“Then, uh, they probably don’t have... your best interests? In mind. I’m not saying everyone’s like that, but… look, even just listening to you and your friend- sorry, uh, you guys were a little loud- but I can tell you have a lot of enthusiasm. A lot of ideas. And... sometimes that’s a problem, because there’s people who’d be happy to just take all of it, take all of your energy and creativity from you as if it’s all just fuel for…” He spiralled a hand, uncertainly. “I don’t know. Something you’ll never see any return for, anyway. Your creative identity, and- and your ideas, they’re the most important commodity you have...”

With one uneasy hand, he twitched a couple of half-hearted quote marks. “You know, if you want to look at it like that. A- a lot of people do, and I don’t… generally like? Those kinds of people. On YouTube. Or, um… anywhere, really. Not to be like, Old Man Yelling At Cloud about it, but it’s really pervasive, and I’ve seen way too much of it just this weekend.”

Having wandered to the end of such a plate of verbal spaghetti, Alan blinked, looked embarrassed, rubbed his sunburned nose. “I’m sorry, I don’t wanna lecture. You seem pretty smart, Mark. I’m not saying you’d fall for anything like that, but I’ve… I’ve seen it happen, okay?”

Mark hesitated. To some small and unsquashable part of his unhappy mind, Alan’s gentle advice felt like the most solid, inarguable sense he’d heard all weekend. He couldn’t have said why, and it didn’t feel like the why even mattered that much.

He was too weary, too deeply on his guard, too heavily under siege from a dozen directions, too desperate, but for a moment, it all went away. His mind cleared of the fear, the merciless noise,and he nearly found himself sitting up, laying his hands on the table, looking back into Alan’s tired, well-meaning eyes and saying, there’s a thing like a squid-ink soccer ball with eyes in my closet, and it talks to me, and it says it can help me save my mom.

He didn’t. But he almost, almost, did.

Some topics were conversation-starters. Some were conversation-enders. Some things, terrible and volatile, unbelievable and crazy-sounding and traitorous as they were, were more like universe-enders. If spoken, the known world- Mark’s known world, with all of its terrible borderline fragility, its pain and its promise, would just... cease to be.

The feeling, the threat of this severance, was too much. Mark nodded, forced a smile.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Anyway- look, thank you for your time. Really. I gotta go… enjoy the rest of the con. Nice meeting you, Alan.”

“Sure…” said Alan, uncertainly, as Mark hooked his backpack from the floor and bolted to his feet with nearly enough alacrity to knock his chair into the aisle. “You too. Good luck with-”

But Mark was already hurrying away.

*

Alan, left to himself at the long, empty table, watched Mark’s retreating back wind through the lobby and out of view. The thoughtful, vaguely worried look was jolted entirely off his face in the very next moment, as someone dropped into the seat directly across from him with enough jarring momentum to make the whole table lurch across the tiles, let out a long, exasperated sigh, reached over and started eating his fries.

After a first startled jump, neither the violent arrival or the fry-theft had much effect on Alan, who only put Mark’s card away in his back pocket, and said, “Hello, sir.”

“We’ve got an emergency, Alan. The web team have the vod from the talk ready to go up, but they say the audio’s out of sync.”

“W- I- it shouldn’t be.” If Mark had been there to watch, he would have been witness to an immediate and major change in Alan’s overall demeanour, as soon as the Captain had shown up. On paper, they were identical in terms of height and build, identical in appearance aside from the obvious difference of the Captain’s silver skin. The upper half of the Captain’s face- the mask- was identical to Alan’s, everything else the same right down to the colour of their hair and their eyes, although the Captain didn’t have grey hairs unless he felt like it, and the Captain’s eyes were bright and intense and sometimes caught the light in an odd, overly vivid way.

The biggest difference was in attitude. The Captain stood taller, moved quicker, spoke with curt, effortless fluency, an abrupt kind of grace in everything he said or did. With the Captain sitting across from him, Alan looked shorter, smaller, held himself with a perpetually tense, awkward deference. With Mark, he’d been thoughtful, ready to offer advice. With the Captain, he seemed immediately scattered, not so much defensive as defeated.

“I- I checked the whole thing. Are you sure you sent them the right fi-”

“Well, whatever you screwed up, just sort it out with them. I don’t need to know the details, okay?” The Captain stopped eating fries, as if he’d only just registered what he’d been putting in his mouth. He pulled a face. “Did you put mustard on these?”

“On… my fries, yeah, I did. Uh, I could get you some-”

“They’re cold.” The Captain poked around in the container for a moment, searching for mustard-less, untainted fry content, then gave up in disgust and pushed it away over the table. Alan only just caught it before it shot right off the edge, fielding it at the furthest reach of his arm like some Old-West bar patron catching a fast-slung finger of Scotch.

“Anyway, get on it.” The Captain pushed back his sleeve and tapped a few buttons on his comm device. It beeped urgently at him. “We’re supposed to be out of here in like an hour. Is the shuttle packed yet?”

“Uh, no,” said Alan, to the salt crystals scattered across the tabletop. “I was going to start after-”

“Start? I thought you’d be done this morning.”

“I- I couldn’t,” said Alan. “I didn’t have time, I had to- I had to set up for my talk.”

“Oh, right.” With a bored, somewhat petulant kind of emphasis, the Captain sat back, rolling his sleeve back down over his glove. “That thing. When is it, again?”

“Two hours ago,” said Alan.

He closed his laptop and put his notes and the rest of his fries on top of it, ready to go. Sensing a lack of movement from the other side of the table, he hazarded a look as he got to his feet and found that the Captain was staring at him with a very odd expression on his face. It was sort of blank, but there was panic in it, unmistakeable and rising, underneath.

He had seen the Captain panicking before, rarely enough, and almost always with very good cause, usually of the major-unexpected-catastrophe variety. He had never seen this look aimed directly at himself. He didn’t look annoyed, or impatient- just completely, genuinely caught off guard.

“What?” said the Captain.

“Two… hours ago?” repeated Alan. When the Captain said nothing, just continued to look at him as if something apocalyptic had happened, he started to get extremely nervous. For lack of anything else to say, he started, “I think it went pretty-”

The Captain made a sudden movement, tapping his hands together in a T-sign, cutting him off. “Wait, whoah-whoah-whoah, you’re sure?”

“Am I... sure my talk was two hours ago? I mean, yes?”

“No, because, that would have been at four PM, and it’s- six oh eight right now, so that would mean it’s… it happened, already, as in, it’s over, which-” The Captain broke off. “You’re really sure?”

“Sir, I- I was there.”

“But that would mean I missed it!”

Alan had no idea how to field this. The Captain did not tend to demonstrate a lot of unusual emotions in his presence, which was to say, he usually stuck with variations on the two most familiar ones, impatience and contempt. Certain things about the whole weekend had been… unusual, in general, and he really wasn’t sure what this weird display of… interest? Panic? Something, anyway, could possibly be tending to. He felt tired (and worried, still, somewhere at the back of his mind where Mark’s pale and hungry face rested uneasily) and confused. Rather than press the issue, he picked up his little tableaux of laptop and papers and fries and started trying to spot the nearest trash can across the emptying vista of the food court.

“It doesn’t matter, Captain. I’ll go get my stuff and get the shuttle packed. I’ve got the main web guy’s info, I’ll make sure he gets the right- I mean, I’ll fix the audio thing.”

“Alan, wait!”

Alan looked back. He watched, confused, as the Captain extricated himself from the table and caught up with him. That the Captain wanted to say something, was evident in his struggling face and the formless shapes his black-gloved hands made in the air, but all that came out in the end was,

“I- I… I’ll come with you.”

“Okay…?” When the Captain failed to start moving, Alan, who was painfully aware of getting in other people’s way and conscious that the two of them were blocking the whole aisle, took a couple of uncertain steps backwards and managed to spur him into following. He dumped the fries in the trash as they passed, heading for the elevators.

[faery-snow]

Who else wants to rehash LRLG highlights? Because I do!!!

I have been having a really shitty month so far (and I'm a Leo so this month should be a happy exciting one!! Sigh) and today I hit several walls with some doctor visits and just needed something to get me through the day.

I came on to ask for your favorite inspiring quotes/moments from YiZhan and instead I got LRLG??!!!!!!! Best cheer to inject into this shitty day.

I love the quotidian nature of LRLG, the day-to-day of shared life and of people intersecting. There's always some sweetness, and yet the sweetest parts are often the most mundane.

That said, Yibo has some incredibly romantic things to say in these snippets??!!! 😳😳

There are a lot of sweet moments in here (DD being in awe of GG's beauty! DD has never been more relatable haha!) but just to pick out a few:

(Gonna put these in my own words/with my own interpretation; you know the drill, these conversations are often hard to parse anyway, and I am not a native speaker!)

DD wanting GG to visit, and saying that if GG forgets something when he comes (I took this as, "who cares about packing, just come"), they can just buy it. We don't get GG's reply, but based on context I implied that GG teases him, "oh really, NOTHING is missing at all, you have EVERYTHING?" And DD says, "You're missing; I can't buy you [at the store]."

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

And then when DD and staff are talking about a staff member's partner/relationship. Lots of teasing; I'm so glad he has this camaraderie around him. One staff member teases him that we can't all have the idyllic romance DD and GG do, and DD answers back with seriousness that I really loved:

Do your relationship in the way that makes you two feel comfortable. Work through your differences, and the rest will slot into place.

🥹💛💛💛

It's encouraging to me that even when my own life and health are going poorly, there are moments of joy and happiness for people who deserve it, and queer couples having healthy, growing relationships.

May DD always have this hopeful light inside him burning brightly, and may he and GG always have what they need to work through their differences and through the hardships they encounter in life.

I also love how they both make an effort to meet in the middle. That's how healthy relationships are done! GG travels to see DD, and DD takes care of him with time to rest and a neck massage ❤️💛💚.

One day all queer folks will get to live openly. I truly believe that.

[pentition]

You know, the more I get to know Yan the more he grows on me. Pen is always going to be my special little rotten boy. But Catori. Fucking Catori. My bisexual older woman loving ass was planning to marry her but the more I get the know her the more I actually despise her. It's not even in a funny way. She is just a deadbeat mother and almost as bad as Yan with how she runs a business but she isn't funny about like Yan or charming like Arvio. Like, no redeeming qualities. It's sad because she is so pretty. :/

Spoilers mentioned!!

I will never hesitate to say I adore Yan. I love scummy characters who are committed to being that. I'll never advocate that Yan is a good person but I think he has some shining moments where he isn't dead inside. Emotionally speaking.

I especially love the line he drops when you befriend him:

"Greetings, newbie! On your way to pick up a commission? Ah, forget about it, I'll get someone to cover for you. Enjoy your youth!"

Like I totally get that Yan is a slacker but there's something so funny to me that his version of friendship is going, "Ah, fuck it, be a slacker too newbie". But I also am endeared to the whole 'enjoy your youth' too. He didn't at all have to say that or feel it but there it is.

I'm just so fascinated in how this scumbag also is like, a baby duck in a way. He sorta imprints on the builder enough to keep picking them when he has to rely on someone. He's so catty to try and create some beef between the builder and Mi-an, or imply it. Plays favorites, tries to get the builder to be his personal lackey in a way. When Duvos occupies Sandrock briefly he puts the effort into your builder.

There's a lot I love about that because Yan thinks himself the greatest and your builder is an idiot that totally looks up to him and wants to work for him. Regardless if you canon that as true or not, it doesn't change the fact that Yan also has little moments of relief. Where he's a little nicer. You can say on the spectrum of morality and kindness that the dude is still in the sewers, and that's true, but on an individual scale I feel like that's still big for him. Scummy people who break a little, even just to say like one almost-nice word, don't really deserve an applause but it's still some sorta big deal for them.

Idk, I think he's just a neat little freak. I like the effort put into his character and I just want to keep him in my pocket and listen to him judge everything poorly.

On a side note: I have a small conspiracy theory that I don't think is canon but also stays rent free in my head. It mainly consists of how during one or more holidays, I think ones with fireworks? If you try and talk to him he's all confused and just basically goes, "Mmm. Hm? What? Where am I? Mommy?" sorta thing. I can't recall it word for word and I haven't organized my screencaps to find it easily yet. But when I first engaged in it my brain went, 'is this little freak brainwashed?' That's not to say he isn't a shit. Because he is. But even shitty people can be repurposed, brainwashed or indoctrinated. And if they can make super soldiers like Pen, well...

At some point I'll dedicate a post to this conspiracy theory, pfft.

Anyways, I ranted enough on Yan. I wouldn't personally call Arvio charming, I want to choke him a little bit in the not-so-fun-way. Catori is sort of in the same box I keep Arvio in where I still don't know how I feel about them. I can understand her intentions of wanting to create a place for her kiddo before allowing them to come over. I understand she is relying heavily on her own mother (parents? my brain is rusty) to raise her son? (rusty brain please). I've known a lot of parents and single mothers, especially younger ones, who have to step away to some degree to accomplish what is needed for their child/children. So that part of Catori I get and don't mind.

But there's still something about who she is as a person that rubs me wrong. I don't know if it's a matter of where her effort is placed or maybe just it's just the writing for her - she switches between being understandable when talking about her family and intentions to being inconsiderate with her expectations with her businesses. It's a bit confusing. I adore her design and aspects about her but I think I just need to pay more attention on my new playthrough and figure out my own feelings regarding her. Hmm.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary216

4/18-19/2024

thursday - friday

work sucked but tomorrow is gonna be an off day for me so yay.

reading was good, basically done with the book now, only a few pages left. getting through this section about delinquency was very important, given that it's all focusing on how it's not just constructed and not just precipitated by the disciplinary structures/apparatuses, but is in fact useful, the delinquent is the outcome of the surveillance of, penetration of, popular illegalities, and so delinquency is the transforming of perhaps more potential-filled acts of those in contact/ in the class of popular illegality, the peasants, the poor, and this here is an important fact, where justice was concerned with all criminals from any background, we here see the turn of penality and the carceral towards a particular set of groups, figures of a particular 'race' as some seemed to want to put it, he goes into an example of a man who, if he were born a little earlier, offended sooner, or had been capable of being wrapped up in the period of revolution, his actions, poorly thought out offenses against the law, would make of him a revolutionary figure, prior to this example, foucault mentions a man who is opposed but exemplary of this turn of the delinquent, when the delinquent becomes an officer of the law, or rather, one of the penetrating, surveilling, and punishing forces of the disciplinary structure. even more, we see the employ of the 'delinquent,' this constructed person, created by institutions, a manipulable point, in strike-breaking, and similar acts against political efforts.

this is not to say foucault is writing some screed against the delinquent, evidently it is against the processes which develop them as such, as an exploitable class, essentially, or to transform what would not like to be used into the useful, but it is not as if he does not have warm feelings towards the transgressors, this is an important point, he does not see a lack of potential in those branded as delinquent, but that this potential is robbed of them by their being made visible. another example he brings is this 13 year old boy who, so full of liberty, a vagabond, his words before the judge, without a care really, saying he has no father or mother, that he does what he likes, goes where he wants, of great import to foucault, the judge asks where his home is, and for him, it is important that all has a home, the judge, he does not administer homes but tells you that you must live in one. this boy saying, to this, i have none, carelessly, flies in the face of the necessity of which we are expected to believe in, the nature of the human, to have family and home, to have roots, the vagabond, and much greater than the offense for foucault, the language of this dissociation from the normal, is what needs to be managed by these structures,

another example he brings of delinquency as useful, is the management of prostitution, their being accepted as medical patients, they are not prevented from, say, having to sell themselves, they instead are enabled to do so healthily via doctors, managed via informants and utilized by many, their cash not simply flowing in the realm of the illegal also, by management from police and prisons having eyes in these places via the police, capital and knowledge are extracted.

this is why the prison's 'failure' is so useful ultimately.

now i am onto the section on the carceral, back to mettray and the description of the prison.

anyway, what else today, my shoes broke when i took them off when i got home. sucks. they were my mom's, i really liked wearing them when i could wear them for not work, but i've had to go to work, sooo, yeah, all the walking's degraded them. i'm gonna try and wear my gf's asics to work, they aren't black but idk. i'm only gonna be here for about 2 more months i think. there's also a check i think i need to still get.

weird how they just don't say anything and stuff.

anyway, is there anything else i can think of saying, i dunno, my head hurts, i'm sleepy, thinking about buying ram and another ssd for my coming laptop, which i'm excited about. if i make it sort of psycho wrt storage i'd be happy. but idk what i'd really do with all that space.

listening to this right now. lovely song, was reading an interview w/ trent reznor where he talks about how marc almond is super off vocally in some ways, like sharp and rushing, and he kinda is, makes me feel better about how my vocals slide around and stuff on songs, makes me also think maybe the imperfections will be less obvious to people and maybe a little more of a compelling thing than a turn off in some ways? idk. we will see i suppose. tomorrow i've gotta listen to the record also.

now this:

making me think about what i should do about songs where the bass is less present, maybe. i really like the sound of the bass these guys had.

here in this one too. sonny kay is also not a perfect vocalist and he rocks, so maybe i'm chlling kinda. i've gotta internalize that a bit better before listening i think, to my record i mean. hope sleep works some kind of magic on that.

here's something funny, and then after this i go to sleep cuz i am sleepy and hurting vaguely. one of those horror things i watched the other day, greylock, (my desire to check on these things is way questionable cuz as much as i like horror it never really gets at what i want (that being said the mckinney family one does get at something i think, at least)), i was getting weirdly reactionary stuff from it, sorta like, the conspiracy stuff, the way of mobilizing paranoia, victimization of women, all that kind of stuff, i scroll on the creator's twitter account, and like, far back but because he posts like not at all, he's like spreading libsoftiktok type stuff, talking about jan 6th, all that kinda stuff, and apparently all his other videos are weird like, true crime type things. how odd. i'm not disappointed or anything, but i sort of thought the guy making it just didn't realize he'd intone that kind of thing in his work, and that maybe he was just like, one of those guys who insists he's just normal and unaffiliated. but he is just kind of all in, which makes what he's making more interesting honestly, how close it cleaves to like, local58 is so weird. a lot of the stuff counter to the found footage type stuff i see on yt horror is this animated stuff, there's that one channel like, i can't sleep or something, i forget, those videos are cute but a little hard to experience as horror, i'll say the affect carried by them is good and the processing of the animations and stuff is really good, the lack of sound is smart, but the style, which i like, i'm just so... idk, i grew up with that, it's i guess expressing what the animations are expressing, being cute and damaged and stuff which i like, but it's also like, i see people being like 'omg this is so twisted and scary,' and i feel kinda lost, on that front. that is just not how it makes me feel, maybe i need to watch it all though for anything to sink in.

there's also those lacey's flash game videos but those are a little , i don't know, they're a bit much.

i guess i want to see something where the main idea isn't either that the person making it seems to have no idea where they're going, animatronics, local tv stations, or this kind of walking out of trauma as a sole definition of someone rather than like, an inflection point one moves from in weird ways, maybe, a point which is open to the absence of visibility, as much as people try to make it visible, or people who absorb psychological apparatuses of viewing, those bases of knowledge as what constructs interiority and suffering.

there was one good one i watched, a while ago, about roblox. it wasn't scary, it was just about having friends online and how people grow distant because of home lives you can't even really know beyond what they show you. i can't remember the name of it, or anything like that. it's maybe one of the smarter things i've seen in this kind of work about being online and stuff.

which makes me think, soon i need to publish a story i've been sitting on, maybe i go and edit it and stuff?

another odd thing, the roblox one maybe works very well for me because i was never into it. i never really played it save for a couple times which were kind of just jokes i was roped into.

anyway, i need to sleep now, so

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[unseededtoast]

One Bright Morning | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: After experiencing the most traumatic moment of your life, Spencer helps guide you through the darkness into one bright morning that changes the both of you. (Based off of "First Light" by Hozier)

Cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings: Violence, angst, light smut. Poorly edited

a/n: Howdy y'all, this is my second Spencer oneshot based off a Hozier song and honestly at this point i think i might just create a Spencer fic for every song on Unreal Unearth. Anyways, here's my masterlist if you wanna check out my other stuff:)

"Hello?" You hear his voice as the door swings open, and the soft lighting from inside his apartment illuminates his figure as if he's an angel. 

"Please." Is all you can say through your cries and he wastes no time before he's helping you inside of his apartment. 

Your forehead is slick with sweat, your stomach tied into knots as you pace back and forth. Shaking hands push away the hair falling into your face and you know you have to do something soon, or the little girl is going to die. Your mind swims in all the information the team has collected about the unsub so far, trying to identify any leverage you can use in a last ditch effort to save the hostage's life.

"Does anybody have anything?" Your voice is thick with stress and tension, a bead of sweat rolls down your back. The quick pitter patter of your heart echoes in your ears and it's almost like a ticking time bomb.

"We've tried every angle we can think of." Morgan answers, equally as stressed out. But you can't accept that answer, there has to be something.

"What if I go in? Offer myself for her? He might think he can use me to get out of this situation." You're already taking off your bulletproof vest to carry out the mission, but Hotch puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you from taking it all the way off.

"No, it's too risky. We know he's suffering from hallucinations and if you walk in there he might just kill you." He explains, but you fight his hand off your shoulder. Maybe it's just the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but you can't understand why the team isn't doing more to save the girl.

"And if we don't do anything she's for sure going to die." Before he can protest, you shove your vest into his hands and make your way to the house across the street.

The team had tried to negotiate with the unsub, feeding him false promises of a safe getaway and immunity, but he hadn't taken them. He explained that in order for the victims soul's to be saved, they had to die before they could "commit an unforgivable sin". He's convinced he's saving their souls, but what he's actually doing is mutilating young girls in their own homes and leaving their bodies for their families to find. Unfortunately for him, you and the rest of the team had interrupted his salvation of this girl and unfortunately for the team, he had taken the girl hostage and is unwilling to let her go.

The house he's blockaded himself in is a typical, unassuming suburban home. The landscaping is manicured to perfection, the lawn is trimmed neatly, but behind the white door is a deranged murderer with a knife to an eight year old's throat. Your feet quickly carry you to the door and with heavy, shaky breaths, you knock on the door and speak to the unsub.

"I want to be saved." You tell him, hoping to appeal to his delusion. There's a loud crash in the house and you hear the girl cry out.

"Please, I want to be saved." You say with more urgency. Twisting the handle of the door, you slowly make your way in, not seeing the unsub or the little girl anywhere in immediate view. After a few seconds of silence, you hear the girl's muffled cries.

"I know you can save me. Please, help me." You beg, making your way towards the sound. As you round the corner into the kitchen, you see the unsub holding the knife directly over the girl's carotid artery. Your eyes dance from the blade to the psychopath holding it and see nothing but pure evil within him.

"Don't move another step. I know you're one of them." He yanks the girl back, further into his hold and you put your hands out in front of you to show him you're unarmed. Your head shakes, denying his claim.

"They're wrong. They don't understand the mission." Another small step is taken towards the man, and for a second you see his resolve starting to falter.

"No, they don't. I'm just trying to save them!" He cries out, seeming to be in agony. Another step is taken towards him. You're only ten feet away from him, if things keep going well you might just be able to get the girl from his grasp.

"Save me. Please, I want to be saved." You boldly take two more steps forward but freeze on the spot when he jerks back with the girl, pressing the blade more tightly to her neck.

"You can't be saved. No, not you. You've already committed an unforgivable sin. But she can still be saved. Yes, she can still be saved." His gaze moves from you to the crying girl, his voice becoming more stable.

You see a sick smirk crawl its way onto the man's face, and he glances at you from the corner of his eye before he readjusts his grip on the blade. As if time suddenly begins moving in slow motion, you see him tilt his head back like he's experiencing euphoria and his arm makes one clean swiping motion. Reaching out in a last ditch effort, you try to still his motion, but it's too late. You were too late.

Your body knocks into the man's and sends him tumbling to the ground. The fountain of blood released from the girl's neck splatters your face, she chokes and gurgles as she falls to the floor. Ignoring the man, you collapse beside the girl, holding your hands to her neck in a frenzied attempt of saving her life. You get tunnel vision, the only thing you can see is the girl and how the light slowly dims in her eyes.

At some point, you must have screamed out and alerted the others, because several pairs of hands are dragging you away from the girl. You fight them with all the strength you have left, reaching out for her small body, desperately trying to help her as her crimson blood drips through your fingers.

A team of EMTs rushes into the house past you and you see them leaning over the girl before you're taken away from the scene. You feel your chest tighten, your heartbeat race, and you're not able to form a coherent thought. All that consumes your mind is the little girl and how you were right there. You were right there and you still weren't able to save her.

-----

Days later you walk back into the office, running on maybe five hours of sleep since the incident. You had been given instructions to take three days off before coming back in and you know the team had to deal with the fallout of your shortcoming. In fact, you walked in with your badge and gun in hand, fully prepared to be suspended.

The atmosphere in the office is noticeably tense. Everyone is quiet with their heads down doing their jobs. Without greeting your team like normal, you duck your head and make a straight route towards your desk, trying to make as little sound as possible when you take your seat. Placing your gun and badge beside your computer, you see a single file laying on your desk. There are usually about ten.

Trying your best to keep your composure, you open the file and are met with a blank incident report. Unable to think about filling it out, all you can do is blink back at the white paper. What do they expect you to say? Thankfully, you're ripped from going down that rabbit hole by a hand touching your shoulder. Looking over, you see Hotch with a somber look on his face.

"Why don't you follow me?" His voice is quiet, and you agree wordlessly, following him into his office. As you walk through the office, you try to commit it to memory just in case this is your last day here.

Once you reach Hotch's office, you take a seat in front of his desk and wait for him to say something. You're keenly aware that you deserve to be suspended and reprimanded for you actions, or lack thereof, seeing as how you blatantly ignored orders.

"None of us blame you." His words shock your system, eyebrows drawing tightly together and lips falling apart in confusion.

"But-" You try to condemn yourself, but he holds up a finger to stop your words.

"All of us here have lost someone. Some more than others. It comes with the territory of the job, this is only your second year and you have a lot to learn. But with that said, you did ignore orders to not engage. For that, we cannot let you back in the field until you're deemed fit again. You're to stay here and help from the office while we go to case sites." Your mouth feels dry as he speaks, and you can't understand why your punishment isn't more harsh. An eight year old girl died because of you and all you're getting is a slap on the wrist?

"But-" You try to convince him again that you deserve worse, but he cuts you off again.

"Don't say anything. Go back to your desk and do your job." He orders you away, and this time you listen to him. Your walk back to your desk is a blur, mind fuzzy with questions you don't have the answer to. You feel several pairs of eyes on you, but you ignore them and go back to staring at the blank white paper that waits for you.

-----

Hours pass by, and you've made no progress on the report. You thought that maybe a change of scenery would help, and so you relocated to the break room with only the paper and a single pen. The team is already preparing to leave on their next assignment, and all except you and Spencer are going. Spencer had volunteered to stay behind and help Garcia, which he did on occasion.

You hear the team approaching the break room, preparing to leave, and so you quickly grab the pen and act like you're writing something useful. They come in and grab last minute snacks, telling you that they'll be back in a few days and you give them the best smile you can muster and watch with a tired soul as they walk out to catch the next monster.

"You know that's not true, right?" A voice behind you startles you, causing you to jump and drag a line of black ink across the paper. Spencer is standing behind you, coffee cup in hand.

"What?" You ask, not having the slightest idea of what he means. He takes a seat beside you at the table, his eyes locked onto the paper you had been scribbling your thoughts on.

"What you're writing. It's not true." You look from his face down to the paper to see what exactly you wrote. You're not entirely sure yourself.

She died right in front of me because I was slow. I was too slow and she's gone. She was right there. Right there.

The words accurately reflect the rhetoric that's been repeating itself inside your mind around the clock. You can't seem to find the lie he so obviously sees. You've  been working with Spencer for two years now, and his mind still amazes you. But even geniuses are wrong sometimes. With a shake of your head, you bite the inside of your cheek and stare at the words.

"It's exactly what happened though." You confess, clearly remembering how the man had time to enjoy slitting the girl's throat. And you were still too slow.

"You tried to feed into his delusions, it was the only play we had left. And you were probably the best one to approach him, seeing as how you most closely resembled his victims." He explains with a wave of his free hand. Your eyes meet his and you see that he's being sincere. You've never been good at expressing your emotions, and so you try to deflect the ones bubbling up inside you.

"Spencer, are you saying I look like a ten year old girl?" You know he's only trying to help you deal with your fresh trauma, but you can't help yourself from making the comment. Used to your antics, his mouth flattens into a straight line.

"You do not look like a ten year old girl but seeing as how you're the youngest one on the team it was the best we shot we had." He follows up his explanation. You appreciate the effort he's making to make you feel better, you just wish it worked. With a sigh, you crumple the paper up and toss it across the room, barely missing the trash can.

"Don't say anything, I'm getting it." You preemptively dismiss the comment you know he's about to make. No matter how many times you try to sink a paper ball into the trash, you always end up missing somehow, and Spencer is always there to keep track of just how many you've missed.

"One hundred forty three." He quickly says before quickly moving out of the break room. A ghost of a smile finds its way onto your face and you pick up the pen you left on the table, going to search for a new report page.

-----

Unfortunately, by the end of the day, the report still had not been completed. You're unable to look at this case objectively, and you entertain the idea of asking Spencer to do it for you. But that would still mean you have to tell him what happened, and you know there's no chance those words can find their way out of your mouth.

The clock on the wall indicates that the work day is over, and so you close the blank paper inside the brown folder, vowing that tomorrow you will finish it. You don't want to stay here, but you also don't want to go home. But you guess it doesn't matter, no matter where you are you know the nightmares will find you in the dark.

Everyone leaves the office, save for you and Spencer, who's working over to finish his case backlog. Though in your two years here you've never known him to have a backlog. His insane memory is always allowing him to fly through reports three times faster than the rest of the team. But you're too tired, physically and emotionally, to delve into why he has a backlog now.

Realizing you've been staring at your desk for the past thirty minutes, you decide you can't stay here overnight. Standing from your desk you rub the drowsiness from your eyes and weakly smile to Spencer, who looked over to see what you were doing.

"See you bright and early." Your voice is soft as you push your chair back in.

"Wait, let me at least walk you out to your car. It's dark out there now." He says, standing from his own desk. You shake your head, not wanting to inconvenience him.

"That's okay Spencer, I'll be fine. But thank you." You try to dismiss him, but he's already got his jacket slung over his shoulders.

"I was just finishing up anyways." He says, and you're skeptical of how much of his statement is the truth. But you don't fight it, and let him accompany you to your car. After hours the office is eerily quiet, and you find yourself being thankful he wanted to walk you out.

"At least let me take you home, as a thank you." You say as you two walk out of the office doors into the parking lot. The chilly fall air infiltrates the thin shirt you're wearing, your breath evaporating in the air in a translucent white cloud.

"Sure, thank you." He says with a smile and the two of you climb into your car.

Spencer gives you directions to his apartment and you find out he only lives two blocks away from you. How you had never known this is a mystery. But had you have known you would've made the effort to offer him a ride more often. You park your car just outside of the building and look over at him, his hazel eyes illuminated beautifully by the amber glow of the streetlamp.

"I live just down the street." You break the silence as he unbuckles the seatbelt.

"And after all this time we've never seen each other outside of work." He points out and you smile,

"Well, this counts, right?" He lets out a small laugh and goes to open the door, but stops short of swinging it open. His lips open and close a few times, like he can't decide what he wants to say before he looks deep into your eyes once more, like he can see your mind through your pupils.

"You know, if it ever gets to be too much to deal with, you can tell me. I know how torturous thoughts can become." You're at a loss for words, but manage to nod your head. Spencer isn't known for openly extending empathy to very many people, in fact, you've only seen him do it twice so far. It's a break from the normal dynamic you two share and it throws you off for a second.

"Yeah, thank you." You say as he opens the door, leaving your passenger seat. He waves goodbye before he enters the building and you make sure he gets in before leaving for your own apartment, his words lingering in your head. What had happened to him to be able to understand such torment?

-----

A girl cries in front of you, her crimson tears flowing down her face and puddling on the floor. She's begging you to help her, to save her. Each time she's within reach, she slips right through your fingers and her agonizing screams ring inside your head.

Just like last night, and the night before that, and the night before that, you're awoken with a start. Panicked eyes stare down at your hands, expecting to see them coated in a thick layer of bright red blood, only to find that they've been scrubbed clean. In fact, they've been scrubbed so viciously that there are scratches from your nails evident on your knuckles.

Your head falls into your hands and you take in a shaky breath. The clock on your bedside table shows you that you've only managed to get two hours of sleep. But hey, it's more than last night so you guess you can't complain. Dragging yourself out of bed, you decide to get a shower, knowing that you're not going back to sleep.

As the scalding water trickles over your body, your mind is once again a chaotic mess. The girl's screams echo in your mind accompanied with questions about your effectiveness as an agent. If you were unable to save a girl within your reach, how good of an agent can you really be? How many more people will die as a result of your incompetence? Dwelling on that answer is almost enough to send you into an episode, but the hot water runs out and the cold shocks your system.

You step out and wrap yourself in a towel, but are unable to shake the thoughts away that easily. If you couldn't save that girl, how many do you expect to save? If you couldn't save her, then you won't be able to save others. And if that's the case, why are you still on the team? Your purpose is to protect and save people who are targeted by deranged killers, and if you can't fulfill that purpose, then what exactly are you doing? Wouldn't it just be better to give up your spot for someone who's more competent? Someone who can actually save people?

Your body moves as if it's been put on autopilot as you get ready for the day, hours earlier than what is necessary. Instead of holing up like a prisoner in your own home, you pull your shoes on and grab your keys, deciding to go for a walk and then head into work early.

It's still too early out for most people to be heading into work, so the streets are practically yours for now. A dense fog has settled across the roads and the crickets chirp all around. It's almost serene. Your feet begin wandering down streets with no real path or destination in mind, the coolness of the air helps keep you awake.

For about an hour you meander the streets until the clock on your phone shows that it's almost time to leave for work. When you reach your car, your gaze freezes on your passenger seat. Though you commute to work alone every day, the car feels empty now.

You don't drive yourself to work right away. Instead, you find yourself parked outside of Spencer's building, waiting for him to walk out so you can offer him a ride. It doesn't take long before he's walking towards your car, confusion clear on his face.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, opening the passenger door and getting in.

"I just figured you might enjoy a break from public transit." You smile softly at him before merging into traffic and taking the two of you to work.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for the remainder of the trip and once you park in front of the office building, you stop him from getting out by reaching a hand over the middle console and resting it on his bicep.

"How did you know that I was having bad thoughts?" Your voice is raw and you're sure you look exhausted. You're sure if your superiors found out about these thoughts that your punishment would be extended, but you're far too curious. He sighs,

"Persistent intrusive thoughts about a traumatic event are common. In fact, these thoughts can lead to insomnia and a change in normal daily functions." He explains like he's reading the words straight from a textbook. But you know it's more than that, it has to be. The way he offered his help yesterday was more reminiscent of someone who's lived through something similar. Empathy cannot be learned from a book.

"Right. Do they ever go away?" You don't push him to give you any answers about his own trauma, but you desperately want to know that these thoughts will eventually go away. Spencer glances down at your hand gripping his jacket,

"Sometimes they leave for a while. But, they don't ever leave forever." His answer is not what you had hoped for, but you know he wouldn't lie to you. You release him from your grip and clear your throat, turning your car off and getting out.

You know if the roles were reversed that you would suggest he seek out professional help. It's only the most logical way to deal with this sort of thing, but you know that you can't face a doctor and tell them about how you relive that girl's death every night. They'd surely diagnose you with something and you'd be kicked off the team.

But maybe being dismissed from this job would be the best thing for you. If you're unable to move on from this incident, how can you expect to function like everything is fine? And if something like this happens again, what will happen? Will you crumble completely?

As you step into the elevator, you can't help but wonder if the loss is worth it. Not only the loss of victims, but the loss of yourself as well. You feel the change within you, like a piece of you is fractured beyond repair.

Spencer and you part ways and begin your workload for the day. The blank white paper still waits for you. ----- The rest of the team had made it to the next site and had called Spencer and Garcia for their help. Of course, you used this as an excuse to abandon the report on your desk, insisting that you can be of some help to them. They're both geniuses and you know there's nothing you can do that they can't, but they let you join them anyways.

"Look for white males, aged twenty to forty, who recently experienced a severe head trauma." Derek speaks through the speaker and you watch in amazement at how fast Garcia is able to filter through hospital records.

"I've got one. Sending it over now." She drags and drops the file into a message and sends it off to the team.

"What would I do without you, baby girl?" You can practically hear Morgan's smile through the phone. His playful ways with Garcia had landed everyone in a presentation about inappropriate work relationships last year and you can clearly see they disregarded every piece of information shared there.

The phone clicks and goes silent, leaving the three of us crammed into Garcia's office and you can't help but feel like you're inconveniencing her and Spencer. You stand from your seat and dismiss yourself, telling them you're going to work on a report and to holler if they need you. You know they won't, but at least you offered.

Sitting back down at your desk, you grab your pen and convince yourself that you're going to write at least one good sentence. You need to have this done by the time Hotch gets back and at this rate you won't even have it done by Christmas.

Taking a deep breath, you tap the pen against the desk before putting it to the paper. You hold it there for so long that an ink blob begins bleeding through the document, and so you start moving it across the paper.

At approximately 4:47 pm EST on October 16, 2023 the Behavioral Analysis Unit from Quantico, Virginia, responded to a hostage situation that resulted in two deaths.

You stare at the sentence you had managed to write and wonder if you can just leave the report as is. Technically it is what happened. But you know that you have to fill in the details. Perhaps that part of it can wait just a little longer.

Deciding you've put in all the effort you can manage for now without slipping into another downward spiral or gruesome memories, you decide to go waste some time in the break room.

There's not much to do, but you make it seem like organizing the coffee mugs in the cupboard is the most vital mission you've encountered to date. And thankfully it keeps your mind distracted from everything falling apart inside your mind.

-----

Garcia and Spencer don't call on you to help them for the rest of the day, much to your dismay. You were hoping they'd at least take pity on you and let you do something insignificant. But perhaps they don't even trust you with the most menial tasks.

You sit at your desk at the end of the day and see others leave the offices, bidding each other goodbye for the weekend. The rest of the team will be back on Monday and you still only have one sentence written in your report that's sure to exceed ten pages if you do it correctly.

"Hey, staying late again?" You hear Spencer ask as he returns from Garcia's office. Spinning around in your seat to face him, you nod your head.

"Yeah." You reply without much enthusiasm, glancing back at the paper. He must think you're completely inadequate at your job because you've been unable to complete a single report in two days. If he's been secretly tasked with keeping tabs on your progress for Hotch, surely there is no good news to report.

"Why don't you take it with you? Work on it over the weekend?" He suggests, and it's not a bad idea. It would surely beat sticking around an empty office all weekend. But truthfully, you're not sure an empty house will be much better.

"You're probably right." You pick up the file and get ready to leave the office with Spencer, who has his belongings in his arms. The two of you walk down to the parking lot and he starts heading towards the bus station.

"Hey, I can take you." You offer, stopping him in his tracks. He looks between you and your car, almost like he's not sure if he should take you up on your offer. But eventually, he walks over and takes a seat in the passenger seat.

"Thank you." He says, fastening his seatbelt. You back out of the parking spot and make your way towards his apartment. Thankfully he says nothing about the fact you took the longest route possible.

"Any fun weekend plans?" You ask him as you pull up to the curb, stalling to keep here as long as possible, so that you're not left alone with your mind. He rests back in the seat slightly and puffs out some air as he shakes his head.

"What's fun for me doesn't always fit other people's definition." There's a small smirk on his face and you know he's either about to devour an entire book series in two days or learn an entirely new skill. He's always looking for ways to expand his knowledge, and you admire that about him.

"Well, as long as you enjoy it then who cares?" You shoot back, watching as he gathers his bag up in his hands and opens the door. 

"Apparently our coworkers. But thank you for the ride, see you Monday." He bids you goodbye and you watch as he walks into the building. You don't leave for your home right away, instead you lean your forehead against the steering wheel and become frustrated with yourself. Since when are you scared of being alone with your own thoughts?

-----

"Save me. Save me. Save me. SAVE ME!" The girl screams in your face, blood dripping out from her mouth and onto your body. Your hands desperately try to stop the bleeding, but it's no use and soon her chanting ceases and she crumples to the floor. Her dull eyes stare widely at the ceiling and you're left covered in her blood. You're acutely aware of how it's sinking into the crevices of your skin, drying in your hair, becoming part of you. 

Just like every night for the past week you awake from the nightmare. A sheer layer of sweat covers your body and you can't take it anymore. These nightmares are driving you out of your mind. You haven't slept for more than three hours straight over the past week and you start feeling like you'd do anything to be released from your own thoughts. 

You push yourself out of bed and into your bathroom where you splash cool water on your face. You're well aware that you're getting into a very bad headspace, and being alone is doing nothing to help the situation. If you keep heading down this path with no help, there's no saying how much of yourself you will lose. Or what your thoughts will drive you to do.

Bloodshot eyes stare back at you in the mirror and you hardly recognize yourself. The dark circles under your eyes make you look like a cheap halloween decoration, your cheeks are sullen. You look miserable. You are miserable. Tearing your gaze away from yourself, you put some decent clothes on and grab your keys off the dining room table. 

The air outside is crisp, dew gently rests on the blades of grass and the moonlight illuminates the sidewalks. The nocturnal animals sing their songs, their tunes carrying throughout the night. You almost feel a part of them, the nighttime animals, as you just meander the streets for another night with no destination set.

You turn down an empty street and hear the thumping of music approaching from the main road. Probably teenagers enjoying their weekend night without parental supervision. The music gets closer and closer and you see their headlights start casting a shadow of yourself on the sidewalk. 

"Catch!" You hear a boy yell from the car out of the window, and you turn to see what's going on. 

Before you can process what's happening, you feel something collide with your chest and your skin becomes wet. Looking down you see that they had thrown a drink at you, some sort of syrupy mess but you're not concerned with what it is; just what it looks like. Dark red syrup covers your hands and your shirt and you can't stop yourself from starting to hyperventilate. 

Your chest begins rapidly heaving, your hands start shaking and it feels like your knees are going to give out. It looks too real, and it's on your skin. It's seeping into your skin and it's on your clothes. And it's on your face and in your hair. It's everywhere. 

"No, no, no no no no.." Your repeat to yourself, trying to rid your skin of the syrup, but all it does it smear and glide across your skin, spreading itself all over you. Your nails claw at your hands trying to get rid of it but it just won't leave. Panicked tears fall from your eyes and you look around, seeing that you're all alone in the middle of the street. 

Without thinking, you start moving towards a familiar building. Your body is on autopilot and it feels as if you're practically flying down the street. It could've taken you twenty minutes to get there, but it felt like five seconds. Once you're on the doorstep your sticky, red-laden fist knocks on the door. You can hear your rattling breaths as if it's from a distance and your vision begins to contort, making you dizzy. You knock again, having enough knowledge that you need him to open the door before something worse happens. 

"Hello?" You hear his voice as the door swings open, and the soft lighting from inside his apartment illuminates his figure as if he's an angel. 

"Please." Is all you can say through your cries and he wastes no time before he's helping you inside of his apartment. 

He takes the jacket off your shoulders and helps you step out of your shoes, a vivid look of worry plastered all over his face. 

"What happened?" His voice is concerned as he places his hand on your back, leading you into the kitchen. He wets a cloth and gently starts to wipe the red from your trembling hands. With each pass of the cloth, your skin regains its natural color and you feel your breathing begin to level back out. It's leaving your skin, it's washing off. 

"I was outside and someone threw something. And then I don't know what happened, it's like my brain just snapped and I couldn't control myself, all I knew is that I had to get here." You try to explain it to him the best way you can, still feeling an adrenaline buzz. You half expect him to give you some clinical diagnosis, but he remains quiet.

His warm hand envelopes one of yours as he wipes the remaining syrup from your arms. Your face starts to feel stiff from the drying tears, and your eyes move from your skin to Spencer's face, who is standing less than a foot away, tenderly cleansing your skin. Guilt washes over you as you realize that you've just interrupted his weekend, intruded on his free time. 

As your senses start to clarify, the guilt intensifies and you pull your hand away from his grasp. You can't believe you actually ran all the way here because some teenage kid threw something at you. How juvenile. He takes a step back from you and scans over your body, sending a self-conscious pang down your spine. 

"I um, I'm sorry Spencer. I shouldn't have come here and I'm sorry if I interrupted your weekend." You tumble over your own words and go to leave his apartment, already mentally kicking yourself for knocking on his door. His hand on your shoulder stops you from walking to the front door, and he gives you a certain look you've never seen on him before. His eyes are tender and soft. 

"Don't be sorry, I'm glad you came. I told you I was here to help." His voice is kind and gentle, and you're grateful for him.

"I can go back home, I think I'll be okay." You can't help but feel as if you're still inconveniencing him and make one more move towards the door which gets stopped by him again. He shakes his head, 

"No, it's okay. Go sit on the couch and I'll get you some clean clothes to change into. What kind of tea would you like?" Your heart swells at his tenderhearted words. Your feet shuffle against the hardwood floor and you position yourself at the edge of his leather couch, careful to not get any of the stickiness on it. 

"Um, anything is fine, thank you." Your throat begins feeling scratchy, probably from how violently you sobbed the entire way over here. He nods before disappearing into his apartment and your eyes travel around his place. You've never been here before and you're curious as to what he's like, what his tastes are. 

It's not far off from what you expected. The color scheme is simple, the walls an earthy green and the lamp in the corner emits a soft amber glow. In true Spencer fashion, there's also a multitude of books, both laying on a coffee table and adorning bookshelves. It's calming. 

He walks back into the room and hands you a change of clothes, which feel warm, as if they just came from the dryer. Spencer shows you to the bathroom and tells you that he'll be in the kitchen while you get changed. You strip from your clothes and try to fold them as neatly as you can, not wanting to make more of a mess in his home. He had given you a simple sweatshirt and sweatpants, which you already know are going to be too long, but you're thankful nonetheless.

The sweatshirt easily falls over your head and it smells like fresh laundry and Spencer. You breathe in the smell and it makes you feel secure. And just like you thought, the pants are far too long, but you roll up the legs and make it work. Before you join him in the kitchen, you try to rinse out the red syrup from your hair, knowing that if you don't get it out now that it'll be ten times harder to wash when it dries. 

Once you're satisfied, you open the door and quietly walk back down the hall to the kitchen, where Spencer is standing with two mugs in his hands. He looks over you once and offers you one of the drinks. Steam rises from the top and you smell the chamomile. The warmth of the drink soothes your throat, and you follow Spencer back into his living room, resuming your position on his couch. He sits at the other side and you look over at him, feeling an intense sense of gratitude. 

"Thank you, Spencer." You whisper, not wanting to disturb the stillness. He places his mug on the coffee table beside an open book and his lips curl into a soft smile. 

"Anytime. I know you'd do the same for me." He says and you nod, knowing he's right. You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find just the right words. 

"I don't think I'm okay. I don't feel safe being alone with my thoughts. I can't sleep without seeing her." You admit to him, no longer caring if he reports this to Hotch on Monday. You chew on your bottom lip with anxiety, feeling exhausted from suffering. Expecting to find him looking at you, analyzing you, you delay meeting his gaze only to see that he looks empathetic. 

"I know what you mean. I barely slept for two weeks when mine started." His voice is raspy, yet gentle. Your head shakes as you take another sip of warm tea. 

"How do you deal with it?" You're desperate for answers, knowing you can't keep functioning this way. He sighs, 

"One day at a time. I put off confiding in someone for a long time, probably too long. But this isn't something to deal with alone." The two of you lock eyes, and for the first time since the incident, you almost feel at ease. 

"Am I going to be kicked off the team?" There's worry evident in your voice, and you're scared of his answer. 

"No. If they got rid of everyone who has dealt with trauma from the job there would be no behavioral analysis unit." He says with a small smile, trying to lighten the heavy mood. You take another sip of tea and allow yourself to relax into the leather of his couch. His presence alone is enough to make you feel safe. 

"Are you going to tell the others?" You ask, looking down into the tea, watching it swirl gently around the ceramic. He readjusts on the couch. 

"No." He says, much to your surprise, but you're thankful he's not reporting back to Hotch about how you've been doing. 

The two of you let the conversation fall back into a silence, and you finish off the tea. Your body feels relaxed and warm, your eyelids begin to feel heavy. Leaning back into the comfortable cushions, your eyes close and you take a deep breath, thankful for the little moment of peace. You're not sure how much time passes, but you feel Spencer tapping you on the shoulder. Fluttering your eyes open you see him standing beside you.

"Follow me." He quietly instructs, gesturing for you to go with him down the hall. Without thinking of why, you blindly follow his orders. He leads you into a dark room, his hand on the small of your back to guide you through the shadows. Spencer sits you down on a bed and an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, you can't let him do this for you. 

"Stay here tonight, I'll be in the living room." His hand leaves your back but you reach out and grab his wrist before he can leave. 

"No, Spencer, this is your home. I can't." You tell him and stand from his bed, which is admittedly very comfortable. He turns to face you fully and sits you back on the bed, his hands on your shoulders. 

"Please?" He asks, and you're not sure why he's being so generous. He's already done more than enough for you tonight, and now he's giving you his bed. The man doesn't like to shake peoples' hands because of germ transfer, and here he is letting you stay in such an intimate place of his? You can't wrap your head around it. 

Though you feel sleepy, there's an uneasy feeling in the back of your head and you know what will happen if you go to sleep; you'll see her again. You reach your hands to rest atop of his on your shoulders and look up at him through the darkness, just barely able to make out his features. 

"Stay with me." You whisper and let his hands go so that he doesn't feel trapped. In the darkness you see his shoulders tense, and you wish you could take your words back. But to your surprise, he nods his head and makes his way around to the other side of the bed. He pulls the covers back and slowly gets in, and you lay down, keeping a respectable distance between the two of you. 

Your heart pounds in your chest and you reach across the soft blankets for his hand, needing it to ground you, to remind you that you're not here alone. His larger hand engulfs yours and his thumb traces soft circles on the back of your hand. Your eyes close and before you understand what's happening, you fall asleep. 

-----

Bright, almost blinding, sunlight breaking through curtains stirs you awake and you open your eyes to find that you're not in your own room. Your mind takes a moment to remember where you are and your muscles relax when you realize where you are. But the relaxation is short-lived as you realize that it's not a pillow in front of your face, that you're in fact resting your forehead against Spencer's chest, your hand still entwined with his. 

A moment of pure fear strikes you and you try to untangle yourself from him without disturbing him. Surely if he woke up and saw this he'd be uncomfortable. Gently, you try to extract your hand from his, but instead of being able to separate, he squeezes your hand tighter. Your eyes trail up from your hands to his face, seeing that he's already opened his eyes. 

"I'm sorry I don't, I didn't mean-" You try to manage the fallout of your actions, but he shushes you. 

"It's okay. How did you sleep?" His voice is deliciously raspy, and it distracts you from answering the question for just a second longer than it should've. 

"Um, good. I didn't see her." You admit and lean back so that you can more clearly see his face. His curly hair is disheveled and his eyes are still clouded with drowsiness. His soft, pink lips turn upwards into a smile. 

"That's great." He says and closes his eyes once more, keeping your hand in his. Your tense body eases once more as you realize that he's not uncomfortable. You know him well enough by now to understand that if he were uncomfortable, he wouldn't still be here. 

You rest your forehead against his chest again, savoring the warm and comforting smell of him. The two of you are entangled with one another under the cozy blankets, and you're perfectly content with staying just like this for as long as possible. 

As you drift back off into a sleep, you feel Spencer move around and feel his soft lips press a delicate kiss to your forehead. Instinctually, you lean into him, nuzzling your nose into the space where his neck meets his shoulder. 

-----

Sometime during the afternoon, the two of you decide to get out of bed. You're very aware that a rosy color adorns your face, feeling flustered from whatever transpired between you and Spencer. You had always been attracted to him, not just for his looks, but also his intelligence, but you never thought he'd reciprocate those feelings. But after last night and this morning, you can't help but wonder what's actually happening. 

The two of you sit across from each other at the dining table, drinking coffee and eating mixed berries. You catch him stealing glances at you, and he catches you doing the same. You're too afraid to bring it up, scared that whatever is happening will be dismantled. So instead you're perfectly content just enjoying the moment.

After breakfast, you move into the living room where he picks up his book from last night and you pick one of them off his shelf. The synopsis sounds interesting, and so you curl up on his couch with it. Unlike last night, you no longer feel like you're intruding on his space, it almost feels natural to just coexist with one another on this Saturday morning. 

He finishes the book in record time, and you had only reached page twenty of yours. You watch as he files the book away on his shelf, and instead of reaching for another, he trains his gaze on you. Your fingers close the front cover of the book, waiting for him to say something. 

"You said you didn't see her last night, right?" He asks, breaking the silence. You nod your head, 

"I didn't see her last night." You confirm and he smiles, joining you on the couch. He's sitting so close that your knees brush against each other and it sends a warm feeling up your spine. 

"It's one of the harder parts of the job, I think. Nobody tells you about this side of it when you join. And nobody really talks about it either, everyone would just prefer to suffer in silence so as not to be perceived as weak. But without finding an outlet, it'll eat you alive." He speaks, resting his hand atop your knee. Your eyes stay glued to his hand as you add onto his statement. 

"I considered leaving the team because I felt like I was going insane. I thought that if I couldn't save that girl, then what good am I to anyone else?" You reach out for his hand and he looks over to you, hazel eyes shining with an unfamiliar light in them. 

"It's hard, but you can't focus on those you lose. You have to remind yourself of how many you save. To get yourself out of that darkness of guilt, you just have to remember the ones that are alive and well because of you. You've been on the team for two years now and you've already saved countless people, both directly and indirectly. Don't let the job strip you of your humanity." He tells you, looking deep into your eyes. You swallow, digesting his words and your eyes are unable to look away from him. 

"It's so hard though. She was just a child." You say with exasperation. He squeezes his hand on your knee in reassurance. 

"She was, but so many children get to live because you stopped him." His voice is sincere and your eyes water at his words. Your mind conjures images of children with families, alive and healthy. 

Spencer raises a hand to the side of your face, and you lean into his touch. His thumb comes up and brushes a lone tear from the corner of your eye before gently stroking your cheek. You reach out and pull him into you, wrapping your arms around his neck as he circles his arms around your waist. He hold you tight, and you never want to let go. Spencer is warm, comforting, and you know that from this moment forward, you won't be able to survive without him. 

Pulling away from the embrace, you rest your forehead against his, the two of you meeting each other's eyes with parted lips. Your hands find their way to the sides of his face, and you bring your lips to his. His hands hold your waist, keeping you in place as you move against each other in perfect harmony. 

One of your hands finds its way to his curly hair and you rake your fingers through it, eliciting a soft moan from him. Heat ignites within you and you push your body closer to him, unable to get enough. His skin is soft under your touch and you try to memorize the way it feels, just in case this never happens again. 

His hands move to map out the curve of your waist and your breathing gets heavier with desire. You move one of your legs across his lap, straddling him. He breaks the kiss first and holds you upright on his lap, looking over your body that's still concealed by his clothes. Deep in your soul, you know that this is more than just a random act of lust. 

You lean in to kiss him again and you help his hands remove the sweatshirt from your body. The air is chilly against your skin and you shiver. Spencer kisses your lips and trails down to your neck, and you're unable to contain your breathy moan. Your body aches with desire to have him all over you. 

His hands map out every inch of your body, taking the time to memorize the way you feel underneath him and how you respond to his tender touch. The two of you take your time to make each other feel good, to make each other feel loved and understood. There's no rush to your movements, and you're perfectly content taking as long as you want to touch him, to feel his warm skin on yours as you move in tandem, the two of you becoming one. 

You treat each other as if you're both made of precious glass, appreciating the fragility of the moment. The two of you soak in every moan, every breath, every kiss from the other, and you've never felt more alive. With each movement you find a new way to appreciate his beauty. His beauty is in the tenderness of his touch, the colors of his eyes, the pinkness of his lips. Every inch of him is beautiful, and you know that nothing else on this Earth can ever begin to compare.

Spencer rests his forehead against yours, the two of you out of breath and sensitive. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead as he moves beside you, cradling you in his arms and placing delicate kisses to your warm skin. The two of you hold on to each other as if the other would cease to exist if you let go. 

Without having to utter a single word, you know that the two of you will never have to face this life alone again. 

[mangodestroyer]

I was listening to a reading of Edgar Allan Poe, and out of nowhere, I suddenly remembered that one of my teachers recommended a poet to me, and as a result, I was given a book of their poetry to keep. I don't know how or why. The details of this are pretty rusty at this point. This happened eleven years ago.

All I know is that I apparently "reminded them of this poet." At the time, I really didn't understand this at all. I was twelve. At this point, I was only writing short, simple stories and the most complicated thing I'd ever read was Harry Potter and whatever was assigned in class. I wouldn't exactly say the the things I was writing in English class were "brilliant." Especially since the teacher was really pushing us with frequent writing assignments that had, what felt like at the time, intimidating word count requirements. I found it tough at the time to come up with ideas that actually kept me interested in the assignments. And this is coming from someone who always loved to write.

And I certainly wasn't a gifted student either. To the contrary. I had to get extra help with my reading outside of class because my ability to read as a child was poor. I was often picked on for being "stupid" and I had a feeling that my mother wasn't very fond of me because I was not gifted in any way like my siblings were. No one told me I was intelligent and so I grew up thinking I was stupid because that's all that was ever said or implied. Probably would have thought I had an 80 IQ. So even when I did start putting an actual effort in school, started finding the materials super easy, caught up and even far exceeded my peers, and started taking advanced classes, I thought that anyone could do what I did very easily because I was an idiot. The only thing that finally snapped me out of this mindset was when I saw for myself that there were students who tried very, very hard to get a passing grade in AP Physics and Pre-calc, but couldn't do it no matter what. Meanwhile, I was getting A's in said classes with very little effort. Yes, I was even getting easy A's in my AP English classes as well. At this point, I was far above the reading level of my peers.

I know, going from being a dumb kid to a high schooler taking college level courses. Normally this is not an outcome people expect from children who do poorly in school, but I think my own experience goes to show you that there are problems with the education system and how we evaluate intelligence in children. Especially neurodivergent children.

Anyway, I'm getting off topic. The point is, when I was twelve, I was sort of at a turning point. I was going from being a "dumb" kid to an "average" kid. But there was nothing about me that stood out. I was never made to feel like I was good at anything. Not even in high school. And so I don't see how anyone would be able to relate me to a talented poet.

And I certainly wasn't a fan of poetry at the time because I didn't understand it. So I didn't read the book. I hardly acknowledged it at all when I brought it home. I had no idea what the teacher was going on about because I wasn't a poet myself. In fact, I sadly thought poetry was stupid, boring, and pointless. Perhaps I would have considered poets pretentious, if I'd known what the word meant.

Now I wish I had read the book. Or at the very least, I wish I hadn't lost the book to the abyss of my unorganized house. I wished I had remembered the name of the poet. Because now I'm curious to see what the Hell my teacher was talking about. I want to see if these poems were actually brilliant. Because of they are, I'd find that pretty hilarious. Even if they just think we have a similar vibe or whatever.

[autisticlee]

I feel like rambling/expanding more on this thought/idea so i'll do it as less of a reply to the above and more of just getting lost in a related ramble (so disclaimer, it's not a direct response to the above because I get very lost in attempting to put thoughts into words lol @ person I'm reblogging from, I hope it doesn't feel like i'm trying to dismiss what youre saying or anything! I appreciate you're response/what youre trying to say^^)

I wouldn't say i'm lonely because i'm not dating, but more because i'm uninterested in dating in a world that's dominated by it being "the most important thing in life" while being unable to form deep, lasting bonds and connections with anyone due to being autistic, which leads to people treating me poorly, me accidentally doing things wrong, and simply enjoying alone time more than others, which leads to accidental isolation. (when you don't usually feel lonely while actually alone, because being around people is what triggers you're lonliness, it becomes easy to accidentally isolate and not talk to anyone at all.)

the fact that most people by 30 already have their own Important™ connections (a significant other, best friend(s) they've had for years, and/or family they're close with like their own kids) makes it difficult to get them to open up to new ones (not that they don't form new connections or can't, it's just less likely they want to or feel the need to), especially one that takes more than minimal effort to maintain. therefore, they are less likely to put any effort into me. the older i get, the less "fish in the sea," so to speak, not even in a dating sense. most of those fish are minnows and I can't swim in their school anymore.

even if I make friends, that superficial bond isn't strong enough to touch the deep lonely feeling. often, a group of friends can make it feel worse. the type of bond I want is often mistaken as me wanting to date someone. I've lost friends who accused me of this and block me when I thought maybe they were the best friend I was looking for but they misinterpreted it as me "having feelings." this convinces me I can't form the type of bond I want with a person who has a partner or wants a partner. it's not dating. it's not romantic feelings. they compare it to that and reject me. it's a secret third thing I can't explain 😅

it's easy to tell someone to not focus on dating and work on yourself and not equate your worth to your relationship status. I tell everyone this. it helps no one hahaha (except one girl. she's thriving now after I talked her into taking time for herself and not date for now after a nasty breakup and i'm proud of her! she got so far after that!) but when that loneliness comes from a deeper part/reason that isn't about relationship status, especially as someone who never dated before, never tried, and never had the desire to, it's a bit harder to get past that one 😅 in this situation, you probably sat with yourself long enough to know your worth and value, therefore making it even harder to form bonds due to having very high standards and being extremely picky. most flaky relationships aren't worth your value.

there's way too much emphasis on dating when you don't want to do it and everyone around you swears it's what you're Supposed To Do. I frankly feel left out even if i don't want it. as I get older, people my age become more content with their partner/family and are less likely to try diving into new friendships. if they aren't dating, they're more likely to fill their loneliness with dating. regular friendships also don't touch the type of loneliness I feel anyway. I say I need a "partner" probably, but I don't mean a date/significant other. I need someone that matches my energy and fits naturally with me, forming the complex connection that is so vague I can't even describe it. it's all based on vibes and feelings and I can't explain that 😅 "I need a person in my life that makes me feel this extremely complex and vague way I can't explain and matches very specific vibes and energy that i also cant describe in words" doesn't help me, but that's all I have to go by 😂 they also must be a loyal life partner but we don't go on dates and it's not all cheesy and romantic.

I get what you're saying (person I reblogged from), by virtue of not being the only one that’s single, struggling to find a partner, or etc, that means you're technically alone. that is true, yes. that's why finding out I was autistic/asexual and seeing others like me was so important. but it only works for certain things and only goes so far. living your whole life without experiencing a single close bond with another person, that you know even dating probably won't solve, is quite a difficult level of loneliness to escape when it goes against human nature of being a social species that needs bonds.

it doesn't help when people tell me to date someone and it will go away (ive actually had many people say this to me, lmao). especially when they try to make you date them because they're also lonely and think dating is The Only Way To Happiness (it's not).

I don't think there's a way to solve my specific brand of loneliness unless i formed a deep bond that met the vague and confusing criteria i need. humans are a social species. forming bonds is meant to keep us healthy. when you're impaired to that bond-making, it can feel like you're the only one alone in a crowded room.

words are hard, and i'm too tired to proofread. apologies if anyone reads this and it makes no sense lmao

it kind of sucks when all your friends and family, everyone you know, are all pairing off and getting married and havinf families, except you. you're the only one that doesn't have a partner and probably can/will never get one. especially if one around you has time for you anymore, they never reach out, never get back to you, because they're only focused on their partners and families. you're stuck alone and drift away from everyone through no fault of your own. you have no hope of finding your own partner or no motivation to look for one for whatever reason. the lack of connections while seeing everyone around you having their own can get overwhelmingly lonely at times....

[mmyriapoda]

Absolutely LOVE the fact that so many beginner pets that are said to be really easy to keep are actually difficult to care for but people consider them disposable and don't know enough to give them decent lives