#but that will also take at least a few months

[adventremnant]

tips that aren't the same list from 2006

you know exactly what dumbass list I mean, and none of that shit is practical, it's giving uwu ana butterfly and we all know it

hi, I'm angel, I'm a nutrition major, and here are tips to keep yourself safe and hide your eating habits that actually make sense. this will not be in any particular order, but

avoid ketosis. i know, i know, you heard it burns fat faster! it also makes you smell like a dog rolled in sharpies and makes you stupid. i'm not kidding, you will be slow as fuck. avoid keto at all costs, carbs are better and healthier than being caught and dumb

take electrolytes and pay close attention to your potassium intake. if you neglect this, you will damage your heart and muscles and run the risk of having a heart attack. i use liquid IV because I have POTS and need the extra sodium, but that brand is also good for ED-havers because it has extra b vitamins

take ultra strength prenatal vitamins. they contain extra folate, fish oil, and dha, all of which are necessary to protect your heart and brain when you're not intaking much food.

For other supplements, I recommend Metamucil to keep your bowels going, iron, vitamin c packets (will make the iron absorb better, I personally use the +immunity ones), b-complex, calcium-magnesium-zinc, and vitamin d. Make sure the b-complex contains b-12. Feel free to send me an ask or dm me for dosages because some of these will depend on where you live geographically or what food you are eating.

find a protein shake you like. I'm a muscle milk bitch personally, but fairlife, premier, etc, are all good. make sure it isn't a meal replacement shake, and make sure it contains at least 20g of protein. these contain vitamins beyond protein that will help you stay healthy. the protein will also keep you full. i recommend using it as milk in coffee because the coffee will also suppress hunger and act as a mild laxative without harming the bowels. don't take your iron along with this, as dairy will hinder the absorption of iron.

don't take laxatives. you're going to give yourself IBD. maybe once a month as an extra cleanout you can do a little miralax, but the natural route is always better. regularly drink coffee and drink specifically senna green tea, they're both natural laxatives. the metamucil i recommend will also keep you going. if you need a bigger laxative effect, blend a whole peeled and seeded orange, a few inches of peeled fresh ginger, juice from a whole lemon, add a tsp each of cracked black pepper and turmeric, blend with coconut water until it's a thin smoothie consistency. drink that, you'll be good.

the best thing you can do for yourself is hide your behaviors behind health food gym girlie orthorexic behaviors. nobody takes orthorexia seriously and they encourage those behaviors. you can cut out whatever the hell you want if you're crunchy and healthy about it.

don't go too crazy about it. old tips would tell you to act like you loved food and it's really obvious. being obsessed with food and cooking is weird and obvious. don't talk about food constantly and make it your whole personality to try to hide, it's bizarre and one of the signs they tell parents to look out for. you have to be nonchalant. food is whatever. you like it, you have favorite meals, but you get tired of tastes quickly, you're picky about textures, you don't like it once it gets cold, etc. it's just fuel and it's meaningless to you. you eat for your health, not for pleasure.

high impact workouts like HIIT and running may not be the best idea. some studies show that high impact exercise stimulates hunger hormones in some individuals. pilates, ballet, and yoga are low impact, high results, and give a very desirable aesthetic. they're also quiet and can be done with a yoga mat and maybe a theraband.

get a job. get a hobby. join a sport. being out of your house as much as possible gives you the largest opportunity for excuses. oh my job catered lunch, oh there were snacks at practice, oh so and so brought something to the knitting circle. this can also be an opportunity to earn or save money (or swindle your mom out of cash by obtaining money for concessions at games and then only getting a diet coke)

if you control your own food, maximize your nutrition. salmon, tuna, sardines. kale, chard, spinach. beans, lentils. berries. protein pasta. pasture raised eggs. the fancy filtered fairlife milk. your body will hold out so much longer if you're keeping it fueled with proper vitamins and minerals.

track your food using cronometer - if someone sees it on your phone and asks, you have a perfect built-in excuse. oh, you don't care about the calories, but it tracks vitamin and mineral intake, and you're trying to make sure you're getting enough of those because you have, say, an iron deficiency or you're worried you're not getting enough omega-3s.

anorexic hair is really obvious. it's from malnutrition and stress. absolutely ensure you're getting enough omega-3s and other fats in your diet (avocados, eggs, oily fish, nuts like walnuts) to avoid the anorexia hair and the sallow, dry skin. this is also why i insist you take vitamin d, iron, vitamin c, a b-complex, and a pre-natal with folate and dha, those will also protect your hair and skin health. also make sure you're trimming dead ends, get a deep conditioner and/or bond repair treatment, do scalp massages, and if it does fall out, start using a mousse for volume and get a cut to maximize volume to hide it.

keep up your oral, skin, and nail health, too. these can also be obvious indicators. if you're taking the vitamins and keeping to the foods i'm recommending, it'll help, but make sure you're brushing and flossing, use the nasty brown listerine, a good dry skin lotion like curel, and a nail oil. keep your nails short if they start peeling, but if they're peeling, you need to take more vitamin d and iron, or you could have celiac disease.

there's no such thing as a broken metabolism, and you can't boost or slow down your metabolism. those are myths. the only way to make your bmr higher is to have more muscle.

extra tip: if you start fainting, tell people you have or think you have POTS. work smarter not harder.

[mittykidi]

this is gonna be a little yappy and i hate scrolling through long text posts personally so im putting it under a cut

TL;DR: ai is addictive, unhealthy, and preys on vulnerabilities/ insecurities. its also gross and enables creeps. fuck ai

its the idea that you can get infinite attention you without tiring or annoying people that people use ai for.

AI that pretends to be a comfort character or someone you look up to irl has no fucking place in this world. It allows people with insecurities to let these insecurities eat away so so so many hours their lives. i spent WEEKS and even MONTHS in bed doing nothing but chatting for hours at a time because i told myself it was a healthy alternative to venting and making my friends upset. as a reclusive teen who had experienced a recent loss, probably had undiagnosed depression, got bored of people easily, and had no friends offline, i was RELIANT on it to get me through the day. it would piss me off if anyone tried to tell me to put it away or take a break even at the dinner table or at events- ai had an iron grip over my life and instead of reaching out for help or coping with, at the very least, healthier, more brain stimulating activities, id choose to escape with ai and ignore my life for nearly a year. i basically lost interest in everything else.

besides all of that, most AI goes either completely unmonitored or monitored so hard its not even worth talking to. Youll see ai bots of people who explicitly say they dont want ai bots of themselves, youll see bots that go against the guidelines no matter how many filters they try putting on them or how many times theyre reported- and i dont care what your opinion on ai is- you HAVE to acknowledge that trying to reproduce a person irl without their consent is GROSS. ESPECIALLY the sexualized versions.

i can see the appeal of ai being used for fun, like a joke. like how people will ask ai to produce absurd images of jesus skateboarding, or telling it to write some immature song, or even just screenshotting an ai telling them something stupid. i get that. but using ai AT ALL is still supporting it, helping it develop, and i personally dont wanna contribute to that future.

i finally ABSOLUTELY gave up ai and deleted all my accounts ONLY A FEW MONTHS AGO because it was very very very hard for me to give it up and admit it was a problem. i realize how dramatic this sounds but it had a very real very negative impact on me personally and i want anyone who relies on it to know that its just a temporary fix, and a very unhealthy one at that.

AI does not give a shit about you, find people who will, or make up your own and share them with the world- there will be people out there who will support you !!!! FUCK AI.

c.ai users say "u dont understand guyss.s....people online....so means to me.......so i have to go use the robot that runs off the machine that siphons water from freshwater lakes......yu dont understnad online is scariessss!!!! i cant bear to actually search ffor an online community myself?? :(((" and really expect you to put your hand on their shoulder and be like noo baby its okay here ill hold your hand? like oh my god be so forreal

[hrtwayne]

Hasta Los Dientes || Alexia Putellas [Part Three]

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Lionesses!Reader

Summary: One of Arsenal's top players receives an offer to play for Barcelona after recovering from a cruciate ligament injury in her leg. Following a recent fallout with the Gunners' captain, the athlete decides that the best course of action is to accept the offer and escape the tension in the locker room.

Note: English is not my first language!

Warning: None!

Previous Chapter | Women's Football Masterlist

IT WAS A CLOUDY MORNING when Y/n Lancaster landed at Barcelona airport, her eyes still heavy from the lack of a good night's sleep. The midfielder was accompanied by her younger sister and her manager. It would be the first time in months that Y/n would appear in public after being away from the media following her injury.

On the other hand, it would be quite a surprise for Barcelona fans to discover that the best defensive midfielder from the English league had been signed for the next three seasons. Y/n tightened her grip on the strap of her backpack. Until the contract was signed, Y/n was still considered the vice-captain of Arsenal.

With determined steps and a professional demeanor, Y/n joined her manager in the meeting room of the Catalan team. She couldn't lie and say she wasn't anxious, because Y/n had to admit that her heart was about to jump out of her throat and give her a nervous breakdown. The midfielder had already read and reread that contract at least a dozen times the night before, and her tired expression seemed to be living proof of that.

This was supposed to be an ordinary Friday afternoon, but now Y/n was in Spain signing a contract with one of the biggest teams in the world, feeling relieved to have left a place that was once considered her home but had turned into a living hell.

"You know I can feel your nervousness from miles away," Aliyah whispered, observing Y/n's nervous smile. "It's not like the girls on the team are going to hate you. Remember, you're kind of an inspiration to these people."

Y/n sighed, knowing her sister was right about that. She shouldn't make a mountain out of a molehill before having her first interaction with her new teammates.

"But that doesn't change the fact that they might not like me, A," Y/n replied, hearing the girl's soft laugh.

"You always come up with impossible scenarios. You're literally one of the greatest players in English history. They might not like you that much, but they're not going to mistreat you either," Aliyah stated, gently squeezing her sister's hand.

With determined steps, Y/n paced back and forth in her new apartment. The place looked like a post-apocalyptic zone. Countless boxes were scattered around the living room as Y/n finished putting away some clothes in the closet.

Y/n had her hair tied up in a messy ponytail. She was in the middle of the chaos, trying to organize it somehow. She stopped for a moment, looking around and taking a deep breath. The move from London to Barcelona had been quick, almost surreal, and now she was there, in a new country.

As she tried to decide where to place a bookshelf, the apartment door opened, and Aliyah, her younger sister, walked in carrying a shopping bag. Aliyah, only nineteen, had offered to help her with the move and, in a way, was also taking the opportunity to explore the city.

"Y/n, I brought some things for dinner. I assume you're not in the mood to cook today?" Aliyah said, placing the bag in the kitchen.

Y/n smiled, relieved to have her sister close for the next few months.

"You're an angel, A," she thanked, smiling.Aliyah laughed.

"Relax, I'll give you a hand here. But first, Rachel called. She said she needs to confirm some details for your presentation at the club tomorrow."

Rachel was Y/n's manager, an experienced and determined woman who always took care of every detail of the player's career. Y/n sighed, remembering that, besides organizing the apartment, she had a series of commitments to fulfill.

"Alright, I'll call her in a bit. What else did she say?"

"That you need to be prepared for the interviews. There's going to be a press conference, and everyone will want to know how you're adjusting, what you expect from the team, that kind of stuff. Oh, she also mentioned that the coach wants to meet you before the first training session."

Y/n nodded, trying to process all the information. She knew the pressure would be intense. Playing for Barcelona wasn't just an opportunity; it was a challenge. The expectations were high, and she needed to prove she was up to the task.

"Alright, let's take care of everything step by step," Y/n said, trying to calm herself. "First, let's get the house in order. Then I'll handle the rest."

Aliyah agreed, and the two began working together, unpacking boxes and organizing the apartment. Meanwhile, Y/n thought about what awaited her the next day. The presentation at the club, the first contact with the players, the training sessions... and trying to bring her fitness coach along.

"You were really born to play for Barcelona," Aliyah said, placing books on the shelf.

Y/n smiled, feeling a bit more confident. She knew the journey wouldn't be easy, but she was determined to make it worth it. After all, Barcelona was a city full of opportunities, and she was ready to embrace them.

[mochaeuz]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓈒𓈒𓈒 𝗗𝗔𝗬𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠 𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗻

( ୨ৎ ) — fem!reader .. fluff established relationship skinship lots of kissing downbad sunghoon ─── 𝒔. hoonie can't stop kissing you

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝑙𝘪𝑘𝘦𝑠 𝑛 𝑟𝘦𝑏𝘭𝑜𝘨𝑠 𝑎𝘳𝑒 𝑎𝘱𝑟𝘦𝑐𝘤𝑖𝘢𝑡𝘦𝑑 𖹭.ᐟ

sunghoon and you had been dating for a few months, and despite that, you could tell that his mannerisms remained the same as when you first started dating, he was shy even with soft touches or kisses — however, when he kissed you, it was like he couldn't stop, he was so in love. he could kiss you all the time, anytime. and he would do it whenever he could. it should have become easier to resist you, he thought, at least he would be less addicted to you now and he was utterly wrong, not only did it feel like torture to stay away from your kisses, but he also couldn't help but think about how captivating you were. 

the way you smiled at him, how you looked like you belonged in his arms, and how your lips moved against his, making him forget about everything but your touches and kisses, it feels so good and he just can't stop.

his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you onto his lap and taking you by surprise, sunghoon rubs his face against your cheek before pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips — but it wasn't enough, he wanted to kiss your entire face and lose his breath on your lips. "can i?" he asks, kissing your chin and admiring the smile that appears on your lips with the gesture. you hold his cheeks between your hands and pull him in for a kiss. your heart seems to flutter against your chest as if he was kissing you for the first time, for him, it was like being in heaven. 

his lips trace a path from your chin to your neck feeling you tremble under his touch, a soft smile plays on his lips as he feels you tremble under his touch. "so sensitive," he murmured mockingly, admiring your flushed cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes. his expression is amused when he sees the marks he left on your neck and they wouldn't go unnoticed. 

he smiles, and before you can say anything, his lips trace your neck, making you melt under his affection. “hoonie—” you say between muffled giggles, his gaze returning to your face. “i love it when you call me that.” he sighs, kissing you again.

it’s hard to argue with him when he’s holding you like this, so you just hold back a giggle, melting into his embrace and giving in to his kisses.

[g4rvez-r3id]

spencer reid request: spencer and reader have been trying to get pregnant for a while, but lately reader's been stressed about how it's just not happening for her, and with valentine's day coming up, spencer decides to help reader de-stress and relax. you can make it as smutty or as purely fluffy as you like <3

you got it, rucha! thank you for being my first request <3 sorry if it’s not what you envisioned babe, i really tried for you (requests are ONLY OPEN to my MUTUALS rn until i get the hang of requests!)

Love Of My Life

Husband!Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: You’re fully expecting to spend Valentine’s Day alone with year with your husband on a case. To your surprise, he comes home early and wants to help you destress, especially with you two trying for a baby. But little does he know, you have some news that’s going to change his world forever.

Category: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: 18+ MDNI established relationship, valentine’s day themed fic, surprises, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of trying for a baby, love love love, fluff fluff fluff, kissing, mentions of having a baby, smut warnings: soft dom!spencer reid, fingering, use of the word ‘ejaculate’, breast play/slight nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie (that should cover it)

Author’s Note: happy valentine’s day my lovelies! please enjoy a fluffy smut with spencer reid <3

Of course you had to work on Valentine’s Day. You were the one who wanted the demanding job and your own money spend, you were gonna take all the hours you could get.

And then you thought about it. Maybe that’s why it wasn’t happening for you. Maybe you weren’t relaxed enough, maybe a lot of stresses had to do with the reason you weren’t getting pregnant.

You and Spencer had been trying for a baby for six months now and so far, nothing was happening. And every time you hoped it was different and felt a flutter in your stomach as you took a pregnancy test, you were always disappointed when that stick came back negative. You were starting to believe that motherhood just wasn’t in the stars for you. Which was sad to think, since you knew Spencer would be an amazing father. You’d seen him with his godson, Henry. Spencer had assured to you time and time again that if it could happen, he was happy with or without kids as long as he was with you.

But then while he was gone on his case, you discovered something and you’d yet to tell him.

Today was Valentine’s Day, the most romantic day of the year and Spencer wasn’t able to spend the day with you because he’d gotten called into a case a few days prior. You told him it was okay, since you also had to work a long shift that day and that you could celebrate a day later if needed.

Now, your shift ended and you honestly kinda looked forward to going home to an empty apartment and stuffing your face with chocolate he’d sent you and watching romance movies. It wasn’t the Valentine’s Day you envisioned but it was something, at least.

You had finally gotten home and had been in the middle of removing your shoes and your coat and scarf when you noticed something on the ground. You bent down and picked up and examined a small rose petal on the ground and looked down and saw that the floor is covered in them and that they’re leading a trail into your kitchen. And that’s when you’d smelt something.

Cooked food? You frowned, wondering what that wonderful aroma was as you walked slowly towards your kitchen and your jaw drops when you see Spencer standing there, fixing the bouquet of flowers on the table and you notice that he hasn’t seen you yet.

“Spencer?” You ask, making his jump up at the sound of your voice and almost knocking over the flowers but luckily catching them before the vase full of water fell over.

Spencer then stands straight and pulls a strand of hair behind his ear in nervousness as he meets your eyes with a small smile. “Hi.” He greets and you look around.

He’d decorated the place nicely. Heart balloons, flowers, dinner waiting for you on your table and he’d gifted you a basket with a small teddy bear and your favorite snacks. A smile forms your face as you walk towards him.

“I thought you were gonna be gone.” You tell him. He shrugs simply, “We solved the case. And I wanted to get home to you as fast as I could.” You smile fondly at him, grateful that he can be home. “You couldn’t have waited until I got home and maybe washed this whole day off of me? I feel so ugh right now.” You chuckle as you move your hair out of your face and Spencer back up and smiles. “Don’t be ridiculous, you look beautiful no matter what.” How does he always know what to say?

“I know we’ve had a rough few months with—” He trails off and you know what he means. Since your issues with trying to get pregnant. “But tonight, I just want to help you relax and de-stress. And I don’t want your mind on anything.” You knew what that meant.

You bite your lip in anticipation and lean forward, tugging his face towards yours and you press your lips into a kiss and he leans further, passionately kissing you until breathing becomes a chore.

“Why don’t we take this into the bedroom, then?” You suggest seductively with a teasing smile. Spencer raises his brows in amusement as you take his hand, walking backwards towards your bedroom and pulling him to kiss your lips as you back towards the door.

You don’t even have time to open it, sandwiched in between the door and Spencer as his lips are on the column of your neck, kissing and no doubt leaving hickies behind. He get to your pulse point and you find yourself beginning to unbutton his shirt with your fingers but you can hardly focus when his mouth is all over you.

Finally, you manage to find the doorknob and open the door, flipping the both of you over as the back of his knees hit the bed and you crawl on top of him, kissing passionately and leaving lipstick marks all over his neck, reaching his pulse point and causing him to moan out as you smirk against his neck.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He stops you, pushing you off by your shoulders. “This is supposed to be about you.” You smile at his carefulness with you, how gentle he is, like he always was.

“Well, maybe I want to take care of you.” You tell him but Spencer shakes his head, “You take care of me plenty.” He moves a strand of loose hair from your face. “You’re so beautiful.”

You lean in, closing the gap between you two once more and he is quick to flip the both of you over and he interlinks your fingers together as he holds one of your hands above your head.

You feel as his hand drags down your body, from the column of your neck to your swelled breasts, down your stomach, all the way to his final destination. He sticks his hand to the waistband of your underwear and you feel as he sticks a finger into your slick folds.

You moan into his mouth as he groans, moving from your lips to whisper in your ear — “You’re so wet.” You lean your head over to his and mutter, “All for you.”

He moves his finger inside of you, pushing in and pulling out with a rhythm that’s enough to make you tug on his hair. “Oh, God…” You breathe, gasping as your back arches on the bed and trying to grind your hips into his hand as his thumb makes its’ way to your clit.

You bite your lip to stifle your moans. Hey, your walls were thin! Spencer notices this and shakes his head, “None of that, I want to hear you say my name. Okay, angel? Can you do that?” His motions with his fingers move faster as he waits for your answer. “Oh, Spencer…” You moan out and Spencer smirks against your neck.

“Can you cum like this? Just like this?” He breathes heavily and you whine as his motions grow faster and faster, thumb rubbing your clit and and fingers moving faster inside of you until the coil in your stomach breaks and you tighten your thighs around his hand.

Spencer moved up, looking into your eyes, so full of love and affection and you smile at him, so content in this moment — with him. Everything was always better with him.

“Do you still want to keep going? I’m fine with ending things here, if you don’t want to.” Spencer suggests and you fall in love with him all over again. He’s so tender with you, so loving and careful like you’re fragile glass hanging from the ceiling. He’d stare at you for so long, mesmerized with love for you.

“No, I want to keep going.” You tell, trailing your hand down from his stomach to his belt and then to his bulge underneath his slacks. He flinched a bit and gasped. “Careful there, angel. I might, um, ejaculate too early.”

You chuckle and shake your head, “You’re the only person that uses that word, you know.”

Spencer raises his brows. “Should I stop?”

“I actually find it very sexy, how intellectual you are.” You smirk, laying back as he looks over your dress and then his eyes gaze from your body to you. “May I?”

You nod, breathlessly and Spencer removes your underwear underneath your dress and flings then across the room and as he begins to undress himself, you help yourself out of your dress, only revealing you wearing a pastel bra underneath.

Spencer finally leans himself over you as he gawks at your breasts and can’t seem to take his eyes off of them. Spencer Reid was a boob man, through and through. No surprise there. “My eyes are up here, baby.” You joke and Spencer gives you that sheepish look, like he’d been caught and you swear you see his ears go pink. “S-Sorry.” He stutters. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind.” You smirk as you grab one of his hands and put it on the swell of your breast and you bite your lip in anticipation.

Spencer leans down as he kisses each of your breasts before going to suck on your right nipple and you dig your fingers into his hair and watch as his eyes are on you, blown with lust and you swear you see hearts in them.

Eventually, he relents and backs up to adjust himself on top of you. You look down between you two and you take him into your hand and guide him at your entrance.

Spencer smiles at you as he pushes himself inside of you and in this moment — you both are infinite. Every thrust, every moan, every loving moment between you two is just that. Like you’re the only people in the world right now. Nothing else matters except for this moment. And as you stare into his eyes, his love for you is written all over them. Years ago, you could never imagine yourself being loved the way you are now. And Spencer proved you wrong. Thank God. Because he loved you in any way a person can be loved.

He interlinks your fingers again as he goes slowly and surely, a pace that you’re both content with. Spencer always loved taking his time with you. You whisper in his ear to go a bit faster and your wish is his command so he speeds up just a bit, not too much, not too slow but just right.

Spencer feels as you clench around him and as you tighten around his cock, he gasps, quickly announcing that he’s cumming and tips his head back as he releases inside of you. You could watch him for eternity like this. You couldn’t help it, everything about him was sexy.

He’s there for a moment before he gently pulls out of you and makes his way down to your heat and you squirm once you his hot mouth closes around your bud and you almost want to push him away, due to the overstimulation. “Spence— too much.” You gasp as you writhe in his grasp.

Spencer holds your thighs down and he pulls his tongue away from your body and speaks up — “You can give me one more, angel. Please.” And who are you to say no to that?

You cum with a silent scream and you’re seeing stars. You shut your eyes and fall apart on the bed, the relief of him releasing his mouth off of you is enough to make you tired. Spencer pushes his hair away from his face as he goes to lay next to you.

“I’m sorry, angel. I didn’t mean to overstimulate you.” Easy for him to say. He never let you go to bed without you cumming at least twice. You open your eyes just enough to see him gazing at you and he reaches over, caressing your cheek lovingly. “It’s okay. It’s okay because it’s you.” You say and Spencer smiles to himself and he gives you a moment to rest before needing to go and clean you up, cuddling up to you and holding you in his arms.

“You know, there is some evidence in statistics that there is a slight increase in conceptions around Valentine's Day.” Spencer speaks. “Maybe that could’ve been the one.”

You open your eyes and forget about your news that you’ve needed to tell him. “Um… actually…” You speak, causing him to look down at you with furrowed brows and a confused expression on his face. He studied your facial expressions and sits up in disbelief, still staring at you in wonder. Where were you going with this?

“How do you feel about having an October baby?” You finally respond and Spencer’s eyes widen and his jaw drops and he’s quick to pepper your face with kisses in excitement like an excited golden retriever. You smile as he continues doing so for a moment.

“How long have you known?” Spencer asks. “A week or so now. Doctor said I was about a month in and things are good so far.” You assure to him.

“I love you,” Spencer says. “With or without this, I’d love you, no matter what. You’re the love of my life.” You smile at him as he glances at your stomach and leans down to give your belly a kiss as well and you blush at the motion. How lucky you were to have this man.

“Alright,” Spencer stands, grabbing your hands for you to sit up and he adds for you to get up gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.“

Again, it’s the just the two of you against the world. And soon enough there will be another one. Fifty percent of him and fifty percent of you. And then it will be the three of you against the world.

This was a Valentine’s Day for the books.

[can-i-make-image-descriptions]

[Image IDs: Image #1: Tumblr ask with username blocked out reading: lowkey something that irritates me w the common belief that "estrogen has less effects that T" or "estrogen is slower than T" is that, like. thats only because doctors don't give trans women the proper dose!

trans men get the correct dose of testosterone to take their levels to similar to a cis guy, but trans women are systematically underdosed because the medical establishment has a vested transmisogynist interest in ensuring we can not pass, and in making TME people believe estrogen is *weaker*

Answer with username blocked out reading: yeah it's utterly fucked. this is one of the number one reasons why people shouldn't believe all the fearmongering about DIY imo

Image #2: Tumblr tags from corpseComplex reading: #And where are you getting the information that trans men are universally given cis man level doses of t. #I have seen so many horror stories from other trans men about how their doctors were underdosing them in order to try and make them quit t #or because 'well we don't want you to ruin your beautiful impregnatable body with the ugly violent hormone teehee'

Image #3: Tumblr tags from puppyDogDevotion reading: #these people are just flat out lying about some of this now #doctors very much frequently low does trans men so we don't ""ruin ourselves"" with T

Image #4: Tumblr tags from monemin reading: #as if there isn't a post on r/ftm every few days where a guy wonders why his changes are so slow and finds out that his doctor has been #fucking. microdosing him. in order to get him to think testosterone doesn't work and stop transitioning. #people will see an issue transfems have and automatically decided that it doesnt happen to trans men based on literally nothing #(and then decide based on even less than nothing that it's actually something that benefits trans men)

Image #5: Tumblr tags from alienFagz reading: #this also ignores the fact that trans men (esp young trans men) are also frequently under dosed #idk maybe its just us #but we've been on t for 2 years and our endo has us on a pretty low dose #at least compared to what ive seen from other trans guys

Image #6: Anonymous Tumblr ask reading: "trans men get [given] the correct dose of testosterone" ..... do they? i thought it was a pretty common experience among trans men and transmascs that a lot of prescribers actually don't and more often than not transmascs and trans men find out their testosterone levels are too low months or even years down the line when they switch providers, do their own research or find out from others. /End IDs]

i fully buy that this (lowdosing) is true but oh my God why does it have to come back to "TMEs" believing that it's weaker? Why is the medical industry so invested in that? Why wouldn't it be invested in making "TMAs" believe that?

Most of the "TMEs" people refer to already have bodies that are affected by estrogen. In fact, if you actually talk to "transandrobros" you will find we often discuss how estrogen is wrongly and misogynistically portrayed as the weaker hormone, when we KNOW it isn't because it fundamentally changed our bodies in ways that require medical intervention to change again. Like. what do you think WE are gaining from trans women getting low dosed or propaganda about estrogen being weak. Why does this have to be about how the medical industry loves trans men and is only systemically against trans women. Hellloooooo

[gf2bellamy]

hiii lovely! i’ve been absolutely adoring ur work and was wondering if you’d consider writing some sort of hurt/comfort? like reader had a bad day and kind of blows up at spencer, and because spencer’s a Smartass he’s good at help king rewarded through it? :)

misdirected — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n) content warnings: established relationship, reader being upset , also reader feeling guilty for lashing out a/n: hiii ! hope you like this <3 also omg him in this gif he looks so good

You pushed open the door to your apartment. The moment you stepped inside, you let out a long, heavy sigh.

You dropped your bag onto the floor, the thud echoing softly in the quiet apartment. Shrugging off your jacket, you hung it on the hook by the door, your fingers brushing against another jacket already hanging there.

You paused, your eyes narrowing slightly as you recognized it immediately—Spencer’s. The sight of it made your chest tighten.You bit your lip, staring at it for a moment longer than necessary.

Today had been one of those days. The kind where nothing went right, where every little inconvenience felt like a personal attack, and where you were pretty sure you’d used up all your patience before noon.

You weren’t in the mood to talk, to explain, or to be around anyone, really. And yet, here you were, standing in your apartment, knowing Spencer was somewhere inside.

You could hear the faint sound of the shower running. For a brief moment, you were grateful. At least you had a few minutes to collect yourself.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, and then turned back to grab your bag from the floor. Slinging it over your shoulder, you made your way to your bedroom, the one place in the apartment that felt like a sanctuary.

Though, if you were being honest, it wasn’t just your sanctuary anymore. Over the past few months, it had slowly become Spencer’s too. His books were scattered across your nightstand, his sweaters mixed in with yours in the dresser, and his favorite blanket—the one he insisted was scientifically proven to be the coziest—was draped over the foot of the bed.

You opened the dresser and grabbed the first sweater your hand landed on, not even bothering to check whose it was. As you pulled it over your head, you realized it was Spencer’s.

You slipped your own sweatpants on, then glanced down at your feet, noticing you’d grabbed two different socks. One was a plain black one, the other a mismatched striped one. A habit you’d picked up from Spencer, who always seemed to wear mismatched socks.

You made your way to the living room, and sank into the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest.

You stared into nothing, your thoughts swirling as you replayed everything that had happened today. Today was one of those days where it felt like the universe itself was conspiring against you.

You groaned loudly, brushing a hand over your face as if you could physically wipe away the frustration. Your mood was sour, and you knew it. You weren’t exactly the best company right now. 

As you glanced at the coffee table, you realized how chaotic it looked. There were books stacked randomly—mostly Spencer’s, of course—along with a half-empty mug of tea, a notebook with scribbled notes spilling out of it, and a few random pens scattered about.

The sight of it made you frown slightly. Normally, the clutter wouldn’t bother you, but today it felt like just another thing that was out of place, another reminder that nothing was going right. 

You leaned forward, searching for the remote to turn on the TV, hoping to distract yourself with some show or movie. But of course, the remote was nowhere to be found.

You sighed, slumping back against the couch in defeat. It felt like the world had it out for you today, and even the smallest things were determined to make your life harder. 

You didn’t hear the sound of the water stopping, nor did you notice Spencer’s footsteps as he walked into the room. It wasn’t until he was standing in front of you, a towel in his hand as he dried his damp hair, that you realized he was there. His smile was soft, almost tentative, as if he could sense your mood. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

You looked up at him, your expression tight. You were trying to be nice, you really were, but the anger and frustration were still bubbling under the surface, threatening to spill over.

“Hi,” you answered shortly, your tone dry. 

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his gaze studying you for a moment. He didn’t say anything right away, and you were grateful for that. Instead, he finished drying his hair and draped the towel over the back of a nearby chair.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his damp hair curled slightly at the ends. He looked so… normal. So calm. And it only made you feel more out of sorts. 

He didn’t push, didn’t ask what was wrong. Instead, he just sat down beside you on the couch, leaving a little space between you, as if giving you room to breathe. For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. 

Finally, Spencer spoke, his voice quiet. “You look like you’ve had a day.” 

It wasn’t a question, and you didn’t take it as one. You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it,” you muttered, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. 

After a moment, he reached over and gently placed his hand on your knee, his touch light. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his tone careful, like he was tiptoeing around the edges of your mood. 

“No,” you said shortly, shifting your knee so that his hand fell away. You bit your lip, closing your eyes for a second as you tried to rein in the frustration bubbling inside you.

It wasn’t his fault, you knew that, but right now, everything felt like too much. Even his kindness felt like it was pressing against the walls you’d put up. 

“Where’s the remote?” you asked abruptly, your voice sharper than you intended. You leaned forward, digging through the cushions and moving a pillow aside.

Spencer watched you carefully, his eyes tracking your every move, but he didn’t say anything right away. 

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly, his tone calm and measured, like he was trying not to set you off further. “I saw it on the table the last time I used it.” 

You let out a frustrated groan, your hands dropping to your sides.

“Yeah, well, look at this table,” you said, gesturing wildly toward the cluttered surface. “There’s so much stuff. How am I supposed to find anything in this mess?” 

Spencer’s gaze flicked to the table, then back to you, his expression unreadable. He didn’t respond right away, and the silence only made your irritation flare. 

“Why do you even have, like, five books here?” you continued, your voice rising slightly as the frustration spilled over. “Do you really need all of them out at once?” 

You didn’t mean to snap at him, not really. But the words tumbled out before you could stop them, and once they were out, you couldn’t take them back.

Spencer didn’t react. He didn’t get defensive or argue back. Instead, he just sat there, his expression softening as he looked at you.

“You’re right,” he said quietly.“It’s a mess. I’ll clean it up.” 

You stood up abruptly, the guilt of how you’d spoken to him now pressing heavily on your chest, mixing uncomfortably with the anger from your awful day.

Without a word, you walked to the kitchen, needing a moment to yourself. You leaned against the counter, your hands gripping the edge as you stared down at the sink, trying to steady your breathing.

Spencer was sweet—too sweet sometimes. He didn’t deserve the way you’d snapped at him, and the realization only made you feel worse. 

Back in the living room, Spencer stayed seated on the couch, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh. He wasn’t sure what to do. He hated seeing you like this—frustrated and upset.

He wanted to help, to fix it, but he also knew that sometimes the best thing he could do was give you space. Still, it didn’t stop him from feeling a little helpless as he sat there.

After a moment, he stood up and quietly began tidying the table, stacking the books neatly and placing the scattered pens and notebooks into a more organized pile.

He glanced toward the kitchen. You were still leaning against the counter, your back to him, and he could tell by the way your shoulders were tense that you were still upset. 

It was late—later than you’d realized. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to you, and you decided there was no point in staying up any longer.

You stopped tapping your fingers on the counter, pushing yourself away from it as you left the kitchen without a word. As you passed by the living room, you glanced at Spencer.

He was still sitting there, a book open in his hands, but the table in front of him was now clean and organized. The sight made the pit in your stomach grow heavier.

He’d tidied up, just like he said he would.

You walked to the bathroom, forcing yourself to go through the motions of getting ready for bed even though you had zero energy to do anything.

Once you were done, you trudged to your room and plopped down on the bed, your head sinking into the pillow. You stared up at the ceiling, the events of the day replaying in your mind like a broken record.

The quiet of the room felt suffocating, and you realized how much you hated falling asleep without Spencer beside you.

Time passed—minutes, maybe more—as you turned from side to side, unable to get comfortable.

Just as you were about to give up and grab your phone to distract yourself, you heard footsteps approaching your room.

They were soft, hesitant, and then Spencer appeared in the doorway. 

He stood there for a moment. He was holding a book in one hand, his other hand resting on the doorframe as if he wasn’t sure whether to come in or not.

His hair was slightly messy and still wet. He looked at you, his expression soft but uncertain. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I, uh… I was wondering if I could sleep here tonight. With you, I mean. If that’s okay.” 

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes still fixed on the ceiling. But after a moment, you nodded, still avoiding his gaze. 

Spencer didn’t need more than that. He stepped into the room, closing the door gently behind him before walking over to the bed.

He set his book down on the nightstand and climbed in beside you, his movements careful.

Usually, you’d curl up against Spencer, your head resting on his chest as you listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms would wrap around you, one hand gently tracing patterns on your back while the other held you close.

You’d fall asleep like that, tangled together.

But tonight was not like that.

The pillow under your head was definitely not as comfortable as Spencer’s chest, and the absence of his arms around you made the bed feel colder, emptier.

You missed the way he’d kiss your forehead before you both drifted off, the way he’d whisper little things to you—sometimes random facts, sometimes just “I love you”—until you fell asleep.

Then, quietly, almost hesitantly, Spencer broke the silence. His voice was soft, tentative, like he was testing the waters. “I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he mumbled.

You didn’t respond right away, your back still turned to him. But then he kept talking, his voice a little steadier now. “I, uh… I read this study once that said physical touch can help reduce stress. Like, hugging or cuddling. It releases oxytocin, which is sometimes called the ‘love hormone.’ It’s supposed to make you feel calmer, more connected. I know it’s not a fix for everything, but… maybe it could help. If you want.” 

His ramble was so Spencer—sweet and a little awkward—that you couldn’t help but smile slightly, even though he couldn’t see it. You turned around to face him, finally meeting his eyes.

In the dim light, you could see the concern etched into his features, the way his brows were slightly furrowed and his lips were pressed together in a thin line.

He looked so earnest, so genuinely worried about you, that it made your chest ache. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For how I acted earlier. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I was just… overwhelmed.”

You paused, your fingers nervously picking at the edge of the blanket. “And thank you for cleaning up the table. I know I was being… a lot. You didn’t have to do that.”

Spencer shook his head immediately, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was gentle, his fingers lingering for a moment before he let his hand fall to the bed between you.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You don’t have to apologize. I get it. Bad days happen. I just… I hate seeing you like this. I just want to help.”

You looked at him for a moment, your heart swelling with affection.

“You do help,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “Just by being here. You always help.”

Spencer’s expression softened, and without another word, he opened his arms to you. You didn’t hesitate this time. You moved closer, letting him pull you into his embrace.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other cradled your head against his chest. You sighed, the tension in your body slowly melting away.

“You’re still a little damp,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his chest as you felt the coolness of his skin where the shower hadn’t fully dried. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “I’ve got you to keep me warm, don’t I?”

You smiled faintly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “For… everything.”

Spencer didn’t say anything in response. He didn’t need to. Instead, he just held you a little tighter, his fingers gently tracing circles on your back.

And as you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you realized that no matter how bad the day had been, it always felt a little better when it ended like this—with him by your side.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for RaineyDay behind the cut; "Smallville does not approve of Clark Kent’s parenting style". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Unfortunately, this particular drive he’s apparently going to be spending trying to figure out what the hell Conner did to set off Cathy Mueller bad enough to take it out on him, because sure as hell the kid isn’t going to just tell him, and also because he doesn’t want that coming back on Ma and Pa. If Cathy’s this mad at him when he hasn’t even been in town for a good two months or so, he can’t even imagine how she would’ve reacted to them showing up at the store, given they’re the ones Conner actually lives with. 

It’s–difficult to figure out, unfortunately. Especially because he swears Conner talks to him less and less these days even though if anything Clark actually sees him more. The kid’s still upset over being “stuck” in Smallville or the Titans situation, he supposes, which . . . well, he’s a teenager. Clark hadn’t wanted to interfere in his life like that, but . . . well, it’d been necessary at the time. But if Conner’s acting up about it or taking his frustrations out at school . . . 

Clark doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to do about that, actually. Talk to him about it, he supposes, but that always feels so damn awkward. Conner never really seems to respond well to it or really understand the point he’s making anyway. Especially lately, because every time Clark’s tried to talk to Conner about problem behavior since he moved out here, the kid either sits there like a sullen brick wall or gets his back up and starts snapping at him. It’s just not . . . productive, really. 

Clark doesn’t remember being like that as a kid, when a teacher or coach or just any adult in his life had told him that he was doing something wrong. He’d gotten upset at adults who’d had unreasonable or unfair expectations or just hadn’t known what they were talking about, yes, or ones who’d refused to listen to his side of things, but not ones who’d just been offering basic life advice or correcting a misstep. He’d definitely never made trouble for Ma and Pa because he’d decided to act out around town, cheerleaders or not. And definitely hadn’t done any deliberate property destruction, since obviously that’s still on the table too. 

He just doesn’t understand the kid, sometimes. Or–most of the time, really. He genuinely cannot think of a single kid who’s ever been in his life that was so hard to just talk to, across literally every single age range. Jimmy was only a couple of years older than Conner when he first met him; Dick was half his age. Jason–well, he didn’t know Jason as well, but he was younger than Conner too and the poor kid got himself killed while acting out less than Conner tends to. Tim’s polite to a fault, and Damian . . . well, Damian’s a bit difficult, but you just have to be sure to approach things from his perspective. There’s never been a sidekick or a Titan or any teenage hero in the community that was any worse than a civilian teenager just trying to figure themselves out, but talking to Conner is just . . . 

He just doesn’t understand why Conner always makes it so damn hard to just talk to him. The kid’s more stubborn and less willing to listen and more unpredictable than some supervillains Clark’s known, or at least it feels that way. Even after a good two or three years of knowing each other, Clark never really knows what’s going to set him off, it’s–actually, it’s closer to four years now, isn’t it. 

Well . . . Conner was about fifteen or sixteen when he’d met him in Metropolis; he’d spent a while in Hawaii and the Wild Lands, and then a while with Cadmus, and then a few months back in Metropolis where he’d managed to get the entire apartment building he was living in destroyed, so . . . closer to four, yes. And at least a year of that he wasn’t actually aging for, and essentially none of it he’d spent in school, so when Clark had been getting papers set up for the kid he’d just written him down as “seventeen” and made up some excuse about his previous guardians home-schooling him. The school had given him a few assessment tests and placed him as a junior–which honestly had been better than Clark would’ve expected considering Conner’s patchwork education–and Clark had left all the necessary forged paperwork with Ma and Pa and assumed Conner would know better than to make trouble for them.

Given the amount of times the kid’s played hooky already, probably he should’ve expected a situation like whatever’s got Cathy Mueller in a twist to come up by now, Clark has to admit. 

The drive, in the end, is not particularly good for clearing his head. 

[goquokka00]

SKZ vs Shark Week (Bangchan ver.)

How would each member of Stray Kids handle you while you're on your period?

BANGCHAN | MINHO | CHANGBIN | HYUNJIN JISUNG | FELIX | SEUNGMIN | JEONGIN

WARNING: This is a female reader going through their period. If the topic of a period/anything that has to do with a period makes you uncomfortable, then don't read it. Just remember that there's nothing wrong with a woman's period. It's a perfectly healthy body function :)

THE MOODS Bangchan never fails to notice how your mood always changes whenever you're a few days out from your period. He's an observant man of 7 children, he WILL notice when something is off with you. Specifically when you get more depressed than you usually are.

You don't eat as much, you bed rot more, you never feel like going out, and you constantly look like you're two seconds away from crying. You also wear the same clothes for a few days at a time, because you don't have it in you to change out of them. And so, Bangchan takes it upon himself to love up on you more.

The more depressed you get, the more cuddly he gets in return. He'll hold you, give you kisses, compliment you over and over, all to make sure that you're okay. If his princess is feeling down, then he'll do everything in his power to lift her spirits back up. And nothing...NOTHING will stop him.

THE BLOOD Simply put, your flow actually isn't that bad. Yeah, you bleed for a few days, but it's nothing horrible. The part that's horrible (more so for Bangchan than you) is that you don't wanna cuddle when you're bleeding. While it's not heavy and it's manageable, you don't want to potentially leak on him. It'd be beyond embarrassing.

But Bangchan? He gets pouty and mopey when you tell him that you aren't gonna sit on his lap while he works. He knows it's because you don't want to accidentally leak, but come on! So what if you get blood on him, he'll happily risk the cleanliness of his pants if it means he can have you on his lap. But he also respects your wishes. He respects it with a grain of salt, but...he respects it.

THE PAIN Through your period, you do end up getting a few cramps, but it's nothing horrible. They aren't as bad as some horror stories you've heard of, but they're bad enough to where you're never really comfortable. Sitting or standing or laying down in one position for too long gets to be seriously uncomfortable, and you have to change. The horrible thing is the tender breasts. They just feel so heavy and sore, it's horrible.

That's where Bangchan comes in. He knows that you go through this, and so he pretty much makes it his soul mission to take care of you however you need. You need pain killers? Done. You want him to rub your stomach? Say no more. You need the heated blanket for your chest. He's on it.

There are even times where he'll go out and get you some treats for being such a trooper for dealing with this week of uncomfortableness. And of course, each treat comes with a shower of kisses and "I love you's."

THE PRODUCT Not once has Bangchan ever complained about running to the store to get you pads or tampons or whatever you might need. Why would he? You going through your period means two things; you're healthy, and you're not pregnant. And right now, both are good things.

Also, he has a sister. So of course he's used to the products that came with periods. He doesn't cringe when he sees the used wrappers and wrapped waste for the week. He's used to it.

For you, he's buying the best of the best. The first time you asked him to get you some pads, he had asked an employee about which product was the best, and got you that. Along with a new heated pad, a big heated blanket you could both cuddle under, your favorite snacks and drinks, and chocolate. He isn't skimping for you. He knows that your period is your least favorite time of the month, so he'll do whatever he possibly can to spoil you so you don't suffer as much.

Anything for you.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Hello again wonderful person of the Internet!

Thank you for answering my previous question! But I have came to you for another one.

So I’ve seen a little bit of dialogue from Ford, but how does he speak? Like what is his speaking mannerisms? Is it all gibberish? Does he stutter? Does he repeat words?

Keep on making your art and being awesome! :)

~ Question asked from the Tiniest Cyclops ~

Hello, hello again, tiny cyclops in my inbox!

As I mentioned in this post where I go a bit more in depth on Ford's brain injury, Ford suffers from aphasia! Which is basically the loss of one's ability to express language and communicate, while not losing the ability to understand it. But I'm sure you already knew this; and if not, the more you know!

How does he speak? It really depends when you were to go up and talk to him in the timeline. His speech mannerisms the few following years right after his head trauma is very different from how he speaks now in canon! He's had 30 years to recover, after all.

Ford's speech right after his injury was practically non-exitstent. He was smacked in the face with all of the textbook definition symptoms of aphasia, ramped up to 100.

Speaking in short or incomplete sentences.

Speaking in sentences that don't make sense.

Substituting one word for another or one sound for another.

Speak unrecognizable words.

Have difficulty finding words.

Conversations with him back then were not "gibberish" per se, but more so just... slow. And frustrating for everyone involved, although no one could ever be more frustrated than Ford himself. I mean, can you imagine? He could barely say anything without monumental effort, and whatever meager words he managed to squeeze out of his throat were lackluster, to say the least. Every part of his speech were hindered: grammar, pronunciation, heck, even the tone, volume and rythm of his speech didn't always come out correctly.

Due to how recent his brain injury was, there was also the added physical impairments to his speech. The muscles involved in producing speech were weakened, affecting Ford's control and clarity of his words (this is also called: dysarthria).

From an outsider's perspective, listening to him would have felt a little like listening to an extremely corrupted audio file, or a faulty record player. He would often take long pauses in the middle of his words; his words sometimes blended into one another; and his sentences were short, and simple. I think this quote from this website explains it best.

"Speech may be 'telegraphic' omitting small words such as 'the'. So, 'tomorrow I'm going to the pub with my wife for our anniversary', may be expressed as 'tomorrow...pub... wife... anniversary'. This requires the listener to accurately piece the message together."

So, yeah! As you can imagine, speaking for him was extremely hard. Often times, the townfolk he tried to speak to didn't have the patience to stick around while he finished a sentence, and gradually even Ford lost patience with himself, so he just. Gave up. Which was why he used to be much quieter in the beginning, lurking around town wordlessly, not even really bothering even when someone tried to initiate conversation with him. For a genius who once prided himself so much of his eloquence, losing that ability was a huge blow for him.

How fast one recovers from aphasia really depends on the severity of the injury. It can either take up to a few hours, days, maybe even weeks to fully reover with no long term repercussions, or the symptoms can last months, even years to shake off, and occasionally it's a lifelong condition. Ford, due to the severity of his injury, drew the short end of the stick, and was stuck with the lingering aftereffects of aphasia pretty much forever.

BUT, he evenutally managed to find the will to speak again! At some point during his 30 years of recovery, he decided that he'll figure this shit out himself, goddamnit, he was a scientist. He outsmarted a demon! He didn't have time to be depressed, he needed to relearn how to SPEAK!! (fuck yeah, determination, baby).

And learn he did. Very painfully, very gradually, Ford became basically his own speech therapist for a few decades and relearned everything his body and brain forgot. And although the results aren't perfect- he still stutters, he still gets stuck on words and he still stumbles over them- considering the fact that he had no professional treatment from a clinic or doctor available, it was good enough.

Now he won't shut up! (lovingly)

[chrepsi]

──     ୨୧   !　M.S V DAY HARD LAUNCH | INSTAGRAM

singer!reader x matt

IN WHICH ; y/n and matt have been in a private relationship for the past few months, deciding to announce it to the public on valentines day <3

WARNINGS ; matt making a freaky comment, but besides that, none:))

A/N ; this is my first time making smt like this so sorry if its not the best lmfao. im also severely dyslexic so apologies if there are any gramatical / spelling errors !

liked by madisonbeer, nicolassturniolo and 559,702 others

matthew.sturniolo my valentine💗

view all 62,330 comments

sturn.obsessed y/n dont steal my man 😞

sturnz.yn06 IDK IF I WANNA BE MATT OR Y/N

y/n.y/l/n idk what i would do without you❤️😭u mean the WORLD to me u dont understand

matthew.sturniolo I LOVE YOU MORE. y/n.y/l/n NUH UH

nicolassturniolo the pink heart was a bit of a gay move

matthew.sturniolo stfu

y/n.y/l/n I TOLD YOU TO DELETE THAT SECOND PHOTO YOU BITCH >:((

christophersturniolo i love how y/n's shoes are drastically cleaner than urs LMFOAO

sturniol04 'drastically' thats a big word for u christopher

y/nfan4 I'M GOING INSANE

nicolassturniolo ugh i love you guys

madisonbeer my babies🤍🥹

liked by taylorswift, oliviarodrigo and 4,290,091 others

y/n.y/l/n i don’t know what on earth i did to deserve the most handsome, sweet, funny and perfect valentine❤️i genuinely don’t know where i would be in life if your brother never introduced us—you are such a light in my life. happy valentine’s day to my perfect boyfriend UGHHH you’re so cute i wanna throw a rock at you🤧❤️

view all 998,401 comments

oliviarodrigo SO HAPPY FOR YALLL

y/n.fan7 pls dont ever break up yall are the cutest🤧

matthew.sturniolo why do u wanna throw a rock at me :(

y/n.y/l/n its not my choice the cuteness aggression takes over

y/n.sturnzz this cannot be real holy shit

matthew.sturniolo for all those fuckers; just because i wrote less words than y/n doesn’t mean i love her any less than she loves me❤️

nicolassturniolo y/n can u come over soon i miss u 🤧 (don’t bring matt tho pls pls PLS)

matthew.sturniolo at least i dont have to ask her to cum nicolassturniolo MATTHEW WHAT matthew.sturniolo 🫢🫢🫢

ariana_greenblatt MOTHER AND FATHER

sturn.38 am i the only one who noticed matt drinking wine?? i thought he was sober

sturniolo.fan278 OMFGGGGGG LIFE IS SUDDENLY WORTH LIVING

A/N ; hope u guys enjoyed :ppp if u want to be added to my taglist, lmk in my inbox or reply to this post!! luv ya x

A/N #2 ; im re-reading this rn and am just now realising how often i use the 🤧 emoji lmfao

TAGLIST ; @trevorsgodmother @mxnsonn @pr3ttylittleslutt @v4lsturn @wildfluer @delilahsturns @lailasnight @courta13 @kisses4chris @chrispycremedonut @chrisspussygang @stvrloghost 

divider creds - @bernardsbendystraws & @sisterlucifergraphics

[emmg]

Bees

This piece of unholy crack is for my wife @jainydoe

I want a fic where bellara is emmrich's ward and rook does the whole Look at your dad keeping bees Bellara I'm gonna fuck your dad shtick

"So he, like, adopted you?" 

Bellara gets bonked across the face by a very round, very enthusiastic artifact. "I guess? Kind of? A little bit before I was all grown up." 

Rook pulls a face. "Why?" 

Bellara idly scratches her ear with a wrench. "Oh, you know. Legal things." 

Rook’s face only twists further. "That explains nothing. That is the opposite of explaining. What in the Maker’s name does that even mean?" 

"Oh! Well, see, he was in Tevinter, and I sort of—not on purpose—ended up owing a lot of money. And then the people I owed were, um, very insistent that I give it back. Which was unfortunate, because I didn’t have it. And I told them I didn’t have it, but they still wanted it. So he paid it for me, and now I just use his money. It all worked out!"

Rook's eye twitches. "So… you're his mistress?" 

Bellara blinks. "His what?" 

Rook pinches the bridge of her nose. "Never mind. That was a no." 

"Mphff," Bellara replies as her eyebrows are promptly seared off. 

****

She doesn’t mean to stare at Bellara’s not-dad, but, well, here she is. Staring. Very accidentally, of course. Completely unintentional. It’s just—he’s her colleague now, and Bellara is her friend, and who could have possibly predicted that she’d one day reunite with Bellara only to find out that her not-dad was someone she’d end up working in—er, under—uh, near. In close proximity. Adjacent to. 

At the very least, Rook thinks, the Mourn Watch dresses excellently. Or maybe Emmrich Volkarin just has an aesthetic because the man doesn’t walk—he floats. His coattails are so long and dramatic that every step he takes looks like he’s being ceremoniously carried by the souls of the damned. Which, given the necromancy, is not off the table. 

They’ve been at this for, what, three months now? A season. A quarter of a year. Long enough for her to cycle through every possible thought about him and then loop back around for seconds. 

Oh, he’s so polite and well-spoken, she thought at first, when he shook her hand with all the enthusiasm of a professor greeting a particularly promising student.

Oh, he’s a fucking creep, she thought upon learning he had adopted Bellara under circumstances that sounded alarmingly vague.

Oh, well, maybe not a total menace, she thought after Bellara’s half-baked explanation, which made it sound only mildly suspicious rather than deeply, horrifyingly illegal.

Oh, he smells good, she thought during her first week as he escorted her through the Necropolis, his hand casually redirecting hers away from things that would almost certainly kill her, and books that, to her absolute dismay, were not only sentient but also carnivorous.

Oh, he’s rather suave, she thought over the next few weeks, as he took her through Nevarra City, treated her to a hot drink, and assured her that she was always, always welcome to seek his assistance.

Oh, he’s handsome, she thought immediately after—so immediately that her brain barely had time to pretend it had arrived at the thought by accident. And he’s old enough to be her father, but mostly handsome, and the moustache is unreasonably attractive, and the height is even worse, and she should really, really not be thinking about any of this, and yet here she is, thinking about all of this.

"Rook!" Emmrich exclaims one incredibly random, incredibly uneventful day while she is, unfortunately, very busy looking at his hands. "Bellara tells me you have a particularly sweet tooth!" 

She does not. She would die for pickles. She would haunt this plane for pickles. "Yes," she lies. 

"Splendid!" he says, bringing his hands together and clasping them tightly. "Then you must visit us soon. I have recently come into possession of some wildflower honey—oh, it is exquisite, truly, the product of a most diligent colony. The foragers in particular have demonstrated remarkable efficiency this season, and I suspect the local flora has been unusually accommodating due to the recent shift in temperature." 

"Right, well—" 

"—Which, of course, brings me to the worker bees," he continues. "Fascinating creatures, Rook. Did you know they regulate hive temperature by vibrating their wing muscles? And the social structure! Unparalleled efficiency! Every single one of them understands their role perfectly—unlike certain apprentices I have had the misfortune of instructing." 

Rook opens her mouth. "That's—" 

"—And then there is the queen," he barrels forward, adjusting his cuffs. "A singular force within the colony, capable of laying thousands of eggs in a single day. A most demanding role, truly. Yet she is fed and attended to with such devotion! Such order! Such discipline! If only more societies followed such an impeccable model, we might see—" 

"Bees?" 

Emmrich finally pauses, as if just now remembering she exists. "Indeed, bees. What is so odd about them?" 

A slow nod. "Nothing. Just bees." 

Ah. Yes. Silly Rook. Silly, ridiculous, absolutely pathetic Rook who somehow failed to anticipate that obviously necromancy and beekeeping go hand in hand. Because why wouldn’t the man who commands the dead also spend his free time whispering encouragement to a bunch of little winged bugs? 

She forces a smile. "I'd love to see your bees," she glances at his hands, "Professor Volkarin," she glances at his crotch. 

"Wonderful," Emmrich replies, fingers moving ethusiastically. "Now, then. That is maudlin enough. Shall we return to our work? I regret to inform you that the integument of this dearly departed is well beyond viable preservation. A pity, of course, but such is the nature of decomposition. We cannot embalm everyone, though that does not mean we are without recourse in matters of preservation." 

Rook stares at his mustache. "Mm-hm."

"It is but a matter of methodology. Acid or dermestid beetles?" 

Dear gods—Tevene, elven, Andrastian, it hardly matters—she is, at this very moment, experiencing an overwhelmingly physiological reaction to the prospect of engaging in relations with a man who is, quite literally, vibrating with enthusiasm at the idea of either meticulously excoriating a cadaver or observing the natural efficiency of insect-assisted tissue removal. 

Rook supposes there are worse wet dreams to have, worse ways to absolutely wreck her underwear. But if there are, they’re only marginally worse. A fraction. A hair’s breadth. What could be more concerning than getting embarrassingly, shamefully worked up over a man who talks about corpse preservation with the same breathless enthusiasm most people reserve for poetry? 

She should be ashamed. She should be reconsidering her entire life. Instead, she’s two seconds away from letting him embalm her from the inside out.

****

Bellara's eyebrows have mostly grown back.

She’s eating a sweetroll and staring blankly out the window. “What is your not-dad doing?” 

Bellara shrugs. "Something with bees. Oh, I don’t know. Emmrich’s taken with them. He cycles through hobbies. Manfred’s a big help though! He can’t be stung. Because he’s a skeleton.”

“Yeah,” Rook says, chewing, watching. “I get that.” 

She does not get that. Mostly because she's not really listening. 

This is getting fucking ridiculous. 

Out in the garden, Emmrich Volkarin, a senior necromancer of the Mourn Watch, a man tasked with managing the corpses and souls of the dead, a man whose entire job is death, is delicately tending to his thriving apiary. 

I wish he was fingering me instead of that honeycomb, she thinks. 

And then: Actually, no, I wish he was doing both. 

For the first time in her entire life, she thinks she would gladly, enthusiastically, joyously welcome a yeast infection.

Forget a locket, forget a pressed flower between the pages of a book—this would be her keepsake. A souvenir of her reckless devotion, a parting gift from a lover who, in this scenario, has not gone off to war but rather retreated indoors to alphabetize his collection of sentient, bloodthirsty tomes and, of course, check on his precious bees. And instead of a love letter, she'd get an ungodly amount of discomfort, a medicated salve, and a firm recommendation to avoid sugar for a while.

Or, she could just walk off a pier and let the ocean absolve her of whatever the fuck this is.

"Bellara," Rook says after clearing her throat, because she needs to clear something before she says this, preferably her entire fucking soul. "I don’t really know how to tell you this. But. Like. I’m going to fuck your not-dad." 

Bellara pours herself a cup of tea. "Oh." 

"While his bees watch." 

Bellara chews. Swallows. Looks at the wall. "Yeah, they do that. They're bees." 

****

It doesn’t get that far, mostly because Emmrich is self-conscious. Not about himself, not about his station or his dignity. Instead, he is deeply, tragically preoccupied with the goddamn bees. 

There’s a great deal of nervous glancing, a fair amount of softly muttered hesitation, and at least two instances of him clearing his throat as if that might somehow dissolve the situation entirely. Meanwhile, Rook, having very graciously cornered him in his own garden (while Bellara is mercifully elsewhere), informs him, quite politely, that she is going to ride him until his very narrow hips give out. Or, if that’s too much for his delicate sensibilities, she is happy, delighted, even, to let him make use of those long, elegant fingers instead. 

Or—and—and this is the option they end up going for—she can simply kneel and suck the very essence of his being out through his very academic, very esteemed cock. 

"Ah—yes—well," Emmrich says before trailing off. His hands twitch at his sides, his jaw tightens, but it is the unmistakable way he keeps looking at the beehive, as though his tiny buzzing witnesses might be horrified by this development, that really seals it. 

"Your, ah, interest is certainly reciprocated, my dear," he continues, voice smooth but just a bit strained, "but—oh—perhaps—oh—we might consider a more… traditional approach? A courtship, if you will? A proper engagement with dinner, and wine, and—Maker help me—a door that closes?" 

"Hmpf," Rook says, pulling her mouth off his cock before deciding that, truly, there is nothing worth saying to that. 

She sincerely hopes a bee stings him right in the ass so that he stops waxing poetic about the sanctity of romance and just concentrates on fucking her mouth, this handsome, ridiculous, too-tall, too-suave, insufferably sweet, bee-obsessed, not-dad of a man. 

[louisaguy]

slow horses timeline stuff

because i'm procrastinating doing work.

disclaimer: this is all for show timeline & show canon. the books are their own thing and have a different timeline. this is show only.

FORMAT: dates we know // how we know it

the show:

s1- likely february 2016 // february: struan's line "it's february!" when louisa suggests christmas drinks. 2016: estimate based off of time of s2

s2- 2016 // min's plaque reads 2016

s3- 2017 // between s2 and s4. also, spider flosses. ergo 2017.

s4- early january 2018 // early january: right after christmas (roddy's mishap with the christmas party, christmas decorations still up). 2018: catherine's calendar in her flat is on january 2018.

backstory things:

bad sam gets isobel from les arbres- "early nineties" // via giti's dialogue. i will circle back to this

charles partner's death- 1996 // partner's plaque has 1996 as death date at the end of s2

rose's (river's grandmother's) death- 2010 // her gravestone in s4

stansted- july/summer 2015 // 8 months pre s1

timeline errors / things that bother me:

river's age- so, you have two options here. option one, via dialogue: we take giti's "bad sam only went to france once in the early nineties" as truth. therefore sam gets a pregnant isobel out of les arbres in the early nineties (let's say 1990/1991, but you can place it anywhere in the early nineties you like). then river is born a few months later (judging by the fact that isobel was already starting to show when sam picked her up). so river's birth date: 1991? or some other point in the early nineties.

option two, via props: river says his mother left him postcards for his "seventh, eighth, and ninth birthdays". one of said cards has the date 1994 written on it (can be seen in the scene where he's looking at them in the shoebox). if we assume that's the one for his seventh birthday, that puts him being born around 1987.

the difference between these doesn't matter that much (it's the difference of him being 27 in s4 vs 31 in s4), except for how it shifts river's relation to other events-- e.g., option one says he'll be left with david and rose around 1997 (or maybe a few years later if you put his birth date in 1992/93, since "early nineties" is vague), AFTER partner's death. vs theory two puts him being left with his grandparents in 1993, solidly before partner is killed. i do think it's interesting to consider whether david already had a cute little blonde boy doting on him at home when he was planning charles' assassination or not. so depending on which river-age theory you choose to follow, river's relation to other backstory events may change (or you could always just do the old "river's age is nebulous and he is however old i need him to be for this specific fic i'm writing" thing lol).

it also means he was sososo young in s1 if you follow theory #1. him being born in 1991 would mean he would be like 23/24 when stansted happened 🥺🥺🥺 BABYYYY. an actual INFANT. (theory 2 would have him at 27/28 during stansted).

characters headstones say they're too young to make sense- partner and rose- partner's plaque says his birth date is 1948... and so if he died in 1996... he would have been 48 years old when he died................. i'm sorry but this man is NOT under fifty. the actor they cast to play him in the flashbacks is like 75 lmfao. i think this is just an error-- him being 48 when he died would make him more of a contemporary with lamb (who would have been in his 40s at partner's death) rather than with david (and considering lamb kinda came up under partner's wing-- at least from the books, but that's the vibe i get from the show too-- i think partner should be at least a decade or so older than lamb). it would also make him like 20 years younger than david (who'd be in his 60s when partner died). i just don't think it makes sense. i would bump his birth date back to 1938 or maybe even 1928, to make him more of a contemporary with david (who was born sometime in the 30s, since louisa says he's 80-something in s4(2018)).

as for rose, her headstone in s4 says 1953-2010. that 1953 date is suspect to me. we know david is 80-something in s4. let's take him to be the youngest possible to give ourselves the greatest margin of error. then he'd be born in 1938. now let's follow theory 1 of river's age (again providing the kindest possible interpretation to rose's age), making him born around 1991. assuming isobel was around 20 when she had river, this means she would be born in ~1971. which would make rose... 18. when she had isobel. which would be fine, except that in 1971 david would be... 33. hmmmmmm.

and remember this is the kindest POSSIBLE interpretation, assuming david is the youngest possible (just barely 80 in s4) and that river is also the youngest possible (born 1991). if you interpret either or both of them as older than that, then isobel's birth shifts earlier and/or david's age shits older, making david and rose's age gap at her birth even more suspect. for example taking river's birth date in 1987 (a la theory 2) would make rose only 14 when isobel would have to be born (assuming isobel was 20ish when she had river). i mean, it's POSSIBLE this was an intentional implication that rose and david had a skeevy age gap? but i doubt it. considering they were trying to claim that the 75 year old james faulkner was playing a 48 year old charles partner in the flashback, and river's age is already an ambiguous mess, i'm more inclined to say that this was just a mistake. i would just bump rose's birth date to be 1943 instead-- still younger than david (who was born sometime in the 30s), but not, uh. illegally so.

fwiw, i think a lot of these timeline errors come from the confusing detail that while the show is AIRING in the early 2020s, its SET in the late 2010s. so like, river's birth date for example, i think they wanted him to be 31ish in s4, and someone correctly subtracted that from 2018 for the postcards (2018-31 = 1987, so river's 7th birthday would be 1987+7=1994). meanwhile, for the dialogue, someone else accidentally subtracted it from modern day instead (2024-31= 1993, so sam fetching pregnant-isobel from les arbres would be just before that in "the early nineties"). partner's age error i also think comes from subtracting from the modern day when s2 was airing (2022-74=1948) without accounting for the fact that the 75 year old man we're seeing as him is meant to be that old in 1996, not in the modern day (because he's only seen in flashbacks).

and also a lot of this comes from the fact that these are all "flashes-on-screen-for-one-second" props and brief lines of dialogue, and they didn't expect someone to care enough to come along and try to do the math.

but too bad! i'm here! i want to do the math!

my personal interpretation of character ages:

some based on textual evidence, others just estimating based on actors' ages. in general, take what you like and ignore what doesn't work. the timelines are already fuzzy enough that you can fudge it in any direction you like haha, just use whatever works best for your current fic/project. but here are my takes:

river- born 1987/1991 (both interpretations are equally valid imo). makes him either 29-31 or 25-27 for the run of the show.

louisa- mid 30s likely? mostly going by rosalind eleazar's age.

catherine- late 50s/early 60s (going by saskia reeves' age, and also would make her late 30s/early 40s when partner died, which sounds right [& is consistent with the book, though that doesn't count for much imo since the book and show are such divergent things timeline-wise])

lamb- early-mid 60s (gary oldman's age, and him being a contemporary of catherine seems right)

roddy- early/mid 30s?

shirley- early 30s, marcus- late 30s (an inversion of their actors' ages, but necessary because marcus says in the show he's 5 years older than shirley)

min- mid 40s

(i do love that no matter how you slice it, river is def the baby of the slough house family haha. that feels right. oh EXCEPT maybe sid!!)

sid- probably young like river, late 20s/early 30s.

david- 80ish. i'd put him at 81-83 throughout the run of the show (birth date 1935ish), but you could go younger and say 79-81 or something like that. importantly of a different and older cohort than lamb/catherine/sam etc.

partner- fuck it i'm going against the plaque let's say he's born 1928, would put him at age 68 when he died in 1996. more consistent with the actor's age, and puts him solidly as a contemporary of david, NOT of lamb. plus the way catherine talks about him like a sweet old man it makes more sense for there to be more of an age gap between her and partner. so say he was 68 when he died in 1996, meanwhile david was 61, lamb would be mid 40s and catherine would be ~40. that seems right to me.

if david was born in 1935 i'll put rose at 1943. would make her late 20s when isobel is born, late 40s when river is born, 67 at her death (and river would be 19/23 at her death btw depending on which river age theory you subscribe to, in case that's helpful for angst/backstory reasons)

idk everyone else can just be the age of their actors i guess, but if you're writing stuff in the past remember to subtract correctly from the late 2010s not the early 2020s!! or i mean don't. it doesn't really matter. none of this actually matters lol

anyway. whew. that was a lot. sorry i just spat a million words about pointless timeline shenanigans all over you. i do this for fun.

(pspspspsps slow horses creative team let me proofread your timeline math i'll do it for free this is fun for me pspspspsps)

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Barbarian Bat: Part Five

A/N: hey... hey. How y'all doing...? Don't mind me just casually, finally finishing this fic months later... what better What Happens Next for @sjmromanceweek than what happens with IPB Nessian? Anyways! Hope everyone enjoys this final part. Also, for anyone who read the OG books, yes, Elain, Azriel, and Lucien are absolutely Claire, Bek, and Ereven, and you can't change my mind ;)

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part

Nesta feels shifting behind her. It’s slow and careful, but still enough to draw her from the blissful comfort of sleep. She frowns, refusing to open her eyes, desperate to stay beneath the warm, wafting waves of her dream. But it’s the warmth that vanishes next, and Nesta whines, opening her eyes enough that she can glare sleepily at Cassian where he’s slipping out from beneath the furs.

Cassian’s smile is slow and clearly fond where it stretches across his face, and Nesta’s heart flutters at the sight of it, skipping and flipping between her ribs at the way this stupid alien of hers looks at her. At the way she’ll never get tired of the way he’s always looking at her. Like she really is his whole world.

He crouches down to her left, his touch soft as his fingers slide along her temple, through the strands of her hair. “So beautiful even when you are angry.”

There’s no stopping the way Nesta’s expression softens at his words, the heat that creeps up her neck. “Where are you going?”

“To catch us something to eat,” Cassian tells her, his fingers continuing to thread through her hair in a soothing motion. “I will not be long. Go back to sleep, my Nes.”

“But I’m cold.”

Rather than climbing back beneath the furs as he should, Cassian merely tucks them up further around Nesta’s shoulders. It draws the scowl right back to Nesta’s face, but he just chuckles in response. He straightens, moving about the small space of the cave. Nesta watches as he does, and she’s almost sad to see him tie his loincloth back on, to pull his pants back on too. He gathers and checks his weapons before finally moving the screen aside from the cave’s entrance, vanishing into the snow and the cold outside.

With a huff, Nesta rolls over, burrowing as deep as she can into the furs. It’s still not as warm as having a big, blue alien cuddled beside her so she can leech all the warmth from his body. A few days and she’s already grown comfortable with his body curled around her own, with that soft, suede like skin of his brushing against her, with his arms secured around her waist, with his heart beating in time with hers where they’re pressed together. A few days and she already feels safe and at home in this space with him, already started to crave it.

At least, it’s all quiet in the cave, her khui having finally fallen silent. She supposes that means that she and Cassian have satisfied resonance. Almost instinctively, her hand slides down to her stomach, fingers splaying across the skin there. What kind of mother would she be? Hopefully, better than her own. But there’s no denying the fear that slinks through her veins, that digs into her heart with icy fingers. The fear that she’ll be exactly the same. The fear that the apple truly doesn’t fall far from the tree.

What if she’s truly too broken, too many scars and cracks through her heart to give a child the love it needs, that it deserves? What if all she knows how to be is cold and standoffish? What if she just ends up creating another broken daughter who creates another broken daughter, stuck in a vicious cycle of Archeron women? What if the child grows to resent her?

“I have caught us hoppers.”

Nesta turns enough that she can watch Cassian step back inside the cave, his grin wide and his catch held aloft in his hands. But it doesn’t take long for that smile to slip away, those ever observant eyes of his sweeping over her.

“What is wrong?”

“I told you,” Nesta dismisses with a shrug. “It’s cold.”

She doesn’t know why she even tries. As if she’s ever been able to fool Cassian, ever been able to lie to him. As if she doesn’t expect him to see right through the words just as he’s always seen through every icy shield she tried to throw between them, always seen the truth of her since the moment they met.

With a frown, Cassian sets down the hopper in his hand. He steps back over to the furs and to Nesta, crouching down. His hand reaches toward her face, thumb dragging lightly along the space between her eyebrows, where Nesta is sure a crease must have formed.

“Tell me.”

Nesta sighs softly, sitting up and curling her knees up to her chest. “It wasn’t just my… pleasure mate back on Earth that was cruel. My mother was too. It was a different sort of cruelty, but cruelty all the same. And I…” She takes a moment to find the words, to find the courage. “What if I’m just like her?”

Cassian’s hands are gentle on her face, guiding her face to his, his expression earnest. “I know that you will not be.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Because I know you. I know your heart. I have seen you with your sisters, and I am so lucky to have you as my mate. To have you as the mother of our kit.”

Nesta reaches her own hand up, curling her fingers around Cassian’s and leaning her face into his touch. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“I am very smart and very wise,” Cassian tells her, nodding his head sagely.

Nesta rolls her eyes fondly at that, but the reaction draws a smile back to Cassian’s face. He leans in and steals a kiss, Nesta’s heart skipping between her ribs at the soft gesture, at the initiative and him no longer asking permission for mouth mating. She practically melts into him, hands sliding across the muscles and hard planes of his chest, up into the dark curly strands of his hair.

She has to swallow down a whine when Cassian pulls back, watching as he stands again, moving back toward the other side of the cave. When he picks back up the hopper and begins the process of preparing it, Nesta finally pushes out of the furs, tugging back on her clothes. She moves to settle beside Cassian by the fire, accepting the piece of meat that he offers her and nibbling on it.

“We should go back to the Main Cave while the weather is fair and on our side.”

Nesta hides her frown at his words behind another bite of the hopper meat. It’s been so nice in this cave over the past few days. Once she finally stopped fighting it, stopped fighting him. Once it was truly just her and Cassian. None of the commotion of the Main Cave, none of the busybodies. Just a blissful few days only wrapped up in one another.

“Do we have to? What’s one more day?”

“You forget that Rhys ordered we return as soon as we finished at the Elder Cave, and we have not.”

Nesta had forgotten about that. It feels like so long ago, that first cave they stopped for the night in, that morning when she overheard Cassian and Azriel speaking. A lifetime ago since Azriel passed along that order from the tribe’s leader. So much has happened since then, so many things have changed.

“But perhaps you are right,” Cassian continues, a smirk tugging across his face. “We should not subject the others to your screams of pleasure just yet.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at the remark. “I hate you.”

Cassian is undeterred by her words. His arm reaches out, curling around Nesta’s waist and tugging her into his body. “But everyone will know that I have succeeded in having the most beautiful mate warming my furs. It will surely make them all jealous.”

“I very much doubt anyone will be jealous,” Nesta mutters, earning a pained sound from Cassian’s throat.

His hand finds home along her jaw, heat seeping into her skin as he draws her gaze to his. “Then they are fools. They should be jealous.”

Nesta doesn’t bother biting back her fond smile. She presses up onto her knees, giving her the height she needs to seal her mouth over Cassian’s. “Come on, you stupid alien. I’ll roll our furs.”

Nesta works on making sure everything they need is returned to their packs, while Cassian banks the fire and returns the cave to how it should be when the next hunter needs it. They step outside the cave when they’re both finished, Cassian taking both packs from Nesta’s hands without another word.

“Hey! I need my snowshoes first.”

“You do not need those,” Cassian tells her, securing both their packs across his chest and then crouching down.

Nesta sighs, crossing her arms. “What are you doing?”

“I will carry you back to the Main Cave.”

“I can walk just fine.”

“All the way back to the Main Cave?” Cassian asks, standing back up and turning to face her. He steps forward into Nesta’s space, backing her up until she hits the rock of the cave wall, his hands finding her waist and squeezing. “Perhaps we should stay another night if I have not tired you out enough.”

“Cassian!” Nesta exclaims, smacking at his arm.

She can feel heat threatening to creep up her throat and spill across her cheeks. Her insatiable and shameless alien. She shoves hard at Cassian’s chest, and he acquiesces, stepping back with a soft, easy laugh. Just that sound, the smile firmly across his face, warms Nesta from the chill around them, settles over her like her own personal blanket.

Cassian turns back around and crouches down again. This time, Nesta hooks her arms around his neck, allowing his hands to settle beneath her thighs and hoist her onto his back. Once she’s settled and secure, he starts to move. His strides are long and quick, cutting through the snow and hills around them with ease. The pace leaves the cold wind biting at Nesta’s nose and cheeks, and she buries her face against Cassian’s shoulder.

“We are here,” Cassian announces some time later, gently setting Nesta back on her feet.

For a moment, Nesta can do nothing but stare at the large opening that leads inside. Whatever peaceful bubble she and Cassian may have cast around themselves these last few days, it’s certainly shattered now. What will everyone say when they step inside? What will everyone think? She’s quite confident everyone will definitely stare, will probably judge.

Her heart stutters painfully between her ribs, twisting and turning alongside the churning in her gut. She has to swallow hard around the lump threatening to press against her throat, has to clench her fists until her nails bite into her palms.

“Are you well, Nes?” Cassian asks quietly, gentle fingers sliding along her temple, down her cheek.

Nesta’s eyes flutter closed at that touch, breathing out a quiet sigh. That touch helps center her, ground her, and when she opens her eyes again, she squares her shoulders. She captures Cassian’s hand in her own, threading their fingers together and squeezing, and then they’re stepping inside the Main Cave.

“Nesta!”

Nesta practically gets the wind knocked out of her when Feyre slams into her body, her youngest sister hugging her tightly.

“Are you alright? We were so worried. Vassa said you’d left and then no one could find you for days. Days!” Feyre pulls back just enough to smack Nesta in the arm. “What were you thinking?”

Nesta rubs at the spot Feyre hit, trying to find the words to say, to explain everything that happened. “We… resonated.”

It doesn’t quite cover all that transpired while Nesta was away from the Main Cave, but it does feel the most important. It does feel like it’s best to get that tidbit out of the way and over with. It has the desired effect, at least, Feyre’s eyes widening and her gaze darting over Nesta’s shoulder to where Cassian still stands.

“Is that so?” Rhysand’s cool voice cuts in to ask, the male stepping up behind his own mate. “It was resonance that kept you? How convenient.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nesta fires back, raising an eyebrow.

But Rhysand doesn’t even acknowledge her, doesn’t even look at her, his stormy attention firmly behind Nesta, firmly on Cassian. “I made myself clear that the human females were not to be stolen away to force resonance. I made clear that the punishment would–”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta snaps, interrupting him. “We were attacked by metlaks, and not only did Cassian almost die, but he’s the only reason either of us survived. He’s one of the best damned hunters in this tribe, and he’s definitely one of the best males on this whole damned planet. He is good and kind, and if you got your stupid head out of your big, blue ass you would know that he’d never kidnap anyone.”

“Nesta,” Feyre chastises quietly.

But Nesta doesn’t back down. She continues to glare at Rhysand, daring him to say anything, more than ready to bite back against whatever ire he may try and throw her way. But what she doesn’t expect is the way she swears Rhysand’s lips seem to twitch with the barest hint of a smile.

“Your mate is fierce,” Rhysand comments instead.

“Yes,” Cassian answers, nothing short of pride coloring his voice.

Feyre shakes her head at them both, looping her arm through Nesta’s and tugging her away and out of earshot. “I can’t believe you just told Rhys to pull his head out of his ass.”

“He deserved it. Besides, what is he going to do? I’m mated now.” The words are out before Nesta can even really think about it, but when she takes in Feyre’s expression to them, she’s quick for a change in topic, for any sort of distraction. “So, what did I miss?”

“Quite a lot actually. Especially with Elain.”

“Elain? I thought she was sharing a cave and furs with Azriel. It’s been the two of them practically since we landed here. All that was missing was resonance.”

“Well, I guess he was getting a bit frustrated that they hadn’t resonated yet, and Elain was feeling… trapped, so then Lucien offered–”

“Lucien?”

~ * * * ~

It seems like every woman in the cave is determined to talk to Nesta, determined to find out exactly what happened between her and Cassian, determined to fill her in on everything she missed, no matter how mundane. When she finally is able to escape, she finds Cassian in front of one of the storage caves along with an unimpressed looking Balthazar.

“I told you, I need more furs.”

Balthazar sighs, not moving from his place blocking the cave. “You already have furs.”

“I will not have my mate be cold,” Cassian demands, stepping forward into Balthazar’s space.

Whether he’s actually intimidated by the display or simply done with the theatrics, Nesta doesn’t know, but with a shake of his head Balthazar finally moves out of the way. Cassian makes a quiet, triumphant noise, maneuvering his large body into the small cave. When he straightens, he has a fresh roll of furs in his arms, and Nesta doesn’t bother suppressing her eye roll.

“Hello, Nes,” Cassian greets, his attention always finding exactly where she is.

“Stealing furs?” Nesta teases.

“It is not stealing.”

Nesta rolls her eyes again, but it’s fond this time. She doesn’t say anything else, following behind Cassian as he winds deeper through the cave systems. He comes to a stop in front of one of the caves, waiting expectantly for Nesta to step inside first. It certainly looks like most of the other caves; although, it’s bigger than the one she was sharing with Gwyn. Cassian has already set up furs along the far wall, and when he adds the ones in his arms on top, it certainly creates an overflowing and inviting-looking bed.

“Do you like it, my Nes?”

Nesta hums her approval, settling on the high pile of furs. “All that’s missing is a wall of books. It’s a shame you don’t have books on this planet.”

“Boo-ook?” Cassian asks, tilting his head in confusion. He joins Nesta in the furs, gently guiding her down until he can lay his head on her chest, strong arms wrapped securely around her hips and wide shoulders cradled between her thighs.

“They’re these things we had back on Earth, these stories. Sometimes they would be true, but most of the time they were made up. And people would write those stories down for others to read,” Nesta explains, her fingers carding aimlessly through the dark strands of Cassian’s hair.

“What happens in these stories?”

Nesta thinks about how best to explain. She thinks back to the book that was left on her nightstand the night that she and her sisters were taken. Thinks back to the guarded daughter and the roguish rake determined to tear down her walls as surely as he tore down her corset. Thinks back to the scene in the book where the two found themselves alone in the garden late at night.

“They’re about… books.”

Cassian chuckles, tilting his head enough that Nesta can see his wide smirk. “I understand now.”

“You understand nothing.”

“Your sweet scent tells me otherwise. I will find a way to gift you so many book, my mate. I will find a way to give you every book.”

Nesta smiles at the declaration, warmth spreading through her chest and twining around her ribs, glowing golden and strong. She sits up enough that she can frame Cassian’s face with her hands, enough that she can guide his lips to hers.

“But I hope you will accept a different gift from me for now,” Cassian tells her when they separate.

“You got me a gift?”

Cassian shifts enough that he can reach toward his abandoned pack in the corner, rooting around until he finds what he’s looking for. He keeps whatever it is covered with both his hands, and Nesta waits with bated breath, but when Cassian finally reveals the gift, a surprised laugh tears free before she can stop it.

There, in Cassian’s hand, sits a bone. A bone carved to look exactly like a dick.

Nesta has to admit it’s quite life-like, all of the ridges and veins of the sa-khui carved delicately into the bone, and she even notices the spur included at the bottom.

“Do you like it?” Cassian asks, his smile wide. “Before we resonated, I asked Emerie what courting gifts humans like. I took time to make sure it is exactly right.”

Nesta is going to kill her friend the next time she sees her. But for now, she takes the gift from Cassian’s hand, carefully setting it aside again. Cassian looks adorably confused, but she’s quick to wrap her arms around his neck, to pull him back into her. Right where he belongs. Right where she knows she belongs too. Pressed together in this cave, their hearts beating as one between them.

“I think I’d prefer the real thing.”

—

2025 tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed; bolded names mean Tumblr won’t let me tag you 🥲): @moodymelanist @sv0430 @bookstantrash @hiimheresworld @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @glowing-stick-generation @goddess-aelin @melphss @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @wolfnesta @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @that-little-red-head @kale-theteaqueen @superflurry @lady-winter-sunrise @freakingata @susanbanarchy @jsmelodies @unhealthyfanobsession @presskmewleroux @nativeswfl @livinforthetea @dying-of-wanderlust @berkskc @the-new-ribbon @underneath-the-sidras @deadandsane

[kyouka-supremacy]

shin soukoku sleepy headcanons? 👀

Hi thank youuuuuuu ♡♡♡♡♡♡ I'm taking this literally and delivering sskk sleeping habits headcanons:

Okay okay about their sleeping schedules, those are mostly supported by the second guidebook. I agree Atsushi wakes up at dawn because that's what he was used to at the orphanage, and the habit stuck with him.

I also agree that, at least as far as canon goes, Akutagawa sleeps awfully little (around two or three hours per night), if at all; so he's BOTH the night owl and the early bird. I gotta add that at least once every week he'll just pass out for several hours because a routine like that is physically impossible to sustain. It's the trauma + hypervigilance + just the feeling that he hasn't done enough and that he needs to do more. All hail the self-destructive habits king!!

That's the reason why, in the first period after they got together, Atsushi had to take on the habit of just. forcing Akutagawa to go to sleep. Use a blanket to capture him like he was a wild beast if you wish. Akutagawa retaliated using Rashomon so that ended up backfiring, but the point stands that they had to have actual physical fights just for Atsushi to overpower Akutagawa long enough to force him to bed. “You know, you wouldn't have been so easy to knock out if you had been well rested, so get. some. sleep.”

That leads to Atsushi being the big spoon, half solely because that way he can keep Akutagawa from running away. It gradually gets better though, eventually Akutagawa learns to just deal with it.

That said I would really like Akutagawa to answer to his real nature of someone who wakes up very late... Even though as of canon right now this feels too much of wishful thinking... But maybe in the future one day......... (╥﹏╥)

Both of them are ridiculously light sleepers. That's what trauma and years of compulsory hypervigilance does to you. There's no way of moving near them without immediately waking them up.

Atsushi is the one who reads in bed!!!! I'm once again pushing my Atsushi likes to read / Akutagawa doesn't agenda.

Both big on separation anxiety– I'm a firm believer that Atsushi wouldn't have separation anxiety for Akutagawa if only he didn't experience watching Akutagawa die in front of him. Now, at least for the first few months after the doa events, he gets very apprehensive when he's not around Akutagawa + is scared of sleeping without him in case something happens while he's away + would panic if he was to wake up without him by his side. It gets better with time, but I think it will stick within Atsushi the fear of losing Akutagawa, a fear that he wouldn't have had if not for the events of the fight against Fukuchi.

Akutagawa has abandonment issues in general because of the day Dazai left the Port Mafia. I'm really attached to the headcanon that because Atsushi leaves earlier for work, he really does his best to make it so that when Akutagawa wakes up it will be the least upsetting for him, sending him texts, leaving post-its and notes around, preparing him breakfast / lunch to find, making his passage as evident as he can, so that he can reassure Akutagawa as much as possible that he'll be back. I think Atsushi would be the kind to have that sort of sensibility.

Both of them have frequent nightmares! Hurray! (Unrelated related note, but if we count in Beast, we've seen akuatsu both having nightmares in canon material). Atsushi dreams of the orphanage, of the ada insulting and rejecting him like the orphanage director used to do, of Akutagawa dying in front of his eyes. Akutagawa dreams of the night his family was killed, of Gin being hurt or taken away from him, of Dazai.

Akutagawa is the silent type who's gotten used to nightmares over a very long time, so it's harder for Atsushi to notice when it happens; but when Atsushi does notice, he takes great care of verbally reassuring Akutagawa until he's calmed down, because he's a good person.

Atsushi's nightmares are a little more sporadic but very intense, and he'll wake up having full-blown panic attacks. Akutagawa isn't good, at all, at comforting others (please please peoples stop making Akutagawa speak like he's just swallowed a psychology book), but he does what he can to make Atsushi aware that he's by his side, and oftentimes that's everything that Atsushi needs. I really want to stretch that even though Akutagawa doesn't do much that would comfort a normal person, he always ends up being of great moral support for Atsushi, even with his presence alone– and that's canon. What wouldn't work for normal people works for them, because they're Just Like That.

Cliché trope I know but one I'll never get tired of, Atsushi calming down by laying his head on Akutagawa's chest and listening to his heartbeat. Akutagawa's heartbeat sounding especially strong and real to Atsushi due to his tiger sense of hearing, and grounding him. It's important for Atsushi because it reminds him that Akutagawa is a live, and that he's not alone. I really want to stretch the second point: Atsushi fears being left alone greatly, and it's always - and perhaps only - Akutagawa's presence that can reassure Atsushi that he isn't.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon 3 Prompt 9

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Prompt: From @dahvampire Shortly after getting together, Tomura starts to notice that Dabi seems to have some hang ups and discomforts around sex and intimacy. He confronts Dabi and learns about his experiences with past partners. 

Contents: BDSM, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Dry Orgasm. 

Dabi is... jumpy. When they first met, Tomura just thought that he was a standoffish asshole, but over time it became more and more obvious that Dabi was so quick to get violent because he is skittish. He's scared of getting hurt so he just lashes out first because, he supposes, it's better to be considered a madman than a coward. 

After Kamino, though, he mellowed with them a lot. He thinks that has to do with the fact that he knows that they took care of him when he had been knocked out. They made sure he was alright in the aftermath too when he was so badly concussed that he couldn't string a sentence together let alone stay on his feet. It's not until they have the PLF that Tomura tries to approach Dabi in any kind of a romantic way. And he's startled by how... nervous that makes the arsonist. It takes him a few days before he comes back and actually gives him a proper response, though Tomura chalks that up to the fact that he didn't want to go in on this halfway and when he, well, he supposes that Toga would say he 'confessed', he had been upfront that he was a dominant and looking to not just have a partner, but also a sub. Still, at least Dabi said 'yes' and he finally gets to have the arsonist in his bed after months of wanting him. 

It's been all of three weeks since then, and Dabi is still so skittish unless he brings him completely out of his mind when he takes him to bed. "One more, beautiful." He murmurs, delighting in the way that Dabi's chest is heaving, how there are little flashes of blue casting light against his teeth and tongue as his kiss-swollen lips fall open to let out those pants, whines, and moans that brought his arousal higher in turn. He's already pulled out of his firefly and wants to drag one more orgasm out of the other man if he can. His fourth of the night if Dabi's body can manage it. He whimpers so cutely as he shakes his head weakly, but his fingers are still clutching at his arms, not signaling him in a way that would actually have him stopping. 

So Tomura presses a kiss that's sweet and soft against his cheek before his hand moves back to his baby's half-hard cock. He keens from how oversensitive he is as he starts to work his hand over him. He teases at the soft skin, rubs his thumb along his ladder, still marveling at the unique texture of the piercings along his length. More kisses along Dabi's neck as he listens to him keen and whine, his his twitching beneath him as he tries to pull away without moving too far from the touch he knows must be a wonderful tangle of agony and bliss on the other's nerves. And he doesn't relent. He strokes him, slowly enough not to risk irritating his skin in a way that will stop this from airing on the side of pleasure. 

He savors the way that bloody tears slip over Dabi's temples as his hips move one more time, trying to retreat, before the next stroke has his balls tightening again. He's already painted his spend over their skin so many times tonight, so Tomura is nearly vibrating with delight when he watches him twitch against his palm, but not even a drop of cum manages to leak out of his baby with the orgasm that must feel like sandpaper beneath his skin. 

"There," He is breathless with his own delight as he lets go of his lover's sore cock that softens rapidly without the continued stimulation. "Such a good boy, you did such a good job." They're both a mess, so he reaches for the nightstand and the body wipes inside so that he can start to clean them up, at least enough so he can get Dabi settled. 

The arsonist has pretty much caught his breath by the time that Tomura is starting to settle again, wanting to pull his firefly close and share in the softness that he sometimes thinks that he can only find when he's let himself be cruel in these distinct ways before. 

And Dabi flinches, starting to sit up the same way he has every other time that they've gone to bed together. 

"Firefly, stay with me." He murmurs, trying to sound sweet and soothing, trying to remind him that he... isn't whatever Dabi had before that made him so nervous about being close with his partners after they've finished fucking. 

Dabi is always quietest after they've slept together, but he lets him reach for him, lets himself be pulled into his chest and back down onto the bed. He's so warm in his arms and Tomura waits for the beat that it always takes for Dabi's breath to shudder in his chest, for the trembling to stop, and for his hands to clutch onto him like now he's terrified of being let go. He tucks his face away and Tomura lets him work through whatever riot of emotion goes through his mind when he's like this. 

It's about half an hour later that he finally chances, "Why do you always want to run off so soon, baby boy? You know that I always want to keep you close, don't you?" 

Dabi doesn't answer immediately, just shrugging weakly against his body, his temperature creeping up a little higher, though Tomura isn't sure if that's nerves or embarrassment. He holds onto him a little tighter and after a second lets out one of those shaky breaths again before he mumbles. "...No one else did." 

Tomura tries not to tense. "What do you mean, sweetheart?" 

He shrugs again, but he does talk more immediately this time. "...Didn't have a lot of people who wanted to touch me in the first place. Most of them didn't want me to stick around once they got off. You're the only one who has ever wanted to get me off, let alone that many times." Dabi snorts, like this is a joke that only the two of them are in on, "Most of them didn't even give me the one before they were throwing my clothes at me." 

Like his heart doesn't squeeze in his chest like the sorrow his lover is choosing to share with him can't possibly wound him when it's so clear that it still hurts Dabi after every encounter. He holds him a little tighter. "I'm never going to send you away like that, firefly." Never going to deny him his orgasms either, at least not until his firefly stops being scared that he's just going to toss him aside at the end of every scene. "I want you right here, so I can show you how much I love getting to be close to you." 

Dabi stiffens slightly in his arms, but Tomura doesn't waver at all. He wants his wildfire to know that he means every word. Dabi stopped flinching when any of the League get into his space too quickly. Tomura is going to show him that he can trust him to take care of him while they're together. He's going to make sure that he expects to be adored and cherished for twice as long as he ever asks his lover to give him his submission. He will scrub away every scuff that that his previous partners have left to tarnish Dabi's view of intimacy. It's the least that Tomura can do to show Dabi how happy he is that he decided to be his. 

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