#it will probably be worth more to someone else so they will probably get their $30...whatever

[pathologicalreid]

extraordinary measures | s.r.

in which your life hangs in the balance after a brutal attack, and Spencer has to hold himself together for the sake of you and your baby

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: fetal abduction, potentially inaccurate medical information, entirely from spencer's pov, very violent crime, mom!reader, hospitals, medication, spencer lashes out at jj, rossi's son. word count: 4.41k a/n: the people said dad!spencer angst and i delivered. also! trying something new with formatting my posts. i pay for canva pro and need to get my money's worth.

The hospital staff had moved them into a conference room, giving the BAU more space to spread out – and so Spencer’s pacing wouldn’t disturb the other people in the waiting room. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Not to us. Not to me. Not to her.

The statistics on fetal abduction were alarming. Before today, there had only been thirteen cases since Spencer had joined the BAU. Today alone, there had been two.

“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar voice said, followed by two knocks on the door, “I’m so sorry, but have you had the chance to fill out some of the forms that we gave you?”

Answering for him, Penelope grabbed the clipboard off of the table and passed it to the nurse, “The insurance card is on the top,” she informed the nurse. Nervously, the blonde looked between the medical professional and Spencer, “Is there any update?”

The nurse cringed slightly, “I don’t have one. I’ll see if they can send someone to talk to you.” She nodded assuredly before peeling out of the room.

“Can I get you anything?” Garcia asked helplessly. He had already been given tea, water, coffee, and a sandwich, but he didn’t want any of it.

Shaking his head numbly, Spencer dragged his hands down his face as he replayed the events of this morning in his head.

He wasn’t even supposed to be working, you were due any day now, but Emily had called him with the case and gave him the choice of working. He was supposed to go with you to the check-up, but you had encouraged him to go save a life.

The woman who had been found this morning had her abdomen crudely cut open and her baby was born via a botched cesarean section, but her baby was too premature and didn’t make it. They were both found in an alley near the hospital by a garbage man. Then, while he and Luke were at the medical examiner’s office, his phone started to ring.

You had been discovered, bleeding out, outside of your obstetrician’s office, and if you hadn’t been so close to a building full of doctors, you probably wouldn’t have made it as far as surgery right now. The fact that you had been brought to surgery should have been enough to give him hope, but he hasn’t been raised to be hopeful, he was raised to be pragmatic. The reality of the situation was that in cases of fetal abduction, the mothers rarely made it out the other side.

He was left with Garcia to keep him company, she stayed as a watchdog, mainly looking through traffic footage on her laptop as she made sure Spencer didn’t go entirely off the rails. “You’re going to burn a hole in the floor,” she said offhandedly, begging Spencer to just sit down for a moment.

With a huff, he took a seat next to Penelope, leaning his head back on the taupe drywall, “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed.

“We’re going to wait, we are not going to catastrophize, and we will listen to any and all updates that the doctors give us,” she said determinedly, nodding her head as she did so. “We only know what we know and assuming the worst will just lead to feeling worse.”

Closing his eyes, he agreed, listening to the bustle of the hospital from inside the secluded, makeshift waiting space. He wished he knew more about your status when you came in, there were the crime scene photos – which Penelope was under strict orders not to show him – and a quick mention from a resident about blood loss, but nothing else.

“Dr. Reid?” A new voice said, snapping him out of his stupor as he rose to his feet, staring at the doctor who came in with his scrub cap on, “I’m afraid there isn’t much news. Things are still touch and go. They’re hopeful that they can get the bleeding under control, once they do that, we’ll know more. I’ll come out and let you know, alright?”

With the doctor leaving, Garcia reopened her laptop, “You see? We can’t assume the worst because we just don’t know enough yet.”

“Garcia,” he interrupted, hopeful for just a moment of silence to digest the new information – if you could even call it that.

Nodding succinctly, she returned to her work, “Right, okay.”

With the arrival of JJ, Penelope left to check in at the office, and since a profiler was bound to know more information, he asked JJ for an update. His baby had to be almost three hours old now, and he knew nothing about them.

He was left disappointed, there was no information on the UnSub or the baby, “What’s the point of it anyway?”

“Everyone is working on it, Spence. No one is going to rest until this case is closed,” JJ tried to reassure him.

Spencer wasn’t sure he was ever truly going to rest again, “Where is someone supposed to go with a newborn baby? The umbilical cord has to be still attached.” Statistically, women were more likely to commit cesarean abductions, and they usually did so after the loss of their own child or because they told someone they were pregnant and needed to produce a baby. “No one can tell me anything about my child, JJ, don’t you understand that? Can’t you try to understand how that feels?”

Bracing herself, JJ nodded, “You’re angry, I get it, you-“

“No, you don’t. My wife is bleeding out in surgery, and I have no fucking clue where our baby is. I have never met them. I don’t know if I have a son or a daughter or if they’re alive and you have the nerve to tell me that you ‘get it’?” He peered over at the blonde profiler. You should’ve been the first person to hold your baby, and instead, you might never live to find out what happened to you.

She was silent for a moment, “You’re right. I- I can’t even begin to process what you’re feeling right now, but all we can do is keep working on the case.”

Dropping his head in his hands, Spencer shook his head, “Then go work on the case,” he insisted, “I don’t… I need to be alone right now.”

Just as the four-hour mark approached, the glass door opened again, and David Rossi walked in.

“Are you here to lecture me?” Spencer asked, his voice raspy from crying in the solitude of the room, he wondered if JJ had told everyone how he lashed out at her.

Crossing one leg over the other, Rossi answered, “Nope,” he said, popping the last syllable. “I’m just here to sit and wait, same as you, kid.”

Nodding, Spencer leaned his head back and closed his eyes as a protection against the fluorescent lights of the hospital, “How did you manage?”

There were some things – life events – that were left unspoken in the BAU. Traumas that people didn’t want uncovered, horrors that the team didn’t need to relive, but Spencer needed answers, and this was the only way he could think to get them. “Manage what?”

“Losing your son,” he answered, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he kept his eyes closed, wondering if he too would lose a child. Birth and death within the same day.

Clearing his throat, Rossi took a moment before responding, and Spencer wasn’t sure if he was appalled at the question or if he simply wasn’t sure how to respond, “Well, I’m not sure I ever really did. Not for a long time, at least,” he admitted.

Digesting the information, Spencer shifted in his seat, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Everyone just keeps telling me to wait, but…” he chuckled to himself, “Y/N always jokes that if patience is the companion of wisdom, then I have to be the exception.”

He had always been told to wait. Wait for his turn. Wait for the perfect person to show up. He had waited, and he had gotten you, but all of that waiting had led him here. In this beige room where he had signed papers asking doctors to use extraordinary measures to try and save your life.

“Dr. Reid?” One of the doctors from earlier called his name, knocking on the glass door. Instinctively, Spencer stood up, wiping his hands on his pants and looking at the doctor expectantly, “Oh, please,” the doctor said, “Take a seat.”

Hesitantly, Spencer lowered himself back down into the hospital chair, he couldn’t help but feel like that was a bad sign.

“All things considered, your wife is very, very lucky,” the doctor informed him, “She’s not fully out of the woods yet, but they’re setting her up in recovery right now. I’m just waiting on a message from my colleague, and then I’ll be able to bring you up to see her.”

A flurry of questions flew through his mind at once, “What are you still concerned about?” He asked, leaning over and resting his elbows on his knees.

Nodding, the doctor continued, “Y/N lost a lot of blood in the attack. When you factor in the trauma of having a baby and a four-hour surgery, there’s a lot of healing that has to happen, and right now she doesn’t have the strength for it.” His phone chimed, and Spencer jolted, trying not to get his hopes up if it wasn’t about you, “Come with me,” the doctor said.

Rossi offered to let the rest of the team know and Spencer rambled off a random confirmation as he followed the doctor through the doorway, feeling like he was floating. As they walked through the hospital, Spencer grew more and more anxious.

Your hand was cold. In fact, your hand was so cold that Spencer asked the doctor to turn the volume on your vital monitor up so that he could have the constant reassurance that you were alive.

Blood was being transfused still, he had already forgotten the doctor’s estimate on just how much blood you had lost, but if he had the urge to read through your medical chart, he was sure he could find out. The only problem was, ever since the doctor left, he hadn’t been able to do anything except stare.

Every once in a while, he pinched your index finger, testing the capillary refill time out of his own morbid curiosity while blood was being returned to your body. Agents and officers stood outside of your hospital room in a steady rotation. The BAU wasn’t sure if your life was still in danger, but they weren’t willing to take any risks.

There were countless law enforcement personnel involved in this case now, if not directly investigating the case, they were at least contributing to the search. The Manassas Field Office, DC Metro, the Maryland Police – they were all out there looking. Out the window, he could see news reporters gathering out front to start their afternoon broadcasts.

It had been four hours. Four hours and there was still no word on the baby or the UnSub. The baby would need to eat soon, and Spencer found himself depending on the UnSub to have had the forethought to take care of the newborn.

Every couple of minutes, you would mumble something in your sleep, and he willed you to stay asleep. Selfishly, he wanted you to stay asleep until he knew the baby was safe – until he knew he could have something good to tell you.

Penelope was stationed right outside the door. She likely thought he hadn’t noticed her return, but the clicking of her keyboard gave her away.

Infrequently, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he tried not to concern himself with it. Garcia had made contact with your mom, being sure to reach out to your family before any other news hit the airwaves.

He adjusted the way the nasal cannula rested on your face before bringing your hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles and resting your cold fingers against his cheek, as if his face had the capacity to warm your whole body. Briefly, he wondered if the team would be willing to have a desk agent bring you a blanket from home.

The team would probably find a way to get him a helicopter if he requested it.

Flowers and cards flowed into your hospital room, arriving from people who knew you to people who had seen your story on the news. He had to look away when a small stuffed elephant was delivered by a nurse, knowing that the baby it belonged to was nowhere to be found.

Much to his surprise, he looked away from the stuffed animal just to find you looking back at him. The sorrow in your eyes a staggering reflection of that which could be found in his own. One glance at you and he knew that there was no need for him to break the news to you – you were well aware.

Spencer remained wholly silent as a slew of medical professionals filtered in and out of the room, a cacophony of directives and questions sent your way as tears filled your waterline. He captured your hand in both of his, holding your hand like it was a lifeline to everything he knew as the truth. He was here, you were here, and you were both alive. Tethered to you in the woven web of life, he refused to falter. Not now. Not when you needed him the most.

He answered the questions that you didn’t know the answers to and watched, tight-lipped, as your doctor kept you informed. Dr. Lasher was picking and choosing from your chart, telling you anything pertinent, and leaving out anything that she thought could wait for later.

Once the doctor had cleared through an extensive list of maladies, everyone let you have the room. “Darling,” he whispered, reaching a hand out to adjust the way your hospital gown rested on your shoulder, covering some of the exposed wires.

“There are no leads?” You asked tentatively, the pain in your voice exacerbated by the swelling caused by the breathing tube you’d had during surgery. Your eyes were glassy, and Spencer didn’t know if it was from sorrow or pain or fear. It was a question he was afraid to ask.

He shook his head, “Not yet, but everyone’s looking,” he fed you the same reassurances that had been given to him. The same reassurances that he hadn’t believed.

You moved your hands, laying your palms flat on the sterile white sheets and starting to push yourself up, only to be met with Spencer’s hands guiding you back down to the pillows. “I’ve gotta go,” you mumbled, “I wanna help. Spence, please let me help.” Fresh tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him in desperation.

The way your bottom lip quivered was what broke him, he tilted his head to the side, “You can help just fine from right here, okay?” He looked out into the hallway, wondering which member of the team was around for you to talk to. “I’ll be right back,” he told you, squeezing your hand before retreating to the hallway, never letting you out of his line of sight.

“Hey,” Penelope greeted, the compassion in her voice giving him pause, “How is she?”

Exhausted, terrified, in pain – all applicable at the moment. Spencer thought about answering for a moment before skipping Garcia’s question entirely, “Who’s around for a cognitive?”

You didn’t quite have the energy for a full interview, but you were so adamant about helping that he couldn’t refuse you, not today. “JJ’s one floor up, do you want me to call her for you?”

He thought about it for a moment, he hadn’t handled his last interaction with JJ with the most care, but you needed someone to talk to and it couldn’t be him. “Yeah,” he nodded, “Please.”

Spencer sat on the edge of your bed, smoothing your hair as he tried to comfort you. In all of the time he’d known you, he’d never need you so defeated.

Not much came out during your cognitive with JJ, either there was a mental block in the way or you hadn’t seen much when you were attacked. Whichever one it was, Spencer was fighting himself internally on whether or not he should be thankful.

“I’m so sorry,” Spencer murmured, keeping his voice low as you fought off sleep. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he cooed, “You need to rest.”

You fought sleep with everything you had in you, which wasn’t much anymore. The cognitive interview had gone too long. Your nurse was the one who put her foot down and ended it, even when you wanted to keep going. “It’s not fair,” you cried, slow tears making their way down your cheeks.

Very slowly, Spencer could feel his heart breaking as your exhaustion and desolation worked together to make you as miserable as possible, “I know, lovey. I know,” he assured you as tears filled his eyes.

Glassy eyes looked up at him, “I just wanted to be a mom,” you whispered, your speech slurred with sleep.

Letting his own tears fall to the white sheets of your hospital bed, Spencer nodded, “You are a mom.”

He didn’t add anything. He didn’t have it in him to make a grandiose speech about how you would always be your baby’s mother, and, luckily, he didn’t need to. Your eyes finally fell shut, final tears falling from your face as Spencer found himself grateful that sleep finally took you.

Never leaving your side, Spencer pulled the chair back up next to you, resting his chin on your bed's armrest and watching you sleep. Very slowly, color was beginning to return to your face, yet you still looked so different from when he had left the house that morning.

Unsure how long it had been, Spencer shot up straight when Penelope came rushing to the doorway, placing a finger to his lips, he nodded toward your sleeping form. Even so, the technical analyst waved him over.

Carefully, he slipped his hand out of yours and walked around your bed to Penelope, “What is it?”

Tears filled the blonde’s eyes as she looked up at him, she put both of her hands on his upper arms and cried, “They found your baby. It- they’re pulling up to the ambulance bay right now.”

Spencer’s lips parted in shock, having fully prepared himself for the day to end in undeniable heartbreak. “Are- is the baby okay?”

Penelope nodded, “They’re going up to the NICU right now to get checked out but apparently the EMTs said the baby looks completely unharmed.”

Turning to look at you, still asleep on the bed, Spencer gave Penelope a quick embrace before returning to your bedside, “Sweetheart,” he whispered, trying to wake you up from sleep that you still needed. “Honey,” he said, gently cupping your cheek with his hands as your eyes fluttered open.

You hummed groggily, squinting up at him under the fluorescence of the hospital.

“The baby’s here,” he murmured to you, making sure you didn’t jump up at his words. “They’re headed up to the NICU for a quick check, and-“

“Go,” you cut him off, your eyes wide and full of tears. “Please go hold them, Spence,” you cried, voice rough with sleep.

His shoulders slouched forward slightly, looking between you and Penelope in the doorway, “I’ll stay here,” Penelope offered immediately. “You go, I’ll stay.”

You nodded up at him, closing your eyes as he bent forward to press a kiss to your hairline. “I love you,” you breathed, placing a hand on your chest as if it would slow your racing heart.

“I love you too,” he responded before stepping out of the hospital room, following the directions that Penelope had given him in order to get up to the NICU.

Adrenaline made his stomach churn as he approached the NICU, wondering what he’d say to the people there until someone recognized him as The Dad. He still had to scrub his hands, but they let him through until he saw the bassinet. Even more, he saw the tiny baby kicking its legs inside of the acrylic container.

Emily stood by on high alert, ready to pounce on anyone who even looked at the baby funny, and Spencer just couldn’t stop staring. “Come here,” one of the NICU nurses said to him, obviously having been brought up to speed on the situation. With a smile on her face, she told him, “It’s a girl.”

“A girl,” he breathed, walking right up to the side of the bassinet.

The nurse nodded and adjusted the hat on her head, just slightly too big for the newborn’s head, “If you want, we can get you set up in a chair here, and you can give her a bottle.”

“Please,” he responded, earning another smile from the nurse, who had him take the crying baby in his arms before handing him the prepared bottle.

It broke his heart to watch how quickly she took to the bottle; he still wasn’t sure if she had eaten anything until this. He knew the nipple wouldn’t let her take in too much at a time, but in his subconscious, he was still worried about it being too much for her.

He rocked gently, “Hi, honey,” he cooed down at her.

“She’s a good eater,” the nurse observes, writing something down on a piece of paper. “We’ll keep an eye on her for just a little while, but we know how badly she needs to get down to her mama.”

Setting the now empty bottle down, Spencer looked up at the nurse, “Is she okay?”

The nurse nodded at his concern, “She’s on the small size, but she’s full term. Of course, not everything is going to be noticeable right away, but we did a full newborn exam on her and all of the tests say she’s a perfectly healthy baby.” She looked on as Spencer gently cupped the baby’s head, “Does she have a name?”

You and Spencer had made a deal, he would pick a boy’s name, and you would pick a girl’s name. Smiling softly, he murmured her name to her for the first time, “Genevieve,” he answered. A big name for such a small baby, maybe, but it was the name you had chosen.

He started making his way back down to you, feeling like he was floating through the taupe hallways of the hospital before he finally made it back to your room. Penelope excused herself when he emerged in the hallway.

“Spence,” you whispered, looking up at him with hope in your eyes for the first time since you had woken up after surgery.

Smiling at you, he sat on the edge of your bed, “Five pounds and fifteen ounces. Seventeen and a half inches long. Perfectly healthy.” He glanced behind him as he heard the wheels of the bassinet coming toward your room, turning back to watch your reaction as you saw your baby for the first time.

He was glad for his eidetic memory, he’d never want to forget the way your face lit up with recognition, “Oh, a girl.”

With the baby settled on your chest, there was nothing better for the two of you to do than watch her sleep. Every once in a while, she’d coo or squawk and immediately capture your every attention all over again. “How are you feeling?” Spencer asked you. The blood transfusions had been completed, leaving you on a course of broad-spectrum antibiotics, fluids, and lots of pain medication – two of which prevented you from breastfeeding. Although, because of her size and traumatic birth, the NICU doctor suggested that some formula would help her grow properly.

You hummed contentedly, “Tired. I hurt just about everywhere,” you admitted, not taking your eyes off of your newborn. “I’m so… just grateful,” you whispered, “Is that odd?”

“No,” he shook his head, “I know exactly what you mean.” For as terrible and horrifying as the entire ordeal was, it could’ve been much worse. He almost lost both of his girls in one day.

“Does the team want to meet her?” You asked, worried about entertaining guests with the baby.

Spencer chuckled softly, keeping his index finger pointed within Genevieve’s reach, testing her palmar reflex, “I’m sure they do, but we’ll wait and see how you feel tomorrow and revisit. Okay?”

Your head bobbed in confirmation, watching as your daughter very slowly woke up, “Hi, Vie,” you greeted her quietly, gently rubbing her back with your fingertips. You didn’t have the strength to fully hold her, but she was more than happy to just lay on you, “Sweet, sleepy girl.”

“Do you want me to take her, and you can get some sleep?” Spencer offered, noticing the way you were trying to hide a yawn from him. “We aren’t going anywhere, we’ll stay right here in this chair,” he reassured you based on the apprehensive look you were giving him.

Slowly, you nodded, helping as best you could and pouting in sympathy when Genevieve – Vie – cried out at the sensation of being moved from her warm spot on her mother’s chest to the warm spot in her father’s arms. Thankfully, the newborn calmed down just as soon as Spencer settled her in his arms, “Don’t go,” you whispered, letting your eyes fall shut as you allowed sleep to wash over you.

He hummed, “We won’t,” he muttered in response.

Sleep took you with little resistance, leaving him with Genevieve in the silence of the hospital room – save for all of the machines that you were still hooked up to.

She wouldn’t be up for much longer herself – newborns spent most of their day sleeping – so Spencer took his opportunity to watch her eyes wander around the hospital room. “You can go back to sleep too, little love. I’ll watch over the both of you,” he spoke to her in a reverent tone and adjusted the hat on her head.  “I’ll keep you safe, Vie. No harm will come to you, not as long as I’m your dad.”

[karlachismylife]

A Spot of Lunch || The Queen of the Clan pt.4

CW: fem!chubby!reader, stalking, animal aggression (no violence)

Paranoia wasn't something you have ever associated with the vast grassy planes of sunlit savanna. An unsettling feeling of being constantly watched, followed, stalked seemed more suitable for the claustrophobic confines of a big city with its tall concrete walls and sleepless eyes of neon signs and late night windows peering blindly into the darkness - or maybe even a cold, isolated cabin among winter woods, with howling wind and creaking floorboards eerily masking the steps of whatever was looking through the frosty glass planes from the other side.

An open space full of busy with their own survival wildlife and sun burning every little patch of shadow anyone could hide in never crossed your mind as a place for a worry of unwanted following.

And yet you felt it.

You've learnt to distinguish this creepy sensation of being watched by something from the constant presense of your crew's cameras and curious looks of the animals. Even coming face to face (from afar, obviously) with the lion pride that was your main target for the documentary and attracting their attention left a different aftertaste - sure, you did feel like prey looking into the big eyes, adorned with a nature-given eyeliner, twinkling predatorily at you from the muzzle of a huge feline partially covered by the tall grass, but it still was just an animal watching you and gauging if you and your weird pack of two-legged companions were a better dinner option than an antilope.

What watched your back when you were sorting through your footage in camp or unloading the rover for another static filming, didn't feel like an animal.

"Well, we didn't even have that much visitors in camp for the last few days, so I'd say we're pretty safe," Kir, the shoulder you're used to rely on at this point, listens to your concerns carefully as he accepts heavy equipment from your arms - you reached a suitable place to have some food, so a temporary camp is being prepared. "Besides, we're always staying together out here, right? I'll look after you for now. Let's see if you still feel this shadow of yours when we get back to homebase, and then we'll look for a solution again. Maybe it's just the savanna getting to you, city cookie."

You scoff and roll your eyes at him, but his reassurance helps shake the unpleasant feeling from your scruff a bit - Kir has a point, the crew is being careful about animals and it's not like there are any other humans in these parts nearby, so you'll probably be alright. Definitely feels nice to have someone who doesn't simply dismiss your concerns and is ready to take more precautions if the initial ones fail to work.

"Maybe it's a heatstroke or something," you mutter awkwardly, now almost ashamed of how serious you make it all sound when no one else is having such problems. Kir immediately turns around, a big duffelbag on his shoulder, skin glistening with sweat, and gives you a disapproving look.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. This isn't a hike outside your hometown, every concern you have is worth looking into. Better be overcautious than become someone's dinner, especially when you're already a total snack," finally having gotten you to smile, he winks and hurries to the main camp. When you reach the others to set up your lunch break, a hat lands on your head - you lift your eyes, almost covered by it, and of course, it's still Kir, wiping his forehead with a smile. "No heatstroke for you, cookie. Go have some water."

The hat is a bit sweaty on the inside, but it keeps the sun away better than the scarf you couldn't tie properly this morning.

As you all sit around in the shadow created by a lone acacia and chew on your not so bad meals - apparently, veteran participants of these trips have experience not only in getting close to animals unnoticed or navigating vehicles through uneven sandy terrain, but also in making quite the unappealing looking canned food taste good - quiet human chatter mixes together with the birds calling each other out and little chirping mice sneaking around your camp in timid curiosity. A fit of laughter bursts here and there. Your worry melts into nothingness in the heat, you feel safe as you look at your crew.

These people are doing what they love, and you notice that the dull apathy that was eating at you to the point of taking a break in your studies slowly steps away. Surprisingly, your impulsive idea turned out to be not so bad - maybe you'll take additional courses when you return, to be able to move here, work at the sanctuary, watch-

"Psst, look," a gentle nudge makes you stop digging into the little bowl you have with your mighty fancy teal spork (your 100% recycled plastic pride and joy), and you look up to where Kir points with his chin and puckered lips. "Even I recognize that snout already."

So do you, of course.

A wide, happily grinning, sniffing vigorously at the direction of your temporary camp, round-eared snout with a thick mohawk of a lush mane.

"Finally brought a friend," chuckles Kir next to you - and he's right, shoulder to shoulder with your old pal Stinky stands another hyena, spotted so generously that its fur seems almost brown, as does its shorter, but even thicker than Stinky's mane. Pure elegance shines through the stance of its long legs and the whole form, especially compared to its bulky mate.

And there they are - the most enchanting, heart-stealing, soul-charming dark eyes you've ever seen an animal have.

"Shit," you nearly choke on the corn you forgot you had in your mouth before swallowing anxiously, and try to muffle your coughing, afraid it might scare the animals away; but instead they only tilt their heads in an adorable way and watch as you scramble to shove your food bowl into Kir's hands and grab your camera.

It takes you less than two minutes to sneak to your bag (not the one that was sprayed - that one is banished to lay alone next to a rover far, far away from where you eat, God) and grab the camera, but when you turn back, both hyenas seem to have lost all interest in you and your camp, rolling around together in the patchy grass and partaking in a ritualistic play.

Subtle breaths of warm wind bring over quiet growls and occasional sassy cackles from the scuffle, nips and paw slaps exchanged in equal amounts. The sight is nothing short of adorable: two members of one of the most dangerous species on Earth tossing each other around like playful cubs, almost as if they're fighting over-

"Hey, look, they've got something!" One of the other camera operators points out gleefully with her spoon and you close one eye, focusing your camera on the pair. They definitely are fighting over some scrap, and just as you zoom in on their scowling mouths, Stinky jumps to its feet, yanking something that looks like a piece of hide in attempt to wrestle their toy from the other one's maw. "Hey, can you see what it's about?"

You hum, squinting as you meddle with the settings - it's quite hard to make out what it is, some brown-ish rug, stretching between two pairs of powerful jaws, clenched and pulling in a simple game of tug-of-war. Just as you take a series of quick shots, that dark, lean hyena also gets up and twists its neck, trying to snatch that thing from his broader mate - and it rips.

In your lense you see loose strings hanging from the ripped edges of the torn toy.

"Huh, looks like a piece of cloth!" Curious, you zoom in some more, taking several fine portrait pictures of Stinky's big, displeased-looking snout. Its ears flatten a bit as it shakes its head, sand flying off the fluffy mane and landing on the dark hide of its buddy. The latter seems to be much more content with the end result of the playfight, already lying back on the warm ground comfortably, long frong legs crossed in an effortlessly graceful way and half of the desired prise being chewed enthusiastically before it's dropped with a yawn. "Maybe someone lost a scarf? No pattern though..."

You point your camera at the unbelievably stunning dark-furred hyena and take more photos, almost holding your breath at the beauty of the animal resting on the dusty ground. Its slightly lazy gaze slowly trails over the surroundings and then lands on you.

And then, you swear, it winks at you.

You press the button on your camera automatically, capturing this moment for you to stare at later, when you'll start doubting your own sanity. A lopsided smirk stays on the hyena's muzzle for a second longer - and then it's gone.

"What the hell..." you mutter under your nose, lowering your camera with a dumbfounded look and stare at the embodiment of innocence the cheeky fluffball is now. Almost as if they both heard you, Stinky perks up too, and you finally notice that whatever they were playing with is now hanging off its pleased snout shoved through a neat round opening in the material. So it's definitely something man-made. A shirt that's been shredded by predators' teeth until only the collar or a short sleeve remained?..

You shudder at the thought about how the hyenas got their sock-clad paws on the thing and what happened to the owner. Maybe it's just been discarded after researchers used it to wrap a hyena's head when they darted and collared one of them. Or it just fell out of someone's backpack on the bumpy road. Or...

A loud whoop interrupts your heavy thoughts and your eyes snap back to the furry menace, only to find it clearly posing for you, slumped over its pal's back and resting its chin between the other's fluttering ears. Surprisingly, the darker - maybe you'll call it Chocolate, it seems almost toothrottingly sweet from afar - hyena doesn't seem to mind much, waving its tail with a black brush on end languidly and laying still until you take a few pictures. Even though the rag Stinky can't seem to let go clearly gets in its eyes no matter how many times it tries to brush it away with an endearing ear movement.

Of course Stinky just drops its toy altogether on Chocolate's head the second something else attracts its attention - the way it perks up and loses that trickster grin, looking directly behind you, startles you, but almost twisting your neck to look over your shoulder proves futile. It's just Kir.

"Sorry to ruin your fun, cookie, but we'll have to get moving in a few, thought you'd want to finish your meal," he sighs with an apologetic smile, clearly not immune to the cuteness of the hyenas himself, and hands you your bowl, immedietely earning a growl.

A growl much closer than you'd expect from where your visitors stayed.

You jump, nearly dropping both your camera and food, and quickly turn back to see both hyenas, tails and manes belligerently fluffed up, just a few meters away. Kir steps in front of you immediately, shielding from the animals, but it seems only to aggravate them more.

Maybe it's not the brightest idea you get, but your adrenaline-high brain offers you a memory of Stinky obeying when you raised your voice at it.

"Stay down you two! Shoo! Get back!" Leaning around Kir's muscular shoulder, you wave with your spork at the unfriendly couple.

Somehow, it works.

They almost look upset, tails slowly hanging down and ears lowered - they even lean their whole bodies to the ground as they back away. Stinky is clearly more reluctant, and you would be melting at the sight if your heart wasn't still racing after the scare.

"You get back too, Stinky. Or I'll sign every picture of you with your nickname in all the wildlife magazines!" Perhaps it's your tone making the animals nervous, but Chocolate suddenly lets out a short giggle. Still feels nice to have someone appreciate your humor, especially when it earns him a nip at the scruff from Stinky, finally distracting him from you. "And you don't laugh at Stinky! What, you think there won't be enough of me for the both of you? I'll make fun of every fucking four-legged menace if you keep growling like that!"

An barely started new scuffle between the two stops abruptly, two pairs of huge wet eyes looking at you with almost human perspicacity. Remembering too late that a direct stare can provoke an animal, you avert your gaze, but it's unnecessary: even from the corner of your eye you see both hunched figures slowly gaining speed as they further away from the camp.

"What, you a hyena whisperer now?" Kir lets out a subtle relieved breath and you par his back gratefully, exhaling yourself. "Probably got scared of me because of my size... well, now that's you've proven your dominance, how about you finish your food? I'll pack everything for you, so don't rush."

Still glancing over your shoulder in case the predators come back, you mutter your thanks to Kir and nod at the other members of the crew who praise you for keeping your cool against the animals again.

"Didn't know they teach you that in school nowadays," jokes one of the older scientists with some canned food juice staining grey stubble around the corners of his mouth. "Good job, kid. Hyenas are all about hierarchy, if you show them you're more dominant, there's little they can do. Just maybe don't get into actual fights with them, you know?"

"Not planning to," you chuckle and finally get back to your food. While you chew absentmindedly, wandering around the camp being taken down, your legs bring you to where your slightly rough (and fluffy too, to be fair) around the edges neighbours left their tattered toy.

Just a weird shaped brown cloth, punctured in several places with the deadly weapon hyenas carry in their mouths and with clearly manufactured seams. That round hole Stinky utilized also has neatly finished edge, like clothing would have.

Huh. Weird. Somehow that chewed up and slobbered snippet looks familiar. Can't really quite put your finger on it though.

Part 3 | Part 3.5 | Part 5

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

A/N: Please, don't use any of this story as a guide to handling any animals, wild or not. Although I try to use real documentaries and stories of hyena whisperers as a reference to how hyena-human interactions can look like, it's still fiction. Use actual guidelines provided by authorities as to how to behave in contact with stranger animals.

Tagging:@elaineiswithyou-blog @creepingeva @my-halo-is-a-little-broken @sillymanjaro @ihatethinkingofnames10 @ravensfeatheruniverse @yaminax @ljh861 @darkangel4121 @ginger-n-coco @grey-shadow6475 @cryingpages @mothsdrabbles @mc-glare-is-king @vixxie22 @aldis-nuts

[pampushky]

Teaser: My Name Is Brutus (And My Name Means Heavy)

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader

oooo what's this?? me dropping a juicy little teaser of probably one of my favorite things I've written??

so. this is basically an ABO au with a race engineer & lauda mc, with the wonderful trope of enemies to lovers thrown in, as you will soon see from the scene I'm releasing a bit early.

other things about the fic: slow, and i mean fucking slow, burn. exploration of what disabilities would look like in the ABO world (especially centered around the sense of smell and how that could be considered a disability if someone doesn't have one in a world where most things are communicated by smell), societal pressures about what the ideal alpha/omega/beta should look like to the rest of the world which leads to Lando making assumptions about MC's secondary gender/sex, mentions of past emotional & mental abuse, PTSD, scarring, and worries about self-worth. Oh. and obvious hurt/comfort. But again, and I cannot emphasize this enough. Slow. Fucking. Burn.

uhhh i guess i'll do a tag list too for this so. tell me if you wanna be on that.

“I do have… issues, with the way you run things here,” you scratch your claw into the wood of the table, a low rumble in your throat. The scent blockers you have on are distracting to Lando. He wonders, briefly, what your scent is like, when it’s not so medicinal. “You need more discipline. Less media. It makes you seem… soft.”

“Soft?” Lando leans forward, tilting his head. You look back at him with your constantly blank stare, a slight frown on your lips, icy eyes that challenge even the Lauda death stare. “What do you mean?” You hesitate, looking to Zak and Andrea, who both gesture for you to continue. You then look at Oscar, who bites his lip and makes eye contact with you, and shrugs softly, as if permitting you to say whatever you were about to say.

“....you will take offense to what I’m about to say, I’m warning you.”

“Please, I’ll be fine,” Lando waves it off, grinning lazily. His nose twitches. The heavily medicinal smell of your scent blockers is getting to him. Do you truly need to cover your scent that much? Are you worried that he’ll act aggressively because you’re also an Alpha?

“.... no. You won’t. I’ve seen your interviews.” You say dryly, and fold your arms. Lando balks. 

“I beg you pardon?”

“You don’t take criticism well.”

“I take it just fine!” Lando shoots back, feeling himself starting to get frustrated. Why did you have to wear them? Even if you are an Alpha, the medication provided by the FIA should be more than enough to keep anyone’s tempers from flaring.

“Then you won’t throw a hissy fit when I list out all my problems with the way you work?” 

Your tone is icy. Even. Perfectly calculated. 

“Oh, you know I want to hear about your issues with me,” Lando slams his hands down onto the table, and you just raise an eyebrow at him. He’s down to his undershirt, his fireproofs hanging at his waist as you stare at him. “So say it! Don’t hold back!”

Andrea just massages his temples as Zak looks like he wants to be anywhere else. 

“Only if you don’t throw a tantrum when I’m right.” You state, examining your nails from where you sit, as though this is boring for you. Monotonous and icy-calm. 

Lando hates your voice. Specifically how robotic and monotone it sounds. What little he knows about you— which is as much as the rest of the world, with how private the Lauda family is— is that you apparently have some vocal chord and brain damage. Nothing substantial enough to impede your thought process or the way you speak to make you mute, but enough to have caused the monotonous way you talk. A small enough problem that Lando doesn’t feel like a total dick for what he’s about to say.

“Oh, just fucking say it, you robotic bitch!”

That gets your attention. You pause, slowly bring your hand down, and look at him. With the classic, terrifying Lauda glare. Your eyes pierce his soul, and for a second, just a second, Lando considers apologizing. Tucking his tail between his legs, his ears folded back. But then, he remembers who he is, and he meets your glare with his own, lips drawn back to bare his teeth....

[chocolatepot]

Pisses me off that Tumblr is crying about Dead White Boy Detectives getting cancelled without addressing Gaiman's crimes

Well, first off, you're entitled to your emotional reaction to something. I completely understand being angry at posts you see on social media.

However, you may be expecting a lot more sympathy than you're actually going to get from me, because I also think people are allowed to express sadness about what all of this means for the fictional projects that are important to them without saying in the same post that Neil Gaiman is a sexual predator. If the individuals that you're mad at (because let's be honest with each other here, anon, the entirety of Tumblr does not have one unified response to this - I don't even give a shit about DBD and haven't this whole time) are genuinely not at all fussed about the revelations regarding Neil Gaiman, then yes, they're bad people and we should all be pissed at them.

But I've seen way too many people assume that because someone didn't say X in the one post they happened to see, that someone doesn't care about X and probably has an actively terrible opinion on X, and that just isn't how it works. (This is the "so you hate waffles?" phenomenon.) It would be so lovely if we could intuit everything about other people from a passing remark, but we can't.

I know it's cringe to acknowledge this, but fiction means a lot to people. Fiction keeps people alive - I've seen so many fans say that they literally avoided suicide because they told themselves they needed to see the next installment/season of a series they love. This isn't me saying "you have to cheer for renewal of everything or else you're trying to make people kill themselves," because that would be stupid, but it's always worth considering when people seem to care about something you don't think they should care about that much that ... they have a life that has nothing to do with you, they're three-dimensional humans who are capable of thinking about multiple issues, and the tiny snapshot impression you get from a single post is not their whole personality. It costs nothing to be charitable.

[weirdsht]

Disillusioned 18 . Heterogeneity (3)

a/n: my fav chapter is the one after this hehe, but y'all have to wait until wednesday (unless you're reading this after I already uploaded it lol)

tags: overprotective people around reader, sick reader, fluff overall

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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_____ thought their headaches and worry would end when Cale woke up after 15 days. The healer is used to the rigorous schedule the commander has whenever he wakes up after fainting. Understand that there’s a lot to catch up on, especially this time since Cale was gone for so long.

Everything had been smooth sailing. There are still a lot of things to do at Mogoru but Jack and the others can handle it. 

Finding the Mercenary King was also easy. In fact, he was the one who showed himself in their inn. Making a deal with him was even easier. As well as getting to the Wind Island. 

“Uhm so you’re telling me the owner of my ancient power is not supposed to talk to me and tell me the race of every single being I encounter?”

“...At least yours don’t have full-blown conversations about bread with you.”

Well, there’s a discovery that Cale and _____ are odd. Apparently, you’re not supposed to hear voices when you have an ancient power…

But aside from that everything else is smooth sailing.

Things started going south when Cale entered Wind Island alone.

Day 1:

Everyone is relaxed albeit a little worried for the young master. However, everyone trusts that he will be fine as he always has been.

Day 2:

Same as yesterday. Everyone is doing their own thing while waiting for the young master. However, _____ thinks that the group is doting on them more than they used to. They aren’t sure though.

Day 3:

Cale is supposed to go back, but there’s not a single sign of him yet. This made everyone in the group tense. Nonetheless, all they can do is wait.

Day 5:

The ambience in the boat has become scary. Not surprising as Cale is 2 days late now. Everyone is still sweet in front of _____. In fact, they have definitely become more doting and protective towards the healer. 

Like they can’t even take a single step forward without someone trying to assist them or asking what they need. At first, it confused _____, but they figured they were probably acting that way because of Cale’s absence.

However, that’s just towards _____.

They are so snappy with Bud. The poor man can’t even take a single breath without being told off. The only time he isn’t getting scolded is when _____ is talking to him.

So _____ took this chance to get acquainted with the Mercenary King. The healer explained to the man how everyone was just on edge because they were worried about the young master.

Day 7:

It’s been 4 days since Cale was supposed to come back. Everyone had decided that if he still didn’t come back in a few hours then they would go to the island.

“Not _____-nim. Please stay here in the boat where it is safe. I promise to come back and bring back Cale-nim”

At this point _____ is used to the group coddling them. They figured it’d either end or dwindle once Cale came back. So they just let everyone be.

Meanwhile, the healer and Bud got acquainted pretty well. It helps that their abilities are similar to each other. Talking to each other is also mutually beneficial to the two. Bud gets to talk to the only person who’s not inherently vicious in the boat. While _____ gets a distraction from the abundance of worry they are feeling.

“I have to ask Medicus-nim, what’s you’re relationship with Cale?”

Bud once tried calling the healer by their first name… never again. The looks he got from everyone were not worth it.

Names aside, the mercenary king is curious about the relationship of the two. In his opinion, _____ is the most protected after Cale. There’s gotta be a reason why that is.

“Me and the young master are friends. However, I am technically working under his orders right now.”

It doesn’t look like that to Bud but sure.

In addition to that, the blue-haired man doesn’t miss the way everyone else softens while _____ is speaking about their relationship. Something is going on that these two young masters don’t know.

However, Bud doesn’t pry. Instead, he lets the conversation die there and opts to wait for Cale silently.

Sure enough, the redhead prevails as he always does.

He came out just before the group was about to attack the island. As soon as he got out he purified the island before desperately eating apple pies like his life depended on it.

“...Cale, you do know that you’re still going to faint right?”

_____ is currently beside Cale thanks to Raon’s floating spell. 

The man in question just ignored the healer and continued gobbling the pie.

“If you don’t stop eating you’re gonna faint with a soggy apple pie in your mouth.”

Munch

Munch

Cale continued ignoring _____.

“Everyone, the young master is going to faint with an apple pie in

3…

2…

1”

True enough Cale fainted like a machinery out of mana after _____’s countdown.

Meanwhile, the healer who’s borderline making fun of Cale could be seen giggling.

Bud doesn’t know why and his afraid Ron and Eruhaben are going to kill him if he asks.

Their way back to Bud’s hometown was quiet. Everyone seemed accustomed to this and already knew what to do with Ron leading everyone.

All of them got to work as soon as Cale was resting on a bed. 

Well almost everyone.

When _____ tried to go out to help Beacrox, Eruhaben just used his mana to steer the healer back into the room. Once the healer was back in, Ron wrapped a blanket around them before guiding them to a comfy couch that had been moved beside Cale’s bed[1].

“Wait I want to help too–”

Ron ignored the healer as if they didn’t even say anything.

“A bed big enough to fit the two of you would be better but this couch would also suffice.”

“Why am I lying down too? I didn’t even use my powers–”

At that moment the children spoke up.

“Lemonade gramps, I think kind _____ forgot that their body is weak!”

“That’s true nya! It also looks like they forgot they’re still healing!”

“Go lie down nya.”

It took _____ a moment to realise what the three were talking about.

“Are you guys talking about what happened in the Caro Kingdom? That’s like a month ago. That wound is all healed up.”

“Yes it has been a month since then but your healing journey has been stunted since you used your powers while we were at the Empire. In addition to that the sea breeze is cold. It’s not good for your weak body.”

“But Eruhaben-nim I’m really okay–”

All it took was one exasperated stare from Eruhaben to make the healer clam up and lie down on the spacious couch. After they did the golden dragon sighed as if he had just dealt with a toddler throwing a tantrum.

True enough _____ developed a fever just a few hours after that. Their body couldn’t handle both the weather and the stress so it decided to break down the moment the healer got to relax. Good thing the group was already expecting this and has prepared everything a sick person would have needed.

At some point _____ tried to argue that maybe they’ll get the kids sick. So they should just let the healer recover in another room and maybe check on them from time to time. However, the children averaging 9 years old retaliated by putting on masks and casting a shield. (A bit overboard in _____’s opinion but when has not Raon been overboard.)

Just like that the two young masters slept for three days.

If on one of those days Cale’s hand twitched and placed itself on top of _____’s hand, then no one said a word.

And if they see Cale continue to hold _____’s hand after he woke up first? No, they didn’t.

[1] if you can't visualize it, just imagine a big couch that's the same height as the bed and then it's side-by-side so the couch kind of looks like an extension of the bed. basically the two + the children are all sleeping beside one another lol

[sufferu]

Thinking about the Anastasia Camp in Arc 3 because holy shit, practically that entire camp was legitimately going out of its way to try and yank Subaru back to his senses and he has NO IDEA.

Julius is obvious, everyone knows at this point that his entire duel was him trying his best to prevent Subaru from getting dragged out and slaughtered in the street. But like, Anastasia did not have to go THAT FAR out of her way to try and teach Subaru a lesson. Girl literally set up the most obviously identifiable trap in the world with all of the tells perfectly aligning with the flaws she believed she saw in his character, told him to his face where he screwed up and what he needed to work on in order to not screw up next time, and then made a show of walking out as a group with all of her mercenaries just to point out the very obvious signs that the flaws she had just pointed out had prevented him from noticing. And also — someone else pointed it out, but it’s arguably implied that she only decided to do that after hearing that Subaru had picked a fight with Crusch Karsten like THREE DAYS after Julius had apparently completely failed to teach him that very necessary lesson about MINDING YOUR TONGUE. Which is just — she heard about that and went “Od Laguna that boy is legitimately going to get himself murdered ten times over if I don’t do anything to stop him isn’t he” didn’t she?

But it’s not just them because Ricardo was ALSO fucking in on it. We don’t see him until the final loop, but when we do he seeks Subaru out almost immediately and starts subtly gauging him out, seeing how he reacts to him mentioning Julius and the Royal Selection Ceremony and the White Whale and everything, clearly weighing his conclusions about Subaru’s reactions to all of that to the story he obviously heard from either Julius or Anastasia after the Incident at the ceremony. He even starts giving Subaru bits of advice because it becomes clear that Subaru is SO fucking stupid. Like, Subaru asks him what is. Probably a really racist question about whether he feels weird about riding a Liger — being a demihuman and all — and Ricardo makes a show of being very casual as he answers it by saying that “ah, well, this is an animal and I’m not, so there’s that” before moving on to basically say “word of advice: never ask anyone that again” and he does it nonchalantly enough to not make a big deal about it while also getting across that what Subaru just said could very easily be taken as an insult worth fighting over. And then he goes out of his way to save Subaru from the Whale at one point, getting his mount sliced in half and himself very seriously injured in the process.

And then to top it all off, the minute Julius sees Subaru again he gives him such an obvious test that Mimi almost ruins it by calling him out on it, in a way that very much mirrors the test Anastasia gave him in that failed loop, goading Subaru into a negotiation about Why the Anastasia Camp should continue to help them fight the Witch Cult without telling him that they were already planning on doing exactly that anyway. He even ends by nodding and saying that he’ll give Subaru’s efforts a “passing grade.”

Like, the Crusch Camp was helping Subaru a bit more explicitly — healing his gate and all — but that was very much a transactional exchange, with Crusch even explicitly stating that she will only ever help Subaru with his endeavors if there is something in it for her and her Camp. Meanwhile, for someone known as the Merchant Princess, Anastasia and her companions were being way more altruistic in their attempts to actually do Subaru some good. Aside from Rem, the Anastasia Camp may genuinely have been Subaru’s closest ally within that entire Arc, from start to end.

(Fuck, even in the IF route connected with this Arc. It might say something that Halibel is the one who houses Subaru and Rem (and even helps Subaru land a job) in Sloth:IF, considering that he’s got very strong ties to Anastasia.)

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 4.3 - Dating for Weirdos

Alice feels like her brain has been scrambled. How did she end up on a date with some dude who didn’t think she was worth any effort? Her self-esteem was…well, her self-esteem was in the toilet, but still! She had her pride!

Although, probably not enough of it. 

Reasonably, she shouldn’t be afraid. Vlad was not going to lose his shit just because her tone was too sharp, and if he did, she could just leave this date.

Unreasonably, she avoids his gaze and swallows down her rant.

Fucking muscle memory. 

“I’m trying valiantly," Vlad says gently. 

“What?” 

"I want to be the least shit version of myself on this date,” he continues, looking pained, “But even that version leaves a lot to be desired. I’m a difficult sim to be around, and so far, despite skipping my Civil Procedure class today to read a self-help book on using imagination to increase my charisma, I fear I’ve failed.”

Trying and failing is something Alice is pretty familiar with. And Vlad doesn’t lack charisma, per se. It was just kind of hidden behind his aura of “find out even if you don’t fuck around.” 

“What was the advice?” she asks, giving him what she hopes is a friendly smile. 

“Imagine a better version of myself,” he smirks, “And introduce you to it.”

“Kind of shit advice,” Alice murmurs. 

Vlad laughs, and she relaxes, “Ok, so was this the introduction to the newly developed, less shitty version of your personality, or do you have something else planned for later?"

“Usually, I’m better prepared, but no, this mediocre showing is the best I could come up with.”

“I give it a 4 out of 10,” Alice scrunches up her face, “Which makes me sort of concerned about your future as an attorney who needs to sway a jury.”

As soon as the words fly out of her mouth, anxiety pools in her stomach. But Vlad simply throws back his head and guffaws. 

“Very fair,” he concludes, wiping the tears from his eyes, “I don’t ever plan to practice law, but even if I did, I’m not worried about manipulating a jury of my peers.”

“Why not?”

“Universally, sims are stupid when they get into groups, and I have no problem lying. The hard part is that I want you to know the truth of me and like it.”

“Oh, I…” Alice jolts at his expression. Even guys she’s really liked have never looked at her with that sort of intensity.

“Ask me a question. Trust me, you'll know immediately if you have any interest in seeing me again.”

Alice hesitates. She could ask something basic to confirm that Vlad is a normal sim, but it’s pretty clear that the answer to that question is no. And the last time she fell for normal, it gave her a black eye.

“If you had any supernatural power, what would it be?”

“Paralyzing sims with fear and the ability to become a sentient mist so I could leave any conversation.” He taps a finger to his lip, “And enough strength to crush someone’s bones.”

“Messy,” Alice giggles. “What are you gonna do with all that bone dust?”

“I’m envisioning crushing their bones inside their body so it’d be more like a hearty stew as opposed to a pile of dust.”

“You would eat them?”

He shrugs. “Waste not, want not.”

It is an absolutely wild answer. Alice flashes him a grin. “The power to turn sims into mushy take-out meals. Got it.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m not turning sims into bone soup.”

The corner of his mouth tilts up. “You can't. As we’ve discussed, that power has already been taken. Might I suggest flight or rotting someone’s flesh with the snap of a finger?”

Alice laughs, and just like that, her appetite returns with a vengeance. “I like the true you,” she says as the waitress sets down Vlad’s order.

He smiles and begins dividing everything in half, shoveling it onto an empty plate that Alice didn’t even notice was on the table. He slides it over to her. “I’m relieved. Now, the pancakes are to die for and I promise no sims have been harmed in the making of this food.”

PREV | NEXT

(Part 3 of 4)

[lexithwrites]

OMG chubby reg!!! Do you have more thoughts about him? How about he got chubby(-ier) when he went on testosterone? I love him omg

GOD I DO okay okay this is gonna contain content on ED's (im speaking from my own personal experience with having one and my feelings so not everyone will agree im sure, everyone experiences things differently) so pls don't read if this triggers you:

reg, to me, has a very damaged relationship with food. when he was younger and in school and just after, probably 14-21, his parents weren't the best at,,,making him feel confident. i feel like they constantly commented on how he looked (especially when he was presenting female) and what he was eating almost daily. he was very skinny and weak, he didn't really feel like he could masculine or feminine without someone commenting on how he looked and he hated it, but he hated eating as well because he did get compliments a lot and his like self worth was purely based on that. when he started transitioning, though, he was kinda put into a stereoptyical category and just stayed there because he didn't know what else to do, but then he meets and eventually dates james and everything starts to change. james doesn't cure his relationship with food, not at all, but he notices little patterns and signs regulus does and he's a very giving and loving person, he wants to try and help. i think regulus sits down with him one day and explains everything that goes on in his head because of his childhood and how he views himself and james is an empath my boy is trying not to cry but he stays strong and just offers to help him meal prep if he'd let him. cut to a year or so later and regulus is probably the healthiest he's been. he hates the gym, he only really goes on walks with his friends or sirius if he insists on it, but james is feeding him GOOD. he was taught how to cook and bake from a young age and he really enjoys it—regulus hates it for multiple reasons—and has tried his best to get regulus' into a bit of a happier cycle with his eating. and honestly? he does put on a decent amount of weight, enough that it shows, that he notices and other people notice. the good and loving people in his life think that if he's happy then so are they, and he's clearly a lot happier. but his parents are still dicks about it and make it obvious that they can tell and yes, reg cuts them off eventually, but he IS happier. he has a boyfriend that wants him to be the best version of himself (reg does this for james too, its never one sided) and even though he has his down days where he feels like his face is too round, his thighs are too thick, his tummy is getting too big, he has james to touch him and talk to him and let him know that everything he feels is valid, but that none of it is bad or disgusting or unhealthy. he's just changing and its beautiful and yeah this was a lot for me haha

[revvethasmythh]

ngl, "I'm the only one who understands [x] character" or "only ten people actually get [x] character" is like the #1 biggest red flag to me that a person probably will have an inaccurate interpretation of a character. because if you've decided that you understand that character in a uniquely objective way over others, you inherently wall yourself off from alternate opinions by deciding they're wrong on the basis of simply not being the exact same as yours. if you can't incorporate or even just ponder other people's perspectives, people who have lived different lives and are approaching the content through different but potentially very useful lenses, you might miss out on some extremely enlightening and fascinating interpretations. building yourself an insulated echo chamber is probably the worst thing you could do when assessing a character like that

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

Anyway I got notified that I'll be getting a nice $$ bonus from work today and I wish that I could celebrate with someone in a way that didn't just feel like obnoxious bragging. Like beyond the financial aspect, it's just nice to be recognized for good work and I actually feel... good?? about this job??

But it feels so silly to say I want to celebrate when I just got back from what felt like my first real vacation in a very long time and am doing cool comic con stuff this weekend and am scheduled for a new tattoo next weekend. I am already doing lots of things to try to make myself feel good! It feels selfish to want more!

But I guess even with all of that, there's just still a hunger for external validation from trusted sources. Will I ever grow out of wanting someone to be proud of me?

[autisticlee]

no one knows just how hard I work at things. how I have to work 1000000x more than the average person to compensate for being autistic and adhd and probably other things i'm working out with therapist, and having a sort of physical disability i've not received any help or treatment for. everyone assumes I don't try or give up too soon. they think I just started, need more practice. they think I expect everything handed to me immediately with no work or effort and don't acknowledge the multiple years i've put into things. they think I have no right to be upset about still failing to get where I want even after working my entire life to get there, while watching people around me surpass even my meager goals within a fraction of the time and work i've out into the same thing. constantly getting surpassed by everyone around me who seem to barely do any work to get there compared to me. it's all handed to them and falls into their lap so easily. all because they don't have the extra obstacles to overcome and work around that I do. while they go from point A to Z immediately with no major stops in between, I have to go through every single letter and then some, often getting sent back to the start. but it's always *my* fault, according to everyone. it's not the fault of those around me who ignore me, don't support me, don't help me, don't believe in me, etc. it's my fault they don't do those things. because doing the work of 10 people in one isn't enough, just because it's me. and not reaching Z as fast as everyone else means I don't deserve any of the support or help or anything else and means i'm not trying hard enough. it doesn't matter that I *need* to work harder than 100 "normal" people combined to get even half the result! Just because I can't reach what they do means i'm not trying hard enough! ugh.

[the-girl-with-too-many-ideas]

Does anyone else get the feeling that at their core, all of mxtx's works are about cycles of abuses.

[neverendingford]

.

[toytulini]

i do love my car it is the perfect car aside from the. imperfections and frequent problems,

[cutearose]

okay but how do you ask for help when your childhood makes you feel guilty for needing help and the help that you need feels rude to ask for

[medicinemane]

Never think that I've stopped talking about Ukraine or that I've forgotten

I follow things every day, every day hoping for some kind of miracle that means the fighting is over, russia will leave every inch of Ukrainian soil, no more bombings... but... I know it's probably some time off... I'm not stupid, I just hope people can stop dying

I follow it every day, hear all the horrible news, keep up to date with things like the Kursk counteroffensive where Ukraine has taken a great deal of russian territory (which shows russia has no red lines)

I just don't share most of what I see on here because I don't want people to get fatigued... there's so many horrible things going on in the world, I don't want to burn people out

I'd rather someone be active and able to do a little than having to just turn off and disengage with everything to avoid losing it

All I ask is that you support Ukraine, they're just trying to exist. Just trying to live normal lives. I just hope you can support the "no civilians deserve to be bombed" platform, and say they don't deserve to be bombed by russia

If you've ever got any questions, it's not like I'm an expert, it's not like I'm living it, but I do follow things every day and it often seems like I know stuff other westerners haven't hear about... so ask away

Anyway, just never think that just cause it's been a bit since I mentioned Ukraine that they're not still on my mind

You hear less for your sake, but I keep coming back every day, and even I don't remotely see the true scale and horror of it, only snippets of... photos, videos, stories people share online