#its not like that dependency would go away

[homosexualmorelikehomiesexual]

i was homeschooled by a neo nazi. the sheer amount of damage it did to my psyche as a queer child in that environment is something im still grappling with to this day. and thats to say nothing about having my education, health, and emotional wellbeing neglected. i had to fucking laugh in 2020 when people were crying about not leaving the house for a single month, when i had been kept housebound since i was 6 years old. i cant describe the indignity of watching people finally recognize what id been saying for years, which is that remote learning was not only useless as an education method but fundamentally damaging to the students mental health, and then not ONCE think to check up on kids who'd already been homeschooled. not once.

because nobody gives a flying shit about the actual voices of homeschooled kids, least of all the parents that subject them to it. and thats not to say those parents dont care, or arent attached - quite the opposite. remember, we're talking about the kind of abuse that seeks to keep the victims closer, not further away. its just that the pressure to cover for that abuse is placed directly on these childrens shoulders. i know, because i lived it. we are expected to present ourselves to the public as prodigies, partly to sell people on the idea of homeschooling but mainly to ward off social services. and if we fail to do that, which we largely do, we are kept out of the public eye our entire childhoods.

and thats assuming it ends with the onset of adulthood. if we're lucky enough to have parents willing to let us go at all, that isolation and lack of worldly experience leaves us with no resources, no networks, no support systems, no basic survival skills. do you know the difference between debit and credit? what health insurance is, who pays for it, how to find a provider? who taught you to drive? do you know what the dmv is? what social security is, or where to find your birth certificate? do you know how to use a crosswalk? if you arent homeschooled, you do not realize how much knowledge you have that you take for granted. the level of dependance it creates on the abuser is terrifying. im 21, i didnt move out till 6 months ago. most people assume i took an extended gap year. the truth is i was psychotic from isolation trauma, rapidly developing stockholm syndrome, and had no resources to leave after i turned 18 even though i desparately wanted to. if i hadnt been lucky enough to have other family members to rescue me, i would probably not be alive today.

and despite how damning the evidence is that this is a terrible byproduct of multiple systems that long since shouldve been fixed, despite all the hubub about protecting children in this stupid, stupid fucking country, there is ZERO public interest in acknowledgeing our existence outside of using us as a talking point to snub rural america. a talking point, and nothing more. nobody actually cares to change those red states, they just want someone to blame. so when we do speak up, we get tuned out. because it turns out nobody actually wants to hear about the medical neglect, or the cults, or the grooming, or the domestic violence, let alone do anything about it. (besides vaguely gesturing to things like...calling CPS on our own parents, once again placing the pressure on the victims to rescue ourselves, when weve often been taught to fear those institutions since the onset of our abuse.)

if you think im exaggerating, go read through r/homeschoolrecovery. thats just the kids whove managed to get internet, most of whom profess terror at facing further abuse if their parents find out. look at your phone. look at your computer. every single device you own has the ability to set parental controls. i dont know the exact numbers of the silent majority of homeschooled children without access to the internet, but considering the main demographic who chooses homeschooling is white supremacist christian fundie cults, who really fucking love having numbers of white babies that exceed the double digits, id be confident in wagering its a lot. so you wanna know why over half the states in the country are red? fucking start there.

because theres a *reason* isolation is a cult tactic. its why im such an advocate for libraries, unpaywalled and un age restricted internet, and actually putting money into rural infrastructure - ESPECIALLY internet networks and public transit. because while the american public education system remains the stinking garbage fire it is, people are gonna keep choosing to take matters into their own hands. and under this presidency, it is going to get worse. there is no point bashing the parents for it, because it just convinces them further that the left has an agenda to systemically brainwash their kids or whatever. so please, for the love of god, make sure that even in the worst case scenarios where they have complete control over their children, those kids arent completely cut off from the world.

Anyway enough lame gifted kid discourse we are in our 20s. Let's talk about how homeschooling in america should be fucking illegal it's insane lol

[schoenpepper]

Hellooo

Can I request an x reader who tells them the most confusing stories on purpose? Like, "Have you ever walked on your back and suddenly a train washes up on your shore with a cold and lights on its house?" You can look more of this on tiktok lol

Characters: Trey, Jade, Floyd, Azul, Idia, Rook and Jamil pleasee

What the Fuck

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, rushed kasi nagsasagot ako ng accounting

A/N: I don't have a tikky tok ahahaha I'll just wing it ig. also wdym jade's part is longer no its not

Trey would be confused, but to be honest, there's not too much that can phase him at this point.

He'll look at you with a small, fond smile—ever so compliant to every whimsy.

He won't reply with something just as ridiculous, but he can shove a pastry into your mouth to stop you.

Honestly, it's a good deal.

Jade knows this isn't a normal human thing.

He just doesn't care.

"Oh, is that so? I'm afraid I can't answer your question, seeing as I am but a poor merman ignorant of human ways."

Bulletproof smile.

Whatever you're trying to gain from doing this, he just won't give it to you.

Might reply.

"And if a clownfish suffocated in river water trying to kiss a seagull, how many eggs have been laid in a clutch within a coral reef?"

Floyd has two ways of responding to this. It depends on your luck.

If you're lucky, he'll think you're funny and laugh.

If you're unlucky, you get squeezed because "Ahaha, what nonsense are you muttering about, shrimpy? Should I squeeze it outta ya'?"

Run.

Anyway, if you do this to Floyd, you should have been long prepared to run like your life depends on it. It does.

Azul has a very low tolerance for nonsense.

Even if it is you, he'll likely just smile confusedly and refrain from replying.

If you keep on going, he'll draw up a contract then and there to forbid you from ever talking like that again.

Please stop.

Why are you even doing this?!

Jamil is going crazy. Actually, clinically insane.

Stop. Right now.

Will backhand you to the other side of Scarabia. Again.

He's tired enough, please don't add on to his headaches.

If you catch him when he's sleepy, he'll just look at you in a daze and stop processing your words. Will crash.

Rook smiles.

It is very unsettling.

Will nod along to your words and comment complementary nonsense every once in a while.

"There is beauty in such a labyrinth of words! As if only Ariadne's string itself would be my only salvation."

Freak.

Idia grimaces—there's no way you're hopping on a trend that cringe, right?

...Damn. You actually are.

Er, how close are you with Idia?

Level 1: omfg dude bro get a lyf like rn away from me

Level 2: haha v funny shut up now

Level 3: bb pls stop im going to actually die from cringe

Taglist:

@yummyyummyinmytumny @fsh1 @lemon-koii

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

how about a driftloon!! they ‘could try to take children away’ but are just small little curious guys… i love them..

I too love drifloons and am happy to report that these little “Signposts for Wandering Spirits” (Platinum) would make fairly good pets. I think? Maybe? It’s complicated.

Size-wise, obviously, drifloons are perfect. Since these pokémon remain airborne at all times, they should be comfortable in any home. They do tend to prefer damp, humid environments (Diamond), but they don’t necessarily need these conditions to survive. If you live closer to the equator than not, then that’s bonus points for a happy and healthy drifloon.

Now, are these guys friendly? It’s really hard to say. Their reputation has been mixed up in folklore for years now, and cutting through to the truth can be difficult. What is objectively known is that these pokémon like to spend time around human children. It has often been reported that drifloons seek to “steal away” these kids, either physically or spiritually (Pearl), which would indicate some sort of malice behind their behavior. It’s even been said that any children who even grab onto them are liable to go missing (HeartGold/SoulSilver). More recent pokédex entries, however, seem to cast doubt on the validity to this folktale, emphasizing that these stories are merely whispered tales and postulating that these pokémon may merely be seeking to befriend and play with children (Ultra Moon, Sword). If you have children, you may want to keep an eye on them just in case, but there’s no definitive proof that this is something to be overly worried about. What we don’t have even a little information about, though, is how drifloons get around with adults. Since there’s not really any indication of antisocial behavior in the pokédex, I think it’s fair to assume that you would be able to get along with one well enough.

So why the B ranking? Drifloons, unfortunately, are pretty dangerous. While most of their moves would be inconvenient at best, two moves in particular — Self-Destruct and Explosion — are a bit of an issue. These explosive moves could easily be fatal, depending on how close you are to the drifloon when they use them. Thankfully, it seems unlikely that a drifloon would be quick to use these moves, even when upset, since it seems that they would cause them a lot of pain. According to the pokédex, “if for some reason its body bursts, its soul spills out with a screaming sound” (Moon). That sounds unpleasant at best. Nine times out of ten, as far as I can tell, you should be okay with these aloof, chill pokémon.

Before I close out, of course, I have to bring up the issue that comes up so often with ghost-type pokémon on this blog. According to the pokédex, drifloons are formed by the spirit is of both humans and pokémon (Diamond, Shield). Are these pokémon aware of this fact? Do they have memories of their past life? Is it okay to have a reincarnated human spirit as a pet? These are all big questions that I am not equipped to answer. When you adopt a ghost-type pokémon, you’re stepping into a mire of ethical mud, and you’re just gonna have to be okay with that.

Look, at the very least, if you’re an adult, there’s no way a single drifloon is strong enough to steal you away into the sky. Unless a bunch of them latch onto you like you’re the house from Up. In that case…good luck?

[storges-oranges]

I do think that if you're close to them, Mhin and Vere are the best at figuring out when you're upset or feeling melencholic. But they figure it out differently.

Mhin knows because they are observant and and have a habit of monitoring your behavior and file it away in their mind (and maybe notebooks whos to say really) so they have already identified your nervous/sad ticks before you let out a sigh. They would have ALOT of trouble just... to bring it up to you i think. So they would just... find ways to distract you. By leading you to an alleyway filled with cats and giving you little factoids about cats, plants in Eridia, or anything else. They might try to weave a metaphor in their exposé. Stuff like plants that survive the fogfall by shedding aerial parts and continuing on throughout a cimolex root system of roots and bulbs. And when you inevitably exclaim "like a potato?". They just turn away and chuckle. Before you can revel in this first of its kind achievement, they turn on their heals and invite you to dinner, "since you're so hungry", and they add that a couple of baked potatoes would suffice as payment for the day. You're much more animated as you follow along. Good. Thats how they like you.

Vere figures it out with his keen sense of smell. His way of asking you if you're ok is to remark on the suffocating stench of your misery (not the kind he could put you through. that is to say, the good kind, the only kind, you're his plaything". He also asks if this is your attempt at killing him. He assures you that it wouldn't come close, but he is bothered enough by it to remedy it personally.I think he would try to distract you too. By taking you to see his favorite performers (that luthist really does have talent) or activating your fight or flight instinct. Depends really. If it can be fixed by getting rid of someone, he takes care of it. Brings you their bloody fingers, to offset this uncharacteristic show of empathy. He can't have you going around thinking you'll always be in his good graces you know? If it can be solved with money, he steals it for you. Also brings you fingers, or hands you the coins in a bloody pouch. He fully expects gratitude btw.

Now the rest of the cast also catch on pretty quickly, mind you, i just think these two are the first .

As for Leander, he would also catch on quickly by interacting with you and picking up on subtle clues. If you spent enough time with him you develop a knack for knowing when his mask is thicker than usual. There is just, a glint in his eyes when he speaks about certain things that makes his usual demeanor look... unauthentic. And when you're upset, truly upset, his praticed lines irritate you. You might be tempted to yell at him to leave if he's just going to throw some half hearted words at you, even if those words are tailored to you and your responses.

Tbh i dont think that would ever be enough for him to open up completely, but he might give you a vague, roundabout inch. By, for instance, showing you something and vaguely mentioning that it was crucial in helping him become the man he is today, and that he holds it dear. That its a testament to his resilience, a trait he knows you share.

And while small, and practiced there is a hint of vulnerability there. You know that its the most he could ever give (at least at this point), and it warms your heart. Leander is happy to know that he could help ease your pain a little, but he looks at you and this valuable object and he makes a connection: both you and it have come to him at a time of great need. This connection places yet another green seal on your fate.

[cripplecharacters]

Do people with contracture scars from burns that severely limit movement and function of a limb but pose no other immediate health risk ever choose to get the limb amputated so a prosthetic can be fitted in its place? Or are there other easily accessible options with more minor surgery or treatments?

Hello,

It's possible, but very few doctors wouldn't try to talk them out of it, so the procedure would be against medical advice (AMA.) An amputation is a major procedure and though it's relatively straightforward, a lot can go wrong and even if everything goes right, it is going to be permanently life-changing. Most surgeons aren't going to do a major procedure like that electively, the character is going to be hard-pressed to find someone to do it. Plus, because it's a major procedure, it's going to be expensive. Insurance often doesn't cover elective procedures and almost certainly won't cover an AMA procedure, so the character is going to be paying for the procedure out of pocket. And then there the weeks in the hospital, months of medical treatment, monitoring, and physical therapy, and then thousands of dollars for the temporary prosthetic and thousands more for the permanent prosthetic. People who had medically-necessary amputations have a hard enough time getting insurance to cover even part of all of this, your character will need to pay for all of it on their own and it's going to be, at minimum, tens of thousands of dollars.

Instead, the doctors are going to recommend a number of more mild treatments for the contracture. There are massages to get the scar to loosen up that'll probably start early in recovery, medicated ointments and steriod solutions that can be applied or injected to help, and more tame procedures like skin or tissue grafts or a z-shaped incision to help add more surface area to the skin. Of course, most of the treatment for a contracture scar is going to be preventative, treatment that takes place while the skin is healing and scarring that aims to prevent or lessen contractures. And if all else fails, the character can use mobility aids, most often a rollator or a wheelchair, to get around easier with the contractures.

An amputation is the most extreme option and probably the worst possible option, worse than just letting the scar be and trying to walk around without any mobility aids (possible depending on the severity of the contracture and the location but painful nonetheless.) If the character were to even pitch this idea to their doctor, any doctor worth their salt would immediately point out why they shouldn't do this and tell them about the more accessible options, partially due to ethics and partially because if they let them do this and recommend the unnecessary surgery and the surgeon goes through with it, there's a massive risk they'll be sued and/or investigated and they could end up in jail and lose their ability to practice medicine. In the modern day, this is probably not something that would happen (you might be able to get away with doing it if your setting is back in the times of tonsillectomies and appendectomies over mild swelling before we realized we should treat the inflammation with medication before removing internal organs, but an elective procedure like this is probably not going to happen in modern times.) Plus, getting the entire limb amputated is the opposite of common sense. I don't know one person who would say "These contractures suck, I'm just going to get my entire leg chopped off" unless they're joking. And if they did seriously pitch this idea to their doctor or a surgeon or even to the receptionist or janitor at the hospital, I can't imagine any one of those people wouldn't shoot that idea down as fast as humanly possible.

I'm sure it's something they could probably do if dedicated enough, but it's extremely impractical and very difficult. I'd recommend looking into more mild contracture treatment options.

Mod Aaron

Hi,

I personally don't know anyone who would get an amputation for this reason, which doesn't mean no one does it, but rather that it's pretty damn rare. Most amputations related to burns are either because limb salvage is impossible due to the damage, or infection setting in.

The most basic possible treatment is simply stretching and massaging the contracted joints. The goal is to stretch and soften the skin gradually, and this will be started extremely early in rehabilitation. Moisturizing helps with this process too.

Next step would be splints designed to keep the joint uncontracted. This is especially helpful if muscles are ligaments are involved rather than just the skin. Over time splints will improve range of motion (not necessarily make it good; two different concepts) to support the person's quality of life and allow them to do more activities of daily living (ADL). If the person wears a compression garment then the splint goes on top of it.

If the issue is solely in the skin, then skin release surgery is an option. It's exactly what it sounds and requires skin grafts to give the person better mobility in the joint. However, muscles that were initially unaffected will shorten with time if the contracture persists, so if your character would be getting this surgery 10 years after the initial burn, their muscles would be affected now even if they weren't before.

There are also many other kinds of treatments like tissue expanders that help with growing more skin, z-plasties, rotation flaps, and a bunch of other ones that I'm not too familiar with.

A more possible (though still really rare) reason for an elective amputation after a burn would be for the most common reason elective amputations are performed: severe pain. Severe burns cause nerve damage, muscle damage, skin damage, all things that could potentially result in something like Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. This could be a possible reason for an amputation if, let's say, six years after the initial burn the pain has largely lowered except for the person's ankle that is still at the same level as it was on day one. There amputation could potentially improve the person's quality of life. It could also not do that, but they'd find that after the fact either way. This is a very last resort scenario where everything (!) else has failed, most people will go through tens of surgeries before seriously considering an elective amputation.

Prosthetic wear however is a completely separate thing. Burns are, despite the general perception, sensitive to many things. Temperature, touch, pressure... all things you get from putting something in a prosthetic socket. Burned skin is dry; it cracks easily. It'd be painful to walk on, as you can imagine. Maybe if they only burned their lower half, they could use crutches and get by this way (which is the same thing they'd probably be doing if they had a severe contraction in a leg). After all it's not like prosthetic wear is an easy thing that every amputee can do. Many can't reliably walk in prosthetics, even if their stump is in better condition than of someone with severe scarring on it.

There's simply too many options available for contractures before an amputation, and even more before prosthetic wear. I'd probably reconsider this idea unless you'd be working with someone who actually had this kind of experience.

mod Sasza

[defnoteleonor]

SLEEPOVER!!

warnings: smoking, making out, ellie calls reader a hoe once but playfully‼️, mention of sex and i think tyats all. IM FROM EUROPE IF ITS BAD IM SORRY LMK OR SMT. NOT PROOFREAD

a.n.: i dont like the begging and i think its going to be a series but it depends if i have a lot of work to do😊

(reader-🩷, ellie-💙) you and ellie dated for a few months now. ellie invited you for a sleepover since her father figure, joel, was out of town for work related things. you were headed to her house after school. you knocked on the heavy, wooden door and waited. you also texted ellie just to be sure. after a few seconds you heard someone unlock the door and open them. then you saw the love of your life with her dog between her legs so she wouldnt run off “come on shimmer.. stay in the house” she grabbed the dog by her collar and pulled her away from the door. “hi cutie!” you walked in and closed the door. first thing you did is sayinh ‘hi’ to ellies dog. “you come over just for shimmer” ellie chuckled and messed with your hair. “thats right” a smirk appeared on your face and you looked up at ellie. she was standing and looking down at you. your crouched figure was playing with her dog. her cheeks blushed at this position but she shook it off. “im so tired” you broke the uncomfortable silence. “wanna take a nap?” ellie smiled and grabbed your bag from tge floor. “yeah… i would love to..” a yawn escaped your mouth and you finally stood up. you couldnt help the urge to hug ellie. you arms wrapped around her and yiur head sinks into her neck. “everything okay, baby?” she asked and wrapped her arms around your waist. “mhm…” you mumbled “im tired” you whined. you really didnt know what was happening. normally you werent so whiny and desperate for her attention. “lets go to my room” ellie rubbed your back with her free hand. you just nodded and pulled away. ellie locked the front door and you both went to her room. her room was filled with posters and pictures with you, jesse, dina and joel. her favorite was next to her bed. it was a pictute of you and her dog sleeping on her bed. you were in one of her shirts. ellie adores this picture. “i don’t understand why you love this photo so much.” you sat on her bed and took the picture in your hands. “i look so weird.” your eyes met her wide eyes. “WHAT” ellie dropped your bag and walked to you “you are so cute in here. so innocent. AND you are with my dog! literally two things i love the most” you just rolled your eyes and took your shoes off. ellie showed you smoking weed but you showed her vapes. you pulled your pink and pretty vape and started smoking. “god this whole day i couldnt smoke” you whined and leaned back. ellie placed the picture on its original place and laid next to you. “whys that?” she looked at you, then your vape and then back at you. you shook your head in disbelief and gave her your vape. “i had so much to do and i couldn’t just go for smoke. it was exhausting.” “poor baby” she siad back and exhaled the smoke. “why is it so hot in your room?” you whined and took your jeans off. you pulled out a pair of sleeping shorts and pulled them on. “i dont know… if i keep it hot in here would you underss even more?” ellie teased. you just rolled your eyes and laid down again. “give me my vape” you mumbled. “and what if i dont?” ellie chuckled and took a puff. “pleaseeeeeeee” you whined and sat up. “you are begging already? someones needy” she teased. she was in some kind of attitude. normally she was more awkward and shy but tonight it was very different. “baby please…” you sat on her hips and tried to get YOUR vape out of her tight grip. “you. mother. fucker.” you struggled. a lot. she took a puff just to tease you. you gasped and kissed her. the smoke filled your mouth as you two shared a kiss. you pulled away and exhaled the remaining smoke from your lungs. “you addicted hoe!” ellie teased. “am not!” you gasped in offense. ellie pulled you into a kiss. The kiss turned into a passionate make out session. You ended up without your shorts and she ended up without her shirt. one of ellies hands were on your thigh and her other one on your lower bavk. your hands wrapped around her neck. after a while you pulled away and tried to catch your breath. PART 2 ???

[alsofoundinpeas]

I Don't Need To Know

Summary: Spencer Reid has no choice but to watch the love of his life fall in love with another man. 

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Major character death. HEAVY angst. Bittersweet ending? Graphic depictions of violence (for maybe two lines). Fingering (f receiving). P in v sex/unprotected sex (in terms of a condom, birth control is mentioned). Loss of virginity (both m and f). Creampie (god I hate that word ugh!!). Slight age gap (roughly five years). Argument scene that may be triggering for readers that have experienced SA or manipulation from a partner (nothing of that nature actually happens, but just in case).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

A/N: This is inspired by Will He by Joji, so I highly recommend listening to it while reading. I cried several times while writing this, but I felt it needed to be done so here it is. :’) Please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :)

I got knots all up in my chest… Just know, I’m trying my best…

Spencer had always found the saying “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” absurd. He couldn’t fathom willingly letting go of something he loved on the off chance that it would come back to him. Not after having everything he’d ever loved ripped from his clutches throughout his lifetime. To him, love wasn’t about releasing someone to see if they’d return. It was about holding on as though his very survival depended on it—like a feral cat finally finding food after days of hunger, sinking its teeth in and never letting go, no matter the cost. 

It wasn’t until today that Spencer finally understood the meaning of that stupid phrase. And he wished with every intricate thread of his being that he didn’t. 

Five years. Five long, agonizing years had passed. So why was he here now? Why, after what felt like an eternity of pleading for just one more moment with her, did the universe decide now was the time to give him what he wanted? 

Ironically, the timing only drove home another phrase he’d always hated: “Be careful what you wish for.” 

There she was, as beautiful as the day he’d met her, sitting in the corner of what had once been their favorite café. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on her ring, the enticing glinting of the jewelry drawing his eyes away from her face momentarily. His heart is in his throat. She’s still wearing the wedding ring he’d given her, twisting it in the same nervous fashion she always used to. 

And there across from her is a man that isn’t him making her smile. 

‘Cause when you look… When you laugh… When you smile… I’ll bring you back…

Spencer Reid had never been a particularly angry man. He had his moments—who didn’t?—but he usually considered himself level-headed, patient. But now, watching Y/N hide a bashful smile behind the rim of her mug as she gazed at the man across from her, all Spencer could feel was rage. Raw, unbridled rage. It flared up inside him as her head tipped back, the sound of her laughter crashing over him like a tidal wave, stirring his veins with a violent rush. The same sound he’d yearned to hear again for five fucking years. And it was all because of him—Ben. 

That was his girl. His perfect, beautiful girl. The love of his life. His angel. 

All Spencer could do was stand there, feeling every broken shard of his non-existent heart pierce his chest. 

And now I’m sad… And I’m a mess… And now we high… That’s why I left… That’s why I left…

It wasn’t meant to be like this. Spencer had never wanted to leave her. But that choice wasn’t his to make. 

That cold, cruel September night six years ago had robbed Spencer of his very existence. 

Everything that could have gone wrong during that case did. The bullet wasn’t meant for him, but he took it anyway. He had traded his life in exchange for JJ’s. It wasn’t even meant to be heroic. It wasn’t done out of love. It was just instinct. It’s who he was as a person. 

Was. 

The word leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Because that’s his reality now. He was a person; an agent, a professor, a son, a husband…

Now he’s… well, that he didn’t quite understand. As a man of science, Spencer was stumped by what he could even call his existence now. Calling himself a ghost felt silly—he felt as alive as the day he’d died. And yet, that was essentially what he was. A whisper of the person he’d once been. A soul caught between worlds. 

Spencer could still feel the exact moment his soul wrenched free from its physical tether to the world. Even recalling it sent a shiver down his spine. It hadn’t been peaceful, as so many people claimed in interviews. No… it had been agony in its purest form; white hot and searing as his very essence clawed its way out from his ribs. There was no light waiting for him to step into it and find peace.

Instead, he had watched helplessly as the team he called his family swarmed his dead body, uselessly screaming for a medic as the crimson puddle underneath him grew and smeared beneath their hands as they knelt beside him. He had watched Y/N swing open their door that fateful night, the excited grin on her face vanishing as she came face to face with a tearful Emily instead of the husband she’d been eagerly waiting for. And he had watched the guilt eat away at JJ as their eyes met at his funeral, the hatred on Y/N’s face so raw it made Spencer’s own stomach twist. 

Despite the Bureau's insistence, she took charge of every detail—planning his funeral in a way that honored everything Spencer would have wanted. Y/N held Diana as she wept over her baby boy's body. She delivered a eulogy that left even Spencer in shambles. She was the first person to arrive and the last to leave, waiting until everyone had left to sink to her knees beside his casket and howl her grievances. 

For that first year, Y/N was as strong as she could be during the day. She handled everything that needed to be done, as long as the sun was still up. But when night fell, and the suffocating silence of their empty home settled in… that’s when she’d finally let herself break. 

Spencer had never been a religious man, but the year after his death felt like an endless descent into his own personal hell. He would never escape the sound of those gut-wrenching screams. He cursed whatever force had condemned him to an eternity where he could do nothing but watch, powerless as Y/N crumpled to the floor night after night, her wails so desperate it seemed as though she thought breaking the sound barrier might somehow bring him back to life. 

All he could do was stay beside her, silently pleading for his touch to somehow reach her, his hands brushing over her again and again, unnoticed and unfelt. 

Time was no longer a concept to Spencer. 

The limits of his existence perplexed him. He couldn’t roam freely, couldn’t go where he pleased—he could only follow where Y/N went. It was as if his very soul was bound to hers, linked by some invisible string that kept him tied to her even in death. It brought him both joy and sorrow: joy in the fact that he could still watch her, still admire the way she carried on, and sorrow because she would never know he was there, silently urging her forward, so incredibly proud of her strength. 

The longer he lingered, the more control he gained over his abilities. It started with the smallest things—a strand of hair lifting with the brush of his fingers, a faint chill against her skin as he cradled her face while she slept. But soon, it became more. Doors creaked open as he stepped into rooms behind her, and objects shifted ever so slightly from their places when he pushed with just enough force. 

There were times when she seemed to sense him—moments Spencer cherished more than anything. In those fleeting instances, it felt as though she could see him, even though he knew she couldn’t. Every day, rain or shine, she visited his grave, and when she spoke to him, her gaze would drift forward, as if she were looking into the honey-colored eyes she once loved. Her hands would rest open in her lap, as though she knew he was holding them. When she was home, she’d speak aloud every thought that came to mind, as though she knew he could hear every word that fell from her perfect lips. And he always responded as if she could hear him in return. That was their new life for the first year after his death. 

After a year and one day, he was gone. 

That’s where his understanding of the phrase “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be” came from. It was because she had set him free. 

One whole year had passed. The hardest year of Y/N’s life. She had knelt by his grave, laying fresh flowers with trembling hands, her tears falling freely for hours. When she finally stood to leave, her legs unsteady beneath her, she pressed a soft kiss to his headstone. Through her tears, she whispered how much she missed him, how he never left her thoughts, and how she’d never stop loving him—but above all, she wished he could be at peace. And on the night following the anniversary of his passing, her wish was granted. He had faded into nothingness, existing only in her dreams and memories for five long years. 

But now, he was back. Because he had always been hers. 

Will your tongue still remember the taste of my lips? Will your shadow remember the swing of my hips? 

Spencer remembered their first time like it was yesterday, though he wasn’t sure if he could thank his eidetic memory or the fact that it was because of how remarkable it had been for the memory lingering so vividly...

“You’re lying! You’ve really never had sex before?” 

Y/N squawked the words incredulously as she sat atop Spencer’s lap, grinning down at the stammering mess of a man beneath her. Spencer’s hands flexed against her hips, unintentionally squeezing as he took a deep breath to calm himself. 

They were inside Spencer’s apartment, having enjoyed the museum and dinner but still craving each other’s company too badly to end the night there. What started as sweet, innocent pecks pressed up against the kitchen counter had quickly devolved into ravenous, passionate kisses that had them stumbling towards the couch. It was going so well… until Spencer panicked after Y/N had whispered into his ear asking how far he wanted things to go. 

That resulted in him spewing out the fact that he, at twenty-six years old, was a virgin.

“No, I haven’t! Why is that so hard to believe?” Spencer huffs, his small smile belying his annoyed tone. 

It was their sixth date total in a span of four months, but it was their first date as an actual couple. Spencer had reluctantly agreed to let Penelope set him up on a blind date after his failed attempt at taking JJ out had shattered any of the confidence he’d built up, leaving the man petrified of taking his chances romantically again. He suspected Penelope’s pity for him was why she was setting up said date to begin with, but he quickly found himself grateful that he went. 

Y/N had been friends with Penelope for years, having bonded online over some indie punk rock band that was no longer around and developing a close friendship from there despite their age difference. When Penelope found out Y/N had moved to Virginia and was single, she couldn’t resist setting the two up. 

It’s Y/N’s turn to stammer as she quickly thinks of a response. “I, uh… you’re just so handsome that I naturally assumed you’d had sex before.” 

Spencer blinks up at her skeptically, trying to detect even the faintest clue that the otherworldly woman in his lap was lying to him. All he found was nervous adoration as she stared back down at him, her cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. It suited her. He wanted to cause it more often. 

“I had, um… I graduated super early from both high school and college, so I didn’t do much dating.” 

Instead of the judgment Spencer expected to see spread across her face, Y/N simply just hummed in understanding, her eyes curious as they watched him. He’d elaborate more on his unfortunate (for lack of a better term) adolescence later. For now, he just wanted to keep from scaring the poor girl off of his lap so he could taste her sweet chapstick again. 

“I see…” Y/N murmurs before continuing, shifting forward slightly with a smirk. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m also a virgin.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened almost comically as he gawked up at her. His heart stutters in his chest, his mouth going dry. His tongue pokes out in a meek attempt at wetting his lips, his voice cracking as he responds. 

“Et tu, Y/N?” 

Oh fuck. Spencer hadn’t meant to let the lame reference slip from his mouth. She just made him so nervous that he couldn’t think straight, and Rome had been heavily on his mind since she had perched herself in his lap. Specifically Roman goddesses, because she looked like she should be amongst them on their thrones. Surely she was going to leave now—-

Loud, genuine laughter bubbles from Y/N’s lips, the noise startling Spencer as she tips her head back and her hands grip his shoulders to stabilize herself. She thought it was funny. She thought he was funny. 

“That’s, like, the last thing I expected you to say,” Y/N managed once her laughter had simmered down into giggles. “But, to answer your question… I too have really never had sex before.” 

Spencer knew that it wasn’t due to a lack of suitors. The woman was sex personified; the archetype of beauty and seduction wrapped into one perfect being. The twitching in his pants brought his attention back to the situation at hand. He could ask her later why that was. For now, he brought his focus back to her. 

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Spencer tilted his head up to brush their noses together. “Would you… would you want to?” 

It didn’t take a profiler to notice the hitch in her breath or the almost imperceptible squeezing of her thighs around his hips. Her pupils were already blown, her lower lip trembling from what Spencer prayed was anticipation and not regret as his question settled over her. The silence stretched between them, the seconds feeling like hours in Spencer’s overly anxious mind. 

He’d done it now. He’d gone off and opened his stupid mouth and frightened the one woman he could actually see himself having a future with because the head straining against his zipper overruled the head housing his supposed genius level IQ. The apologies were already forming in the back of his throat, but they weren’t needed because she— she was kissing him? 

“God, yes. Please,” Y/N murmured eagerly against his lips, effectively clearing every cohesive thought from his brain. 

If Spencer thought her words were enough to bring upon his undoing, he was sorely mistaken. The grinding of her hips against his erection ignited something inside of him that he had no idea existed. It was feral, drowning out all of his other emotions and replacing them with one thing: primal, unfiltered desire. 

Spencer understood now why men used to start wars over women. 

With each gasp that fell upon his ears, Spencer pledged his allegiance to her. Every stuttered moan that came into existence from his hips rutting up into her clothed core fueled his devotion to her. It was animalistic, the way his hands gripped her ass and pulled her tighter against his body as his mouth devoured her now, every cell swimming through his veins screaming for more. More of her touch, more of her taste, more of her sounds... God, those heavenly sounds that had Spencer finally believing in salvation, if only in the form of her skin against his.  

Tongues danced together as layers were hastily stripped away. Layers of insecurity. Layers of self-doubt. Layers of uncertainty. Their clothes fell to the ground as though the fabric burned them, clumsy hands fidgeting with buttons and tugging at zippers with a vendetta. 

Those layers that had crumbled so easily were replaced instead with the firm knowledge that this was exactly where they were meant to be: in each other’s arms, trembling and panting as their world’s trajectory tilted so violently it uprooted them from their upright position, knocking them down against the leather cushions as their bodies attempted to mend their separated souls back into one. 

Spencer choked on the words he wanted to worship her with, so instead he used the most primitive sense he could to get his message across: touch. His lips sucked purpling reminders into the crook of her neck of what they both knew to be true now: He is hers just as much as she is his. Lithe fingers tugged the soaked fabric of her lace panties down until they landed in a heap with their other clothes. Those same fingers pause at the crest of her most intimate spot, his eyes meeting hers with a silent plea. 

Y/N found herself in the same position, her words failing her as they were strangled in her throat by the overwhelming adoration she felt for the man hovering above her. Instead of chanting her desire for Spencer to please touch her, she canted her hips up in approval. 

Her moans were swallowed by swollen lips that claimed the sound straight from her body as nimble fingers dug themselves into the deepest parts of her. Their rhythm was clumsy but steadfast, her hips bucking against his hand in jerky movements as the palm of his hand pressed against her clit. Spencer’s own hips ground against the bare skin of her thigh, shielded only by the immature fabric of his equation-covered boxers. 

Spencer hadn’t for a second thought the night was going to go like this. If he had known he’d have the definition of art itself clawing at his shoulders and panting into his mouth while he made her legs tremble beneath him, he wouldn’t have worn what he deemed his lucky boxers. At least they had done their job, he supposed. 

Their lips separated completely as a guttural moan wrenched its way from Y/N’s throat, her body beginning to thrash wildly underneath him as the tension in her lower belly coiled tighter. Spencer wouldn’t allow her first time to happen on his couch. She was much too precious for that. But he’d already made the decision to unravel her at least once while they were there, to bring her over the edge before taking her into his bedroom so that he could experience the glorious sight of her falling apart more than once tonight. 

Spencer was a virgin, not a prude. He’d seen porn before. He’d read erotic novels. Anything he could use to try to prepare himself for the real experience, he did. But nothing could have prepared him for the downright visceral reaction Y/N had as his fingers curled and brushed against the rough patch of skin inside of her that caused the tension building in her body to snap. Her cries of pleasure tore through him as her pussy clenched around his fingers, his free hand leaving its place beside her head to keep her thighs pried open. He quickly shifted up onto his knees to watch her taking his fingers as she came, taking the pleasure he inflicted upon her. 

He sang her praises while slowing his pace, cooing softly at her as he stroked her hair and worked her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. Only when she was squirming and whining beneath him did he finally remove his fingers, sucking them into his mouth greedily. Y/N’s mouth gaped open as her chest heaved, her eyes locked on Spencer as his tongue lapped over his fingers, enjoying her essence with a groan. Her body sagged into the couch, a delighted laugh spilling from her exhausted frame as she smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of his living room. 

“Do you still want to keep going?” Spencer breathed as he gazed down at her, his cheeks flushed and eyes full of something that made Y/N's heart flutter. “B-because we can stop there if you want. I just… I want to do what makes you happy.” 

Above her was the man she’d recognized, soft and timid, but now with a newfound air of confidence in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Above her was the man that she wanted more than anything. Above her was the man that she knew, without a shadow of doubt, would be her husband. 

“Spencer… if you don’t fuck me right now, then I’ll die a virgin, right here on your couch... and it will be all your fault.” 

Spencer’s hearty chuckles filled the room, his nose twitching as he grinned down at the dramatic woman. He simply couldn’t let that be her fate, could he? 

Shaking his head, he stooped down to press a gentle kiss to her nose before standing from the couch, offering her his (clean) hand. Y/N’s face twisted in confusion as she stared up at him, still reeling from the earth-shattering orgasm surprisingly given to her by the same man who’d eagerly rambled about the lore behind Doctor Who on their first date when she’d mentioned she hadn’t seen it. 

“Not here, silly girl. The bedroom,” He whispered. 

He guided her down the dark hallway as though he were escorting the most priceless treasure known to man to his bed, and in his eyes, he was. His hand stayed steady on her hip as she swayed lightly, her body pressed into his side as he opened the door with shaky hands. Any confidence Spencer had managed to muster throughout the night vanished as they crossed the threshold into his bedroom, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gently as his courage began to crack. 

In an almost startling display of being seen, something Spencer had never experienced before, Y/N looped her arms around his neck and tugged him into a kiss that simultaneously stole the breath from his lungs and filled him with the air he needed to breathe again, effectively calming his nerves.

“It’s okay,” She reassured him against his lips. “It’s just me.” 

She walked them backward until the backs of her knees pressed into his cool comforter, taking over where Spencer so willingly handed her the reigns while he regained his momentum. She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands pressed into his hips to keep him from following after her. Her eyes met his, the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window illuminating her as though she were a vision, a figment of his imagination that he’d conjured up in the dead of night, ready to haunt his every waking moment once he inevitably woke up to an empty bed. She was too good to be true. 

Spencer’s hands fell to rest on her shoulders, just to give himself proof that Y/N was real and that he hadn’t dreamed her up or somehow followed in his mother’s footsteps and succumbed to early onset schizophrenia. 

She was real and she was here, eye level with the tent in his boxers and naked as the day she was born, her warm breath fanning across the smattering of hair trailing down from his belly button to below his underwear. His muscles tensed and twitched as she smirked up at him, pressing a tender kiss to the head of his cock through the thin fabric. His entire body flinched from that one touch, his brows furrowing together as he hissed quietly. 

“N-not that I wouldn’t love to feel your mouth on me—“ Spencer’s pitch raised as her hands found the elastic of his waistband, pulling his boxers down his legs. “But I… I won’t last if you do.” 

The fondness in her eyes quelled any humiliation he felt from having uttered those words. 

Placing a kiss to his hip, she nodded in understanding before shuffling backwards to lay in the middle of his bed, with him kneeling onto the mattress after her. The sight of her— stretched out and languid and looking at him as if she wanted to ravage him— had him sending up a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever in the universe had deemed him worthy enough of having this divine of a woman in his life. 

As Spencer reaches for his nightstand to grab a condom, Y/N stammers, grabbing his attention. He watches for a moment as she flounders over her words, his brow furrowing in concern at her sudden diffidence. 

“Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“I’m on birth control if you want to skip the condom!” 

Spencer inhales sharply at the same time she smiles sheepishly up at him, her blurted words almost making him finish before they’d even started. He holds her gaze, tracing her irises for any hint of hesitancy. When he finds none, he nods once, swallowing hard. 

“I— uh. Um...” 

It was rare that Spencer Reid was rendered speechless, but Y/N had managed to do it with just eleven words. He clears his throat, trying again. 

“Yes. Yes, I would like to skip the condom. Only if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.” 

“Yes. It is. I pinky promise.” 

Y/N holds up her pinky for him, the sight so endearing he can practically feel his heart melt away, dripping in a sticky mess inside him. He just grins, linking his pinky with hers before he moves to settle over her once more. 

Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair as his elbows dig into the mattress beside her ribs. The flushed head of his cock bumps against her clit as he reaches down to line himself up at her entrance, a small whine leaving her lips at the sensation. He repeats the action, dizzy from the sound of her soft noises. She was still soaked from their time on the couch, a small feeling of pride welling in Spencer’s chest at the knowledge that not only did he make her cum, but he’d kept her wet while they made it here. 

His lips meet hers in a searing kiss, the both of them quivering with anticipation at giving themselves so intimately to someone for the first time. He was happy it was her. And she was happy it was him. 

Spencer couldn’t remember a time where his mind had ever been quiet. All he knew was incessant thoughts and worries, unable to put a halt to the chaos jumbling around his brain. But as he pressed forward and sunk into Y/N for the first time, his entire mind went blank. White static crowded the spaces where various facts and tidbits of information had been stored, the only thing he was able to focus on now being the sheer ecstasy coursing through his body from being inside of her. 

His mouth hung open as his eyes rolled back into his head, his hips stilling as they pressed flush against hers. She mirrored his response, squeaking out an “oh!” as her walls fluttered around the intrusion instinctively. He throbbed in response, his head dropping to rest in the crook of her neck, unable to stop the pitiful whimper that escaped from behind clenched teeth. 

She was so tight. So wet. So warm. 

Sparks of pleasure zinged up and down his spine as he remained still, waiting patiently for Y/N to adjust to both his size and to the feeling of being filled for the first time in general. He’d wait as long as she needed him to. All he wanted was for her to feel good. To enjoy this as much as he was. 

He was a humble man, truly. But even he wasn’t too shy to admit he’d been gifted with a size that was bigger than average. Not necessarily just in length, falling just shy of seven inches, but in girth as well.  

Spencer peppered soft kisses up and down her flushed skin, feeling her rapid pulse beneath his lips. He was sure she could feel his own heartbeat pounding against his ribs from where their bare chests were pressed together. Her nipples were taut, pressing into his skin enticingly. He wanted to touch them. Taste them. But he’d wait until she was ready. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. 

At her gentle nod, Spencer lifted his head to press his forehead against hers, their lips brushing together as he pulls his hips back. The sensation of her grip tightening in his hair as he pushed forward does more to him than he’d care to admit, but he still lets her hear just how affected he is by her. With a shaky moan, Spencer repeats the motion, easing out of her before gently rocking back into her. He keeps this up for a few minutes, her sharp breaths dissolving into muted moans of her own. 

“You can— you can move faster if y-you want.” 

Spencer’s eyes flutter shut at her words, and he’s pressing a fervent kiss to her lips before he begins to really move. The sound of skin smacking together begins to fill the air as he ruts his hips into hers, his walls bearing witness to every pleasured noise that spills between them. His pace is frenzied, his rhythm stuttered, but it feels so good that neither of them really care. 

Y/N’s nails roamed his body now, alternating between dragging harsh lines into the planes of his back and burying into his shoulders to leave little tender half moons in their wake. Spencer yearned to pull every single noise that he could from her throat, planting his hands beside her head and hefting himself up for better leverage before his lips wrapped around her right nipple. He sucks harshly at the pert bud, reveling in the desperate whimper it causes. 

Spencer grunts when she clenches around him, letting his mouth glide over to her neglected breast, his hips hammering into hers now as she cries out his name over and over. He was close… so, so close. But he needed to make her cum one more time before he’d allow himself to. He needed to know what it felt like for her to fall apart around his cock. With every ounce of willpower he had, Spencer slows his hips to a stop inside of her. 

Y/N whined her discontent at his sudden pause, her eyes opening to blink hazily up at him. “Why’d you… why’d you stop?” She panted, her fingers finding and twisting her own nipples as if she couldn’t help but to touch herself. 

Spencer muffled a curse at the sight, sitting back on his haunches as he stared down at the woman beneath him with reverence. 

“Flip onto your stomach for me, angel.”

She does as instructed, wiggling her hips coyly as Spencer grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffs it underneath her hips to prop her up better, ensuring she’d be comfortable. Once she’s settled on her front, Spencer wasted no time in pressing himself back into her, both of them releasing a moan so loud he’s surprised the walls don’t shake. Thank God he didn’t have neighbors right now. 

He eased himself down so his chest is pressed to her back, lavishing her neck and shoulder in open mouthed kisses while his hips drilled into her. This angle was deeper, allowing him to plow directly into her g-spot as she writhed and begged incoherently beneath him. He laced his left hand with hers, shoving them into his mattress. His other hand stuffed itself between the pillow and her wriggling body until the pads of his fingers found her clit, his breath coming out in sharp pants into her ear. 

Y/N felt delirious with pleasure, bucking her hips back in a feeble attempt to meet his. He began whispering into her ear about how good she felt around him, thanking her for allowing him to fuck her, praising her for taking him so well… 

His words paired with his fingers circling her clit have her second orgasm ripping through her body with so much ferocity that tears begin to fall down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut and her hand clutching his so tightly her knuckles whitened as she wailed into a pillow, gushing around him. 

Spencer let out his own guttural moan at the feeling, spilling into her with a shout as he planted his head between her shoulder blades, his hips weakly thrusting into her as they rode out their climaxes. 

He held her until her tremors stopped. He kissed her forehead before he darted off to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean her with. He thanked her in soft whispers as her eyes began to drift shut before he’d even finished cleaning his mess between her thighs. 

And he knew, watching the gorgeous woman before him sleep so soundly in his bed after they’d just defiled each other’s innocence, that he was looking at his future wife. 

Will your lover caress you the way that I did? Will you notice my charm if he slips up one bit? 

The air was thick with tension as Y/N stared at Ben, her chest heaving and eyes watering at the hurt look on his face. Spencer watched from the corner, his concern for his wife outweighing the jealousy he had previously felt when he watched the couple slip into her— though he still selfishly thought of it as their— bed. Y/N had been dating Ben for three months now. That made for three months that Spencer ached so heavily he’d sometimes wish he could fade back into nothingness if it meant he didn’t have to watch the love of his life with another man. 

The furthest Ben and Y/N had gone physically was a few pecks here and there, with Y/N always being the one to draw away and cut the kisses short. Ben had played the nice guy act, reassuring her that he understood her hesitance and that he’d be okay doing whatever she was comfortable with. Spencer despised him. He could see right through Ben’s facade, and if he could do more than nudge a door open, he’d make that hatred known. But he couldn’t. 

Spencer watched on with furrowed brows as Y/N reached a shaky hand over and turned the lamp on her nightstand on, illuminating the dark room in a soft glow that contrasted with the dark energy that began to cloud the small space. Spencer could see it all on Ben’s face: hurt, betrayal, anger. He could see the fear, guilt, and shame on Y/N’s. 

This was the first night Y/N had tried to push past her discomfort so that she could offer Ben more than just false promises of physical intimacy. It started slow, with soft kisses that dissolved into hungrier ones as they laid together in the dark. But the second Ben went to roll on top of her, sliding a hand down her body to pull her hips against his, she panicked. Her body jolted, and her hands had shot out instinctively to shove him off of her, leaving them where they were now in some sort of silent standoff. 

Spencer knew as soon as it had happened just why it did. She had thought of him. His guilt overruled the smug pleasure he’d felt as he watched it unfold. As painful as it had been watching Y/N move on with her life, all he ultimately wanted was for her to be happy. Spencer was barely thirty-five when he passed, and she was only thirty. That left almost an entire lifetime ahead for her, and even though he so desperately wanted to have lived that lifetime with her, he had to accept that that wasn’t what fate had in store for them. 

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Spencer’s jaw tightened at the same time Y/N’s dropped. 

“Excuse me?” Y/N leveled Ben with a narrowed glare, rage flashing in her eyes in place of the shame that had just been there. 

“I get that you have a dead husband. I’ve tried to be patient with you. But fuck! It's been six years, Y/N. It’s time for you to move on,” Ben seethes, his face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I can’t even touch you without you flinging me off of you!” 

It’s as though Y/N is the exact physical embodiment of Spencer’s own emotions, physically reacting in the way that he can’t. She was out of the bed before Spencer could even blink, marching over to the bedroom door and yanking it open. Ben watches in bewilderment, his mind clearly not catching up with what was happening. 

“Get out of my fucking house.” 

Y/N’s voice is cold as she stares menacingly at Ben. When he doesn’t move, she speaks again, her voice louder. “Get out of my fucking house, Ben!” 

Ben stammers, standing from the bed and attempting to plead his case. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just-”

“I don’t care. Get out of my house,” Y/N repeats herself, cutting off his pathetic excuses. 

Spencer smirks proudly from beside her.

 That’s his girl. 

Ben sighs, hanging his head and scrubbing his hands frustratedly across his face. 

“If you kick me out over some guy that’s been dead for six years, then we’re over. For good.” 

Spencer cackles at Ben’s proposition, though it can’t be heard by either party in the room. That was his attempt at fixing things? Seriously? Good riddance. He’d drag the guy out of there himself if he could. 

“If I haven’t made myself clear, we’re already over. No one talks about my husband like that. Now get out before I call the police and have you escorted off of my property.” 

It doesn’t take long after that for Ben to tuck his tail and leave, slamming the front door on his way out. Y/N’s steam runs out the second his car pulls out of her driveway, tears streaming down her face as she curls up on her couch. 

Spencer’s own chest twinges uncomfortably as he sits beside her, stroking her hair despite her inability to actually receive the comfort. He didn’t know what hurt more; watching his beautiful, broken girl sob and not being able to stop her tears, or being the cause of the tears himself. He had to do something, anything to let her know he was still there and that he still loved her beyond death. 

The same time Spencer stands is the same time Y/N’s tears pause, a hiccup rocking her frame before she glances up. 

“Spence?” Y/N calls softly. Spencer’s heart would have stopped right there had he not already been dead.

Spencer turns slowly from his place at the end of the couch, his eyes wide and hopeful as he responds. “Yes, angel?” 

His hope fades as he realizes she isn’t looking at him, rather her eyes are just darting around the room. 

“Spencer I… I know it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to you. And for that, I’m so sorry,” Y/N starts, her voice cracking. “I don’t know if you can even hear me. Or if you ever could. But I miss you. I miss you in my bones. I just… you were— are my everything.” 

The lump in her throat grows as the tears begin to stream down her face again. Spencer’s own eyes sting with tears that she’ll never see drip down his face. He swallows hard, making his way over to their— yes, their— bookshelf. 

“I’d give anything to have you back in my arms… I should have begged you to leave the BAU and just teach full-time if it meant I could still have you here, safe and at home. It’s not even a home without you.” 

Y/N sobs freely now, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before she buries her head into them. 

Every ounce of grief, guilt, sadness, and anger from what his death has done to his precious girl fuels Spencer to do something he deemed impossible: he yanks the leatherbound notebook holding their vows inside of it off of the bookshelf, sending it tumbling to the ground in a desperate attempt to show her that he’s still there and that he still loves her. 

The noise causes a yelp to slip from Y/N’s lips, her head jerking up as the book hits the hardwood floor with a loud thump. It had fallen open exactly to where Spencer wanted it to: the page starting his vows to her.  Y/N crawls from the couch to the book, her trembling hands lifting the journal so that she can read the words her husband wrote to her ten years ago. With a deep exhale, she sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, reading Spencer’s chicken scratch he called handwriting with a heavy heart. And for the first time since his casket closed, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. She was going to be okay, despite it all, because he was hers just as much as she was his.

Continued A/N: Ahh!! Ghost!Spencer my beloved. :') JUST TO CLARIFY: I am not a JJ hater!! It just fit better for the story to have her be the one this all happened for. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this fic just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to sharing more in the future with you as my blog grows <3

K <3

[killallxys2]

Chapter 3 - Why is it Difficult to Stop?

All makeup users often feel as though something has taken over them. In the early stages, it’s a simple matter of saying, “I’ll stop relying on makeup, just not today.” Over time, we begin to feel like we don’t have enough willpower to step away from it, or that there’s something about makeup we truly need to feel good about ourselves. Breaking free from makeup dependency is like trying to climb out of a slippery pit: we get close to the top, catching glimpses of self-confidence, but then find ourselves sliding back down as our insecurities resurface. Eventually, we reach for the makeup, and as we apply it, a sense of guilt creeps in.

If you ask someone hooked on makeup, “If you could go back to a time before you felt you needed makeup every day, would you have started using it like this?” their answer would be, “NO WAY!”

Ask someone who’s a firm believer in makeup and insists it’s harmless or even essential, “Would you encourage your child to depend on makeup from a young age?” The answer, again, would likely be, “NO WAY!”

Makeup dependency is a strange paradox. The difficulty isn’t in explaining why it’s easy to cut back, but in explaining why it’s hard to let go. And why, once we recognize the toll it takes on our self-esteem, do we keep reaching for it? Part of the reason is that we see millions of people using makeup — it feels normal. Yet many who rely on it wish they hadn’t started in the first place. We try so hard to master makeup techniques, thinking it’s a form of freedom or self-expression, only to spend years trying to undo the habit, often feeling like we’re alone in this.

We end up feeling hopeless or unhappy, preferring the perfectly contoured face over our own natural features. This constant dependence keeps us caught in a cycle of insecurity, fatigue, and self-doubt. Relying on makeup — with its inability to bring out our true confidence — we ultimately feel drained and dissatisfied.

Ironically, reading about the addictive nature of makeup routines on beauty sites only makes us feel more insecure! What kind of habit leaves us wishing we could stop when we’re using it, yet feeling anxious without it? We criticize ourselves every time we hide behind makeup with friends or family, and every time we skip activities that make us feel vulnerable, like going out without makeup. We end up spending a significant part of our day struggling with self-image. But the real question is: what do we truly gain from a life spent hiding behind a layer of makeup? Absolutely nothing!

You might be thinking, “That’s all well and good, but once you’re hooked on makeup, it’s really hard to stop.” Why is it so difficult? Some may say it’s because we’re afraid of the way we look without it, but you’ll soon realize that this fear is actually quite mild. After all, many people who wear makeup every day never realize how it influences their self-worth.

Some say makeup is accessible, making it a valuable tool for everyone to feel beautiful — but this is misleading. It can easily become a crutch. If you ask someone who only wears light makeup if they've ever felt tempted to try heavier or bolder looks, they’d likely admit to moments when they crossed that line, rather than going without makeup altogether.

Enjoyment has nothing to do with makeup dependency either. I enjoy crayfish, but I’ve never felt like I needed to have crayfish every day. With most things in life, we enjoy them in the moment, but we don’t feel deprived or anxious when they’re not there.

Some people say: “It’s empowering!” But how has it truly helped you grow as a person? “It’s about feeling beautiful!” Then why does it often leave you feeling insecure or dissatisfied? “It’s a form of self-care!” So why does it just temporarily mask insecurities, only for them to resurface? “It helps me feel relaxed.” But others seem to feel relaxed without relying on it. There are plenty of genuine self-care practices that provide peace and relaxation without dependency.

Many believe that makeup fills a void of boredom, but boredom is simply a frame of mind. Over-relying on makeup can lead to constantly seeking the next look, the next trend, or the perfect style, eventually causing us to chase a sense of novelty that feels exhausting, never really feeling "enough."

Some people use makeup because "everyone does it." If so, let’s hope those same friends don’t cut their heads off and expect you to follow! Most makeup users who think about it would admit it’s mostly habit. But this is hardly a real explanation. The truth is, we change habits all the time — some very enjoyable ones too. We’ve been conditioned to believe that makeup is just a harmless habit and that habits are hard to break.

But are habits really that hard to break? In the U.S., people drive on the right side of the road, but when they travel abroad, they adapt quickly to driving on the left with little difficulty. Starting a new job or moving to a new city changes our routines entirely, yet we adjust with time. We change habits every day, so why is it that breaking a makeup habit — something that often leaves us feeling worse when we use it and guilty afterward — feels like such a struggle?

The answer is that makeup dependency isn’t just a habit, it can become a type of emotional reliance, even an addiction to feeling "masked" or altered. That’s why it can feel hard to let go. Many people who feel dependent on makeup don’t understand this and think they’re genuinely sacrificing something if they stop.

The beautiful truth is that once you understand why you feel this reliance on makeup, it becomes much easier to let go. In a few weeks, the only question you’ll have is why you felt so dependent on makeup for so long, and you’ll wonder why you can’t convince others just how freeing it is to go natural and feel comfortable in your own skin

3.1 The Sinister Trap

Makeup can be a subtle, addictive trap, one created by both society and our own insecurities. Often, it starts with a small introduction — maybe a simple lip gloss, mascara, or foundation, something we try out of curiosity, fun, or a desire to feel a bit more confident. These first uses seem harmless and even empowering. But over time, the habit of makeup can become something we rely on, creating a belief that we’re not enough without it.

Initially, makeup gives us that sense of control, helping us present our "best self" to the world, like putting on armor. We think we can stop whenever we want, feeling secure that it’s just for fun or a little boost. But as we incorporate it into our daily lives, the routine becomes harder to break. We start seeing makeup as essential, and soon, we may not want to face the world without it.

For many, trying to quit using makeup might only come after an “incident” — feeling dependent, noticing skin concerns from overuse, or simply feeling trapped in a routine of covering up. But as we try to break free, the absence of makeup can lead to feelings of vulnerability and discomfort, as if we’re lacking a shield. Instead of gaining the confidence we wanted in the beginning, we find ourselves feeling anxious or exposed.

In these moments, we might rationalize keeping up the habit, thinking we’ll cut back when life feels easier or less stressful. However, that stress-free period never truly comes, and the idea of quitting feels daunting. Just like we once believed makeup made us look better, we might now feel it’s necessary to cope with life’s pressures. But makeup isn’t truly relieving stress or solving any problem; it’s just become a habit.

Understanding the true nature of makeup dependency can be freeing. Makeup isn’t inherently harmful, but we don’t need it to feel whole or capable. Once we realize this, the process of letting go can become a path toward greater self-acceptance and peace with who we are.

We often confuse responsibility with the stress of maintaining a certain appearance. Just like any addiction, relying on makeup can actually increase our stress over time, even though many of us believe it’s relaxing or comforting. In reality, the constant need to apply makeup, cover every perceived flaw, and keep up appearances can weigh us down, especially when we feel guilty for not being confident without it. Over time, each layer applied late at night, every time we feel "not enough" without makeup, only adds more to this stress.

Many people who decide to quit makeup do find relief, only to sometimes fall back into the same cycle, feeling drawn again to the allure of looking "perfect." It’s as if we’ve wandered into a maze of beauty expectations, one that makes it hard to escape. While some do manage to break free, the pull to reenter the routine often remains, especially when society keeps reinforcing that polished look as the standard.

The challenge of stepping away from makeup dependency is complex and often feels like a riddle. But once you see the answer, it becomes clear and liberating — and you might even wonder why you didn’t realize it sooner! This journey is about breaking free from this maze by slowly unlearning the beliefs that make makeup feel necessary.

However, it’s important to take things step by step. Rushing through this transformation without careful thought, or skipping parts of the journey, could make it easy to slip back into old patterns. Most people can quit the habit once they understand the core reasons that keep them hooked, which boil down to two main influences:

Society's unrealistic beauty standards

Personal insecurities and cultural brainwashing

People who rely on makeup are thoughtful, rational individuals. Yet deep down, they know they never "needed" makeup before they started using it regularly. Many even remember feeling unsure or awkward the first time they applied it, driven by curiosity or a desire to fit in. But over time, we learn techniques, save tutorials, follow beauty influencers, and work hard to master the art, eventually feeling like we can't go without it.

The funny thing is, many non-makeup wearers — whether they’re older people, those with different beauty norms, or those who never felt pressured by societal standards — don’t feel like they’re missing out on anything at all. By understanding the influences at play, we can dismantle the trap makeup dependency creates, freeing ourselves to embrace our natural beauty with confidence.

[starry-bi-sky]

i have... ✨Danyal Al Ghul Headcanons✨ but specifically for my yaelokre danyal oneshot

There's also the tumblr post here but I recommend the link in the title because its the ao3 version, and that one is edited and has some stuff in it that's not in the tumblr post, and will be the version I'm using.

So for summary: this Danyal is also from a Demon Siblings Au where Danny is five years older than Damian. However, things turned out a bit differently, and Danny and Damian had a fantastic relationship with one another. Danny loved music and regularly came up with songs to sing to Damian with. Specifically the folk band Yaelokre's EP "Hayfields" (seriously go fucking listen to it its sooo good. Harpy Hare is the second song but its my favorite. Special shoutout to @gascansposts for introducing the band to me)

He falls off a train when he's twelve and Damian is seven while the two of them and Talia are on mission. He ends up with magically induced amnesia and wakes up in Arkansas while the Fentons are on their yearly Divorce-iversary visit to Aunt Alica, and since he can only remember his name, he ends up being taken into their care.

---------------

Yaelokre Danny has the same facial scar as Things in Threes Danyal, since he was initially another version of him where things turned out better. I'm debating on whether or not I should take it away however, and give him a different scar (maybe from when he fell off the train?), just because the scar is a pretty key identifier for Ti3 Danyal.

-----------------

Danny frequently visits Aunt Alicia in Arkansas! Well, only after he gets settled in and stuff. He doesn't really like the city that much and prefers the countryside where Alicia lives. I know she lives in a cabin but I'm changing it to a farm, so she puts Danny to work and gets him to help her.

I don't want to confine his hobbies to only being star stuff, because people tend to have more than one hobby and I feel like it reduces him to one-dimensionality, so he likes to garden, and learns guitar. His room becomes filled with plants, and he turns their roof into a rooftop greenhouse right below to OPS Center.

He has a complex relationship with the weapons from his past, but he's not... like... appalled by it? When he finds his weapons in the Fenton attic all he thinks is that they're his weapons, and he starts carrying a knife on him afterwards. Essentially he becomes fascinated with weaponry because its one of the few physical ties he has to his past, and while he's not training like he is in the League, he allows his strong muscle memory to guide him through his katas.

Danny likes climbing things. This causes Problems For Everyone Else.

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Danny was not the "kinder Al Ghul" in the League. His kindness extended to his brother and family, and that's it. To everyone else he had high expectations out of them, and the pride you'd expect from the grandson of Ra's Al Ghul and trained by its top members. While he wasn't like, unnecessarily cruel or anything, he wasn't merciful either.

This transfers post-train fall as him coming off as no-nonsense and unforgiving. He's not fond of the idea of giving people second chances, and is skeptical of the idea. He's disgusted by incompetency and views it as an unforgivable offense, especially if he thinks that the person should know better, although he's not sure why. Some egocentrism for the soul.

He doesn't like being touched by anyone who isn't family, and gets irritated when anyone grabs him or holds onto him for extended amounts of time. Dash has gotten hit so many times. With Jack Fenton's tendency for abrupt physical affection, it doesn't make it any better. I'd argue it'd make it worse because Danny doesn't want to be touched more often than not.

------------------

Danyal had a red scarf in the League that he wore on his last mission, it came off before he fell off and caught itself on the roof. Damian still has it and took it with him to Wayne Manor. He's got it locked in his room and takes it out when he's alone and missing Danny the most. One time he forgot to put it away before leaving his room, and Dick was visiting the manor for something and found it. Damian found him holding it and freaked out.

Dick could only say "I've never seen you wear this, Damian, this is really pretty--" before Damian shoved him to the floor and stole it out of his hands, before screaming at him; "Don't touch this! You don't ever touch this! This is mine! You hear me!?"

It caused such a commotion that the rest of the family present came to see what the fuss was about, and Damian kicked them all out of his room. Dick is the one brother Damian's the closest with, so the fact he reacted so strongly shocked them all.

This is likely what leads to the "Danyal" conversation.

[toytulini]

But Also i do think. Expecting Crisp Ironed Clothes of someone in a fucking job interview is Unhinged. I think most professional dress standards are Stupid.

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

i have thought of 1 (one) pro to this whole housing situation and i’m clinging onto it for dear life

[quietwingsinthesky]

so many of even's worse decisions are motivated by not being left alone.

[orchid3a]

so today i woke up and thought about a crossover between corpse party and honkai star rail, i will elaborate in the tags <3

[pinkfey]

was going to say this yesterday but lord forgive me all of a sudden i think max and warren are cute ://

[shrikebrother]

i hate my stepdad

[squirmydonnie]

Vent: it's really just me rambling.

I thought about saying it yesterday and today. There will never be good time to say it.

So theres no point in trying to find one. But I'm quite nervous about it. I've told no one the details or even about what Cookie 12 is to me. And why I've had to stop daydreaming about him and everything else imaginary.

It makes me wonder if I actually can say it. Say anything.

Recently my dad has started telling me that the things I say matter, and that they are important. And while I believe that (to a degree), it doesn't stop me from not saying things. I don't trust people very well anymore.

My parents don't even know I've struggled with it because I never told them. They haven't got a clue. No one does.

I know its because I don't say anything. I'm to afraid to say things. Even if they are things I like. I'm to scared to call someone a friend. So i say i have no friends.

It feels like I, myself, don't know if I have friends. Im too scared to figure it out. To get close.

When Grayless called me her friend, I was confused and could barely respond. I'm too afraid to be someone's friend. Because they'll hurt me.

The closet friends I've had are imaginary. They aren't real.

And now that I'm not letting myself go back to daydreaming or fall back in the beliefs, I've become very upset.

People do not like my presence. At least that's how I see it.

The person i had tried to comfort a bit ago doesn't seem to like me.. We were waiting for a substitute to come and I came up to where everyone else was sitting.

They asked a question so I responded. The told me it was " A-B conversation".

🙂

Well first of all it's not because your talking to 3 people. Second of all I'm sick of getting left out on purpose.

Theres a student that people generally dislike. We were getting put into teams for dodgeball and the students were picking the teams.

Tell me why they picked the student they disliked so much before me and I was picked last.

Why do people do that?.

Why do people pick me last, and right before pick someone they hate.

I know that if I don't say what I like people can't connect to me. But I don't think I can connect to these people. I don't think they want me.

But my NBB likes me. She likes me a lot. I feel bad that I don't really. Shes broken me down a whole lot.

I didn't want to think that one person could be the reason that I don't trust others. And I'm right, it's not just her, but shes a big part of why.

Despite that I haven't been able to not help her when shes in need. I've never been able to do that. To not care about another person.

People say it's an admirable trait. But they fail to recognize how it works. Having high empathy doesn't mean you can comfort people well. It doesn't mean you can help. It just means that you feel it.

I feel it so hard that I don't always help. Empathy itself is a skill, but it's not a fix-all.

This is so disjointed, but maybe I will say what cookie12 is. If I can manage.