#man some of these are OLD old fics

[lilbittymonster]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the love ❤️

Thank you so much for the ask Amon! I also got tagged by @crackinglamb for this so I'll just combine them here.

Tagging @piratekenway @crystallineconflict @captainsparklefingers @myreia @allycryz (zero pressure as always!)

Extinguishing the Last Light - G, oneshot, 4.1k. The bad timeline where the Scions fail to stop the final Lightwarden atop Mt. Gulg, and another hero from history is called to the First to try and finish the job. While not the first FFXIV fic I wrote, it's the one I find myself rereading the most, so it gets first place here. Every time I come back to it I think "how did I write something this good?"

An Owl In Limsa - E, 5/5, 6.8k. Modern AU take on the ARR DRG quests but this time involve more Scions and throw in some smut for flavour. Baby's first published explicit fic. I had fun playing with my "in every universe these two idiots will find each other" sandbox. And speaking of dragoons...

Dragoon Age: Origins - M, 4/4, 16.2k. It's exactly what it says on the tin, this is the story of how Kitali became a dragoon told almost entirely from every POV but hers. She tends to be a very closed off person, and so it's a fun character study exercise for myself to write her from the outside instead of the inside.

Walk to the Water - G, oneshot, 10k. Gaingel mermay summer romance. If you remember when I was a Borderlands blog, you qualify for a veterans discount. This was my biggest work for several years and took me the better part of May to write, and rereading it took me down a long nostalgia walk.

This Is Home - G, oneshot, 2k. Comfy fluffy Mighty Nein group home that I did for the Mollymauk Lives fest.....several years ago now. The ideal mental happy place and a good note to end the event on.

Honourable mention to Sometimes Goodbye Is A Second Chance, which was a canon divergent BL2 fic I had started, got a few chapters into, and then fandom drift hit. I still have the outline for it, I still think about it to this day, but I'm not sure when, if ever, I'll work on it again. For now it can just live in my head.

[retrosabers]

the way some of y’all write & describe age gap relationships in fics makes me want to play the law and order svu intro

[izzystizzys]

Half the jobs Fox is sent on are not within his jurisdiction. This certainly isn’t.

Planetary protection unit, they said. Military police. Orbital security force.

And now Fox is being pointed at Count Dooku on some backwater planet and told to fetch. How the mighty have fallen.

He’s pretty sure Kenobi, Skywalker and their units could’ve karked this all up perfectly fine on their lonesome; they don’t need three Guardsmen there to watch them do it. But the Chancellor says jump and Fox surpressed the urge to bash his head in with a durasteel chair. So it goes.

Which is when things start going terribly, terribly wrong, of course.

“Is that Spinder?!”, Skywalker exclaims, arms wheeling out in the air wildly to try and catch his balance. “The Count fucks?!”

Across the room, Cody rips his helmet off, several shades redder than a baseline human should be. “The Count fucks my brother?!”

Two lightsticks hover uselessly in the air, Skywalker’s zig-zagging in a relentless hum with his gesturing. Fox stands stock-still, in the hope that maybe he’ll spontaneously turn invisible if he does. Around them, 501st and 212th troopers gape through helmets. Behind him, Nuisance gasps for air amidst screaming laughter.

Ping, went Fox’s comm unit, in that unmistakeable lascivious jingle sound. Ping, answered Count Dooku’s within a split second. Match found close by.

For a moment, Fox considers what it would be like to run at the Count’s lightsaber at full speed.

…not like that.

“Count”, Kenobi says, with a face like he’s bitten into a rotten fruit. Not that Fox knows what fruit tastes like. “This is a highly… unexpected development.” He fwoosh-es his lightsaber shut, obviously having given up on fighting. “I’d call it a conflict of interest, but I’m not sure that applies?”

“Oh, it’s gonna be a conflict of something, for sure”, Cody hisses, fists clenched at his sides. He looks about ready to boil over, with Crys and Waxer inching closer in preparation. “What have you done to my brother, you monster?!”

“I don’t think you want to know that, Commander”, Nuisance gasps out between barks of laughter, proving why he’s eternally Fox’s least favourite. Cody’s splotchy red complexion slowly fades into ghostly white as a sheen of horror settles over the room. “Thanks for the fancy chocolate bouquet last week, Count!”

Dooku, who has been thus far staring at the floor with an empty thousand-klick stare, looks up at that. Fox has seldom seen a man that defeated outside of the mirror, he has to admit - but shudders when he remembers exactly what the chocolates were for.

Oh Force, he’s sexted Count Dooku into buying him gifts. Does that make him a Seppie spy? Traitor by proxy?

“I feel”, says the Count, gravely, still holding his long red laserknife in a white-knuckled death-grip, “that I have been taken for a fool.”

“Uh”, says Fox, nervously. All eyes snap to him. Oh Force, oh Force, oh Force. They’re going to invent a whole new kind of decommissioning for this and name it after Fox.

“Is it really scamming if you actually get what you pay for?”, asks Grids, considering. Fox slowly pulls off his helmet just for the comforting feeling of burying his head in his gloved palms. The sounds of a struggle ensue, and Kenobi makes a choked-off noise. Maybe if he’s embarrassed enough he’ll give himself an aneurysm.

“Grandmaster, why are you paying people for naked pictures of themselves on the holonet?!” Kenobi asks, despairingly. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

“Oi, no one said I was naked!”, Fox exclaims, head whipping up.

“So naked”, Nuisance laughs, palm thumping against the floor. He might be crying.

“I’m not decrepit”, the Count blusters, and Skywalker makes a gagging noise. “I have - there are needs, and they are perfectly natural!” It takes three troopers to restrain Cody from launching himself at the Count.

[souenkun]

Larry's random conversarion lines 🍙

Pokémon Masters EX spoilers ahead!

Random conversation 1:

Ever since I met a certain individual, I now find myself gazing up at the sky every once in a while. There's scenery you'll never even notice if you stick to flat, well-trodden paths. Just something I've observed. I don't dislike the vast, clear sky... But I don't think I can reach it. It's nice to know that there's something like that out there, though.

Random conversation 2:

Pasio seems to have many good restaurants. Ah, I'm not asking for specific recommendations, though... I actually enjoy walking around and looking for a place I might like. That's part of the experience. I seek the exceptional only when it comes to food. Pasio has a variety of cuisines to choose from, so it's hard to stick to just one.

Random conversation 3:

(Player), which do you tend to favor: the exceptional or the average? I was thinking of inviting you to have a meal sometime. Casually figuring out your client's preferences is a special skill that you learn as a salaried employee.

Random conversation 4:

Lunchtime is one of the few things that a salaried employee like me can look forward to at work... We can decide whether to spend that precious time eating something familiar or trying out a new restaurant. It's not just about the meal. The decision-making process leading up to it is also something to look forward to.

Random conversation 5:

People, Pokémon... There's no need to overcomplicate things. Nowadays people only seem to want a shock factor. Something weird, something bizarre. When all's said and done, simplicity is strongest.

Random conversation 6:

You don't necessarily have to follow every instruction from your boss. But I pretend to follow them, at least, so I can avoid hassles later on. That's a technique you can use to get by in the workplace. Keep it in mind.

Random conversation 7:

I'm here in this famous tourist spot, but I can't really spread my wings while my boss has her eye on me. I guess I'll do what I usually do on my lunch break and find a spot to Roost...

[al-luviec]

I got so insanely mad while drawing this

+ closeup and normalness

[non-un-topo]

Thinking about the sniper duo

[scrimblyscrorblo]

Had an idea for a Poe drawing, since he’s canonically a military grade sniper I wondered when he would’ve entered the military.

Its implied his Guild arc is mostly spent writing his book, and his early twenties were spent with detective work as seen in the flashback to the detective competition.

Thus, he was in the army presumably in his teen years, 15 and up.

And ofc my doodle of it as a little Polaroid with a Kate Bush reference. He couldn’t have his eyes covered and therefore had shorter bangs

Also, bsd takes place 2013 esk and Poe is 28, he would’ve been 15 in the year 2000 and born 1985.

[erineas]

Hey/

Did you see 6 skeletons 1 maid updated?

Thoughts?

I was saving this ask to make a little comic of how that last chapter felt but- lets say it didn't turn out how i wanted. Instead, i just dug out some of my old Maid-chan drawings and stared at them blankly for the next days.

I'm still particularly fixed on this one little page:

Mister Green was my absolute favorite and the only light i saw at the end of her tunnel. He was so kind and sweet, and pretty much the only one that treated her like a person (besides Yellow of course). When i first read this fic so many years ago i didn't trully realized the dark tone of this story but i still chose the only "healthy" option. I wanted MC to be happy and free, and oh how i wanted him to give her that. I held those drawings of him for years imagining a chapter where they would encounter again and that would drive her to a better ending (either skeletons overcoming their issues and treating her with respect or him taking her away).

But then this final chapter appeared and it was... a thing.

(Kinda spoilers for the babes that haven't read it)

First of all, I FINALLY GOT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED AFTER BEACH CHAPTERS OMG I NEEDED THAT

Second of all, it didn't look good at all and it was getting worse as I read. But then good because it was a week alone for her to rest and Sans was eating with her?? But also that whole scene reminded me how bad her situation really was so it actually wasn't good at all.

And then the scene that broke me.

I was aware that I wanted her to flee before, but I never thought she could.

It was oddly satisfying, if not a bit anxiety inducing because of the thought that they would caught her eventually. As always.

But then Asgore, and Orange. And nothing...

I got mad that he found her. Which was a weird feeling since I remember liking him a lot. It felt to me like he ruined her good enough ending. But despite that, it makes sense it was him so I don't complain.

What crushed me though, wasn't that she couldn't say goodbye or that Sans got tired of trying to get her back. It was the fact the Gs didn't even try looking for her. They didn't even got mentioned. What happened there, I wonder. Didn't they like her? Care for her? Mister Green wrote her letters, of course he liked her. But then why...?

Suddenly he looked like a fairytale.

The ending was great, finally lending her the ability to choose. It made absolutely everything worth it and the way it was written made me feel like I do have a say in the matter. And for the first time, i didn't choose the skeletons.

I realized she could find her happy ending alone.

(My live reaction)

[lover-of-mine]

No, but this is definitely my most controversial opinion, but the whole thing with Buck and Eddie being the same age comes back to the fact that they are mirrors of each other. Down to the tattoos with mirrored placement, yes, but like, narratively speaking too. They've been running parallel to each other their whole lives and them being the same age makes that even more intense. Eddie had to grow up too fast and Buck didn't have to grow up at all. Eddie was forced to take care of more than he could and Buck was never allowed to care as much as he wanted. Both of them ran because their lives were overwhelming. Buck gives Eddie the tools to slow down for the first time in years while Eddie gives Buck something he's allowed to care about. They're two sides of the same coin. They complement each other. They're each other's missing piece. And that's so much better when they're the same age.

[theminecraftbee]

hermit horror week day 2: season 3 or season 4 or environment

(Letters in a box that was entrusted to Grumbot in another universe.)

Dear Mumbo:

He is killing me, and I am beginning to think he knows it, and doesn't care. It's far worse from when I thought he didn't know. I wanted to think of us as friends, you know.

With each passing day, I am growing weaker still. I know, I know, you argued it was my fault, but I don't think you understand. Even if I hadn't gone and played with the mushrooms, I think I'd still be dying. It's something Scar's doing to the land. I'm in the shopping district more than most people; I practically live here part-time, with how much I've been expanding the Barge. And even before the mycellium, I was getting sicker and sicker and sicker. Ever since he became mayor.

You used to agree with me, but I'm done arguing. I don't know what it's done to your head. I don't know what it's done to mine.

And he's killing me. With every bit of the network he poisons and rips out, he's killing me. I know he knows it, now. I know you won't believe me. I just wanted someone to know. I wanted someone to know he's destroying the thing I did to keep myself alive.

I really wish you'd become mayor. Maybe then we'd just be hanging out with Grumbot.

Grian, I switched sides. You know I switched sides. You know why. I don't know if you should be sending me letters like this. I could tell Scar. I could tell anyone. I could make you go home and rest and let someone actually check out the fact you say you're dying. They would make you go home. We'd be able to actually fix the shopping district, you'd be able to rest, and Scar would be able to focus on more important things. You are still friends, I'm sure, once we fix this.

Dear Mumbo:

You won't. You're still a good enough friend to keep my secrets at least. Thank you.

Grian, I don't think that's a good thing.

Dear Mumbo:

Maybe I just want someone to know. Maybe I want you to come back. Maybe I just want someone to understand what they're doing to me.

I thought you'd understand.

I thought maybe I'd want you to remember when I was gone.

Grian, Frankly at this point I'm not convinced you're not lying. Scar's a good mayor. He's done what he promised. It's not like either of us voted for me either; we both wanted the shopping district to be made prettier too. I don't understand why you're trying to make me come back like this. Please just come talk. We can fix this.

Dear Mumbo:

You know, maybe you're right. I do regret sending you this. Would you do me the favor and burn it?

(There is no reply.)

[pacificwaternymph]

Anyone got fic recs where all the batkids are actual KIDS? Like... all at once?

Preferably ones with ALL the batkids, including Cass, Duke, Steph, and Barbara?

[twstgarden]

❀ ❝ 𝗺𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 ❞ ; 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

━ lilia vanrouge x gn! reader ━ he's lived a long life and faced many experiences, but maybe this time, he'll find himself yearning to experience this long-lost feeling once more. (f/n means first name)

this work may contain spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia’s arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

lilia has lived for about 700 years. 700 years is a lot as it brought him several experiences and knowledge that are all unique to him. not to mention, raising kids was one of the things he never expected to do, and yet he already had.

and having you by his side was something he never expected in his 700-year lifespan as well. at first, he thinks you're a total sweetheart, going out of your way to help him and accompany him any time so he won't feel lonely.

until those thoughts are buried deep into his mind and his feelings have developed from familial and platonic to something a little more... like a memory he has long forgotten yet remembered once more.

it has been so long since he felt butterflies or felt the drive in his heart to see you every day, and every single time he feels his heart thumping in his chest at the sight of you, he reminds himself that he shouldn't.

the last time he loved someone, he lost them, and he could not risk repeating the same act with you only to eventually lose you in the end.

but maybe this time, he'll try to take the risk.

© twstgarden 2024 || please do not steal, translate without my permission, or use this to train a.i.

[so-very-small]

shoutout to the girlies who were heavy into youtuber g/t fic circa 2016 but are now not into it but have to deal with the equivalent of war flashbacks every time they dig a little too far back in their blog. we’ve all been there. you’re so brave and strong.

[mikeyisbrooklyn]

We’ve got progress, fairies and frogs, and I’m itching to share. (There’s a part 2 here!)

Tags: @on-a-lucky-tide @etanesnil @jgvfhl @roachs-pet-roach

Before reading, some notes…

- This is a WIP, so not finished and subject to change, kinda a part one of sorts

- Has only been partially beta-read

- Author is not: British, Russian, a medical professional, or sane; so beware of inaccuracies abound.

- Not quite NSFW (brief reference to sex and blink and you’ll miss it gross-out moment; safe for teens, not for tots)

All that said, enjoy what’s under the cut (or don’t, I’m not your dad).

Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

(working title)

Price groaned gently as he slowly rejoined the land of the living, croaking like a dehydrated frog was caught in his throat. His groan only got deeper as his eyelids creaked open enough to let in the bright overhead lights. A professional even at his lowest, he took no time to run a checklist of his senses in his head.

Sight? Bleary, but he could see the unnecessarily luminous white beams above him.

Touch? Sore, as all hell, even. There wasn’t a single part of his body that didn’t feel a steady throb of ache, but he could tell his head and right leg seemed to have the worst of it.

Smell? An odorous cloud of antiseptic and disinfectant seemed to be ever-present.

With that information alone, even the most daft man could figure out where he was, but the taste of iron lingering under his tongue and the sound of steady beeping sealed the deal. He was in a hospital.

Price cursed to himself internally. He meant to verbalize it but the words he attempted to form came out as further groans.

An almost imperceptible gasp came from Price’s right and he groaned again as he tried and failed to turn. Then, he felt a warm hand grace his cheek—as his brain started twisting back in gear, he could tell there was a considerable amount of bandages covering his face—and saw a figure take up his entire line of sight, forcing his vision to readjust again so soon after barely adjusting to the lights.

As his eyes settled, Price could finally see who was in front of him, as if the hand on his cheek didn’t already tell him all he needed to know. Nik stood over him, whispering sweet assurances in both Russian and English—some amalgamation of “No, don’t move”s and “You’re alright”s and pet names, it all blended together for Price. Price could see a small grin on the Russian’s face with lines across his mug that reflected an endearing relief, but the first thing Price could see in clear, complete detail since opening his eyes was that dogged glimmer of worry.

It made him sick. Literally.

Poor Nikolai, having already pressed the call button for the doctors upon Price’s stirring, now shouted for aid in shock and distress as Price sat up as much as his broken body would allow and spit up bile that couldn’t have more than stomach acid, saliva, and blood in it.

The door of the room opened and quickly nurses and a doctor were upon Price. A half dozen hands checking bandages, assessing vitals, and touching places that made Price groan in what he meant as frustration which only came out as pain. Nik was gently pulled away in the heat of the moment and despite the pilot’s clear desire to cling onto the injured captain like his life depended on it, he allowed himself to be moved to allow the professionals to do their jobs—if only because he knew it was the only way for Price to get better.

After a few minutes—the hectic storm waning as it became clear that Price was not experiencing a life threatening complication—the nurses left, leaving only the two men with the doctor: a short and plump woman with dark skin and curly black hair tied into a bun, with grays streaking from various places.

“Well, it’s good to see you awake, Captain,” she began, looking down at Price, ”I’m Dr. Omar. It’s a pleasure to meet you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Price grunted, and Dr. Omar smiled warmly but with a bit of mirth. “Your injuries shouldn’t affect your speech ability. I suppose you’re just not in a speaking mood.”

“The captain can be man of few words.” Nik chimed in. “Forgive him.”

“No forgiveness necessary, I’m only teasing, Mr. Nikolai.” Her smile had widened.

Nik shook his head returning a smile of his own. “I have already said, Nik is fine, good doctor.”

“I’m flattered to be considered enough of a ‘friend’ to call you that, but I hope you forgive me for maintaining some professionalism, at least for now.”

Price grunted again, this time with more vitriol than before, feeling ignored despite being the one banged up in bed. At the thought, he looked down and couldn’t properly see the damage—being wrapped comfortably tight in blankets—but from what he could see and feel, there were bandages, splints, and gauze littering his body.

Dr. Omar cleared her throat. “Right, well,” she lifted her clipboard to partially cover her face, “you’ve more than a few cuts and bruises, but the worst of it is a concussion and about a half dozen fractures in your right leg.”

“Should see the other guy.” Price groaned, his voice still thick with disuse. Despite his attempt at humor, Price internally kicked himself as he remembered what really happened.

In truth, it was out of Price’s hands when the informant stabbed them in the back to the kingpin they were hunting, but he still blames himself for the op going tits up. Mostly because what was in his hands was his call to try and finish the mission anyway—an effort at salvaging the unsalvageable. It was only after Gaz took lead to the shoulder that Price realized his stubborn tenacity might get his team killed. But in the retreat, he must’ve stepped right into the bastard’s trap without noticing. If it weren’t for Soap calling out the ticking explosive—thanks to the sergeant’s keen awareness of all things demolition—he likely would’ve been blown to smithereens rather than crushed in rubble. A holy man would remark their survival a miracle, but Price was no holy man; all he figured was that his team kept themselves and him alive, despite his frustrating sudden ineptitude.

Nik’s bark of laughter took Price from his thoughts. “Da! The captain is hard to kill.”

“I’m happy to hear that you've got the mind to joke. Based on what your lieutenant told me, it was quite the close call.” Dr. Omar locked eyes with Price. “But I imagine you’re gonna want the prognosis unless you have any more jokes?”

“As much as I’d love to try out my stand up routine, doc, what I want more is to know when I can get out of this bed.”

“Well, this bed? If you’re insistent on spending most of your recovery at home, just a bit of observation and you can be out of here by tomorrow.”

Price’s lips twitched into a near-frown at “recovery” and lifted a single eyebrow.

Dr. Omar sighed and gave a smile full of more pity than warmth. This look also made Price sick, though he kept down the threatening bile. “You’re primarily on bed rest for a week or two, with crutches or a wheelchair to help you get around if you must. After that 4-8 weeks of physical therapy and continued rest. In short,” she sighed again, knowing the weight of her words, “I’ll be recommending you be put on medical leave for at minimum two months.”

“At minimum?” Price winced as he felt a headache coming on, compounding his concussion. Nik, who had moved closer to the bedridden man, quietly snuck his hand into Price’s grasp and gripped firm but carefully. At his touch, Price huffed from his nose—like a bull.

“It could be longer if you don’t rest and rest well, Captain.” Dr. Omar kept her attitude polite but her tone was assertive. “If you’ve been doing this long enough to earn your rank, then I think it’s safe to assume you’re smart enough to know I’m not wrong.”

Price groaned and looked away, wanting nothing more than to argue but begrudgingly agreeing with her assessment. If it were Simon, Kyle, or Soap he’d have leveled them with a single gaze and made sure they stayed on their ass as long as the docs demanded. Fucking hypocrite he was.

Dr. Omar’s lips tightened like she was about to press him further. Nik spoke up instead. “Da, your expertise is welcome and cherished, good doctor. Instead of tomorrow, could I bring Captain Price home by tonight? He will get better rest in a familiar bed.”

Price looked up at Nik who spared him a brief glance with a wink before returning his gaze back to the doctor. Dr. Omar herself looked between the both of them twice and then three times before sighing heavily but with a more amiable smile.

“I suppose I can see what I can do but no promises, Mr. Nikolai! We need to make sure there won’t be any surprises or complications while we still have him.” She pointed at the Russian accusatorially.

“Da! Da! I understand.”

Dr. Omar smiled as she lowered her hand. “Alright, well, I’ll leave you alone if you don’t have any other questions.”

Price looked back at the doctor finally with a blank expression though with a nod of gratitude.

“Thank you, good doctor, we will call again if needed.”

“Please do.” She patted the end of Price’s bed, eliciting a grunt from the man and then she left the room.

Nik dragged a chair back to the side of Price’s bed and tightened his grip on the hand he was still holding. “You are terrible patient, Jonathan.” He chided with a shit-eating grin.

“Bugger off.” Price shifted his face away from Nik, not being able to move much.

Nik chuckled and kissed the man on the cheek, enjoying the way Price’s face turned bright red. “I hope you are better to me.”

It took a moment for that to sit with Price before he turned slowly back towards Nik. “You wot?”

“Oh, you did not think I meant I would take you back to your own bed, did you, Captain? When mine is much better?”

“Oh, bloody—are ya gonna try and fuck me while I’m crippled? Filthy bastard.”

Nik’s grin turned wolfish. “If you would like. Though, I only meant that I would not let you out of my sight while you heal.”

Price’s face got hot again but worse, his gut churned with a wave of nausea that he barely held down. “I’m not a boy needing supervision, muppet.” He grumbled the last bit.

“Nyet, you are very much no boy.” Nik damn near purred. “But can I not take care of you, even after such an injury?”

Price grunted and turned away but made no effort to move and even returned the briefly tightened grip on his hand Nik still had—an implicit surrender, at least for now. Price knew he was in no state to turn Nik down, especially as his options were the Russian or the hospital. At least with Nik he’d stay somewhere with some damn eye candy and that didn’t reek of sick and despair.

Maybe, just maybe, he could trick himself into have a nice leave. Price laughed at the absurdity of the thought.

[aimasup]

throws up my hands in mock resignation but also a hint of frustration Okay Valentino is a cool villain I guess

He's like. Genuinely unsettling. Wish the show struck a better balance with his character sometimes (like sometimes when he's onscreen I have to skip over because I feel queasy and sometimes he's so unsubtle he feels more like a prop than a guy who's going to be a Huge Deal in s2)

[frankiebirds]

this scene makes me need to lay down. goddddd.

sometimes i get the sense that reid is more attached to gideon than gideon is to reid. obviously they both serve as surrogates for the family member each is estranged from (gideon is estranged from his son and reid is estranged from his dad) but.

you know. reid clings to gideon, not physically but emotionally, and i think a lot of his wellbeing at the start of the series relies on gideon's presence. gideon almost certainly knows the most about reid out of anyone on the team—i don't think canon ever says that reid has told gideon about diana, but i would imagine he has—and i think reid feels understood by him in a way he doesn't by other people, even compared to the rest of the team who (mostly) try their best. i think he also tends to try to be as good and deserving as possible of gideon's presence, since he definitely at least partially feels like his father left because he wasn't good enough.

on the flipside, while gideon definitely sees reid as a son, he's...not the best dad. i think we see him repeating a lot of the mistakes that drove a wedge between him and stephen with reid, and i think that had mandy patinkin stayed on, we would have gotten a larger parallel there. he holds him at arms length, trying not to get too close, although he definitely cares about him more than he lets on and the mask slips sometimes, like this moment and on the plane after ldsk.