#playbook to my heart

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

[kyanitegemverse]

Another Eidolon AU design!

Here’s Citrus McSprite with their eidolon; Crime Of The Century

[theinfinitedivides]

'i think Jang Hyun orabeoni will wake up soon... because he has Ryang Eum by his side.' *turns to Ryang Eum* 'the day that Jang Hyun orabeoni went to do business at the border a while back, you got into a fight with a customer while playing at the kibang and were injured. do you know he came by that night? after hearing that you were hurt, he gave up on 7000 silver nyang to come back. he only came to check that you were okay, and then he left. an unnie i know asked him, when she was serving him, why he is always talking about Ryang Eum, and he supposedly said to her that his pleasure in life is in seeing Ryang Eum enjoy his life. so he would never leave Ryang Eum alone and die.'

[romijuli]

I haven’t seen it in a bit but there was a post going around talking about how playing dnd inherently means expecting the dm to homebrew a bunch of stuff and like, I get what they’re going for, they’re not wrong

But also I literally told my dm yesterday, when he handed me a bunch of ideas for cool sword abilities for our bleach game, “yeah I’ll do this one as long as it’s not too much work for you” and his response was “no I love a challenge” so like, some dms will literally just Do That

[so-i-did-this-thing]

How it's going as a trans person in Florida: Planned Parenthood, 26Health, and Spektrum Health have announced they have paused all gender affirming care.

To recap, DeSantis signed several anti-trans bills into law this week. Care is banned for minors, care is all but banned for adults, Don't Say Gay has been extended, children can be kidnapped from affirming parents by non-affirming family, and there is a bathroom bill that subjects trans folks to arrest for using government owned facilities, such as those in courthouses, airports, many stadiums and parks.

The adult effective ban was felt immediately. The main elements are:

signing at every visit an in-person informed consent form created by the state

all care come from physicians instead of nurse practitioners

no telemed for gender-affirming care

Currently, it is unknown if existing HRT prescriptions written by NPs will be honored by pharmacies. I personally know one person who was able to pick up testosterone yesterday, but I have also read many reports of folks being denied. I myself don't have a refill ready for another 10 days and will report back after I try my own pickup.

What's additionally dangerous is those of us, myself included, who get non-HRT prescriptions from our gender clinics now face the uncertainty of continuing of *all* of our medical care. Our health clinics are at risk of shuttering permanently as they lose major income, and many of us will lose STD meds, depression meds, heart meds, etc, etc.

When we say "this will kill us," it goes beyond suicide risk from forced detransition.

"But you can still get HRT from a physician."

So many suck or are outright hostile and the demand outstrips the supply. Before I found my NP-run clinic, one physician just decided to not call in my Rx, another was so shit at reading lab results, he thought I had hepatitis, and the third I had to threaten to kick in the teeth for trying to force too large a speculum in me.

Also, the state-required consent form has not been finalized and distributed yet, so at this point, everything has pretty much ground to a halt.

It was estimated that 80% of trans adults would lose their healthcare because of how many use providers like Planned Parenthood, but the impact seems even greater now.

"You can get your non-gender care elsewhere still."

DeSantis recently signed a bill that allows healthcare professionals to discriminate against trans people.

Sure, we can try to find care elsewhere, but it will be a slow and expensive process, with no guarantees. It took me over 20 years to get my heart condition treated because of transphobic doctors.

What can I do as a trans Floridian?

Stay in communication with your clinic - many are working on getting physicians added to the roster to prescribe HRT. Lawsuits are being filed and it's possible the changes to adult care can be rolled back.

Continue to try to pick up your meds, but begin looking for care elsewhere, though. Inside and outside the state.

Remember that while telemed for gender affirming care has been banned, you can still cross state lines for care. See Erin's map of informed consent clinics.

Many people will turn to DIY, but be sure you are aware of the risks here, especially if on testosterone, which is a controlled substance.

What should I be worried about next as a trans Floridian?

I worry about the following next steps towards genocide:

Banning getting care out of state. This is from the anti-abortion playbook. They will likely start with kids again, but we've seen how quickly adult care gets axed.

Being declared mentally incompetent or a risk in some way. This could be anything from being barred from gun ownership to not being allowed to work for the government.

Being declared a de facto predator. This has already happened with the latest bathroom law (cis people can eject trans people from government owned single-gender facilities, with arrest as a penalty), so watch out for it being applied to privately-owned facilities. Watch for discussions of official lists of trans people.

Gender presentation enforcement laws, essentially banning "cross dressing". Laws that block or rollback documentation changes.

These all have historic precedence and are huge "I'm in danger" red flags.

What can I do as a cis person?

Amplify all this news. Talk frankly about how this is genocide. And donate what you can to trans mutual aid campaigns so people can travel to get healthcare or even leave the state.

Here's some articles to get started on building awareness:

Take care, everyone, of yourself and each other.

[eternalsunrise]

when in france

nfl! joe burrow x fem! reader

wc: 3.1k

tags! established relationship, college sweethearts (because i said so), 💍 hint hint, no smut!

notes! abby try not to write sickening fluff challenge failed horribly. i keep going back and forth about whether i like or not but i hope you guys do! mwah 💋

when joe told you he’d be attending and modeling for fashion week, you were ecstatic. you’ve been encouraging him to step out of his comfort zone, and it seemed like he was finally listening during this offseason.

when he told you the event was in france, you were even more stunned. you were so excited for him. there was no one more deserving of these opportunities than your joe.

and when he asked you to accompany him, you were absolutely floored. sure you knew he loved you. you’ve felt it every day for years. but an experience like this, you were so grateful he’d even consider sharing this with you.

“are you sure? really babe it’s okay, i won’t be upset.” you had reassured him the day he found out about the opportunity.

joe just looked at you like you had three heads over his dinner, his fork clattering as he dropped it onto the plate. he reaches his arm across the table and clasps your hand with his, “hey. don’t be silly. you’re my girl. there’s no one, and i mean no one, i’d rather do this with.”

there’s something about joe’s soft, steady voice that always reassures you in the way he knows you need. he places a delicate kiss to the back of your knuckles. you don’t worry about it again.

your time in france is an absolute whirlwind. joe had warned you that his schedule was pretty packed, but you didn’t mind. after all, you’ve grown used to the hustle bustle of football season. nothing like the fast life. dinners, meetings, panels, runways, and parties. you’re supporting joe through it all, and he notices. hell, everyone notices.

the first dinner you all have together is after a runway show in cannes.

you’re chatting with a woman sitting next to you, laughing and sipping a glass of white wine. joe is on the other side of you, catching up with JJ and some of the other guys. of course the topic has reverted back to football, hard to avoid with those two at the table together. JJ and another friend are in a heated discussion about the rules surrounding taunting when the food arrives.

when the plates hit the table, joe watches your actions from the corner of his eye. you pick at your side choice, before putting the smallest bite into your mouth. reaction almost immediate, you turn to joe with a grimace that he knows all too well.

he clicks his tongue, shaking his head back and forth as he begins to eat his own meal, “i told you. i knew you wouldn’t like them cooked that way.”

you did this every time the two of you had dinner somewhere new. you like to order something you’d usually never try on the menu, in hopes of enjoying it. and joe, who knows you better than anyone, always warns you against it. then every single time, you flash him an adorable smile and say the same thing, “well, when in___”

this started when he brought you to ohio for the first time. the two of you were having lunch in cincy before heading to athens to meet his parents. you inquired about ‘cincinnati chili’, to which joe explained and confessed that even he didn’t enjoy chili served over spaghetti. but you had said “well, when in cincinnati!” with such excitement, that he didn’t have the heart to argue further.

the hometown specialty almost made you puke all over his childhood bedroom hours later. flash forward some years and the song and dance was still the same.

you shake your head, trying to lie. you’re stubborn. the last thing you want to do is admit he was right about this…again.

you attempt another bite, poking the food around your white, porcelain plate. “it’s not that bad joey…i kinda like it…”

you’re lying through your teeth. joe knows. he always does. the man has been reading you like a playbook since college.

so with a sigh he picks up both of your plates, making easy work of switching them. this is also a reoccurring affair. joe always orders something he knows you’ll enjoy, pretty much expecting you not to like your exotic choices. he never tells you this of course. but he’s not picky, so no harm no foul.

you frown down at your new dinner, as much as it looks delicious, you feel bad taking your boyfriend’s food. “no joey you don’t have to do that. i’ll eat it i swear!”

joe just gives you an affectionate eye roll, tapping your thigh a few times under the table, “eat baby.” he gently commands, picking up a fork and beginning to eat your rejected meal. his hand lingers, and you intertwine it with yours, leaning over and placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. you murmur a thank you against his skin, joe hums in response.

unbeknownst to you both, the people across from you were tuned in to the entire exhange. sharing amused glances with JJ, who just shrugs, “they’ve always been like this.”

the two of you resume eating, when the man across from joe speaks up in an amused tone, “so how long?”

joe looks up, confusion written on his face, “excuse me?” he swallows a bite and decides you’re right. this isn’t good at all, but he’s gonna eat every bite.

the man chuckles, sipping his drink. “sorry i didn’t mean to pry. it’s just, you two remind me of me and my wife early on in our marriage. i just assumed you must be newlyweds.”

the words catch your attention and your eyes turn into saucers. newlyweds? did the two of you really act married? the idea of being joe’s for life, officially; your stomach twists in lovesick knots. sure you’ve definitely thought about it. after all, you’ve been by his side for almost 5 years now. but you didn’t know where joe stood when it came to life long commitment. the idea that he might not want that with you, is sorta frightening. you don’t have time to overthink it though, a couple of ladies pulling you back into busy conversation.

justin gives joe a knowing smirk. he holds a hand up and wiggles his fingers, pretending he’s wearing a ring. an action he used to do back when joe would ditch them to hang out with you after lsu practices.

you’re so preoccupied you don’t notice joe’s hand playing with yours a little later into the meal. he takes one of your daily rings off of your index finger, slipping it onto the special one next to your pinky. he twirls it around a couple times, smiling fondly.

the rest of your days abroad pass in pictures of time. you and joe eating croissants early in the morning. sneaking kisses in your hotels elevator. joe asking if he had anything in his teeth before walking in a backless suit.

“were you planning on smiling on the runway babe?” you teased.

joe just shrugs, “maybe. it’s hard not to when i know you’re watching me.”

before you know it, it’s the vogue world after party, marking your last night before returning to the states. the night is lots of fun, full of mingling and laughter. although…there’s something up with your boyfriend. you’re not sure what, but he seems almost anxious. it’s usually out of joe’s character to be antsy, they call him joe cool for a reason. he’s been fidgety, bouncing his knee up and down every time the two of you were sitting. he’s quiet, but still sweet to you in a way that’s reassuring you that he’s okay. you blame his odd behavior on exhaustion, or maybe his social battery draining. maybe even the strobe lights are giving him a headache, which is bittersweet because they make his blues shine so well.

it’s well past midnight, and you’re sitting on joe’s lap wearing a black dress that compliments his outfit. you’re chatting with some people while

your boyfriend sits silently. you have no idea, but his mind is running a mile a second. one of his hands is wrapped around your waist, the other twirling stands of your hair that sit against the back of your dress. his heart thumps against his chest as he uses his leverage against you to raise himself up. he takes a deep breath, and leans his body forward to reach your ear. “you wanna get out of here?” deep voice rumbles from his chest and tickles your ear. it makes a shiver run up your spine.

you turn your head to look behind you, your noses are almost touching this way. the loose curl sitting against his forehead is begging you to brush it away. you resist the urge.

“sure babe, if you’re ready?”

joe looks at you with a look so full of adoration you think you might melt. he presses a quick kiss to your lips, “i’m ready. i already called the car.”

paris is stunning late at night, lights twinkling across the city. joe watches you stare out the cab window. he looks at you the way he has all night, full of love and an indescribable devotion. you’re so mesmerized by the landscape you don’t even notice you’ve passed your hotel until joe clears his throat.

your eyebrows furrow in confusion when joe turns your head to face him. “do you trust me?” the question is serious, but his voice is kind of rocky. like he’s nervous. but what for?

you nod your head with a laugh, “of course joey. why?”

joe smiles and deflects from the question. “alright. close your eyes for me then.”

now you’re really confused. you tilt your head at him, watching as the smile remains on his face. he’s really waiting on you to close your eyes. well, you choose to honor you words, closing your eyes tightly. you’re guessing a surprise is in store.

you feel the car slow to a stop. your hands drum on your lap, anticipation building in your gut.

joe places a hand on your thigh. “don’t get out yet, i’ll come around and get you.”

you nod your head, eyes still clenched to prove your honesty. you hear a car door shut and footsteps coming closer.

joe takes a deep breath, crisp night air filling his lungs. a shaky hand grips your car door, pulling it open.

you hear joe thank the driver, before he gently takes hold of your hands. he guides you to stand and step out of the car. you hear the cab drive away and your heart thumping in your ears.

the warmth of joe’s hands covers your eyes, making you laugh. whatever this surprise is, joe’s pretty adamant in not wanting you to spoil it.

you begin walking forward at joes command. “we almost there?”

you feel your body turn to the right, and suddenly the presence of his hands disappears.

“alright. open em’” he backs away from you, hands shoved into black pants.

you open your eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the lights blinking all over the place. you gasp at what’s in front of you, your eyes trailing upwards. “joe…you…”

he grants you a chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way you adored. “you didn’t think we’d leave before i let you see the eiffel tower did you?”

you just stare at the beautiful structure in front of you, trying to convince yourself it was real. there’s something so breathtaking about being in front of something you’ve only seen in photos.

joe is staring at you with the same fascination that you’re giving a wonder of the world. 5 years and you still make the confidence flee from him. you take his breath away simply by being well, you. he’s been a nervous wreck all day. but staring at you right now, in the middle of paris. he’s never been so sure of anything.

you’re rubbing your bare arms, but the cold isn’t even bothering you.

that doesn’t matter to joe. he slips his charcoal jacket off, draping it over your shoulders. you feel strong arms around you, a comfortable warmth covering you. joe rests his chin on your shoulder, turning and placing a few kisses on your cheek. his nose cold against your skin, but you still welcome the contact.

a content sigh escapes you, “it’s so stunning, isn’t it? there’s something so romantic about it.”

joe nods, but to be honest he’s barely even glanced at the tower. he calls your name, his voice cracking is like a bullet shooting through his ego.

you turn to face him, a grin on your face. “i know i keep saying it but thank you. thank you so much for bringing me here.”

joe’s response doesn’t miss a beat, “i’d take you anywhere. i want to take you everywhere, show you the world. that’s what you deserve.”

the sincerity of his words coupled with the setting make your heart soar. suddenly he unravels himself from you. you turn around to face him confused. you open your mouth to question him but he interrupts you by grabbing your hands, squeezing them with his own.

“i love you. i’ve loved you for 5 years and somehow i still love you more each day. you’re the best part of me. you make me a better man, and i wanna be that man for you, always.” joe’s voice is strained as if he’s getting emotional. it’s so rare to see from him. the fact that he’s getting choked up over you. his love for you nonetheless, you feel your own throat tighten. you feel your eyes well up with tears. joe brings your intertwined hands to rest against his chest, his heart pounding in a way he’s sure you feel. the night air sweeps his hair around, that single curl waving at you.

“the first time i thought you to ohio, i saw howmuch my family loved you…and i realized something.”

that was only 6 months into your relationship. a spring break in march that joe wanted to spend with his family. he asked you to tag along and although you were petrified, you agreed. you’ve never felt nervous around his family after that, quite the opposite actually.

suddenly joe steps back from you, a hand reaching into his pocket. the implication of what’s happening makes your mouth dry up. it’s like you’re frozen, just staring at him with wide eyes.

“i–i went out and got this as soon as we got back to baton rouge. i’ve held on to it all this time….and i brought it with me because i thought well, when in france. right?” joe tries his best to keep his voice steady, a nervous chuckle escaping him. and sure enough, a little black, velvet box appears in his hand.

a hand flies to your mouth, and you look around as if a camera crew is going to appear and tell you you’re being pranked. but alas, it’s just you, joe, and the eiffel tower.

“joe….” the tears are definitely flowing now, silently down your face. you couldn’t believe your eyes. this was really happening. right now. in paris at almost 2 in the morning.

you watch as joe gets down on one knee. he tries to tame his trembling hands as he opens the little box, but to no avail. the quarterback that is usually so collected, has crumbled down to mush that you hold in the palm of your hand.

joe perches the box in between his hands, early morning moonlight dances across the diamond ring.

he breathes your name like a prayer, “i meant what i said. i would want to do this. or anything, with anyone else. i want to be yours forever if you’ll have me. so angel, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

joe flashes you that boyish smile that you fell in love with all those years ago. it’s then that you realize it isn’t just joe kneeling before you.

it’s the handsome transfer student from ohio that asks you where bronson hall is. it’s the boy that invites you to watch him play football, and forgets to mention he’s the new star quarterback. it’s the guy your friends ask about when you’re blushing at brunch. it’s the teary eyed heisman trophy winner who thanks you in his speech. it’s the cincinnati bengal who trusts you decorate the new apartment you share together. it’s the guy that plays catch with your younger family members at thanksgiving. it’s your boyfriend that invited you to france. it’s your joe.

this is the easiest question you’ve ever been asked.

“yes. oh my fucking god! a million times yes!” you exclaim, heels clicking the pavement as you jump up and down a couple of times. you’re confused when you look down and see joe still kneeling below you, his grin rivaling the city lights. then you realize, you don’t have the ring on yet. “oh fuck which hand is it?!” your brain is so frazzled, you just stick both hands out toward him.

joe gently grabs your left hand, ring perfectly slipping onto your ring finger. he admires it for a moment and places a kiss on your knuckles.

he’s standing up straight for less than a second before you’re pouncing on him, throwing your arms around him. you pull his neck down toward you, crashing your lips together in a bruising kiss.

joe returns your affection quickly. hands find home holding your face, thumbs dusting away tears. this kiss is different than any you’ve had in the past. it’s a seal. a promise. a sign of your devotion to one another deepening after tonight.

the two of you stay like that for a moment. so caught up in one another. the anticipation of a lifetime together makes you feel as light as a feather.

the two of you break away with sharp inhales, crisp air filling your lungs. you remove your hands from his neck, instead grabbing his in your own and giving a laugh at their state, “babe. you’re shaking.”

joe nods, tongue darting out to lick his lips. he gives your hands a squeeze. “yeah well. good thing i got you to keep me steady.”

the ride back to the hotel is full of giggles and light touches. the ring on your finger is like a magnet to your eyes. you can’t look away, even as joe is extra affectionate; kissing all over your cheek and the side of your neck. you’re so full of love it feels hard to breathe.

“hey joey?”

your boyfriend fiancée pulls his head back to look you in the eyes, “yeah, pretty?”

you put your now ring clad hand on joe’s chest. he looks down at it with a smirk, before meeting your eyes once again.

“what do you think about that backless suit for the wedding?”

[dryedmangoez]

My Top 4! Pre-2022 Korean Dramas I Watched This Year

My Top 4! Pre-2022 Korean Dramas I Watched This Year

When COVID first began to terrorize us all, I finally got the chance to catch up on all those Korean dramas I had been putting off for years. But this year, real life revved back up and I had much less time to just sit back and relax while enjoying K-dramas. (more…)

[pathologicalreid]

stuck between a rock and a hard place | S.R.

next

You, an undercover agent, uncover a hidden secret of the country's largest operation, putting your life in danger and under the protection of the BAU.

who? spencer reid x fem!FBI!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, hospitals, medical inaccuracy, drugs, sex crimes/trafficking, attempted sa, reader works in sex crimes. mentions foyet and also 6x24 (supply and demand). established relationship. word count: 7.7k a/n: this has been sitting in my wip folder for far too long. i am now emotionally attached to these two. i will write more of this specific pairing because now all i want is for them to be happy.

Spencer

It wasn’t every day that men and women in suits piled into the BAU carrying evidence boxes, everyone stood up at their desks. Spencer watched as Andi Swann followed in behind the other agents, not even bothering to greet the team as she went straight to Emily’s office.

Prentiss opened the door, letting Andi in before beckoning for Reid to join them. This had to be about you.

Ignoring the way his heart rate spiked, Spencer stood up from his desk and went up to Emily’s office. On the other side of the bullpen, the rest of the team filed into the roundtable room.

“Spencer, have a seat,” Emily offered, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of her desk.

Glancing at Agent Swann, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “No, I’ll stand.”

Andi cleared her throat, looking at Spencer, she spoke, “Y/N missed her last two check-ins. As her next of kin, I need to notify you to let you know that as of now, the FBI is considering her missing.”

He wanted to be angry. He wanted so badly to be mad, but he’d seen this before. Years ago, an agent in Andi’s unit missed her check-ins and the BAU helped find her. More than that, he knew how much Andi cared about her agents, so he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad.

“Section Chief Cruz has asked that the BAU help to recover Y/N,” Emily said, looking at Spencer. “You know I have to tell you that you can’t be on this case,” she explained, leaning against her desk, eyes flickering as she tried to read Spencer’s expression.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer looked at Emily, “Y/N’s gone missing, and I’m not allowed to help look for her?”

Sympathetically, Prentiss shook her head, dark hair swaying with the movement. “You know it’s a conflict of interest to be involved with a loved one’s case.”

“Isn’t that kind of what the BAU does?” He could’ve rambled off a list of BAU agents who worked on cases involving their loved ones – including himself and Emily.

Turning to face Agent Swann, Emily suggested she join the rest of the team in the roundtable room. She waited until the door was closed before speaking again, “When’s the last time you saw Y/N?”

Closing his eyes, he remembered the morning of the day you left, the both of you had stayed up late as if you could delay your departure, but the last time he saw you was when he dropped you off at the Sex Crimes Unit before making his way up to the Behavioral Analysis Unit. “We haven’t even spoken since she left,” he answered, almost a month ago now.

“Is there a chance she tried to reach you or her family?” Emily asked. She had to ask, he knew that, but it didn’t make the questions any less ridiculous to him.

Shaking his head, he began to pace around the office, “No, she wouldn’t have done that. She follows the undercover playbook obsessively. She always said freestyling was like signing your death certificate.” He tried. He tried to get you to leave him breadcrumbs, but you never did.

Nodding, Emily watched as he paced back and forth “When did you get married?”

Pressing his lips into a thin white line, he stopped in his tracks, “When I came back after The Believers. It was the next day.” You had offered to sleep on the couch in an attempt to give him space when he asked you to go to the courthouse with him. That was two months ago now.

He didn’t want space. Not from you. Never from you.

Finally, he sat down.

“Did you tell anyone?” Emily asked, sitting down in the chair next to him. “Did you have a witness to sign your marriage certificate?”

Nodding, Spencer reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and produced three rings, his wedding ring, your engagement ring, and your wedding band. You didn’t have the time to get them soldered together yet. “Rossi was our witness,” he responded, “He was the only one who answered his phone.” He slipped his ring on and closed his fist around your two rings.

After a moment, Emily stood, “I’m going to speak with the rest of the team, but I won’t tell them anything I don’t think is pertinent to the case.” Which was her way of saying ‘Your secret is safe with me.’ “Stay in here as long as you need, Spence,” she offered before walking out, shutting the door tightly behind her.

He thought of the last night you were together. Spencer tried to check in with you, he told you that if your job ever became too much, you just had to tell him, and he’d be there. What he neglected to tell you was that he was beginning to feel like your job was too much for him.

You had given him the opportunity to hold you close, and instead, he let you slip through his fingers.

Opening his fist, he looked down at your rings and the indent they had left on his palm, slipping them back into his pocket before he walked over to the roundtable room. Everyone paused what they were doing to look up at him.

Spencer just shrugged and looked at Emily, “I can’t just do nothing.”

In response, Emily nodded solemnly and suggested he go through the case files with Matt.

It had been hours. The sun had set, jackets had been shed, and takeout had been ordered. The clock behind him showed it was nearly midnight, meaning it had been almost two days since anyone had last heard from you.

“Oh god,” Penelope said, her voice cutting into the thick silence of the roundtable room. Her fingers began frantically typing on her laptop.

Spinning in the office chair, Spencer wheeled over so he could look at the screen, vaguely aware of Emily hovering above him, “What is it? What did you find?”

She hit the keyboard so hard he thought they might break, but she answered, “The trauma center at Johns Hopkins reported a Jane Doe brought in a few hours ago. She matches Y/N’s description.”

“Did they run prints?” Andi asked, of course, there would be red tape if the hospital tried to run your prints, seeing as you were undercover.

Another tap and dozens of files opened, “It looks like she went right into surgery. Uh, the EMTs reported she was listing off a string of numbers when they brought her in… 265D019Z?”

Spencer swallowed thickly, “That’s Y/N’s badge number.”

Shaking her head, JJ looked over at the map of DC on the wall, “It’s a two-hour drive to Baltimore from here.”

“But it’s a thirty-minute flight, Reid, Tara, Swann, and Alvez go. The rest of us will look into what happened from here,” Emily doled out responsibilities, nodding at everyone as the team broke.

Spencer stayed still, still looking at Penelope’s screen, his eyes flickering over the documents. Words jumped out at him, drugged, punctured, and knife. It made his stomach churn. How had you gotten to Baltimore? Your unit had you set up in an apartment near the Hill. When did you travel from the district to Baltimore?

The thirty-minute flight felt like it was hours long, the drive from the airstrip to the hospital dragged on, but thankfully Emily had called the hospital ahead of time to let them know who you were and who was coming for you.

A doctor stopped the four of you from going into the room, a police officer was already stationed outside of the room, and the blinds were closed. Please, Spencer wanted to plead, please just let me see her.

“She’s weak, she just came down from recovery and she hasn’t fully woken up yet,” the doctor said, placing her hands on her hips. “I can’t in good faith let you go in there and badger her with questions. Not with no one in there to focus on her well-being,” she ordered. The doctor stared the four of them down with piercing gray eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer peeked through the doorway when a nurse exited your room. “She’s my wife, I’ll advocate for her,” he responded, hoping the doctor would let him through. He could feel Tara and Luke staring, but he didn’t care.

Nodding, the doctor continued sizing Reid up, “Alright, but just you, for now. She’s not awake enough to be questioned anyway.” Stepping to the side, the doctor let Spencer through before blocking the doorway to everyone else.

In the worst way possible, you took his breath away. Your skin was sallow, you had an IV, nasal cannula, and a chest tube out the left side. Walking to your right, he took a seat next to you, taking your hand in his and pressing a gentle kiss to your bloodied knuckles – evidence that you had put up one hell of a fight. “Oh sweetheart, what did they do to you?” He whispered even though he knew you wouldn’t answer.

Reaching over you, he smoothed your hair from your face, your skin was clammy, probably as a result of blood loss. It looked like they were still transfusing, so you had probably lost a considerable amount of blood.

Shuffling the seat closer to you, Spencer took your hand in his. The doctor came back in holding a tablet, “Dr. Reid?”

He hummed in response, not daring to take his eyes off of you. “What happened to her? Why did she need surgery?”

“She had been bleeding out in an alley, according to the police officers who reported to the scene. The other agents are talking to them now,” the doctor said, tapping a few buttons on the tablet. “She had been stabbed several times in the upper left side, we went in to repair damage to her spleen, liver, and lung. There was some strain to her heart, it appears she was drugged before she was stabbed.”

He intently watched the steady rise and fall of your chest before he spoke up again, “Is she going to be okay?”

Setting the tablet down, the doctor paused before answering, “We’ll know more when she wakes up.”

Spencer leaned back in the chair, finally taking his eyes off of you and looking at the doctor, “Was there anything… did they…” He felt ridiculous, having spent the better part of his adult life in the BAU, and he couldn’t even put the words together.

To his relief, the doctor shook her head, “There were no injuries that suggested she was sexually assaulted.”

Reading the doctor’s badge, Spencer nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Herman.”

“Hit the call button when she wakes up, we’ll need to evaluate her pain and other treatment,” the doctor said, gathering her things before walking out of the room, and shutting the door behind her.

Spencer kept his eyes on you, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently, every once in a while, his phone rang, but he didn’t have the energy to talk on the phone. When his phone buzzed, he pulled it out of his pocket and checked the messages.

Penelope Garcia: How is she? Spencer Reid: Still sleeping. Penelope Garcia: How are you? Spencer Reid: Not sure.

Setting his phone on the table, screen down, he watched you again, every once in a while, your nose would twitch, or your eyes would flutter. Every time he would hold his breath, hoping you’d open your eyes.

He waited, and about an hour after he had arrived, a small, keening noise came from you. His head snapped up at the sound, your eyes were still closed, but you were moving. “Y/N?” He whispered hesitantly, not wanting to wake you up if you weren’t ready. Slowly, he stood up from the chair, not sure if he should keep waiting or if he should hit the call button.

You were muttering something, talking to someone in your sleep, when suddenly you jerked away. Instinctively, Spencer put his hands on your shoulders to stop you from tearing your stitches, and it was that touch that caused your eyes to snap open. “No, no, no, no,” you babbled, frantically looking around the hospital room.

“Y/N,” Spencer said, keeping his hands on your shoulders, “You’re safe, I’m here. You’re at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.”

With wide eyes, you looked up at him and mouthed the word ‘Baltimore.’ As if you were trying to figure out how you had ended up in Baltimore, something the BAU still hadn’t figured out. “I thought I…” Your voice was nothing more than a rasp, but with the bruises he could now see littering your neck, that didn’t surprise him much. “Did you see it?”

Spencer pushed the call button without you noticing, “Did I see what, love?” He asked, keeping his voice low as he gently sat down on the edge of your hospital bed.

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked around the room, “Is Andi here?" Your voice was tight, like you were struggling to breathe. "I need to talk to Andi.”

Helplessly, Spencer watched as the number signifying your heart rate jumped, “Not just yet, alright?” He said, looking up when the doctor and a nurse came through the door.

The doctor introduced herself and started trying to get you to even out your breathing, one of the monitors was beeping like crazy until the nurse hit a button on it.

All he could do was watch, making sure he didn’t get in the way. Listening in to words about medications and making a mental note to research everything. “How’s your pain, Y/N? On a scale from one through ten.” The doctor asked, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Like a seven? When I breathe it’s more like a nine,” you answered, every word was strained. The doctor flashed a light in your eyes, “That isn’t helping,” you said through gritted teeth.

The doctor said something to the nurse, prompting her to nod before pushing something through your IV. After a few moments, Spencer watched as your heart rate lowered and your body visibly relaxed into the mattress. You nodded softly when the nurse asked if that was better.

Dr. Herman left and the nurse scrawled some notes down on your chart, introducing herself as Amelia before she left as well.

“Oh no,” you whispered, looking in the direction of the door. “Is the whole BAU here? How badly did I fuck up?”

Quickly, Spencer shook his head, “You didn’t, at all. It’s just me, Tara, and Luke,” he tried to reassure you as best he could without knowing the full story. “Do you feel up to talking?” He asked, smoothing your hair away from your face.

You nodded gently, “I need to talk to Andi. Alone, if it’s okay with you.”

“I can wait right outside in the hallway,” he offered, holding your hand in his and skimming the pad of his thumb over top of your knuckles.

You hummed contentedly, “Could you see if I can have water?”

Grateful to have something to do, Spencer stood up, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll be right back.” He stepped out of the room, garnering the attention of the agents who were waiting in the hallway, all of them staring at Spencer expectantly, “Andi, she wants to talk to you.”

The Unit Chief nodded and disappeared into the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

He was gone for three minutes, that was the time it took him to walk to the nurses’ station and ask if you were allowed liquids and back, but when he returned the door to your room was wide open. “Where did they go?” He asked, looking over at Tara.

She was still leaning against the taupe hospital walls before nodding in the direction of the red exit sign, “Swann was in there for maybe two minutes before she came out in a huff, she took Alvez with her.” Lewis spoke calmly like it didn’t necessarily mean anything to her.

But it did to him. Walking back into your room, he stood at the side of your bed, “What did you tell Andi that you didn’t want me hearing?”

“Huh?” You sounded tired – rightfully so. Your pupils were dilated, which told Spencer that the drugs that the doctors had given you were working.

It comforted him that you weren’t in as much pain, but you were still hiding something from him. “You asked me to leave while you talked to Andi because you didn’t want me to hear what you were telling her. What did you tell her?”

Your face softened as your eyes filled with a different kind of hurt, “Don’t profile me.” You were too tired to hide the pain in your voice.

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, “Don’t lie to me,” He countered. You were lying by omission, but what was worse was that you might’ve been putting yourself in danger.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whimpered.

Spencer’s chest tightened as he watched your eyes fill with tears, he sat down on the edge of your bed and took your hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere. Why would you think I’d leave you, darling?”

Your eyes were half-closed, “because you…” your voice trailed off and he squeezed your hand to get your attention. “When Scratch had Emily, you wanted to kill him,” you murmured.

The air had been knocked out of his lungs. You hadn’t been talking about a divorce. You were saying that you could identify your assailant, and you didn’t want Spencer to know. “I won’t go,” he whispered, “I’ll be right here.”

“It was Jake,” you mumbled, barely able to open your mouth as you fought your exhaustion.

That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. He swallowed thickly, “Jake did this to you?” He asked slowly, looking at your hand, your fingers intertwined.

Minutely, you shook your head, “Jake blew my cover, Spence.” Yawning, you proceeded to mumble about him doing it on purpose.

Untangling your fingers, Spencer reached out and smoothed your hair away from your forehead, “Get some sleep, angel. I love you.”

You hummed an ‘I love you’ back, and the next moment your eyes were shut.

A nurse came in and asked for a moment while she checked the output of your chest tube, ushering Spencer and Tara out. “Okay, I’ll bite, who’s Jake?” Tara asked, putting a hand on her hip as she looked expectantly at Reid.

“Jake is her partner. When she’s not undercover and just out in the field, they’re partners,” Spencer explained.

Tara pursed her lips thoughtfully, “So, he would’ve known that she was undercover.”

Nodding as the newly added weight of the situation threatened to pull him down, Spencer turned and faced you, watching as the nurse examined you as you slept. “He blew her cover on purpose,” he reached up and rubbed his eye. Jake knew exactly what he was doing when he blew your cover, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you begged Spencer not to leave you.

“We have to go back in and ask her more questions,” Tara said.

Usually, Spencer agreed with Tara, but not this time. He saw the monitors you were hooked up to, he read your chart, and he watched the concerned looks on the nurses’ faces. They all told him that you weren’t stable enough to be speaking, let alone a cognitive interview. “No,” Spencer said finally.

Clearing her throat lightly, Tara stood next to him in the doorway, “We can’t let them get away, Reid.”

“And I can’t lose her,” he rebutted, ignoring the way his voice broke in his desperation. 

Stepping back slightly, the other agent nodded in understanding. “Okay, I’ll call Emily. You go sit with her.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice; he pulled a chair up impossibly close to your bedside and draped his jacket over the back of it before loosening his tie and sitting down.

You

When you woke up, it was still dark outside, but the bright lights of the hospital room made it hard for you to get any real rest. You were pleased to find that, true to his word, Spencer was right next to you when he woke up.

He was sleeping, resting his head on his hand with his wrist bent awkwardly. “Spence,” You whispered, clearing your throat, “Spencer.” You couldn’t reach out to touch him, but you wanted to wake him up, so his wrist wasn’t sore.

Jolting awake, he looked at you, “Hey, did you just wake up? How do you feel?”

It was a weird question, you felt like an absolute dumpster fire. “Better,” you whispered, ��less hurt, achier. Sore. I don’t know, my head feels fuzzy,” you rambled, trying to move higher up on the hospital bed, but being limited by the chest tube. “How long do I have to have it?” You asked, staring at the plastic tubing as if you could make it go away via the power of suggestion.

“At least through the night, but it could be longer,” he said, reaching over and smoothing over the edges of your blanket. “Do you know what they gave you?” Spencer asked, shaking out his wrist.

You hummed in response, “No, it was intravenous though. They were big on amphetamines, but it didn’t feel like a stimulant. Benzos maybe,” you told him, your voice was soft. The pain in your throat had subsided after being intubated during surgery, but you were still swollen from when Cal grabbed you.

None of this made sense to you. The one thing that bothered you more than anything else was why Cal stopped when Jake said to. It couldn’t have been as simple as the money.

Spencer must’ve noticed you burrowing into your memories, “You remember everything?” He asked gently.

He knew what he was implying, in more cases involving severe trauma, victims generally remember everything or remember nothing. It was lucky for law enforcement when they remembered, but bad for the victims. Bad for you. “Mostly,” you breathed, avoiding his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

“Why? You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he tried to reassure you, reaching out and taking your hand in his.

You hummed, “I don’t remember anything after they drugged me, just the stuff before. Just the…” Your voice trailed off as you returned to your confusion. “Who’s still here that I can talk to?”

He squeezed your hand comfortingly, “Do you feel up to it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” you answered him despondently.

Spencer nodded before he got up from his chair, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he stepped out into the hallway and let Tara in.

The agent smiled at you gently, “Hey, Y/N, how are you feeling?” She asked, sitting down at a free chair at the end of your hospital bed, leaving the chair at your side available for Spencer to return to.

You gave your best attempt at returning the smile before you answered, “I think I’m going to make it.”

As Spencer sat back down next to you, placing a water cup on your bedside table, Tara opened a file and looked through it, “Can you start by telling me a little bit about your assignment? You were undercover as… Barbara?” She read from the file.

Nodding slowly, you held out your hand for Spencer to hold, “Yeah, but they called me Babs.”

Three days ago...

You shifted self-consciously in the gold dress. It was a silky, slippery number that displayed more than you particularly liked. Spencer would probably like it, but he’d hate how uncomfortable you were in it.

Inadvertently, you smiled at just the thought of your husband. It was late, so he was probably at home, reading next to the fireplace. Maybe he was on a case, off somewhere in the United States and saving lives.

It had been twenty-nine days since you had last seen him.

“You look gorgeous tonight, Babs,” Johnathan McCallister, better known as Cal, told you, reaching out and placing a hand on either one of your shoulders before placing a kiss on both cheeks.

Bashfully, you smiled at him, “You’re too good to me, Cal. I can’t believe you got me in!” Deep down, you knew tonight could be the night, you would be able to take down The Program. At least the D.C. chapter of it.

When it was over, you could be Y/N Reid again, instead of Barbara McFarston.

The Program took women around your age and sold them into sex slavery. The chapter in Washington D.C. was one of the most active, which made sense when you looked around the room and saw a majority of the people were elected officials – men and women alike.

Andi Swann had assured you that taking down this chapter would create a domino effect, causing the other chapters to topple. According to her, if you could take down D.C., Miami, and Los Angeles, The Program would most likely cease to exist.

Turning to ask Cal about the selection tonight, you were startled to see familiar gray eyes on your companion’s other side. You felt your façade slip, but only for a second before you pasted a brilliant smile back on your face.

You tilted your head to the side, “And who might you be?” You asked Jake, wondering if Andi had sent him in to get a status report on you.

“Jake Cohn,” he answered, and goosebumps spread over your exposed skin at his answer. He should’ve said William Jacoby, that was his identity for this case.

In horror, you watched as Jake leaned in to whisper something in Cal’s ear, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. You bit your tongue as Cal wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in tightly, “Let’s talk.”

You stumbled a little over your own feet and looked at Jake with wide eyes, the leader forcefully shoved you into a private room, one that would probably light up like a Christmas tree under a blacklight. “What’s wrong, Cal?” You asked, standing up straight.

He reached over and grabbed the back of your neck, gathering the hair at the nape of your neck in his fist. The force of it made you scrunch your shoulders up, “You’re a fucking fed?” He seethed, tossing you to the ground in one swift movement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to convince him. Tried to flip the script so that Jake was the liar instead of you.

Cal grabbed your throat next, holding you down on a booth seat. “Oh, Y/N… Jake’s been one of my best employees for years.” He said, chuckling at the betrayal in your eyes, he only laughed more when you kneed him in the gut. “Oh, I like it when they fight back.”

You shut your eyes tightly as you heard the clinking of his belt buckle, but they snapped back open when you heard the word, “Stop.”

“What? Did you want first go on her?” Cal asked, wiping his cheek – you must’ve scratched him in your struggle.

Jake cleared his throat and met your eyes, “We should keep her clean, you know?” He said, and for a moment you thought he was actually trying to help you, “Think about how much a clean fed would go for here. Especially in D.C.”

And just like that, your hopes were dashed, “he’s right,” you told Cal, trying to formulate a plan.

“Shut up, whore,” Cal spat, causing you to involuntarily flinch.

At least there’s nothing he could call you that you hadn’t heard before, in your line of work, people got very creative.

Cal looked at you, inspecting your neck where he had grabbed you before, “You’ll make me a lot of money, won’t you?” He said, rubbing a hand up and down your arm soothingly before poking you with a needle.

Your legs gave out beneath you, but Jake caught you before you hit the ground. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think he’d do this. I thought he’d kick you out, but I didn’t think…”

Looking up at him, your throat burned, and you weren’t sure if you were going to cry or throw up, but you shut your eyes. “No, you didn’t.” You don’t just casually tell the leader of a sex trafficking ring that the person with them is an FBI agent.

Present

“And that’s the last thing you remember?” Tara asked, scribbling something down in your file.

You nodded absentmindedly, “I think…” Your voice trailed off as you looked at Spencer, “I think Jake might’ve been in charge the whole time. Pulling the strings from behind the curtain while he waited for the perfect time to catch me off guard. That’s the only reason Cal would’ve backed off when Jake told him to,” You proposed your theory, not missing the way Spencer was holding your hand a little tighter than before.

Tara’s brows were raised, “Jake Cohn has worked in the bureau for almost a decade, it would be hard for him to evade detection for that long.”

“But he knows exactly how to evade it,” you rebutted. “He’d know all of the tricks from Sex Crimes and all of my tricks. He- He set me up,” you realized.

Spencer turned around and looked at your monitor, “Okay, let’s take a break. We can talk more later.”

Getting up, Tara let Spencer know she was going to call the rest of the team before she stepped back into the hallway.

“My chest hurts,” you said, hating how your voice sounded like a whine.

In response, Spencer smoothed your hair back in an attempt to comfort you. “Your heart is racing,” he whispered, “Take a deep breath, okay?”

You nodded slowly, breathing in deeply through your nostrils and letting the air collect in your lungs before blowing it out your mouth. Looking up at Spencer, worry plain in his eyes no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you came to a decision, “Spence?”

He bowed slightly closer to you so he could hear you better, “What is it, love?” He moved his hand, so it was gently cupping your cheek.

Leaning into his touch, you whispered, “It’s too much.” The only thing you had left was to hope he knew what you were talking about, the words were too hard right now, but you felt them contributing to the burning in your chest.

“Okay,” he answered. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about disappointing anyone.”

You practically melted back into the hospital bed; the weight of your job eased off of you. Nodding, you closed your eyes, “It’s good, this is good. I just feel crazy, but a good crazy.”

Spencer smiled at you, “Okay crazy,” he whispered, “I’m going to-“ He was abruptly cut off by his phone ringing, furrowing his brows, he swiped the screen and held the phone up to his ear, “Hey, JJ.”

Cocking your head to the side, you tried to listen to JJ’s side of the conversation, but either she was speaking quietly, or Spencer had his phone volume really low. From the way Spencer’s jaw tightened, you knew that this couldn’t be anything good.

He looked at you before looking at the door, “Do you know where?” He said in a tone entirely unfamiliar to you, it was low and steely. Reaching over you, he nimbly pressed the call button on your bed, “Okay, keep me updated.”

“Spencer, what is going on?” You asked as the nurse came into your room, faltering for a moment as she looked at the two of you.

Placing a hand on the bar of your hospital bed, Spencer looked at the nurse, “Do you have somewhere secure she can be moved to?”

The nurse looked shellshocked, surely the FBI occupying the hospital wasn’t an everyday occurrence, “I don’t… I don’t think so?” She seemed unsure of herself.

“Spencer,” you repeated his name.

He turned to look at you, “Jake’s here and he’s looking for you.” Turning back to the nurse, he pointed at you, “She has to be moved.”

“I don’t… I’m just a student, my preceptor is taking a break. I could try to find-“ The nurse stammered nervously. “We don’t usually just move people.”

Nothing about this situation was usual, but one look at Spencer told you this was life or death. Your life or your death. You sighed in defeat, “This is really going to suck.” Reaching over to your side, you gripped the tube that had been draining blood from outside your lung and pulled it out. Like ripping off a band-aid.

In the process, you tore the stitches holding it in place and set off all kinds of alarms, leading to a crowd of nurses and doctors charging into the room.

As someone held pressure down on where you were bleeding, someone said something about moving you to a sterile procedure room, and the nursing student trailed along, whispering “That was the stupidest smart thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

Everything was blurry when you woke up next and, through the blinds, you could see that the sun was finally rising. The warm, orange light peeking through like lines on a piece of paper.

“Hey,” Spencer said from right next to you, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispered.

You looked away from him, back towards the blinds, “Will you open them?” You rasped, your throat felt raw, and your body felt heavy.

He got up and ambled over to the window, twisting the mechanism until the sun poured into your room. “How are you feeling?”

“Heavy,” you whispered, the mental weight of the past several days was threatening to take you down, but physically you felt like Atlas himself, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Spencer hummed in response, “They sedated you, standard procedure for people who rip their own chest tubes out.” He adjusted the way your gown rested on your shoulders, “Luckily you didn’t do too much damage.”

You took a deep breath and leaned your head so you could look out the window. The outside felt so foreign to you now, you couldn’t remember the last time you had breathed real, fresh air. “So, what is the damage?” Your voice was little more than a murmur but with just the two of you in your room, it wasn’t hard to hear.

“You’re going to be fine; they think the tube can go later today. Then they’ll evaluate whether enough you’re strong enough to go home, it’ll probably be another couple of days,” He explained to you, matching your gentle tone. “Johnathan McCallister is in custody, and Jake Cohn is dead,” he told you, studying your face for any kind of reaction.

Closing your eyes, you felt white hot tears stream down your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, laughing a little despite yourself. He probably thought you were losing it, crying over the death of someone who had nearly had you murdered.

The edge of your mattress dipped down slightly, and you opened your eyes to see Spencer sitting next to you, “You don’t need to be sorry, my love.” Gently, he rested a hand on your hip, skimming his thumb over the rough fabric of your hospital gown, “He was like family to you. I’m not sorry he’s dead – I’m not. I am sorry for that loss, though.”

Nodding, you felt it as your face crumpled, leading Spencer to lean down and hug you as best he could. “I’m sorry I scared you,” you said as he pulled away.

Your furrowed your brows in confusion as he reached into his pocket and produced your wedding ring, taking your left hand, he slid the rings on, “For better or for worse, right?”

A small smile grew on your face as the gem on your finger shimmered in the morning light, “for richer or for poorer,” you continued.

“In sickness and in health,” Spencer whispered, eyes flickering around the hospital room.

You reached up a shaky hand and cupped his cheek with your palm, “to love and to cherish.” You said, feeling a dopey, lovesick grin blooming on your face.

He turned his head and kissed the center of your palm, “until parted by death,” he finished, taking your hand in his.

“No dying,” you insisted, feeling your energy begin to drain, you started to understand why the doctors didn’t want you going home for a few days.

Spencer hummed in response, “You almost did. If you hadn’t been found when you were-“ his voice broke off and you had to tear your eyes away from his for a moment. “I still can’t believe you chose that,” he whispered, looking at you like you hung the moon.

Shrugging as if it was nothing, you melted back into the pillows, “I had a split second to weigh my options – get sold into sex slavery or get stabbed in the chest.”

“A catch-22,” he nodded, wrapping his head around your impossible decision. You couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take until the fear in his eyes left.

You shifted a little in the hospital bed, the sheets rustling as you did, “We get it, you’ve read Joseph Heller.”

He smiled at that, the light teasing seemed to bring brightness to his face, “What is it about blood loss that makes you think you’re funny?”

Laughing lightly, you squeezed his hand as tightly as you could manage, “I am funny. And I’m tired.”

“Go back to sleep then, baby,” he said softly, “it’ll all be here when you wake up.”

There was a party in your hospital room. It started with just Emily, coming in because you were finally up to seeing anyone other than Spencer, and it ended up being the entire BAU.

Someone had gone to the apartment and gathered clothes for you so that, once your chest tube was removed, you could put on real clothes. So now you were sitting up, wearing sweatpants and a ratty old college sweatshirt, and laughing with the BAU. You were leaning heavily on Spencer, who was also sitting on your hospital bed, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with keeping you steady.

Luckily for you, no one in the BAU wanted to ask about what had happened on your assignment, they were more interested in the rings that adorned your and Spencer’s fingers.

“I still can’t believe you two secretly got married,” Penelope said. “Of all of the times for me to not answer my phone.”

Next to her, Luke shrugged, “Honestly, I can believe it. It feels like a very Y/N and Reid thing to do.”

Gently, Spencer rubbed your back. His hovering was quickly going to become insufferable, but right now you were welcoming every touch with open arms.

“Well, we’ll have a party for the two of you. When you’re up for it, of course,” JJ said, smiling from where she was standing next to Emily.

You wanted to shake your head and tell them that it really wasn’t necessary, but asking the BAU to refrain from throwing a party was like asking a shark to stop swimming. Instead of debating, you just smiled and bobbed your head.

Eventually, Andi showed up, just as you knew she would. “Hey, guys,” Emily nodded in the direction of the doorway, “Why don’t we go raid the hospital cafeteria?”

After a few more hugs, including a lingering one from Garcia, the BAU, save for your husband, filtered out, and Andi made her way to the foot of your bed. “Hey,” you said, your voice was soft.

Nine years. You had spent nine years in the sex crimes unit. Spencer had done the math, you’d spent approximately seventy-six percent of that time undercover, missing birthdays, holidays, not ever really looking forward to the future. Until now.

You, the most decorated member of the sex crimes unit, were leaving.

Suspiciously, you eyed the files in Andi’s arms, one was a case file, the other a plain manila folder. She silently handed you the case file, and you shared a look with Spencer before flipping it open. “The Program is gone?” You asked, your eyes skimming the folder.

Swann nodded, her brown hair swaying with the movement, “The arrest of the leader of the D.C. chapter greatly contributed to that, but it was the death of the ringleader that took the remainder of The Program down.”

Closing your eyes, you nodded as you tried to process what she was telling you. Jake had been in charge all along. “Andi, I-“

“It was your intel that did it,” she cut you off. “From your last several assignments, everything you collected directly contributed to the downfall of this trafficking network. One of the largest networks the FBI has ever seen.”

She handed you the next file, labeled with only your name. You flipped it open, well aware that Spencer was reading from over your shoulder. “I don’t qualify for retirement,” you told her, furrowing your eyebrows, and looking at the papers in front of you. You didn’t qualify for retirement, and yet, you were looking at a retirement offer.

Your unit chief nodded understandingly, “I pulled some strings, with some help. Collectively, Prentiss and I know a lot of people.”

Spencer placed a supportive hand on your back, and you looked up at Andi. “I’m only thirty-two?” You asked, it wasn’t a clarification, it was a question.

“And yet,” she answered, “you’ve done more for the Bureau than most agents could hope to do in their whole career. This plan came from the director, Y/N. He wanted you to have it.”

Shaking your head, you handed the folder over to your husband so he could look through it. “I don’t… can I think about it?”

“He’ll want an answer soon but talk it over and give me a call when you’ve come to a decision,” she said, grabbing her things and making her way to the door. “And Y/N?”

You lifted your head up to meet her eyes, “Yeah, Andi?”

She smiled at you, a rare, real smile from her, “Make the right decision for you. You have a small army ready to support you through everything.”

Slowly, your gaze followed her out the door, waiting until you heard the latch of the door secure. Spencer handed the folder back to you, “What do you want to do?”

You flipped through the folder again, it was a lot of money, and there were a few different distribution options, but it was more than you felt you’d ever need. “I don’t really feel like I deserve this,” you whispered, reaching your hand up and rubbing the back of your neck. “The Bureau doesn’t offer early retirement like this, not without extenuating circumstances,” you continued.

“They did it with Hotch,” Spencer said, reading the file over your shoulder.

Shaking your head, you leaned over to look at him, “That was way different, Haley was murdered by a serial killer.”

Spencer sighed, “I think you’re selling yourself short, darling. The Program was trafficking almost 12,000 people across the country. That’s almost 70 percent of the yearly total trafficking victims. You took them down,” he told you earnestly.

Your shoulders slouched forward, “I didn’t do it alone, though.”

“Didn’t you, though? They sent you in with no communication device, no emergency signal, and information that wasn’t even true. Your unit told you Johnathan McCallister was the leader of the ring, but it ended up being a decorated agent and you’re the one who figured that out,” Spencer spoke emphatically. “You almost died in the process, and now there are thousands of victims who are going to go home – all thanks to you.”

Wiping at your eyes, you looked at your husband, “You’re biased.” That felt true, but Spencer was the person who knew you best in the world.

“What’s holding you back?” He murmured gently, sweeping strands of your hair behind your ears.

Smiling unsurely, you closed your eyes, “Fear of the future. In the past nine years, the longest I’ve ever been home was four weeks. I don’t… What do you want me to do?”

He shook his head slowly, “it’s not my decision.” A diplomatic answer, you should’ve guessed.

“But what do you want me to do?” You pressed.

Sighing, you watched him weigh his options, “If my choices are you going back out into the field and getting hurt again, where maybe it doesn’t have this good of an outcome, or you, safe at home, where I get to see you more than approximately three months a year, then the choice is clear.”

When he laid it out for you like that, it was pretty clear. “Maybe I could finally see what all the BAU spouses are talking about. You know, how you’re never home,” you said. Some part of you always felt disconnected from the other BAU family members, Spencer wasn’t the one who was never home, you were.

Spencer laughed lightly, “We could celebrate your birthday together.” That was the one day you always missed. Almost six years together, and something always came up on your birthday.

“I’ve never had this before,” you whispered, there was still something about it that felt tentative, almost frail.

Smilingly softly, Spencer reached out and took your hand in his, “Had what before?”

You beamed, “A future to plan.” Everything was always laid out for you, every day was spent waiting for the next directive, a new assignment. “I mean, not in nine years.”

There were always dreams, late-night murmurs with Spencer about a house with a yard and kids running around, but they were just dreams. The nights when you were able to sleep next to each other. “Do you have plans for us?”

Nodding rapidly, you answered, “Oh yeah, you and me, I’ve got big plans for us.”

next

please remember to like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed :-)

[comicaurora]

I'm sorry that the terfs made their way onto your blog but it does feel good to see you support trans people. Thank you for that

Always.

I think, charitably, that the discourse going down on that post is an extrapolation and over-focus on one element of the point I was making: that for me, determining with certainty that I was cis was a rather fraught process. I was presented with many alternatives, but underlying their imposition on me was the oddly regressive idea that the things I liked, the principles I valued, the parts of myself I was proud of were not permitted of women. My whole life I got smacked with the background radiation that I couldn't like being strong because women aren't allowed to be stronger than men. I couldn't like being loud and boistrous because women aren't allowed to take up space. I couldn't be a math geek because women aren't smart. It was all deeply regressive misogyny from day one, but I started getting hit with it slathered in a fresh coat of paint - all those assumptions still held to be true, but now there was the out that I could do all those things if I just wasn't a woman.

Concluding that the underlying bioessentialist premise was wrong was very important. Absolutely none of those statements were true, and were only ever maintained by cultural saturation, goalpost-readjustment when they were actively disproven, and the occasional bout of lying with statistics to pretend they weren't just Shit All The Way Down. The core premise that certain things were only permitted of or possible for men was bullshit, and I didn't need to surrender the gender I liked best in order to play in the spaces I wanted to. I could simply exist the way I was already existing. I didn't need anything else.

The misinterpretation is the assumption that this being true of me means this is everybody's relationship with gender. I turned out to be cis, so for me, feeling that holding onto my assigned gender wasn't allowed was distressing - just another invocation of the same bioessentialist bullshit I'd been dealing with since the preschool playground. This is because misgendering is fundamentally denying that a person has the right to express themself the way they want. When aimed at me, it says I'm not performing traditional femininity well enough to deserve my pronouns. The same disrespect is the root of misgendering when aimed at trans people. "Perform your gender to my satisfaction or I will confiscate it."

The problem is, bioessentialism is 100% ingrained into the terf playbook, which is why, for instance, all their shitty talking points about trans athletes eventually boil down to "no woman can ever defeat a man in any contest because we are simply naturally weak and stupid and there is nothing we can do about it" and quite frankly nothing disgusts me more than the defeatist acceptance of the very lie that feminism is dedicated to overcoming. Instead of accepting that the paradigm of bioessentialism is a false dichotomy right from the jump, they embrace and weaponize it against the people whose existence proves the dichotomy is a lie. If gender essentialism is fundamentally false, then it is nobody's fucking business what anybody does with their gender. If the lines don't exist, nobody needs to enforce them. And yet there the terfs go, hunting down people whose lives are none of their business and trying to argue that they represent some great and terrible evil, some downfall of society made flesh, something that makes it totally correct and normal for them to spend so much time thinking about strangers' genitalia. They want this to be a noble crusade so badly they won't even examine what flag they're flying.

I love and support the trans people in my life and will always, always stand on the side of your right to exist, but alongside that, terf rhetoric especially disgusts and infuriates me because it is, at its heart, utter cowardice. The world told them they were weak and stupid and inferior and they fucking believed it. And now they think Fighting The Good Fight For Women means turning around and using the same paradigmatic weapon that hurt them to hurt the people whose existence outside the binary proves the weapon is a lie. They're the same shithead schoolyard bullies who made me believe my entire existence was foundationally wrong for years of my life and I will never, ever side with them or the shitty, cowardly rhetoric that contributed to the loneliest years of my life.

Figure out who you are and do it on purpose. Find the real source of the misery in your life and try fighting that instead of the other crabs in the bucket. Trans rights.

[madridfangirl]

Making up after a fight - Jude Bellingham blurb

A/n - fluff, angst, comfort, suggestive

900 words. Jude*female reader.

……………………………………………………………………

‘You were amazing today. Congrats on the MOTM, so well deserved!’

You hit send, hoping for a response. You were supposed to be at the match, supporting him. But the two of you had gotten into an ugly fight just this morning. Which, in hindsight, was kinda your fault. But, hindsight is a bitch and you were downright furious in the morning.

A particular reel on your insta feed, of Jude with an upcoming Spanish actress, is what you had woken up to. The woman was gorgeous, and way too obvious with Jude - the hair flicks, side eyes, giggles, touching the arm for that extra second, all straight out of the playbook.

The hug though is what enraged you the most. Coz Jude had also wrapped both arms around her, not the typical one arm shoulder hug thing he usually did with other women. That, combined with the fact that Jude liked the pics she posted of the meeting made you blow your top.

To be fair, you had tried to avoid the fight before an important CL match, the first home KO match in-fact. But Jude had gotten impatient with your radio silence, pestered you for a call and then you couldn’t hold back.

He tried to explain that she was working on a social media campaign for RM, and other players had liked the post too. But you had shot back saying that was no reason for him to let that woman feel him up.

Jude was frustrated, and lost his cool too. This was not a new fight. You two had been here way too many times. Usually he was patient, knowing that his lifestyle was not ideal for a new relationship, but the timing of it, right before one of the most crucial matches of his career, is what irked him.

So yeah, it ended up with you not attending the match. Not even sending him a good luck message before the match, something you had never missed in the last 4 months since your first date. To top it off, you even used a nuclear weapon that you knew would set him off. By mentioning a colleague of yours who Jude hated with all the bones in his body.

It was only when you saw another angle of the video (taken on phone by other attendees) that you realised you had overreacted. The woman was still pathetic but Jude did pull back immediately from the hug, and maintained his distance. But, it was too late by then and the match had already started.

‘I am so proud of you, Jude.’

You were still on texts. Fully aware that if you call and he disconnects / doesn’t pick up, it will hurt you & your ego both.

The messages were seen. No response. It was now 1.5 hours after the match. He would be home already or on the way.

‘Wish I had been there, instead of moping all day.’

‘Why? That fucker wasn’t good company?’

Well at-least that was a response. At least.

‘Jude, I didn’t go. I wouldn’t. You know that.’

‘You had no problem throwing that in my face though.’

He was right, you could see that. It really was a low & petty blow. If only you were as clear headed in the morning.

‘I am sorry, baby. For that & everything else today. For assuming all those things without hearing you out. Really, I am.’

No response for 2 minutes, which made her anxious.

‘Don’t think I am cheating, then? Don’t think I am going to her right now or went to her last night?’

He was goading her, she could tell. But he was hurting too, that also she could tell.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Why the change of heart, when you were so convinced earlier?’

He wasn’t gonna make it easy for her.

‘Is that important? Look, I know I messed up. I know I ruined what could have been a great day for us. You really should be celebrating right now instead of feeling shitty. And I really really am sorry, Jude. Pls can we just get over this?’

A pregnant pause, again.

She doubled down with another nuclear weapon in her kitty.

‘I love you. So much it hurts. Yes I do get crazy sometimes but you know, in your heart you know where it’s coming from.’

If this doesn’t work, she won’t know what else to do.

1 minute later, her phone flashed.

‘I needed you today.’

She clutched the phone to her chest, sighing deeply, sensing his resignation.

‘I know, honey. Promise I will be there for the next big game. And whenever else you need me.’

‘It was so shitty to play like this. Not knowing where we stand. Not knowing if you were anywhere near that asshole. Might have tackled some of the guys extra hard today.’

‘Again, I am so so sorry. But I am also super proud that despite all this you still came out on top. Like you always do.’

Jude read and re-read the text a few times, sat in his car. She always knew what she was doing so this couldn’t just be a coincidence.

‘Tryna tempt me?’

‘Depends - is it working?’

‘Be careful what you wish for, doll. I don’t have a handle on myself today.’

‘Wanna come here & show me what that’s like?’

‘Gonna ask one more time - are you sure?’

‘Uh-huh. I do deserve some disciplining today, don’t you think?’

‘I’ll be there in 20. And doll, you may have to take an off tmrw.’

……………………………………………

[chlorinecake]

❝ TADAIMA ❞ ✦ — 𝐎.𝐒𝐓 🍙

PAIRING: Pervy Homestay Roommate Shotaro x F. Reader

GENRE: Smut, Enemies to Fuckers, Set in Japan

SYNOPSIS: While on a 2-week trip in Japan for a cultural research project, you end up boarding with the strangest man imaginable: He’s dirt rich, unemployed, and triples as a pervert…

WARNINGS: KINKTOBER SPECIAL, swearing, mentions of EJ from &TEAM, voyeurism kink, mutual masturbation, shotaro gets drunk at a restaurant once, use of sex toys (a vibrating dildo), handjob, clit play, kissing, switch!taro x switch!reader, minor use of the japanese language (sorry if its cringe or inaccurate lol)

WORD COUNT: 7.5k (I still don't know how that happened) — DAY 3

COLLEGE: A JOURNEY that most folks, including yourself, viewed as a grueling scam that ironically accessorized an equally crooked work-system proceeding the four mandatory years of academic suffrage.

But at the end of the day, every scam succeeded on the back of fraud, and if you were gonna get something worthwhile from your college experience, that is, beyond just a fancy diploma to hang on a wall, you’d have to adapt the same dirty playbook...

Skipping over some boring ass details here, but you decided to become a cultural studies major at your university for the sole benefit of being able to jet off around the globe once every autumn for free, and it was honestly the best.

Taking free trips so long as you tackle some pointless academic assignment almost felt like cheating... or better yet, like living life on easy mode...

Your current voyage was set to explore a place in Asia, specifically the humble city of Tokyo, Japan.

You’d be traveling alone for 2 weeks alongside a homestay family that your academic advisor arranged for you to stay with.

Brimming with excitement, you remember promptly leaving the airport with your bags secured and a camera in hand, eager to begin your overseas adventure in a foreign land!

Unfortunately though, your enthusiasm quickly waned the moment you arrived at your homestay host's doorstep, which brings me to introduce your internal eyeroll as provoked by the one and only Shotaro Osaki, a.k.a. the menacing man in his early twenties that you'd be sharing a home with until you returned back home 14 days later...

TIMESTAMP: 1日目

“Not to sound rude or anything, but I was expecting a host family...” you specified at the front door while kicking off your shoes, shocked to only find two young men occupying the large home.

“And that’s exactly what we are, silly!... Me, plus my friend Shotaro here, plus you equalsss... well, one big happy family!” Euijoo Byeon, the taller and younger of the two, chirped reassuringly, but his efforts still didn't aid your confusion.

“Correction: "Host family" is just a mainstream term, and doesn't strictly refer to full families only... kinda like in this case where I'm the actual homeowner and EJ's just a friendly freeloader,” Shotaro clarified, but you found yourself focusing on his facial features more than any of the words that came out of his mouth so far...

His pearly doe-eyes, button nose, heart-shaped lips, thick hair, and even his angular jawline... it all garnered your attention—

“Heyyy, I'm not a freeloader!” Euijoo defended himself with a forced pout, “I contribute around here pretty often with the homestay students, in case you forgot...”

“Please, you already know that everyone who steps foot under my roof is obligated to serve me in one way or another... including you, ____-chan.”

He smiled as he said those words, looking you dead in the eye with his hands in his pockets.

“Excuse me?” You asked in utter shock at his bold statement.

“Oh, c'mon... acts of service are my love language... that is... right after physical touch...” Shotaro said with a deep sigh, right before taking a few lazy steps until there was no more than a gentle push separating you two.

A brief silence filled the room until EJ helped himself to moving your suitcases from the front door, and off to another room as the sudden business reminded Shotaro to stay on track with you.

“Follow me as I take you on a brief tour of the house, please...”

His home was adorned with beautiful Japanese calligraphy paintings, elegant Shoji screens, and a stunning view of cherry blossoms in the living room. The scent of green tea roamed the halls, but the room you’d be staying in had its own scent… similar to that of cardboard… and grass...

It was like its own little secluded hideaway from the rest of the home, and you felt honored to have such a nice space all to yourself.

“I recently added this extra room to the place after my last homestay student trashed the first space… that’s why it still smells a little… earthy in here,” Shotaro said as if he'd just read your mind.

“Oh, I don’t mind the scent at all!” You replied, hoping that your gratitude was evident. “I really appreciate you even giving me this room...” your voice trailed off, but only because you noticed that Euijoo had helped himself to fully UNLOAD your luggage items now...

“Euijoo-san, thank you for carrying all of this for me, but I can take care of my belongings myself from here,” you said in the most patient tone you could muster.

“Oh, that's nonsense…” he responded with a swatting hand, “you just got off an exhausting plane ride and deserve a break... Besides, it's a joy for me to help homestay students, anyway...”

“Euijoo-san, seriously, I’ve got it,” you said more casually this time, and in a failed effort to hide the anxiety and frustration growing within you.

The tension was almost unbearable for you in this moment—

“You’ve got some pretty nice clothes, by the way, ____-chan,” the young man went on, flipping through your clothes as if they were pages in a comic book.

“T-thank you,” you said shyly, really feeling your face burn up as he slowly started to put your items into the bedroom dresser one by one.

And his hands were so meticulous, too... carefully refolding any pieces that got jumbled up on the way here... you'd otherwise be exceedingly grateful for Euijoo's help if it weren't for the eight-inch secret you were hiding in one of your suitcase compartments—

“Wait, what’s this?” Shotaro asked with raised brows, his otter-like features causing a pit to form in your stomach as he reached over EJ’s shoulder, grabbing the cylindrically wrapped up scarf from your exposed luggage.

Similarly to Euijoo's movements, Shotaro's hands began to slowly unwrap the item, and at this point, you couldn't hold yourself back anymore.

“Shotaro-san, don’t touch that please!” You yelped, snatching the cloth from his hand as both confused and intrigued faces surrounded you now.

Shotaro, being the menace that he was, shook his head in response, almost as if judging you for reading in such a way,,, “You know what they say about secrets, ____-chan… it’s only a matter of time before they come to light…”

His voice held a cheeky undertone that made you internally wanna kick him in his gonads, but instead, those instincts were cut off by a faint buzzing sound.

It was coming from behind the cloth you held securely in your hands, and perhaps almost too securely given how you’d just accidentally triggered the ON-button on the damned thing...

“Is that a..?” Euijoo began to ask with his own puppy-like eyes rounding innocently, but Shotaro nudged his friend's leg.

“Can you go check the mailbox? I think the package I order just arrived a few minutes ago…”

“But the mailbox is so far from here... plus, you don’t even order stuff online these days—”

“Euijoo, do as I say…” Shotaro said more sternly this time, and EJ simply chuckled awkwardly before bowing his head slightly to display apology,

“Sorry, Oniisan,” he smiled facetiously, right before standing up from where he sat and stammering out of the room.

Shotaro waited until he heard Euijoo open and close the front door of the house before saying anything else to you, which only led to you saying something first.

“NOW do you see why I said I could handle my own belongings?” You asked rhetorically, just as you turned off the toy by pressing the OFF-button through the fabric, ceasing the vibration sound that once filled the entire room.

“Yup... I see it crystal clear,” Shotaro smirked to himself before continuing, “I’ll give you your space though after you let me see what you're hiding first… promise...”

And with that, you had more than enough verbal evidence from Shotaro to confirm that he was a raging pervert...

“You... you wanna see my toy?” You asked again despite how obvious the answer was, but only because you were in utter disbelief of his shameless offer.

“Yes,” he clarified with a plain expression, poking his lips out slightly, “and then I’ll leave you alone right after I get what I want... It’s a simple condition, really…”

You flashed him a dead-pan look to which he simply shrugged, right before leaning down to dig inside your suitcase once again.

“Alright, let’s seeee… what other surprises do you have in here?… ooo, I think I feel something—”

“Okay, enough!” You said in a raised tone, making the strange man smile for reasons you didn't understand, “I’ll let you see it, okay? Just... get your hands outta there immediately!”

“No problem, missy...” he practically whispered, standing up from the ground with a proud look plastered across his now irritating face, making you feel all the more embarrassed...

Still, there was something about the awkwardness that made you feel hot all over, and you were hoping it was just because there wasn't a ceiling fan in the room..

With slow movements and a deeply exasperated exhale, you finally pulling back the cloth encasing the item, just enough for him to get a fair peak.

And to your surprise, you almost hurled with his eyes sparkling with yet another glint of excitement...

“So... you’re a dildo kinda girl, huh? A vibrating one must've been pretty pricey, though... how’d you even get past security with this thing?”

“Luck, I guess…” you muttered awkwardly, right before abruptly swatting his hand away as he reached to pull back more fabric. “Hey! You look with your eyes, mister, not your hands…”

“My apologies,” he chuckled once again, both at your words and the way your palms felt a bit clammy when you touched him...

He couldn't help himself from having dirty thoughts about you, either... your nervousness from simply showing him your sex toy was just too adorable to ignore… he wondered how nervous you’d get if you ever let him use it on you one day—

“Shotaro-san, you can leave now,” you said plainly, reminding him of his part of the deal as he clearly got lost in his thoughts on the accident...

“Okay okay, I’m going…” he said, stepping over a few clothing pieces that EJ had left scattered across the room floor while making his way to the door.

“Oh, and I thought I should mention, there’s a convenience store a few blocks from here that sells sex toys, too… specifically from the more portable variety, though…”

SHOTARO WAS QUICK to establish a list of “house rules” for you to abide by the very next day of your stay.

Needless to add, but yes, you were a stranger in his home, so of course you expected him to set boundaries for you to follow, and you respected that for the most part… or at least, that was until his proposals started to get a bit over-the-top for your taste...

TIMESTAMP: 2日目

“Anyways, curfew is 8 p.m.,” Shotaro stated while leaning against a wall in his kitchen, arms crossed over his chest as if the pose would make you take him more—

“Seriously?” You asked in utter shock, though, as per usual, he obviously wasn’t joking.

“Yes, seriously… and if any instances arise where you find yourself struggling to comply with the set curfew, you will promptly be asked to turn over your spare key privileges…”

Euijoo was once again stuck in the middle of all of this, awkwardly sipping from a bowl of soup as the tension between you grew so thick, he could cut it with a knife.

“Fine,” you shrugged, already having had enough of going back in forth with him, as this wasn’t even the first disagreement y’all had had that morning…

TIMESTAMP: 3日目

The days were flying by fast, and you hadn’t even put a dent in your list of activity plans for the trip.

You couldn’t exactly put a finger on where all your time was going, but you knew you had to get out of the house soon so you could take some photos and write about your experiences for the project.

In the meantime, you simply decided to push out a few words about your homestay living experience so far, just as Shotaro, of all people, took his daily stroll through the living room, wearing nothing but a body towel that lazily sat around his waist.

It was evident that he’d just gotten out of the shower, too, especially with the way his bare feet were tracking water all over the house.

What made the whole thing even more annoying though is that you could hardly keep your eyes off of his bloody abs—

“Sorry if I’m distracting you, ____-chan,” he said in a muffled voice, standing a few feet away from you now as he made his way into the laundry room before letting the towel around his waist drop to the floor with a heavy thud, “I’ll be outta your hair in a minute…”

You almost gasped out loud at the sight of him in his squeaky clean birthday suit, lifting your laptop high enough to cover your eyes… anddd to cover your clearly flustered face, too.

“Y-yea, no worries,” you replied with a tinge of discomfort in your voice as the tiny grunts left his lips echoed off of the walls, and you assumed it was because he was doing a heavy load of laundry, “take your time…”

SHOTARO WAS SUCH a shameless weirdo, and that’s a heavy statement coming from someone like you…

Admittedly, you’ve met your fair share of odd people in the past, but never someone like this… never a person who was so strict to their own rules, but completely ignorant of other people's boundaries…

And to top it all off, he went as far as to task you with mopping the floor up after his promiscuous little water mess, dubbing it your “reasonable service” to assist him as a guest under his roof…

TIMESTAMP: 4日目

Knock, knock, knock.

With loud pounds, Shotaro’s balled fist clashed from behind your sliding bedroom door.

“____-chan? It’s almost 9:00am, aren’t you awake yet?”

“Uh… y-yea, just give me a sec!” You called out, only having gotten up about five minutes ago to brush your teeth and change out of your pajamas.

“I’m sorry? I can’t hear you very well…”

“I said just give me a sec, sir, I’m almost done!”

“Okay, I’m coming in—”

“Shotaro-san, no!” Your voice blared from where you stood, but it was already too late… Shotaro was slowly sliding the door open, and a pang of embarrassment overcame you for a plethora of reasons…

(1) Your bed was unmade, (2) the floor was decorated with stuff that should’ve been neatly tucked away in either your drawer, closet, or suitcase by now, and (3) you were only wearing pants at this point, having to cover your bare chest with your forearms to hopefully avoid flashing him.

“Did you run out of clean bras to wear or something?” Is the first thing he asks you, and you internally face-palmed yourself.

“W-what? No, I’m just gonna wear this one again, it’s fine—”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted you, “I’ll start a fresh load of laundry for you right away…”

“Shotaro-san, I sincerely appreciate your kindness, but I don’t mind bringing my clothes to the laundromat down the street…” you clarified as he had his back turned to you, and you took this as an opportunity to throw on a baggy T-shirt real quick.

“Look, I’m unemployed for the season, so helping with house chores is the least I can do to stay busy…” he replied, making you roll your eyes in memory of the stunt he pulled yesterday, “oh, and are your tits still hanging out or can I turn around now?”

“Oh- right… yea, you’re all good,” you stammered as he turned around to see your face as he spoke, and you helped him by picking up some of your clothes from off the ground, too.

“But uh… I also wanted to apologize for disrespecting your home recently, sir… I’m not usually this disorganized, though… I guess I’ve just been a little tired…”

“Oh, I can tell…” he replies in a voice that makes you quirk a brow at him.

“Wait… you can?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, “your face looks bloated, your eyes are all puffy, and you walk around as if you’re six months pregnant… it’s honestly pretty depressing to witness…”

“Oh…” is all you managed to say.

Usually, you’d be a bit offended if someone said you looked tired, but from Shotaro’s perspective, it seemed like he expressed those thoughts out of concern.

“Y’know, the best part about not having a demanding job or being in college is that you have more time to take care of yourself… both outside and within…”

“Okay?” You replied redundantly, not sure on where he was going with his “Shotaro Wisdom.”

“I just think that you need a traditionally cooked Japanese meal to soothe your jet-lagged bones... it’ll be my treat…”

“Shotaro-san, my diet is just fine… and I get that you’re concerned, but you really don’t have to do all of that for me…”

“Well I insist... You spend all day and night either bound to your bed or roaming my kitchen, anyways, and that’s no way to fully experience the beauty of this city. You’ve gotta be more adventurous, ____-chan… otherwise, what’re you gonna write about in your cultural project, huh? Your adorable homestay host? My cherry blossom garden?”

Slam.

He dropped the dirty clothes basket on the hard wooden floor, and you’re just now realizing that you’d followed him all the way from your bedroom and into the infamous washing room.

Though, Shotaro in all his oddness was right about you… about you not being adventurous enough on this once in a lifetime opportunity to travel… and you know it was only out of shyness that you’d been hermiting for the past few days, but you really did need to get out more if you wanted any chance at writing a good paper—

“Can you pass me the detergent from up there please?”

“Sure,” you chirped, standing up on your tippy toes to reach the top shelf, and Shotaro couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Thanks, pretty,” he said, and you fight with a bull’s strength to not make a face at the random pet name.

“N-no problem,” you finally replied, resting your hands at your hips as you watched him load the washing machine.

“So, what color are you wearing later?” He asked, and the question reminds you of his offer to take you out to eat.

“Ugh, I’ll let you know when I decide, but right now I’m thinking something either black or grey… what made you ask?”

“Because I wanna match with you,” he responded shamelessly, “That way, if we cross paths with any weirdos while we’re out, they won’t approach us because they’ll assume I’m your boyfriend...”

“Righttt…” you went on, thinking to yourself how weird these people must be if even HE’S calling them weird… “anything else you wanna say before I go and get dressed though?”

“Yes, actually... try to be ready by 14:00 p.m… my favorite chef’s on duty during mid-evening’s and you must try his dumpling soup recipe!…”

A few hours later, you found yourself on a tour of Tokyo beside Shotaro, taking photos of local shrines, indulging in delicious street food, and just simply enjoying the aura of the vibrant city together.

And as on par with his plans, you and Shotaro arrived at the traditional Japanese restaurant just in time to be served by his favorite chef.

Though, it's not like effort went very far once Shotaro got to drinking, which left you thoroughly entertained by his tipsy charisma.

“Heyy, these chopsticks are almost as big as your dildo back home,” Shotaro giggled while eating beside you, cheeks a flushed hue from the warmth radiating throughout his entire body...

I wonder how useful he’d be in this state if any alleged weirdo's approached us later on, you thought to yourself...

“Mhm… looks about seven inches to me,” you responded plainly, right before stuffing your mouth full with another flavorful soup dumpling.

“Wanna see how many I can stuff inside you before it doesn’t fit?” He went on to ask, eyes widening as if he just suggested something totally normal.

“Maybe another time,” you smiled half-heartedly, patting him gently on his head, “when you’re less drunk on… well, whatever the name of that drink you just had was…”

“It’s called shōchū, ____… say it with me!” He chirped with a raised hand to the sky.

“Shōchū,” you repeated again with him, a small smile creeping up your face.

“Yikes, your pronunciation needs a little work…”

“My apologies, Taro… I’ll make sure I work on that for you…”

“Aww… you’re giving me a nickname?” He pouted, leaning his head on you. “I had a dream about you the other night and you called me that same name… it was pretty explicit, though…”

“You can tell me about it later…”

“Okay… what do you think of the food?”

“It’s really tasty, actually. Thanks for taking me out, I really needed this…”

“You’re welcome… thanks for letting me lean on you, too… most people push me away when I do that…”

“And by most people, you mean Euijoo-san, right?”

“Yes… he claims to dislike touch with his words, but he genuinely loves it… I remember one time we went clubbing together, and a really hot girl kept trying to dance on him… he awkwardly pushed her away, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it once we got home…”

“Interesting… do you always overshare like this when you’re drunk?”

“Not like I’d remember anyways,” he shrugged, “can you tell me a secret about something, though? To even out the playing field?”

“Huh…. This isn’t really a secret, but I rarely admit this… I have a tendency to judge people before getting to know them…”

He was quiet at first, stirring the foggy broth in his bowl with a chopstick before asking quietly, “Like you judged me?”

“Yes, like I judged you… you seemed… I don’t know… weird at first? And a bit overbearing, too…”

“All those things are true though,” he giggled.

“Sure, but… never mind, you’re right… I still think you’re weird…”

“Oh yeah? Just wait til I tell you about—”

“Later, Taro… I’d love to hear all about it then…”

TIMESTAMP: 8日目

You and Shotaro developed a quirky friendship with each other, and it was quite refreshing in contrast to your initially rocky start with him.

He was a pervert. You caught onto the way his eyes watched you through the cracks of doors, or fell to glance between your legs every time the chance was made available. Always caught him going through your things under the excuse that “if it’s under my roof, it’s under my control.”

So, you made clear to him a few of your own boundaries, and luckily, he agreed to respect them… for the most part…

The rules followed a simple list…

1. “No more sneaking and spying on me.”

2. “No more going through my things.”

3. “No more walking around naked when I’m around.”

4. “No more weird questions about my sex life.”

In the last four days, he followed you to the bathroom three times, asked about your sex toy twice, and walked around the house half-naked only once… you’d say that was a good sign of improvement, honestly…

You kept yourself busy by annotating every relevant detail and observation from your time in Japan this far, and you were slowly starting to gain reassurance in your abilities to produce an excellent cultural project in time for the deadline.

TIMESTAMP: 12日目

One evening, after yet another day full of laughter and cultural escapades alongside Shotaro, you and him found yourselves lounging on the tatami mats in his living room, enjoying a bowl of miso soup, stewed meat, and some of Shotaro’s homemade onigiri.

Earlier that day, you and him were busy cooking in the kitchen together, where he even shared with you a few of his not-so secret secret Osaki family recipes.

He took the honors of playing photographer for you though as you offered to tuck the seaweed wraps around the triangular mounds of sticky rice.

“Look at you, you’re a natural at this, pretty,” Shotaro complimented you while snapping a few more pictures, and you shook your head at the comical tone of his voice, “now all there’s left to work on is pronouncing ‘onigiri’ properly!”

“Ha ha, you’re so hilarious,” you replied sarcastically, making him chuckle slightly at his own sense of humor, or perhaps, the lack thereof.

There was one moment in particular though that really got your heart racing between him… it was when he scooted himself behind you as you stirred the bubbling pot of miso soup, guiding your wrist with his delicate hand.

“You have to stir carefully from the bottom ____-chan, or else you’ll break up the chunks of tofu we just neatly cut up,” Shotaro whispered from above you, given the height difference, and you’ve never heard his voice sound so calm til now.

He let you lead your own hand for a bit just to check that you had the stirring motion down on your own, and he smiled softly once you did it correctly.

“Like this?” You asked, feeling a lot more nervous than expected while he was so close to you, despite how the other night at the restaurant and bar you found it much less nervous inducing when Shotaro kept leaning his head all over you.

“Mhm… just like that,” he hummed, right before his warmth left you as he walked away to return back to cutting up the stew meat…

Since that moment, the air was filled with an electric tension that neither of you had acknowledged yet as the sun began to set, casting its warm glow through the shoji screens.

In the middle of Shotaro telling you a story about his childhood though, the jingle of keys sounded at the front door as EJ invited himself to join you two once his shift at the local bakery ended.

“I come bearing treats!” He smiled vibrantly, right after bowing his head slightly to show his respects.

“Euijoo-san, how nice of you to join us,” Shotaro said in a corny accent, “how was work?”

“Exhausting… especially because I lost track of time and missed my lunch break…”

“Awww, bummer,” you pouted, “I’ll fix you a plate while you wash up then…”

“Ahhh, thanks a billion, ____-chan… since my own best bro doesn’t seem to care about me anymore,” the young man sulked playfully, and Shotaro widened his eyes in confused offense.

“What d’you mean I don’t care about you? I literally made you onigiri with my bare freaking hands, you ungrateful fart—”

“Acts of service may be YOUR love language, but it isn’t mine,” EJ reminded his friend before dramatically crossing his arms and walking out of the room, “remember that the next time you insult me, Shotaro-san… hmph…”

A few more minutes passed before the third member of your uncanny trio settled down to eat with you guys, provoking you to take a deep breath, summoning courage within yourself.

“Euijoo-san, Shotaro-san… you both have truly made my time in Tokyo one to remember,” you began, watching them shyly nod as your words touched the tenderness of their hearts.

“But,” you went on, voice catching slightly as you tried to keep their attention, “my time with you all is dwindling, and by that, I mean tomorrow is my last day here…”

You watched as the expressions on their faces shifted from joyful camaraderie to sudden surprise, and you couldn’t shake the guilt ones bulding up inside you now.

They had made the Japanese lifestyle seem so inviting for you that just acknowledging that you’d be departing soon hurt…

“No way, it’s been two weeks already?” Euijoo exclaimed with shock, his chopsticks paused mid-air. “Can’t your school let you stay a little longer? I’m sure Shotaro doesn’t mind opening his house to you for an extension…”

“I really wish I could take that offer, Euijoo-san,” you replied, offering a soft smile to hopefully ease his emotions, “I just have to get back for school… plus, changing my flight dates so late wouldn’t be a wise move on my part…”

Shotaro looked down for a moment, a flicker of disappointment crossing his sullen, otter-like features. “It’s been so nice having you around here,” he said quietly, his tone laced with something that you couldn’t quite decipher, but you knew it was different from his usual chipper.

After dinner, the three of you tried to shift the energy by sharing a few more stories and cleaning up the kitchen together, your harmonious laughter echoing beneath the dim house lighting.

Excusing yourself, you eventually retreated to your bedroom after everything was tidied up, but your mind remained a swirling sea of freshly acquired memories of the past few days.

You were gonna take a walk to clear your head and sight-see for what might be your last chance, but your plans were cut short once you realized it was past your curfew, the clock reading 8:00pm on the dot, and you respected Taro too much now to disregard his rules…

Sighing, you closed the door to your room, the world outside faded away, leaving you only to your thoughts and the slightly improved clutter of personal items that you’d worry about packing up tomorrow morning.

You were too emotionally drained to do anything in this moment, other than something to take the edge off… and quickly…

Across the hall, Shotaro sat in the living room, wishing he could shake off the heaviness in his chest. He had grown so fond of you over the last days, your laughter, your genuine curiosity about everything around you and your interest in his culture... The sound of the sliding door to your bedroom clicking shut reached his ears.

“No more sneaking around and spying on me,” your voice faintly resounded from a few days ago in the back of his mind, but a certain impulse washed over him, and he couldn’t help but draw himself to your room, once step at a time.

And it came to no surprise that the clicking sound he heard wasn’t even from the door, but better yet, your suitcase latch after your brief search for the infamous cylinder wrapped in cloth.

You still hadn’t learned how to properly lock the doors behind yourself again, which is why you set that no peeking rule down in the first place… you knew secrets enticed Shotaro, but in this moment, you just focused on taking care of yourself… just like Shotaro said, both outside and within…

Kneeling down, Shotaro edged himself towards the door, where a slender crack allowed him a stingy look inside.

The soft glow of your dresser lamp illuminated the room, casting gentle shadows along your bedsheets and your now half-naked body.

You wore nothing but a baggy T-shirt and panties as you got positioned into your back, legs spread just enough for Shotaro to see everything… your graceful and seren silhouette, and your pulsating core… it all caught his attention, and it all made him all the more aroused…

Luckily for the both of you, EJ had locked himself up in his room to wash off his long day of work, and the sound of the water running faintly in the background acted as a timer for you to finish by.

You began to slid your panties down your hips, each motion fluid and unhurried as Shotaro's poor little heart raced, quickening the pace of his breath.

Slowly caressing over your skin with one hand, you reached for the dildo with the other, and unbeknownst to you, Shotaro was just a few feet away from you, untying his pants as his semi-hard dick sprung out, almost hitting the door.

You just hoped that Shotaro had busied himself somewhere in the house so he wouldn’t find you like this… though, once the head of the toy circled your clit before you slowly lined the head up with your entrance, your mind couldn’t shake the thought of him…

The thought of how he’d feel inside you, or the thought of his hands pinning yours over your head and to the mattress…

Finally inserting the toy all the way, you felt your breath hitch as you started sliding the dildo in and out of your cunt, already coating it in your slimy juices.

The room was silent except for the sound of your own soft gasps bouncing off the walls. Shotaro licked a stripe of spit up his hand before cupping the base of his cock with his palm, already too caught up in the private world of his thoughts to care about how perverted of him this was.

The way he stroked himself mirrored the pace that you set for the dildo as you kept fucking yourself, circling your hips against the mattress as you somehow widened your legs even more.

And by now, Shotaro was in visual heaven, despite the fact that he hated how slow you were going with it… he hated that he couldn’t make himself go any faster until you did.

“Nghh~” a needy mewl ripped from under your breath, and Shotaro felt himself shiver at the way you lifted your hips into the toy now, gripping at your tit with your free hand.

Words can’t begin to describe how badly he wished he could cup your breasts in his hands…

Your hole was impressively taking all of the toy’s girth, but from the looks of it, your pussy was still suffocating around it, being stuffed to the brim as your walls quivered in ecstasy.

So that’s how she likes to be fucked, Shotaro thought to himself, and your lips ironically started to cry out yes as he kept his grip firm around his shaft.

A stream of your own arousal dripped unto the sheets, coating the dildo and your pussy lips in a delicious shine, and Shotaro swore he would’ve sold his soul just to get a taste—

“Shit,” he swore, a free hand flying to cover his mouth as he can barely keep his sounds in now.

You picked up the pace, and he pumped his cock even faster, knowing better than anyone that his rough fingers didn’t feel half as good as your pussy probably does.

He watched the way your tightness gripped at the dildo every time it hit that special spot inside you, and at this point, you were too turned on to pretend like you don’t hear him.

When he had cursed, you noticed his boba eyes peeking at you, and although your first instinct was to shut your legs and scold him, you let the moment take its course…

“Taro,” you said in a seductive voice… one that comes out naturally because of the state you’re in, “you’ve never been very sneaky, y’know that?”

His round eyes nearly popped out of his head at your offer, and he was torn between whether he should pretend like this never happened or just adhere to your lust-laced words.

“Q-quit being shy, Taro,” you whined out again, stammering over your own words as the dildo started to vibrate, “just get in here before I- fuck... ch-change my mind...”

Shotaro could hardly believe his own ears once you announced your scandalous invitation to him, and doesn't think he's ever put his dick away so quickly, either...

Carefully sliding the door open, he slipped through the narrow gap he provided for himself before locking the door back behind him and joining you on the bed.

You were definitely feeling a little less bold now that he was barely a few inches away from you, but the ways his eyes flickered between glancing at your face and then your sloppy cunt motivated you somehow—

“Want some help with that?” He offers quietly, and you respond by slipping the thick toy from your hole, a wet pop filling the room as you lazily held it towards him.

And although his face still appears like a cross between shocked and dumbfounded, his body posture is confident as he takes the toy from your grasp, caressing your exposed thigh just to see you shiver.

He give you one more glance for approval as if your consent wasn't already obvious enough before sliding the tip of the toy between your slick folds, but he's applying a lot more pressure than you did when handling it... not that you had a problem with it anyways...

“You're so sensitive,” he chuckled slightly, watching the way your torso clenched as he pressed the dildo against your entrance, and you're suddenly feeling shy yourself now-- “And pretty,” he continued, complimenting the view of your beautiful bare body before him, the purest look of lust upon both your faces, “so, so pretty...”

A soft moan escaped your mouth as he pushed the toy all the way inside you now, and his method of pumping you felt way better than what you usually did for yourself.

“T-Taro,” you whined, watching as he continued to fuck your cunt open with the dildo, fully focused on pleasing you... he was so fascinated by the way your walls clenched around the silicone, lewd noises filling the room as you grew even hazier in your head.

“What is it, ____?” His voice came out deeply as his gaze barely met yours from behind his neatly cut bangs, his cold hand pressing firmly on the bulge in your stomach, as created by the long toy inside you.

“T-touch yourself,” you whimpered, reaching down to grab his wrist as the pressure he applied became too much for you to speak over, “while you keep touching me...”

That's all it took for him to slowly get to work on shimmying down his pants again, and single-handedly at that. The tip of his cock was sore with a throbbing need as he took his shaft in his free palm, stroking it to the same pace that he set for the dildo inside you.

And his moans were joining yours now, his starved out teeth biting at his lower lip as he continued gliding the toy in and out of your pussy, making your eyebrows furrow at the sight before you.

You imagined that the dildo was his cock as you threw your head back against the pillows, closing your eyes while he did the same by imaging you were responding this way from taking his cock, fucking the pathetic silicone into you just like his hips would.

And as badly as the intrusive thoughts were telling him to toss the toy and just fuck you properly himself, he knew there was a better way to help you get past the sexual frustration of not coming... and he didn’t want to pressure you into doing something you weren’t completely down for…

“Play with your clit for me, baby,” Shotaro slurred while speeding up the movements of his hand pumping his length, and you adhered to his words immediately, sliding your hand down to rub at your sensitive spot just like he told you to.

“That's it baby,” he sighed, chest heaving as he felt himself reaching the point of no return, “you're close, aren't you pretty?”

“S-so close,” you winced desperately, and it only takes a few more thrusts of his hand and circles of your own finger before you were falling over the edge, covering your mouth with the back of your hand to keep your moans in.

And your eyes are pricking with tears given how good the stimulation felt, but you knew Shotaro hadn’t reached his climax yet.

With the little energy you had meddling within your system, you sat up to meet him where he sat, the dildo still jammed inside your pussy as you pulled his face to kiss you, and the contact was hungry… Shotaro’s own mouth gaping open to groan as you kept your grip tight around his neck while looking deeply into his eyes.

He was a panting mess now, and you wanted to help him feel just as good as he had made you feel.

“____, you don’t have to—”

“Shhh,” you interrupted his choked out sentence, kissing him once again as you moved your hand to take the place his around his shaft, “let me return the favor, baby…”

Although a bit delayed, Shotaro eventually nodded in compliance, resting one of his free hands behind him to brace his weight on the bed and his other free hand at you ass where he spanked you slightly.

“B-bounce on it,” his voice came out, and a bit strained in tone as he spanked you a little harder this time, reeling a soft whine out of you, “p-please baby, ride that dildo while you jerk my co— holy fuckk…”

You were still so sensitive in this moment, so the overstimulation was insane once you started grinding against the toy, lifting your hips to ride it as he watched with lust-ridden eyes.

And your delicate hands were doing such a good job of pumping him, too, stroking his length at just the right pace while paying extra attention to the head of his cock, the part that you knew would make him feel the best.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that, pretty,” he praised, and you kissed him instead of saying anything, bouncing so hard now that even the bed is starting to squeak beneath you two.

And the sound made Shotaro smirk… the sound of your juices squelching around the toy… of your heart beating fast behind your chest… the gentle meals escaping you, and the sound of your hand stroking him to heaven—

“Fuck!” He suddenly cried out, as quietly as he could as to not alarm EJ, and that’s when you knew he had finally reached his climax.

Breaking from his lips, you reached behind yourself to grab the scarf you used to wrap up the toy and held it over the top of his cock, just in time for his pearly spurts of his release to fill up the cloth.

Your warm hand slowly pumped the girth of his shaft, continuing to milk him dry as his hand gripped your hips tightly at the feeling, and you’re certain you’d have a bruise there later from his force.

And there is was again… Shotaro’s infamous smile as he sighed beneath his breath, releasing his grip on your hip while looking into your eyes now.

“Sorry I messed up your scarf,” he said plainly, and you can’t help but smile at his remark.

“Eh, it’s alright,” you returned, taking the bundle of fabric from his cock and holding it in your hand, “you’re in charge of laundry duty, anyways…”

Both of your cheeks were as warm as fresh baked milk bread now as you awkwardly lifted your hips off the dildo, the slimy object falling from your hole with a gentle pop as you took the cum rag and wrapped the toy in it, too.

“So…,” he began, voice returning to its usual pitch as you helped shimmy his pants back up, “do you always cum that hard, or was that orgasm special just for me?”

“Shut up,” you scorned playfully, nudging his shoulder slightly to which he chuckled alongside you.

But that’s when you both noticed it… the sound of the water running had stopped, and you’re sure it hasn’t been running for a while.

The two of you exchange worried looks as your ears keen in on the sounds behind the door, if any at all…

“Should I just…?” Shotaro started to ask while getting up from the bed, but you placed a hand at his thigh, keeping him in place.

Step, step, step.

Euijoo’s house slippers slid across the floor as he made his way to your bedroom door, the silhouette of his frame being clear as day behind the slightly opaque door, and you wonder just how much he can see from his point of view.

“Hey, is Shotaro-san in there with you?” He asked, visibly tucking his hands in his pajama pants pockets, “I heard the bed creaking, and he has a strict ‘NO-SEX IN THE HOUSE’ policy…”

“Yes, he’s in here—”

“We weren’t having sex.”

You and Shotaro’s of your voices came out at the same time, and by this point, EJ is really confused, even though both of your sentences were 100% the honest truth.

“Right,” is all the poor boy says before turning on his heel and walking in the opposite direction, “just make sure you end your little sleepover in time for me to get my work clothes washed by tomorrow morning…”

⋆♱✮ Thank you to everyone reading this fic of mine, which actually concludes DAY 3 of my Kinktober Event !! Also, if you're interested in reading more works like this, feel free to check out my main enhypen masterlist or my kinktober masterlist by clicking one of these links !!

⋆♱✮ PERMANANT TAGLIST:

@squoxle, @nishiimuranights, @ashgonedash

@yourmomscuntis2tighy, @wonbinisbabygurl

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⋆♱✮ KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

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@crownj1min @jay-0n3s @gacktsa @leeknowinggg

[singinginthecar]

israel saying that they're only bombing mosques because hamas is using them "to store weapons" and destroying universities because "they're being used as training facilities for hamas"..... is like watching exactly what the sri lankan government did when they carried out a genocide on eelam tamil ppl in northern sri lanka in 2009. this is the same old genocidal playbook. sri lanka called the tamil resistance fighters a bunch of terrorists too. they wiped out hundreds of thousands of ppl - resistance fighters and civilians alike under the pretext of "only" targeting the "terrorists". sri lanka bombed schools saying that "terrorists" were using them to train their "youth army" meanwhile innocent school going children were blown apart. they bombed civilian shelters on purpose saying that terrorists were using these places to hide. same goes for hospitals as well. anyone who's been paying attention to resistance movements around the world knows israel's playbook like the back of their hand. because we've seen this before. and we've seen the innocent lives that it costs. we've been seeing this all play out again and again, only now in a different part of the world... and like before, the world watches while letting it all happen. this breaks my heart. truly.

[metamatar]

How do I argue with someone who says integration (Indians moving to Kashmir Valley) is good?

ask them if its fair that kashmiris homes get destroyed and seized by the indian army and then indians from the mainland get to buy the land for cheap. if their answer is yes they are beyond your or my reach. this moving of indians to the valley is not some idealised "natural" migration happening in the absence of the ideological motives of hindutva forces that have long aimed to resettle kashmir to make it more hindu.

(frontline's paywall can be broken using reader mode on your browser)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

'We buy ugly houses' is code for 'we steal vulnerable peoples' homes'

Tonight (May 11) at 7PM, I’m in CALGARY for Wordfest, with my novel Red Team Blues; I’ll be hosted by Peter Hemminger at the Memorial Park Library, 2nd Floor.

Home ownership is the American dream: not only do you get a place to live, free from the high-handed dictates of a landlord, but you also get an asset that appreciates, building intergenerational wealth while you sleep — literally.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/11/ugly-houses-ugly-truth/#homevestor

Of course, you can’t have it both ways. If your house is an asset you use to cover falling wages, rising health care costs, spiraling college tuition and paper-thin support for eldercare, then it can’t be a place you live. It’s gonna be an asset you sell — or at the very least, borrow so heavily against that you are in constant risk of losing it.

This is the contradiction at the heart of the American dream: when America turned its back on organized labor as an engine for creating prosperity and embraced property speculation, it set itself on the road to serfdom — a world where the roof over your head is also your piggy bank, destined to be smashed open to cover the rising costs that an organized labor movement would have fought:

https://gen.medium.com/the-rents-too-damned-high-520f958d5ec5

Today, we’re hit the end of the road for the post-war (unevenly, racially segregated) shared prosperity that made it seem, briefly, that everyone could get rich by owning a house, living in it, then selling it to everybody else. Now that the game is ending, the winners are cashing in their chips:

https://doctorow.medium.com/the-end-of-the-road-to-serfdom-bfad6f3b35a9

The big con of home ownership is proceeding smartly on schedulee. First, you let the mark win a little, so they go all in on the scam. Then you take it all back. Obama’s tolerance of bank sleze after the Great Financial Crisis kicked off the modern era of corporations and grifters stealing Americans’ out from under them, forging deeds in robosigning mills:

https://www.marketwatch.com/story/us-breaks-down-93-bln-robo-signing-settlement-2013-02-28

The thefts never stopped. Today on Propublica, by Anjeanette Damon, Byard Duncan and Mollie Simon bring a horrifying, brilliantly reported account of the rampant, bottomless scams of Homevestors, AKA We Buy Ugly Houses, AKA “the #1 homebuyer in the USA”:

https://www.propublica.org/article/ugly-truth-behind-we-buy-ugly-houses

Homevestors — an army of the hedge fund Bayview Asset Management — claims a public mission: to bail out homeowners sitting on unsellable houses with all-cash deals. The company’s franchisees — 1,150 of them in 48 states — then sprinkle pixie dust and secret sauce on these “ugly houses” and sell them at a profit.

But Propublica’s investigation — which relied on whistleblowers, company veterans, court records and interviews with victims — tells a very different story. The Homevestor they discovered is a predator that steals houses out from under elderly people, disabled people, people struggling with mental illness and other vulnerable people. It’s a company whose agents have a powerful, well-polished playbook that stops family members from halting the transfers the company’s high-pressure salespeople set in motion.

Propublica reveals homeowners with advanced dementia who signed their shaky signatures to transfers that same their homes sold out from under them for a fraction of their market value. They show how Homevestor targets neighborhoods struck by hurricanes, or whose owners are recently divorced, or sick. One whistleblower tells of how the company uses the surveillance advertising industry to locate elderly people who’ve broken a hip: “a 60-day countdown to death — and, possibly, a deal.” The company’s mobile ads are geofenced to target people near hospitals and rehab hospitals, in hopes of finding desperate sellers who need to liquidate homes so that Medicaid will cover their medical expenses.

The sales pitches are relentless. One of Homevestor’s targets was a Texas woman whose father had recently been murdered. As she grieved, they blanketed her in pitches to sell her father’s house until “checking her mail became a traumatic experience.”

Real-estate brokers are bound by strict regulations, but not house flippers like Homevestors. Likewise, salespeople who pitch other high-ticket items, from securities to plane tickets — are required to offer buyers a cooling-off period during which they can reconsider their purchases. By contrast, Homevestors’ franchisees are well-versed in “muddying the title” to houses after the contract is signed, filing paperwork that makes it all but impossible for sellers to withdraw from the sale.

This produces a litany of ghastly horror-stories: homeowners who end up living in their trucks after they were pressured into a lowball sales; sellers who end up dying in hospital beds haunted by the trick that cost them their homes. One woman who struggled with hoarding was tricked into selling her house by false claims that the city would evict her because of her hoarding. A widow was tricked into signing away the deed to her late husband’s house by the lie that she could do so despite not being on the deed. One seller was tricked into signing a document he believed to be a home equity loan application, only to discover he had sold his house at a huge discount on its market value. An Arizona woman was tricked into selling her dead mother’s house through the lie that the house would have to be torn down and the lot redeveloped; the Homevestor franchisee then flipped the house for 5,500% of the sale-price.

The company vigorously denies these claims. They say that most people who do business with Homevestors are happy with the outcome; in support of this claim, they cite internal surveys of their own customers that produce a 96% approval rating.

When confronted with the specifics, the company blamed rogue franchisees. But Propublica obtained training materials and other internal documents that show that the problem is widespread and endemic to Homevestors’ business. Propublica discovered that at least eight franchisees who engaged in conduct the company said it “didn’t tolerate” had been awarded prizes by the company for their business acumen.

Franchisees are on the hook for massive recurring fees and face constant pressure from corporate auditors to close sales. To make those sales, franchisees turn to Homevana’s training materials, which are rife with predatory tactics. One document counsels franchisees that “pain is always a form of motivation.” What kind of pain? Lost jobs, looming foreclosure or a child in need of surgery.

A former franchisee explained how this is put into practice in the field: he encountered a seller who needed to sell quickly so he could join his dying mother who had just entered a hospice 1,400 miles away. The seller didn’t want to sell the house; they wanted to “get to Colorado to see their dying mother.”

These same training materials warn franchisees that they must not deal with sellers who are “subject to a guardianship or has a mental capacity that is diminished to the point that the person does not understand the value of the property,” but Propublica’s investigation discovered “a pattern of disregard” for this rule. For example, there was the 2020 incident in which a 78-year-old Atlanta man sold his house to a Homevestors franchisee for half its sale price. The seller was later shown to be “unable to write a sentence or name the year, season, date or month.”

The company tried to pin the blame for all this on bad eggs among its franchisees. But Propublica found that some of the company’s most egregious offenders were celebrated and tolerated before and after they were convicted of felonies related to their conduct on behalf of the company. For example, Hi-Land Properties is a five-time winner of Homevestors’ National Franchise of the Year prize. The owner was praised by the CEO as “loyal, hardworking franchisee who has well represented our national brand, best practices and values.”

This same franchisee had “filed two dozen breach of contract lawsuits since 2016 and clouded titles on more than 300 properties by recording notices of a sales contract.” Hi-Land “sued an elderly man so incapacitated by illness he couldn’t leave his house.”

Another franchisee, Patriot Holdings, uses the courts aggressively to stop families of vulnerable people from canceling deals their relatives signed. Patriot Holdings’ co-owner, Cory Evans, eventually pleaded guilty to to two felonies, attempted grand theft of real property. He had to drop his lawsuits against buyers, and make restitution.

According to Homevestors’ internal policies, Patriot’s franchise should have been canceled. But Homevestors allowed Patriot to stay in business after Cory Evans took his name off the business, leaving his brothers and other partners to run it. Nominally, Cory Evans was out of the picture, but well after that date, internal Homevestors included Evans in an award it gave to Patriot, commemorating its sales (Homevestors claims this was an error).

Propublica’s reporters sought comment from Homevestors and its franchisees about this story. The company hired “a former FBI spokesperson who specializes in ‘crisis and special situations’ and ‘reputation management’ and funnelled future questions through him.”

Internally, company leadership scrambled to control the news. The company convened a webinar in April with all 1,150 franchisees to lay out its strategy. Company CEO David Hicks explained the company’s plan to “bury” the Propublica article with “‘strategic ad buys on social and web pages’ and ‘SEO content to minimize visibility.’”

https://www.propublica.org/article/homevestors-aims-to-bury-propublica-reporting

Franchisees were warned not to click links to the story because they “might improve its internet search ranking.”

Even as the company sought to “bury” the story and stonewalled Propublica, they cleaned house, instituting new procedures and taking action against franchisees identified in Propublica’s article. “Clouding titles” is now prohibited. Suing sellers for breach of contract is “discouraged.” Deals with seniors “should always involve family, attorneys or other guardians.”

During the webinar, franchisees “pushed back on the changes, claiming they could hurt business.”

If you’ve had experience with hard-sell house-flippers, Propublica wants to know: “If you’ve had experience with a company or buyer promising fast cash for homes, our reporting team wants to hear about it.”

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Calgary, Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

[Image ID: A Depression-era photo of a dour widow standing in front of a dilapidated cabin. Next to her is Ug, the caveman mascot for Homevestors, smiling and pointing at her. Behind her is a 'We buy ugly houses' sign.

Image: Homevestors https://www.homevestors.com/

Fair use: https://www.eff.org/issues/intellectual-property

[cassimothwin]

Hellwhalers Tabletop RPG: Hunt a monstrous leviathan in Hell's ocean

Come all ye sinners... ⚓

During a recent Twitch stream, I had the divine pleasure of flipping through Hellwhalers, a tabletop RPG designed by Moss Powers and Thomas Vorderbruggen.

You can watch my flip through here! 👇

As damned souls brought to life through evocative yet simple playbooks, players follow their captain's orders, collect souls, and repent in hopes of finding their way to heaven. Only once enough souls are fed to the Hellwhale's heart can players attempt to fell the great beast and earn their path to redemption.

What I really love...

Gambling as procedural generation: Players can bet souls on a custom-designed sic bo board, and the GM (or captain) uses that to build out how the next day's challenges will come.

Character playbooks overflowing with flavor: Building a character is quick and doesn't require rolling any stats. The inventory selection for each playbook is precise, with any item offering a wealth of opportunities for backstory.

Clever use of custom and public domain art: The book's layout captures the essence of The Divine Comedy, passing on the gloomy and forbidding tone of its inspiration.

The strong writing: Distilled vignettes, hints of lore, glimpses of setting, whispered voices, and variety haunting epilogues make this game a pleasure to read. It's easy to see how the playbooks, setting, and captain rules can work together to create a focused and thematic game.

The text provides methods for creating a one-shot, few-shot (a few sessions), or full campaign!

The game also inspired this fantastic video essay!!

[indie-ttrpg-of-the-week]

Thirsty Sword Lesbians

Anyone here ever play Get in the Car Loser? anyways

Touchstones: Queer fanfic and media, Premade settings have many different touchstones

Genre: Swashbuckling action, can vary from group to group

What is this game?:  Thirsty Sword Lesbians is a game about being swashbuckling queers of all colors and sizes, it's got a very generic setting, as long as your setting has combat, queer romance, and evil to be defeated, TSL can run your setting

How's the gameplay?: TSL is a powered by the apocalypse game, primarily based on the classic Monsterhearts, with its Strings mechanics being outright named after the mechanic of the same name from it. It's a classic PBTA (which you can read more about here) system with the core difference being the game's mechanics, which encourage the players to do things that are not the healthiest, or to fall fall in love with the other PCs or NPCs. For example when a character falls in love, they may ask a question about that person according to your playbook, this is your trait of heart, and when trying to figure someone out mid-fight you may ask one extra question from your playbook, this is your trait of blade! and this mechanic exemplifies what everything the gameplay in TSL wishes to lead to: Heart (falling in love) and Blade (Combat)

What's the setting (If any) like?: TSL at first seems like it doesn't have a setting, and it kinda doesn't, while there are many, many, many very fun premade settings within the book, the average TSL setting only has to have 3 things: Combat, Romance, and 2 Toxic Powers, toxic powers being two entities within the universe (be it a faction, religion, power, etc) that may not Necessarily oppose the players, but are definitely a bad thing.

What's the tone?:  Tone is generally decided by the players, but there will always be two universal things: Queer Rebellion via community and people trying to put down this rebellion.

Session length: Very very variable, but usually speaking you can do a lot in the plotline in 3 hours, though at minimum I think it'd be an hour long each session

Number of Players: TSL can be run with very few players, 3-6 is preferred but there's rules for solo or even two player play

Malleability: TSL is designed to be malleable, not really having a  defined setting, its themes are designed around lesbian romance, but the game itself has MLM rep and explicitly states that trans stories can also be run within this.

Resources: TSL has free playbooks, organization sheets, a google sheet that's pretty good, and a pretty decent amount of homebrew, most of it is fanmade but its there

TSL's my favorite tabletop game. While not doing too much new, it polishes what was already established in prior games to a very very high quality extreme, it's a great time, even if you're not a lesbian.

remember to kiss girls, inject estradiol, and have homoerotic swordfights with people whose worldview and/or neuroses are injected within the fight itself!