#welcome to my dissertation

[charming-not-sincere]

For some reason, this thread reminded me of one of Ghil Dirthalen’s videos, The Grim Anatomy. https://youtu.be/4Bu6PL0GZAw?si=7jroRT-U511_RWyg

She says close to the end of the video around the 4 minute mark, “What I find so interesting about this book is that it seems to try to answer the question of what happens biologically during a possession. From the provided translation, it almost sounds like a possession is concentrated in the blood. Could there be a medical treatment for a possession, and could it be as simple as a blood transfusion?”

This got me thinking about the rotten flesh that Lucanis is eating. Is it maybe less about the flesh and more about the blood contained in the flesh? You can get bloodborne diseases by eating the raw flesh of something, or someone (though I wouldn’t be surprised if they started out with an animal or something for ease since I’m pretty sure it’s a hell of a lot easier to get an animal possessed than a non-mage human), that had the disease. Pretty sure this is how a lot rabies happens in the wild. So they’re treating possession like a disease they are trying to spread and feeding inmates “diseased” (previously possessed) flesh to get them possessed.

I also saw a post by @sorcerly connected to this thread that asks about what happens to the body post possession. Picture below.

If they do “unzip,” all that flesh and body probably still contains the “disease” of possession, but not the actual spirit attached to it. Which could be how Zara is “creating” “new” spirits since there isn’t already a full spirit attached to the body anymore. Although, I will mention that I think it’s less likely that spirits unzip their host and more that they burst out like baby Xenomorphs. I find this idea especially likely since essentially the rotten meat acts as a parasite carrier but lots of little eggs (diseased cells). Sometimes they don’t take hold because the immune system flushes them out, but this could be another of the many reasons why torture is being used. Torture inherently weakens the immune system, making it more likely that the disease will catch.

Then as the baby demon grows it latches on to the strongest emotion the person is feeling. This is probably another reason why torture is used. Torture definitely brings out negative emotions, which is probably what you’re going for if you want demons. Until finally it grows strong enough to burst out of the body.

I will say eating or drinking the blood of the deceased possessed body is probably not the most efficient way to get to the end point since stomach acid would probably make it more difficult for the disease to take hold but between it being a quasi medieval fantasy setting (so therefore lack of knowledge that it could be transmitted more easily through infusion) and other factors like sadism this may be either the best method they’ve found so far or what they feel is the best method based on “But I want to see them suffer!” reasons. Or again it could play into the torture making this whole thing work. I feel like if that were the case they would let people know that they’re eating dead people. But that could also backfire and cause people to just starve to death. Hard to say.

Also explains the question: if the demons do chest burst from the people they’re possessing, where are all the dead bodies? They’re probably in some storage locker waiting to be chopped up for lunch.

Hey so what the fuck is up with Zara feeding people demon’d meat to force possession

[lunareiitic]

Moments From Firefly + Silverwolf's 2.3 Conversation That Are Going To Make Me Explode

[grim-has-issues]

Audio RP timeline:

Fanfiction

Reader Insert Fanfiction

Character ASMR

Boyfriend ASMR

ASMR Roleplay

Audio Roleplay

[philzokman]

help im doing a literary analysis project for crime and punishment and i keep finding bsd stuff im actually gonna lose my minf

AUTISTIC RANPO MY BELOVED i offer u my absolute deepest condolences u deserve a noble prize for the hardships endured 😔🙏🙏

[punemy-spotted]

Hiya, its Athena for Thursday Ask-A-Thon over at @ask-a-thon: How have your experiences in life shaped your writing?

Oh Athena.

Athena.

This question means the world to me, I cannot tell you how much. As usual, I'm going to ramble, because this is absolutely a special interest of mine in writing and fandom and boy howdy do my experiences shape my writing.

As always, answers below the cut, and general content warning for gender-based violence, workplace sexual harassment, and trauma.

My experiences are my writing. Especially as someone who writes Reader-Insert, I'm a big advocate for writers to write their catharsis and their experiences.

While it is certainly appropriate (and polite, in certain circumstances) to write "neutral" Readers who have no defined physical attributes so that the person reading the fic can slot themselves into that blank space, I also constantly encourage writers — especially writers of color; disabled writers; queer, nonbinary, and trans writers; and writers who write for male readers — to write their story too. If we can imagine ourselves as Avengers or loved by them, we can also imagine ourselves immersed in cultures we did not grow up in — it only increases our empathy and understanding of the world outside our "bubble" if we do. For my experience, as a Desi writer, I don't know how to be anything but a Desi writer. My culture is embedded into my bones, there are so many things I do as a Desi-American that non-Desi folk don't do (and vice versa) that sometimes I'm shocked when I talk to folks who have grown up outside of the little Desi Bubble I grew up in (and shocked when I talk to folks who were even more immersed in Desi culture, because the Midwestern United States is not exactly a haven for Dawoodi Bohra Muslims, and that leads to a weird relationship with one's own culture). I am open about the fact that my Readers are generally coded as Desi and always invite non-Desi folk to read the stories to get a glimpse into that life. The body is a shell, and though it may change from writer to writer, the reader is still themselves and their soul can travel dimensions.

As for concrete examples of that, boy howdy, let's take a look at my whole Masterlist, shall we? The Cut is about my experience as an FGM survivor and how FGM completely altered the way I engage with my body as a being able to feel pleasure — and therefore, what it means to be loved, to forgive, and be forgiven. In that same vein, For Blue Skies is a story about facing Ikaris — an Eternal, a being who masqueraded as an ancient god for so many years — and knowing that he could have prevented something like the tradition of FGM but did not, for whatever reason. One of my most popular fic series, The Price you Pay, features a Reader character who, like me, was taken advantage of by a powerful man when she was in a vulnerable position compared to him, upending her career — she and I made very different decisions, but the root of our pain is the same. One of the first ever fics I published on Tumblr, Everything You Stand For, was an exploration of catharsis, of how the repeated denial of justice could lead someone like me to side with someone like Helmut Zemo, because when doing things the right way fails... how far are you willing to go to quell the fire in your chest?

In a way, every fic I have ever written has carried a piece of me. My culture, my language, my pain and pleasures. When I share, I share not just the thing I am passionate about in the form of the story, but the emotional context that drove me to think it up and create the world. So... how have my experiences shaped my writing? They've defined it.

[lgbtlunaverse]

It's very funny to write nieyao with both their povs cause i'm looking at the scenes from meng yao's pov and they're all 4 times as long??? The povs are meant to be split equally but like 70% of the whole thing ends up being his inner monologue. This man thinks So Much.

[the-everqueen]

okay does anyone else feel self-conscious about being an underwriter, or is it just me?

[twosides--samecoin]

Yo @stoat-party hear me out on this one! I had some thoughts & wanted to expand on your "objectively evil" take. If you're reading the dialogue page/wiki page for his reactions, I can see where they come off "evil" at face value, but I feel I can further interpret where some of those actions/words may come from.

The first problem with a few of the situations listed (Danse, Desdemona), is the Sole Survivor (his employer) has to put him in those situations, ones he would not otherwise find himself in. RJ MacCready's perspective is that he has to keep his employment and do what he has to do to survive above all else. Going along with what the SoSu is doing - to an extent, we'll get there - is his meal ticket.

Contrast, say, the Brotherhood's explicit mandate for ethnic cleansing as explained by Maxson. There's a difference between what's explicit in the text, and the text that only happens when the player is doing the choose-your-own-adventure aspects of playing an RPG. There are save games/timelines where MacCready can be cruel. There's also save games/timelines where he's not shown being cruel at all. By contrast, Maxson/the Brotherhood's MO is cruel each time.

Thought experiment: Do I catch a theft charge for having the potential to steal a loaf of bread? Or am I charged when I actually do steal the loaf of bread? Is MacCready "objectively evil" for having the potential to be cruel to Desdemona, or is he given the chance to be cruel when the player character involves him in evil actions? If the player character doesn't put him in situations where he shows those sides of him, did the evil at hand happen?

Are some of these things "evil" or are they examples of survival and moral gray that is understandable given the shifted moral compass of the Fallout IP? I think it bears mentioning Hannah Arendt's idea of the banality of evil. You can put someone in a situation that asks of them to be cruel or commit crimes in order for them to survive, or for fear of retribution if they don't go along with it. A real world example is gang initiations in which you might be forced to commit a crime or are otherwise implicated, lest you face punishment. If you're put in a situation where you have to be cruel so that you can see the next day, there's a good chance you're going to be cruel to get through it.

MacCready is capable of being cunning in order to survive, but objective evil? I'm inclined to think otherwise.

As for Austin? Maybe it's hope that the cure could be Duncan's. Maybe it's developer oversight that instead of the empathy that should come with the general MacCready guaranteed "Like" of helping kids, he dislikes giving/splitting the cure instead approves of keeping it. I've spoken with other people who write MacCready fic and many of us find it a weird moment that doesn't make sense, beyond the typical "Beth Esda got it wrong". For me that's always felt like an inconsistency, and isn't well explained given his normal behaviour that comes with favouring when the SoSu helps parents/kids. The only plausible explanation I've read is "well, he's a merc, he dislikes selfless acts, he's going to put himself first", but I don't really buy it as empathy should kick in, given his own child dying of fatal disease.

Look at the war-torn world MacCready came from. Look at the demands of mercenary work, that he engaged in because he knew it would be a path to survival (Yes, he's okay killing innocents for profit. That's mercenary work). Look at the Gunners (who for lack of a better explanation, are Raiders Whom Do Wear Green), who MacCready only joined for money, and then left when he disagreed with their cruelty. And if the SoSu kills innocents for no reason? He knows there's a difference. I wonder if he refuses some contracts based on the people targeted by the hit, because if he was objectively evil and blood hungry, I don't think you'd get the following -

This is someone who learned you have to shift with the situation to get by, and sticking out like a sore thumb doesn't help you. That's cunning, sure, but it's ultimately survival. You don't make it to adulthood in the Wasteland without finding ways to survive - it's not "objectively evil", it's morally gray at best.

MacCready winds up at Little Lamplight, probably a baby, but at most young enough not to remember his parents. Maybe he grows up with a secret belief that they loved him, because they left him with three names whereas a lot of his peers didn’t get any. But they were grown-ups, so who needs them anyway.

He grows up eating fungus that thrives on human flesh. He starts drinking at six. He learns to shoot at ten — starting with monsters who used to be human, but undoubtedly graduating to humans long before he should have. Also at ten, he wins a fight against another child and takes power as mayor. Part of the job is to exile kids when they turn sixteen. Maybe some of them are the kids who helped raise him. He knows Bigtown isn’t as safe as it’s made it out to be, how could he not? A lot of those teenagers are headed out there just to die. MacCready knows he won’t be one of them, because he’s tougher.

When we meet him at twelve, he’s ruthless. He admits that the out-at-sixteen rule is based on lies, and that it’s really to keep the population low enough to survive. He’s a social Darwinist who protects the kids as a population, but can’t afford the luxury of caring about them as individuals. He’s learned death is cheap, you can’t afford to help strangers, and if you don’t take what you want, someone else will.

“Around” sixteen he graduated (which makes me think he left before they could kick him out), and we know the rest of the story. The person we meet in Boston has internalized these lessons. He’s friendly and has a conscience, but the only people he cares about enough to prioritize are Duncan, a maxed-affinity Sole Survivor, and probably a few others like Daisy. And boy, does he care about that tiny group of individuals. But everyone else? Make it worth his while or go kick rocks.

Having a crazy childhood doesn’t fully explain his choices - encouraging the Survivor to kill Danse, cruelly flirting with Desdemona as the Survivor betrays and murders her, outright stating he’s willing to kill innocents if there’s a way to profit from it, and disliking giving the cure to Austin even though his son is in the exact same situation. He’s just objectively evil sometimes. But I think his history goes a long way toward explaining his motivations and making him likable, if not exactly justifiable.

[youstupidplonk]

Adulthood is literally just waiting for replies to emails isn’t it? 

[ripcrispyblonde]

A casual near 2200 words lmfao. it's like a ten page double spaced paper 💀

[bodhrancomedy]

@failbettergames

Fallen London is a free text adventure game that you can play in any browser at www.fallenlondon.com. It contains no ads and requires no installs. It's also funny, atmospheric, horrific, deep, dark and marvellous (and marvellously queer). Use the code visitlondon and get some fantastic treats to get you started.

Welcome, delicious friend.

I love this game. It kept me going through my dissertation and I had so much fun making this. Please show these guys some love.

[shewroteaworld]

I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't

Premise: Brilliant sunshine!reader gets heat stroke on a case. Your best friend, Spencer Reid, is predictably worried about you. What he doesn't expect is to be forced to come to terms with his feelings for you.

Word count: approx. 3,200

TW: Brief mention of vomit and, perhaps, hospitals

(Y/N/N): Your nickname

Author's Note: Super excited to introduce brilliant sunshine!reader (aka, super smart sunshine!reader) onto my fanfic writing scene! Definitely willing to write more of her in the future if anyone is interested. Hope you enjoy!

“Does anybody have more water?”

“Where is the damn ambulance?”

Perhaps your job classically conditioned you to respond to Hotch’s “I’m seriously not fucking around” tone because your eyes crack open. 

Someone put weights on your eyelids and cranked the sun to extra-bright. The harsh rays burned your retinas and washed everything in a white blur. Did someone set off a flash bang?

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?” Miraculously, out of the screeching white, you made out JJ’s halo of blonde hair. 

“JJ?” You groaned. Even though you could barely see, it felt like the whole world was spinning, 

“Hotch, she’s coming around!” You recognized Morgan’s voice. “Welcome back to the world of the living, honey. We’re happy to see you.”

Your heart rate spiked. You never died. Did you die? 

“Yes, we still need a medic!” Hotch barked. 

You winced. “Wha?” Suddenly, your mouth couldn’t handle a one-syllable world. Even more alarming, your brain, the same brain that kept up with Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid,  couldn’t understand what the hell was going on.

 “What I do?” You whined. 

“He’s not yelling at you, honey,” JJ said like a kindergarten teacher. “You’re just a little out of it right now.”

“Is she conscious?” Another voice entered. Your head spun. “I brought more water.” 

You moaned to suppress a gag. Your eyelids drooped, and you relished in the break from the light.

“Hey, smarty pants, stay with us.” Morgan pat your cheek. “Let Emily get some water in you.” You couldn’t force your eyes open more if you tried.

Your friend Emily. That’s who the voice belonged to. 

Suddenly, JJ pulled your hair from your face, Morgan lifted your head, and Emily forced a water bottle to your lips simultaneously.  The blinding glare seared your eyes and your head spun. You wanted to sob and maybe vomit.

Your chest hitched with a shallow inhale. “Stop.” You whined.

“(Y/N), it’s okay. Take a deep breath.” JJ said.

“No!” You exclaimed.

“Honey–” Morgan tried. 

You thrashed against his hold, but your exhausted muscles couldn’t throw Morgan’s gentlest grip. 

“Maybe we should let her go.” Emily said.

“She needs water.” JJ countered.

“She’s disoriented.” Hotch cut in. “Let her get her bearings first, but don’t let her close her eyes.”

Gingerly, Morgan lay your body back on the grass. Your head swam, and your vision rippled as if you could see the heat waves in the California air. You tried to take a deep breath but choked.  

You sputtered. Every inhale led to a series of dry coughs. In your delirium, you thought of Spencer. Your Spencer. Where the hell was he? Did he not love you anymore?

Suddenly, Hotch loomed over you. His tall frame blocked out the brutality of the sun’s glare, which eased your headache and nausea but not your cough. His eyebrows were so deeply furrowed they formed a trench of wrinkles across his forehead. “Check her airway.” 

Suddenly, you stared into JJ’s blue eyes. Other hands tried to manipulate your body. You jerked.

“(Y/N), relax.”

“Honey, please–”

“Turn her on her side!” Morgan’s cut off by Reid, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard. 

***

Spencer Reid has survived many traumatic situations. 

He's cared for his schizophrenic mother. He’s been kidnapped. He recovered from a drug addiction. And those are just a few items from his dissertation-length “PTSD-Causing Experiences” list. 

But many of his worst traumas were a by-product of being a profiler– a job which allowed him to utilize his intellect to help others. He was willing to accrue trauma like Pokemon cards in exchange for applying his genetic gifts to create a safer world. 

Reid could have framed your heat exhaustion as another scare in the line of duty. But when Reid saw you, his brilliant girl, on the ground, his heart fell through his feet.

Then, he saw how his the team responded to your medical emergency.

When he witnessed you coughing and writhing on your back as the team leered over with water, he thought he might explode.

You could be asphyxiating, and the team could be letting you choke while forcing more fluid down your throat. 

He shivered as he sprinted down the steps of the local precinct and onto the grassy field where you lay. 

“Turn her on her side!” He yelled as diagnoses and courses of action fled through his mind on hyperspeed.

“We’re trying, she—”

“Spence?” You choked out through a coughing fit. He’s surprised his ears caught it.

Reid knelt next to you. “Let’s get you into recovery position.” He said, his voice suddenly soft as clouds. Reid gingerly pushed you onto your left side. “Off your back, there we go.” He bent your right leg and slid it in front of your body to prevent you from rolling onto your stomach if you lost consciousness. 

“Did she faint?” Reid asked the team. He couldn’t take his eyes from your face. 

“We think so. She was dizzy, so she laid on the ground. Then she was unresponsive for at least 40 seconds,” Emily said. 

Spencer pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Predictably, you were feverishly hot. “She’s burning up. Has someone called an ambulance?”

“Allegedly.” Hotch said, an edge to his voice. 

“We have, sir. They’re on their way.” A local police officer responded, exasperated.

Spencer’s eye twitched. “How long has she been down?” You whined, and he stroked your cheekbone with his thumb.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He whispered. 

“In total, 15 minutes.” Hotch supplied. “Emily, pour some more water on her.”

“This was for her to drink.”

“Use one bottle to pour on her face and neck.” Spencer said. “I ran and got Gatorade. She should start with sips of that when she can swallow. Heat stroke can also be caused by salt depletion.” 

Spencer was conversing with a local officer over the safety protocols in the area when a pair of policemen walked into the precinct, gossiping about the FBI agent who “folded fast in the southern Cali heat.”

Spencer’s jaw had clenched. Maybe one of his team members was ill since they put in most of the grunt work to catch the unsub. He would’ve been more annoyed if not for the worry gnawing at his brain. What if they were talking about (Y/N)? She looked a little shaky right after her chase with the unsub, but Spencer didn’t get a chance to ask his friend if she was alright. And, stupidly enough, he forgot to text her to check if she drank any water post-case. Quickly, Reid excused himself, grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge, and rushed to the field where your limp body trembled on the grass. 

“I’m going to pour some water on you, honey," Emily said. You flinched as the frigid water hit your hairline. 

“Breathe, relax.” Spencer said, shielding your nose. The last thing you needed was some accidental waterboarding.

Seconds after the water drenched your forehead, your whole body relaxed into the grass. “That felt good.” You smiled weakly. 

Spencer stroked your arm. “Let’s sit you up in a minute, okay? You should try some Gatorade before the EMTs get here.”

“EMTs? I’m fine.” You whined.

Spencer didn’t think it was possible for his eyebrows to crease further. 

“You’re not fine.” Gentler, he said, “and it’s okay not to be fine, sunlight.”

“But, I’m alive.” You tried to roll onto your stomach, but your bent leg kept you safe on your back.

Some on the team members chuckled, but Spencer didn’t find your delirium humorous. “I know you’re alive, sweetie. But you’re way too hot. I think you’re a little confused right now.”

“I’m just…” You winced. “I’m alive.”

The knot in Spencer’s chest tightened ten-fold. This could be heat stroke. At the very least, you had heat exhaustion. You were dehydrated. You were delirious. 

Best case scenario: you were ill for a few days. Worst case scenario: You had vital organ damage.

Just as he’s about to call 911 himself, JJ interrupted him. “Look–ambulance lights. Help is on the way, honey.”

“You hear that, (Y/N)? You’re gonna be fine.” Morgan said. If only Spencer felt that confident. 

“Spence…” You blocked your eyes from the light with your limp right hand. “I’m scared. I don’t feel well.” 

“Oh, (Y/N), I know.” He cupped your shoulder and hoped you could feel his love for you through his palm. That sent a jolt down his spine. He wasn’t supposed to comfortably think those thoughts about you.

You were sick. This wasn’t the time. He leaned over your body. He gave you plenty of breathing room, but his torso was  parallel to your hip so his eyes could meet your watering ones. “Hey, take a breath for me, Smartie.” 

Your nickname for him slipped from his tongue so easily it spooked him. Suddenly, he noticed his thumb stroking over your cotton t-shirt. He should stop. The whole team was watching. He was being was too intimate; he'd face stupid quips from Morgan for days. He kept stroking anyway.

He observed your chest rise and fall. Your breaths were shaky but deeper. He relaxed a tad. Vital oxygen was reaching your bloodstream.

“(Y/N), can we try something?” Spencer asked.

“Yes. Maybe. What is it?”

The knot in his chest loosened. You responded immediately and with more than two words; you were becoming more lucid. 

“Can you sit up and have some sips of Gatorade? I got your favorite flavor. At least, if your favorite flavor hasn’t changed from three years ago.” It most likely hadn’t. Once your opinion settled, it was frustratingly hard to erode your verdict. 

“I can’t…I don’t know.”

“I know sitting up is hard. I’ll help you. And I’ll prop you against my chest. I’ll hold your weight when you can’t.”

“KK, Spence.” Your childlike tone tugged at his heart strings.

Spencer and Morgan lifted your limp body from the ground. They manhandled you into a sitting position with your head propped on Spencer’s shoulder and your body tucked between his thighs. 

One of his arms stabilized you while the other raised a cold bottle of orange Gatorade to your lips.

After nine sips of Gatorade, you spoke again. 

“Orange.” You took another sip. "My favorite.”

He smiled into your hair. “When have I ever lied to you, (Y/N/N)?”

***

Spencer nearly created a crater in the linoleum floor of the ER waiting room with his bouncing heel by the time the doctor came back with an update. 

“She had a mild case of heat stroke. We currently have her on fluids, and she’ll need lots of rest for at least the next week.” Doctor Bahamani concluded. 

“No signs of metabolic dysfunction? Any respiratory distress?” Reid checked. 

Doctor Bahamani smiled knowingly. “She’s going to be just fine, Doctor Reid.”

“Can I see her?” Spencer asked. 

“Yes. Only two at a time, please.” 

Spencer didn’t care who volunteered with him. He moved without thinking. An outpouring of gratitude for his eidetic memory flooded him. Through the thickest brain fog, he could trust his recollection of the hospital to bring him to the correct hospital room.

The security staff practically had to drag him away from your bedside after the ambulance ride. They might have thrown him out of the ER if not for the flash of his FBI badge.

Something nagged at him as he sped past the nursing station. 

You were going to be fine. The ER doctor confirmed it. Yet his heart was still pounding and he could barely refrain from running. Even more odd, he wasn’t ashamed of his irrational behavior. 

So what if a doctor deemed you were okay? It was you. And he saw you groggier and more out of it than you'd ever been. And who knows how thorough the doctors were with their examination? It was completely reasonable to worry for one of his closest friends. 

He just couldn't believe you were alright until he checked you over with his own hands and his own eyes.

***

When you grinned at him from your cot, Spencer wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry.

Tears glazed your eyes. But, your gorgeous smile was back. 

“Spencer?” You asked, brow raised and head cocked. 

He’d been staring too long. He looked like an idiot, lamely standing in the doorway as if he were the one with heat stroke.

“Straighten your head. Your neck is probably tight.”

You smiled, but this time it was tight-lipped and painful-looking. “You’re too worried.”

He watched saline drip down your IV. “Of course I’m worried, (Y/N). You got heat stroke.” With a deep breath as a shot of courage, he sat in the chair by the head of your bed.

There was nothing odd about sitting with his best friend at the hospital. 

His chest twisted at “best friend” and his resolve collapsed. He couldn’t deny it anymore. 

He liked you. He really, really liked you. He actually might even–

“Luckily, I got out pretty unscathed.” You snapped Spencer out of his spiral. “A little dehydrated. Achy. Might feel sick for a few days.”

“Or weeks.” Spencer corrected.

“Trying to look on the bright side here, Doctor.” You smirked and Spencer swore his right ventricle tightened.

Then, your nose scrunched and Spencer's wiped clean of any concern about his cardiac health. 

“What hurts?”

“Just a little achy, Spencer. I’m alright.” 

He shot you a look. He knew all your excuses. He knew you went to self-harming lengths to not worry people. 

“You’re not alright.” He reached for the red nurse-call button. 

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Okay…my body aches, Spence. And the IV burns. But they’ve already told me that’s normal. No need to take nurses away from an emergency.”

The nurses at the station desk didn’t appear to be rushing around for anyone, but Spencer feared this wouldn’t behoove his case. 

“They can give you pain medication, if you want.”

You hesitated, and immediately Spencer pressed the button. When you smiled weakly instead of bickering, his worry grew tenfold but not without a rush of heat flooding his entire body. 

In Morgan's words, he’s down bad. 

“How are you doing, sunshine?” As if he’d been summoned, Morgan appeared in the doorway. 

Spencer stepped back from your cot. The part of him riled from Morgan’s “sunshine” moniker wants to shove his hand into yours. Spencer thought he hid his annoyance well, but something about Morgan's smirk told him otherwise.

“Um…”

Morgan’s smirk fell. “You feel that bad, huh?”

You chuckled sadly. “Do I look that shitty or am I an open book today?”

“You never look shitty,” Spencer said. A tsunami of blood rushed to his face.

“Anyway,” Morgan said, “Do you want anything, Beauty Queen? I can grab you some jello.” 

“Jello sounds nice.” You said, and something in your voice was so vulnerable and naive Spencer wanted to wrap you in his arms as tight as he could. Which was illogical. That would only hurt you further. 

He shook his head as if that would remove the thoughts from his mind. “I’m gonna see if I can check up on your labs at the nurse’s station. I’ll make sure they’re giving you the good drugs.” He smiled.

You laughed– a genuine laugh– and Spencer’s heart soared. “Thanks, Spence.”

“I’ll go grab your jello,” Morgan said.

“Hold on, you should stay with her just in case she needs anything," Spencer said.

“I’ll be fine, Spence.” You said, but Spencer was not prepared to take "no" for an answer.

“If you boys wants to run her some errands, I’ll stay.” Emily stood in the doorway. “JJ is coming soon too– she just got a phone call from a very frantic Penelope.”

Your nose crinkled. “Oh no.” You groaned, but you were smiling. 

“Oh, yes. Be prepared for some mother henning," Emily said.

“Garcia can’t be any more mother henning than Reid," Morgan said. 

Before his face could turn redder than a baboon’s bottom, Spencer fled.

He’s only two yards from the nursing station when Morgan intercepted him at the end of the hall. 

“So, you’re going to make your move, right?”

Spencer's body temperature plummeted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tried to shoulder past Morgan, but he was no match for his grip strength. “Reid, c’mon. You like (Y/N).”

Part of him wanted to laugh. “Like” seemed too simple of a word to describe the symphony of feelings (Y/N) started in him. “It’s…” He’s too tongue-tied to lie. “It’s complicated.”

You’re brilliant. You’re beautiful. You’re brimming with empathy. You’re everything Spencer could want. And it scared the shit out of him. Because that meant there’s even more to lose. And if he lost you, there would be no one to blame but himself. It was better for his psyche to not go there with you– to step back from the line rather than risk what would happen if he failed to make it work in the end. 

And what if you got hurt? What is you fell in the line of duty? Or worse, what if someone targeted you because of your romantic tie to him? Spencer's already experienced the pain of losing a soulmate-- a concept he wasn't even sure he believed in-- once. He wasn't not sure if he could survive it a second time.

There was too much unpredictability in his life. He chose a dangerous profession. He was gifted a ticking time-bomb of dangerous genes. He’d never forgive himself if he inflicted onto you the pain he’s been through; losing loved ones, whether through death or mental illness. 

Morgan's expression turned sympathetic. “Reid, you should give it a shot. Our lives our hectic. And if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”

Spencer blinked to block tears from welling. “I just want her to be happy, too.”

“And who says you don't make her happy?”

“His idiotic genius brain.” Rossi appeared from around the corner.

Spencer froze. “You heard?” His face flushed yet again.

“Just the tail end. But Reid…” He trailed off.

Morgan took the hint. “I’m going to get (Y/N) some jello. With my charm, I could negotiate for some whipped cream.” 

“Don’t get whipped cream on it. She’s lactose sensitive,” Spencer said.

Morgan's stupid smirk reappeared. “Gotcha, Reid.”

Rossi took Morgan's place. Once Morgan was out of sight, he began his speech. “You love her. Don’t get in your own way.” Rossi put his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “And (Y/N) is an incredibly intelligent woman. Don’t insult her intelligence by thinking she can’t decide who is or is not worth taking a risk. And for what it’s worth…a man like you is worth the risk.” 

Rossi left Reid staring at his back. 

For the longest time, Reid convinced himself he refrained from asking you out to protect you from himself and his hefty baggage. And that’s not completely untrue. 

But suddenly, he realized he was primarily trying to protect himself from exposing his vulnerabilities to you this whole time. There’s never been a person whose opinion affected him like yours. There's never been a life he's wanted to protect more except perhaps...Maeve.

But just like it’s up to you to decide who’s worth the risk, it’s up to him to decide as well.

And if today taught him anything, shit happens. And if you slip through his fingers, he doesn't want it to because he wasn't brave enough to make a first move.

And being your person was more than worth the risk of rejection.

Author's Note: Thank you to so much to everyone who stuck around through my hiatus! I appreciate every single one of you! You're super cool :)

Happy to be back! Inbox is open to chat about writing and take requests! Please check pinned "Blurb Requests" post before requesting! (Will update the post as my boundaries update!)

Have an awesome day or night, wherever you are in this crazy world. I am incredibly thankful you spent part of your precious life reading something I penned.

Forever grateful,

shewroteaworld

[emmg]

I don't think Bioware fully comprehends the absolute chaos it’s about to release by handing us, the unapologetic mage-bangers, Emmrich "well done, my dear" Volkarin after the emotional war crime that was the Solas romance.

It’s like they’re handing us an emotionally healthy daddy figure wrapped in a big ol’ “yes, praise me harder” bow and just expecting us to behave.

AO3? Oh, it’s about to be a bloodbath. A flood of unholy praise kink is going to rain down like mana from horny heaven. The poor voice actor? He’s got no idea what’s coming. Fans, barely coherent, will be sobbing in his DMs, pleading for him to record lines like, "darling, sweet thing, apple of my throbbing loins,” because suddenly that’s the only thing keeping them going.

And you just know the fics are gonna go there. We’re talking steamy, full-blown, knee-weakening sex scenes so detailed you’ll practically hear the slapping sounds through your screen. Every silver hair, every wrinkled brow is going to get worshipped like it’s the goddamn Holy Grail. Emmrich? He’s not just a mentor now, no—he’s the silver-fox sex wizard of everyone’s dirtiest, most depraved dreams.

Bioware, you’ve dragged us through the emotional meat grinder with Solas, and now you’re tossing us this emotionally sane and well-adapted snack with decades of good coping mechanisms? Oh, baby, the sex scenes are gonna be biblical. I’m talking hands-on-bookshelves, robes ripped off, candles flickering like we’re summoning a demon but, surprise, it’s just Emmrich praising your efforts in bed like you’re acing your dissertation. It's gonna be 'well done, my dear' while you’re doing ungodly things to that silver fox, and he’s stroking your hair like you just unlocked a new achievement.

Me? Oh, honey, I’ll be on the front lines like a horny general leading the charge into the unholy lands. November 1st? I’m not just showing up, I’m rolling in with a pre-written, fully locked-and-loaded stash of smut so scandalous, my Orthodox ancestors will not only crucify me—they’ll disown me in the afterlife. I’m gonna make them turn in their graves so hard, we’ll solve the energy crisis.

And let’s not get it twisted—I’m going to worship this thin, emotionally available mage like he’s the last goddamn spellcaster left in Thedas. I’m talking tongue tracing every single one of his ribs like I’m mapping out the delicate lines of a cathedral—except it’s not sacred, it’s blasphemous as fuck. Forget holy water; it’s gonna be sweat, and I’ll be so deep into my thirst, my own character, Rook, will be doing things that’d make even the most depraved demon of desire blush. Every sliver of his body, every wrinkle, every bone—especially the bones—is getting the Rook Treatment™.

Bioware? You better brace yourself because I’m about to publish smut so audacious, so flagrantly wanton, even the Deep Roads will seem vanilla.

We’ve suffered. And now poor Emmrich’s going to be buried alive under the weight of all that… pent-up thirst. Welcome to the show, sweet necromancer.

[mpchev]

Update on fanbinding dissertation: binding the dissertation itself!

After many days and nights of writing and wrangling footnotes and proofreading (where I couldn't convince my laptop that yes, I meant textualisation, not sexualisation), 'twas time to bind the beasts! In three copies, no less! Which I approached with way too much confidence from my one fanbind experience, and came with many fun little surprises due to the format guidelines I had to follow 🤡

This is going to be a long one, so here's my happy unfocused mug to confirm that it all ends well:

First pickle: The typesetting. I absolutely loved typesetting fanfic, but the dissertation had to be A4 (way less fun, boo-hoo), one-sided, with every page numbered. Did you know that LibreOffice won't let you add blank pages and only number the non-blank ones, without skipping numbers? In order to print signatures I could fold into one-sided pages, only numbered on the right-hand pages, I ended up switching to landscape orientation and including the equivalent of a blank page in the left margin.

Second pickle: The imposing, which I couldn't figure out using the amazing bookbinder with my weird landscape 2-page layout. I finally gave in and rearranged all the pages manually, which looked like p. 1 on the recto / p. 10 on the verso, then p2/p9, p3/p8, p4/p7, p5/p8, p6/p7. And because there was no way I was paying print-in-colour prices for all of this, I further split the manually imposed pages into two files, one for the greyscale printer (cheaper) and one for the colour printer (highway robbery). Still came up to ~£70, just for printing.

Very glad I went in chunks of 10 for the signatures, it made both the math and the folding using sheets from two different piles much easier, highly recommend (if for some absurd reason you also want to bind one-sided numbered pages in folded signatures).

Third pickle: Linear time. Had planned on having so much time to print and bind this thing, but kept writing and rewriting and proofing and oops! It was due in less than 24 hours and it was still not out of the laptop. So.

22/09/24, 6pm: Got to the library, started printing.

6.45pm: Found another printer where all the paper was the same shade of white, started printing again 🤦‍♂️ (kept the the misprints to use as scrap paper when glueing)

7.30pm: Started folding the 150 sheets of paper (3 x 100-page dissertation, 2 pages per sheet). Went from the last episode of The Magnus Protocol, to an episode of Welcome to Night Vale, to deciding restart The Magnus Archive, which felt almost poetic.

9pm: Headed back home, trimmed the edges (with a borrowed guillotine), folded the endpapers, stabbed everything. Lack of pictures to be blamed on my inability to mess with linear time, and the eventual sleep deprivation.

10.30pm, I think? Started sewing the signatures together, again with Supernatural (which I started rewatching when I submitted my first dissertation assignment in mid-May, and finished 2 days after submitting the dissertation itself, again, such poetry).

2am, probably? Tipped the endpapers and glued cheesecloth over the spines. Somehow figured out where to set the three textblocks to dry (I don't have a press). Sadly gave up on sewing on (or glueing) headbands, because time.

3am-ish: Cut the missing cover pieces out of millboard (had already cut 4 of 6 covers, since I knew it had to be A4), measured the spines of the three textblocks and cut those as well.

???am: Did some math, because sure, that's the right time for that. Cut the bookcloth to size, glued the cover pieces on the bookcloth. Remarkably only messed up the measurements on one of them! That means one of the copies has a millimetre of millboard showing in the inside corners of the back cover, but not enough time/bookcloth/millboard to redo it, onward we go!

Way past dawn: Took a break for food while the covers somewhat dried. Cased the three textblocks in the three covers, with the endpapers bubbling, which took me by surprise since it was the same paper and same glue I had used for the fanbind without any problem. I'm now thinking that bigger book = more time needed to apply the glue = endpapers getting warped, but I was so exhausted by this point that who knows. Again, no time to redo it!

9.30am: Stacked the dissertations under the heavy reference books I used to write the dissertation. Toute est dans toute hein. Went to bed while they (mostly) dried.

2.30pm: Woken up by my neighbour's dj set. Eventually put all that hard work in a tote and walked to school to hand it in at 4.30pm.

Fourth and last pickle: The titling. Couldn't find paper long enough to do a half-dust jacket like I did last time. Had big cutout plans, ran out of time and couldn't finish testing those. Also had some thicker textured paper I thought of cutting and glueing to the cover as a title card, but it turned out too thin and was warping. Finally resigned myself to submitting it with a blank cover, but one of my teachers asked if I would mind adding the title on with metallic markers to make it easier to identify (one copy will eventually be on the shelf at the Institute), and I'm SO HAPPY with how it turned out. Metallic markers. Why didn't I think of that. (I did, however, think about dressing appropriately for the occasion.)

So, is it possible to print and bind 3 books in less than 24 hours? Yes! Am I glad I did it? Also yes, very satisfying, love being extra! Would I do it again? God no, I've been sleeping for two weeks and I still haven't recovered. Can't wait to start binding something else though, so I guess it wasn't that bad.

That's it! That's over! Aaaaaah! Now waiting for the grade and comments, and hopefully soon I'll be able to share the content as well.

I'll also try to post some more about the research/writing process itself, somewhere between the late nights reading international treaties on income tax and the early mornings spent figuring out how to apply for a phd next.

Thank you so much to everyone who followed along, this was way more fun than I ever could have hoped!

[cyberwareheart]

I'm collecting data for my dissertation! So, I'm working on a project about dying platforms, which Tumblr may or may not be (and all thoughts on the matter are welcome). If anyone wants to spend an hour talking about how they've used tumblr over the years, how it's changed, and how they feel about it, I really want to hear from you! If you're a longtime user, if you've left and come back, if you know anyone who left and didn't come back and want to refer them to this post, please let me know.

for a little more about me in case anyone wants to know, my name is Andrea, I've been on tumblr since 2010 on my main blog (this one I just use for saving posts for research and doxxing myself), and I'm a PhD student at the University of Michigan doing an IRB-approved study that will, god willing, let me graduate

[reidmarieprentiss]

Bridges to Belonging

Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

Summary: Y/n needed a new gig to bring in a little extra cash while she finished her PhD research at the hospital. The Hotchners are looking for a nanny for their infant son, Jack.

Spencer is not in this part, just introducing Y/n to the team!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: Backstory

Warnings/Includes: none!

Word count: 1.3k

a/n: hi!! i am so back in my spencer reid shit it is insane. here goes me writing a self indulgent fanfic because i can't get this idea out of my head. let me know what you think!!

main masterlist

Washington, D.C. - Spring 2005

The small conference room at the hospital was dimly lit, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Y/n L/n sat at the long table, reviewing her notes for her dissertation on child psychology. The hospital had been her second home for the past few years, a place where she could immerse herself in her research while pursuing her passion for helping children. 

As she packed up her things, her phone buzzed with a text message from a friend, forwarding a job listing. 

*Nanny needed for newborn. Reliable, experienced, and patient. Contact Haley Hotchner at [xxx-xxx-xxxx].*

Y/n considered the opportunity, her mind calculating the benefits of having some extra income while she completed her PhD. Besides, she loved working with children. After a moment’s thought, she dialed the number.

“Hello, this is Haley Hotchner,” a warm voice answered.

“Hi, Haley, my name is Y/n L/n. I’m calling about the nanny position. I’m currently finishing my PhD in psychology and have experience working with children,” Y/n explained, her voice steady but hopeful.

“Wonderful! We’re looking for someone who can become part of our family, especially with Aaron’s demanding job. Can we meet for an interview?” Haley asked, her tone inviting and sincere.

“Of course, I’d love to,” Y/n replied, feeling a flutter of excitement at the prospect.

---

Y/n arrived at the Hotchner residence a week later, it was a quaint home in a quiet neighborhood. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door, smoothing her hair as she waited. The door opened to reveal a smiling Haley Hotchner, holding a sleeping baby in her arms.

“You must be Y/n! Come in, please,” Haley greeted her warmly.

As Y/n stepped inside, she felt an immediate sense of comfort and belonging. The home was cozy, filled with family photos and the soft scent of baby powder. 

Haley led Y/n to the living room, where Aaron Hotchner sat, looking relaxed in casual clothes, a stark contrast to his usual suits. He stood to shake her hand, his demeanor polite and welcoming.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n,” Aaron said, his handshake firm but friendly. “Haley has told me good things about you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hotchner. It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Y/n replied, smiling as she sat down.

“Please, call me Aaron,” he insisted, exchanging a glance with Haley.

The interview was less formal than Y/n had anticipated. Aaron and Haley asked her about her studies, her experience with children, and her aspirations. She, in turn, learned about their lives, Aaron’s work with the FBI, and their hopes for raising Jack in a loving environment.

“We’re really looking for someone who can be a part of Jack’s life as he grows,” Haley explained, gently rocking Jack in her arms. “Someone we can trust.”

Y/n nodded, feeling a connection with the couple. “I’d love to be that person. Working with children is my passion, and I think I could learn a lot from Jack, too.”

Aaron smiled, looking at Haley before turning back to Y/n. “We’d like to offer you the position, Y/n. If you will take it, we want to welcome you to the family.”

Y/n beamed, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Thank you, Aaron, Haley. I promise to do my best for Jack and your family.”

---

Over the next two years, Y/n became an integral part of the Hotchner household. She cared for Jack with a dedication that went beyond her job description, forming a bond with the infant that was almost maternal. She found herself spending evenings with Haley, talking about life, love, and dreams. Aaron, despite his demanding job, always made time to catch up with Y/n, appreciating her insight into Jack’s development and her ability to connect with people. As Jack neared his second birthday, Y/n knew her time as his nanny was coming to an end. He was ready to start preschool, and she had secured a position at the hospital as a child psychologist. Yet, leaving the Hotchners felt like leaving a part of her own family. 

On her last day as Jack’s nanny, Y/n sat in the backyard with Haley, watching Jack play in the autumn leaves.

“We’re going to miss you, Y/n,” Haley said, her voice tinged with sadness. “You’re like a sister to us.”

Y/n smiled, touched by Haley’s words. “I’m going to miss you all too. You’ve been my family here.”

Haley nodded, tears in her eyes. “Promise you’ll visit? Jack will need his Aunt Y/n around.”

“Always,” Y/n promised, her heart full. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

---

Life moved on, but Y/n never lost touch with the Hotchners. She visited often, spending time with Jack as he grew into a lively toddler. Her work at the hospital kept her busy, but she cherished the moments she could steal away to see them.

One evening, as she was leaving the hospital, her phone buzzed with a text from Aaron.

We’re going out for drinks to celebrate a closed case. Care to join us?

Y/n smiled at the invitation, feeling a warmth at the thought of seeing Aaron and meeting his team. She quickly replied.

I’d love to! Where should I meet you?

---

Y/n walked into the bar, scanning the room for a familiar face. She spotted Aaron standing with a group of people, all engaged in animated conversation. 

As she approached, Aaron waved her over, a rare smile on his usually serious face.

“Y/n! Glad you could make it,” Aaron greeted, introducing her to the team. “Everyone, this is Y/n L/n. She used to be Jack’s nanny and is basically family.”

Y/n smiled and waved, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “Hi, everyone! It’s great to meet you all.”

Penelope Garcia, the team’s tech-savvy and flamboyant analyst, immediately stepped forward, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Oh my gosh, I love your outfit! Finally, someone who appreciates the art of pink as much as I do!”

Y/n laughed, relieved by Penelope’s enthusiasm and excited to have her brand new top appreciated. “Thank you! I knew I’d find a kindred spirit.”

Jennifer “JJ” Jareau, the team’s communications liaison, offered a warm handshake. “Aaron’s told us a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet the woman who kept him sane during those early days.”

“Glad to be here,” Y/n replied, feeling welcomed.

Emily Prentiss, with her confident and approachable demeanor, chimed in. “So, you survived being a Hotchner family member? You deserve a medal.”

Y/n grinned, appreciating the camaraderie. “It wasn’t so bad. I’m just glad I didn’t have to deal with any of Aaron’s work stress.”

Derek Morgan, the charming and confident agent, leaned back with a smirk. “If you ever want to switch from psychology to profiling, we could use someone with your skills.”

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll leave the profiling to you guys. I’m happy helping kids find their way.”

David Rossi, the seasoned agent with a love for fine wine and stories, raised his glass in a toast. “To new friends and old family.”

Y/n joined in the toast, feeling a sense of belonging with this eclectic group. As the night wore on, she found herself bonding with each team member, sharing stories and laughter. They talked about everything from childhood dreams to favorite music, forming connections that would last beyond this night.

As the evening wound down, Derek leaned over with a grin. “You’ll have to meet our boy wonder next time. Spencer’s a little shy, but I have a feeling you two would get along.”

Y/n nodded, intrigued by the prospect of another lively team member to add to her seemingly growing list of friends. “I’d like that. I’ve heard a lot about him.”

Emily chimed in, a playful glint in her eyes. “Spencer’s one of a kind. You’ll see what we mean.”