#Montessori From The Start

[lesbian-gnf-archive]

Man public school is fucking awful why do they put kids through that

[miley1442111]

Hi! I don’t know if you were already planning this but I was wondering if I could request a part 2 of your new fic ‘Regrets’? Maybe like a few years later they see each other again? You can decide if it’s a happy or sad ending, I love your work!

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regrets, part 2- s.reid

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a/n: thank you so much for requesting, i think this is becomign a series !!! (aka it's got it's own google doc, yay!)

summary: 5 years after you and spencer call of the engagement, he's back in your life. For a case. obviously.

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

warnings: fighting, brief spencer in prison mentions (nothing about the storyline though dw), set a few years after so ik he's 'no in the bau' but just go with it please.

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You didn’t see him. For 5 long years in your new town of Colorado. You became a nanny for a wonderful family, you were paid well, and you were happy. That was until one fateful day. 

When Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareou, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia, and Luke Alves, showed up at the doorstep of the O’Connor family mansion. 

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Knock knock knock

“One second!” you shouted, juggling Annaleise, the youngest of the O’Connor children, in your arms as you tried to peel a banana for Xander’s, the second youngest, breakfast. “Xander, stop playing with your porridge, eat it!” You playfully scolded, resulting in a laughing fit from Xander, and the surrounding four children. 

Annaleise was 2, Xander was 3, Jamie was 6, Poppy was 9, Juliet was 14, and Megan was 16. All the kids adored you, you lived with them as their parents went on various business, and pleasure trips. They were typical rich parents who didn’t exactly care about their children, but you did. You cared about them alot and you’d grown to love taking care of them.

“Coming!” You shouted as you bounced Annaleise in your arms and rushed to the front door.

You wished you hadn’t opened it. Then, the world wouldn’t have stood still. Then, you wouldn’t have seen Spencer. You wouldn’t have seen the awful dark rings under his eyes, his sunken and pale skin, the shock in his eyes when you came to the door with a child. “Hello?” 

“Mrs. O’Connor-” David started. 

“I’m not Mrs. O’Connor. She’s on a business trip with Mr. O’Connor,” you explained quickly. Had you not been making eye-contact with David, you would’ve seen how Spencer’s entire body untensed. The small breath of air he didn’t realise he’d been holding left his mouth in a spluttering cough of sorts and Jj had to slap him on the back to stop him from choking on his own spit. 

“My apologies, Y/n how are you?” David had always been kind to you. 

“Fine, I’m good David. Thank you,” you smiled. “I’m the nanny.”

“Do you mind if we come in to ask you some questions?” he asked, flipping over his FBI badge. 

“I wouldn’t mind if you came in but everyone is getting ready for school and this isn’t really an ideal time. Would you like to come back later?” You asked and Emily nodded. 

“That’d be perfect,” she smiled. “It’s good to see you Y/n.”

“You too,” you smiled and went back inside, 5 sets of eyes on you. 

“Who was that?” Megan practically screamed. 

“Old friends,” you lied, rushing back to get everyone’s breakfast plates away, and Annaleise in his chair.

5 voices were speaking over each other, aided by Annaleise’s incoherent babbling and you genuinely had to shout over all of them. 

“Get in the car!” You shouted. “We’re going to be late!” You reminded them. Soon, everyone was springing into action, grabbing their bags and packed lunches, and piling into the car, Megan and Juliet getting into Megan’s car to drive to their high school. You dropped Xander to his Montessori first, then Jamie and Poppy to their grade school. 

All was calm in the car as Annaleise babbled to you from the backseat. 

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“I can’t tell you anything,” you answered., “I signed an NDA.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed and he sighed. “This is a murder case Ms.-”

“And I will go to prison if I break my NDA. I'm sorry and I really wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

“Y/n, we can get a warrant,” Jj reminded you.

“Jj, I know that. I’d honestly prefer if you did,” you sighed. “What’s this about anyways?”

“Human trafficking,” David answered and you sighed. “When will Mr and Mrs. O'Connor be back from their trip?”

“3 weeks time,” you answered. 

There was a collective eye roll from the entire group. 

“Alright, Spencer stay here with Y/n while we get a warrant to search the house,” Emily ordered and both your faces fell. 

“Emily-” He tried but she gave him a look. One that made you feel that there was no room for arguing. 

“Right,” you stared at the ground, trying to find your footing in this new dynamic. “Hi Spencer.”

“Hi,” he squeaked out.

You sat in silence in the kitchen as Analeise slept in her bassinet in the next room. “Do you want a drink or anything?” You offered. 

“Just some water, please,” he smiled softly. You grabbed a cup out of the drawer and handed him a full glass of water. For the brief split-second where you two were touching, everything felt… different. “How are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m… I’m alright, yeah,” he clearly lied. 

“How’s your mom?” 

“She’s good,” he chuckled. “She misses you.”

You smiled. “Well, you can always tell her that I miss her too.”

Spencer chuckled sadly at your words and nodded. “I will.”

“I like your hair,” you smiled. “It suits you.” 

Spencer hadn't looked in a mirror in what… three weeks? He usually refused to. “Thank you,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Y-you look good too.”

“Thank you,” you nodded. 

“I should’ve never snapped at you like that,” he shook his head, trying to keep the multitude of emotions that were threatening to spill over at bay. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. We’re both happy now,” you shrugged. "It was a long time ago-"

“I’m not,” he admitted. “Everyday, I spend my waking moments just thinking about you. Where you went, what you were doing, everything! Anything. And now you’re here in front of me. And I don't know what to do.”

“What do you mean Spencer?” you asked, suddenly the air was turning sour, just like your opinion of him. “You broke up with me.”

“And I wish I hadn’t-”

“But you did Spencer. You did. And I moved to another state to get away from it. And now you’re here, saying all this shit about ‘us’. As if there is an ‘us’ anymore,” you scoffed. “That’s a joke Spencer.”

He nodded, his eyes falling to stare at his dirty, broken converse. You’d gotten him a pair just like these. A red pair, to match the red scarf you’d made him. For his birthday, back when you were just the cool girl he had a huge crush on. Back before you were his. Back before he ruined it all. 

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“Happy birthday Spencer,” you smiled from your spot on his living room couch. He had been shocked that you’d even shown up, let alone brought him a present for his 25th birthday. “Open it!”

He did. And what he would find inside was a hand-written note (one that he’d treasure forever, with the rest of the notes you’d give him while you were together), a pair of red converse in his size, and a crocheted, chunky scarf that looked warm and comfortable. 

“I know you usually match something in your outfit, so I thought this would be good,” you smiled. “But there’s a gift receipt for the shoes if you don’t like them. The scarf is for keeps though.”

Both of them were for keeps. You were for keeps. 

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“If you’d just excuse me for a moment-” he started, trying to get up but you just pulled him into a hug.

“But I’d really like to be friends,” you whispered. “I miss all of you. But you most of all.” 

His hands felt into their rightful place, around your waist as you held him close. “I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, marvel, top gun, challengers, the bear, the hunger games, obx+)

[dwellordream]

A Guide to Writing Children and Young Teens

Most of this information is derived from the book Yardsticks by Chip Wood, an informational text aimed at educators and parents who are curious as to how children change developmentally from age to age. The book is not just based on the author's observations and experiences as a teacher but on the work of scholars such as Arnold Gesell, Dorothy H. Cohen, William Crain, Maria Montessori, Jean Piaget, Robert Pianta, Caroline Pratt, and many others. Writing Four-Year-Olds:

"Four-year olds are flexible, exciting, and creative creatures who love to exaggerate and engage in imaginative play. A four-year-old's tall tale about an adventure she had with an imaginary friend may puzzle a parent or teacher but delight the four-year-old. And this play is critical for the development of fours' understanding of right and wrong, early application of social rules, and manners. They sometimes can seem especially "bossy" (particularly with their real and imaginary friends), but this assertiveness is positive rehearsal for learning acceptable limits and how to be a real friend and helper." (Wood 2017)

Traits:

Have trouble with reading and writing, as well as most close-up visual activities

Awkward with writing utensils, handcrafts, and small movements

Clumsy; collisions and spills are common

Friendly and talkative; will work near but not with a buddy

Love dress-up games and acting out drama

Enjoy 'potty language' and repeating curse words

Love to be given 'jobs' such as setting the table or folding clothes

Are often fearful at night-time

Writing Five-Year-Olds:

"Five-year-olds take in the world through their senses. They see, smell, touch, hear, and taste just about everything--one thing after another, but only one thing at a time. Their intense focus on detail enables them to see not just the butterfly but the pattern on its wings, its proboscis uncurling into a flower, its antennae waving delicately. Fives can give sustained attention to anything that fascinates them." (Wood 2017)

Traits:

Find it hard to space letters and numbers while writing

Better control when running and jumping than 4 year olds

Often fall or slip out of chairs

Interpret words in the most literal/basic sense

Like to explain things to peers and adults in the most detail possible

Struggle to see accept there is more than one way to play a game or complete a task

May actually believe toys or other objects are alive

Can become stuck in repetitive behavior out of fear of trying new things and failing (such as drawing the same images again and again)

Seek adult approval more than 6 year olds

Writing Six-Year-Olds:

"At six, children's capacity for logical thought begins to blossom. As in Piaget's classic experiment, a six-year-old will tell you that two equal balls of clay remain equal in volume even when one is rolled out into a snake shape. Sixes also begin to grasp cause and effect in the natural world, understanding, for example, that it's the wind that makes the trees move, not vice versa." (Wood, 2017)

Traits:

May experience more frequent illness than earlier years

Are easily upset when criticized by adults or peers

Often in a hurry and sloppy because of it

Teething as they start to lose baby teeth; chew on fingernails, hair, pencils, etc

Start to value competition

Begin to experience anxiety to perform well

Often bossy and critical towards friends

Begin to care intensely about having a 'best' friend

Can understand past and present as a concept and identify historical markers such as year/date

Comfortable working/playing in noisy, busy environments

Writing Seven-Year-Olds:

"Seven-year-olds are serious children who see and feel with a thoughtful intensity. After the outwardly expressive exuberance of six, sevens turn inward to consolidate the enormous cognitive and emotional growth they've just experienced. They become quieter and more sensitive, self-conscious, and self-absorbed as they figure out how to manage new feelings and cognitive structures. Seven is a year of moving forward cautiously, of craving security and structure while avoiding risk and uncertainty." (Wood, 2017)

Traits:

Crave stability and predictability; like knowing their schedule

Become more perfectionist than earlier years and begin to worry about schoolwork for the first time

Usually have a 'best' friend but who that is varies wildly day by day

Love being read aloud to, especially longer books with chapters

Moodier than 6 and 5 year olds

Enjoy being in confined spaces/hiding during games

Start to develop more coordination in sports

Often begin to write far smaller/neater than in prior years

Typically want to keep their personal items neat and tidy

Love secret codes such as Morse code and Pig Latin

Mistakes in schoolwork seriously disturb them

Love to classify and sort things

Begin to enjoy board games and online games

Can memorize poems, songs, and chants easily

Writing Eight-Year-Olds:

"Eight-year-olds wake up in the morning with plans for adventure percolating before their feet hit the floor. To be eight is to be inventive and creative, full of energy, curiosity, and imagination, always in a hurry to try the next new thing--or to create the next new thing themselves. With a friend, or better yet, a group of friends, eights roll along with plans for a parade or a play, thrilled with their truly wonderful ideas for the "what" and blithely unconcerned with the "how"." (Wood, 2017)

Traits:

Develop a love for jokes and sense of humor becomes more refined

Start to care deeply about morality and fairness

Growth spurts can lead to physical clumsiness

Adjust well to change and bounce back faster than 7 year olds

Start to desire the approval of their peers as much as the approval of adults

Begin to form larger friendship groups or cliques

Very talkative and tend to exaggerate about their experiences

Become more ambitious in terms of schoolwork or personal creative projects

Writing Nine-Year-Olds:

"Fairness begins to matter a great deal as nines take on the cognitive task of understanding ethical behavior at a new level. They're concerned about global justice: Why are some people poor? Why are we allowing climate change to happen? Why are some people cruel to animals? Nines show concern about fairness on the local level, too, and often feel singled out for unfair treatment by a teacher, parent, or coach. Their complaints--signs of their increasing understanding of and sensitivity to how the world works--can also be a way for nines to express their growing sense of peer importance and group solidarity." (Wood, 2017)

Traits:

Often eager to try new styles of dress or appearance, such as haircuts or different clothes

May begin to bite nails, twist at hair, make odd expressions to deal with tension or discomfort

Have a general sense of popularity and want to avoid associating with 'unpopular' children

Enjoy negotiating and arguing with adults

Can revert to 'baby talk' when they feel nervous or silly

Begin to appreciate inappropriate/'edgy' jokes, will mimic online trends/memes, especially sexual/racial/body humor

Desire to use social media to express themselves

Start to lose interest in imaginative play; more focused on facts/how things work

Want explanations as to why they have to do homework or chores from adults

Writing Ten-Year-Olds:

"Happy and easygoing tens generally look up to and admire their teachers and parents and take real pleasure in both family outings and teacher-led activities. They enjoy their classmates, too, and can engage productively in collaborative, project-based learning. Because of their relative calmness and instinct for getting along with others, ten-year-olds do well in a variety of group configurations, including mixed-age groups: They can often help elevens and even twelves in cooperative pursuits." (Wood, 2017)

Traits:

Often enjoy reading more than younger years

Ready to start using tools such as compasses, protractors, rulers, and templates

May be hotheaded, but are also quicker to forgive than older children

Are more sensitive and empathetic towards friends than 8 or 9 year olds

Generally like being able to lead/guide younger children

Can concentrate for longer periods of time than younger years

Usually eager to learn new things

Start to enjoy word problems and riddles

Writing Eleven-Year-Olds:

"Elevens are, in a sense, electrified. As adolescence begins, cognitive structures in the brain are rewiring themselves at the same amazing speed at which the body is beginning to transform. Relationships with peers and adults are turning topsy-turvy. At home and in school, academically and socially, eleven-year-olds are busy engaging whole new worlds with a sense of outward boldness, yet inward tentativeness. Their lives crackle with the energy of change as they begin to establish a sense of physical and emotional identity." (Wood, 2017)

Traits:

Stay up late compared to younger children and have more trouble rousing in the morning

Often act out more at home compared to in school

Huge appetites and sleep for longer when given the chance

Often blurt out rude comments without thinking

Cis girls typically have an earlier growth spurt than cis boys

Can become very indecisive and fearful of making mistakes

Like to challenge teachers and parents over rules

Can debate without it becoming personal

Imitate more sophisticated adult language

Begin to focus on what they want to do as adults

Writing Twelve-Year-Olds:

"Along with intense enjoyment of their peers, twelve generally enjoy talking with adults outside the home and can do so with friendliness and a sense of confidence. Yet, twelves can also be unpredictable and hard to read. One day, they fervently want to do schoolwork as part of a group; the next day, they just as fervently want to work alone. They often say "That's not what I meant!" when a teacher misreads their seemingly rude tone or comment. At home, moody, introverted, childish behavior or one-word responses reflect their need to rest and regroup in a safe environment." (Wood, 2017)

Traits:

Want parents and teachers to take them and their ideas seriously

More open to making new friendships than 11 year olds

Often struggle to follow through with practicing a sport or instrument in their free time

Want to help peers with schoolwork

Can appreciate complex moral issues

May begin to discover a subject or talent they excel at

Better able to switch between playful and serious than younger children

Love testing out new slang and pop culture references

Want to make their own money

Writing Thirteen Year-Olds:

"Thirteen is an age of dramatic contrasts. Because thirteen-year-olds commonly slip backward developmentally as well as move forward, they may seem like younger twelve-year-olds one day and more mature than they really are the next. They want adults to notice, listen, and talk to them but also to leave them alone. They're engaged one minute and bored the next, suddenly confident and just as suddenly unsure, alternately outgoing and withdrawn, brooding alone and then shrieking and shouting with friends." (Wood, 2017)

Traits:

May struggle with hygiene and/or acne

Most cis girls have begun menstruating by now

Extremely skilled at mimicking peer behavior

Often mean as a defensive strategy when worried about being ignored or left out

Far more adept at sarcasm than younger children

Can become very quiet and secretive compared to their younger selves

More judgmental of teachers than younger students, will gossip about adults

Interested in global justice issues but struggle with empathy in daily life

Can vary between reserved, stoic behavior and unusual aggression when asked questions by adults

Become messier with their personal belongings

Writing Fourteen-Year-Olds:

"To fourteen-year-olds, the question "Who am I?" seems best answered in terms of "Who are we?" The way that others see these students seems to matter more to them than how they see themselves. Fourteens are moving steadily toward peers and away from parents and teachers as the central figures in their lives. They bond in small social groups, travel street and school together, and pour enormous physical, emotional, and cognitive energy into developing an adolescent subculture." (Wood, 2017)

Traits:

Often embarrassed by the adults in their lives and become very critical of parents

View school as primarily a social experience, don't want to miss out on seeing friends everyday

A small minority will become sexually active

Typically very interested in current events and politics

Will say "I'm bored" when confused, or pretend challenging schoolwork is easy to save face

Love to correct adults and peers on information; hate being lectured

Very expressive faces and body language, can seem contemptuous for no reason

Often become interested in researching various subjects

More willing to admit an error than 12 or 11 year olds; redoing work is not as daunting

Able to joke around with adults

Enjoy mysteries and 'unknown' areas of science/math/history

[ak319]

Dark Arthur Morgan x sis reader

(!!WARNINGS: Abuse, misogyny , possessiveness, restrictions.)

//Arthur is in his 20's here//

"And what about this question, ma'am?" you asked, leaning over Mrs. Anne, your teacher. She ran a small homeschool for girls and Montessori for kids with some of the little kids being your friends' siblings. It was such a cozy, safe environment for studying. Classes started in the afternoon, around 4:30 p.m., and went on until the evening, usually wrapping up by 7 or 8.

You lived in Strawberry with your dad, Lyle, and your older brother, Arthur Morgan. Your dad had changed a lot after your mother's death, becoming an alcoholic and often disappearing for days. Arthur, on the other hand--he was your shield, making you feel both protected and suffocated at the same time. Since your father was usually too lost in his own world or away from home, he didn’t bother you much, only occasionally checking in as if to remind you he was still your father. Meh.

But Arthur--he took his role far too seriously. In fact, he thought he should take on both his and your father’s duties. That’s why you had to ask--or rather, beg--him to let you attend Mrs. Anne's classes when you first heard about them from Isla, your friend who had shown you the poster.

Strawberry wasn’t that big of a town, and after verifying everything about Mrs. Anne, Arthur finally agreed--thankfully. But only on the condition that he would pick you up and drop you off himself. He used to be caring, but not like this. Your mother’s death had changed the two men in the house in completely opposite ways. One stopped caring altogether, while the other became overbearing. And you were just trying to survive, making the best of it.

The urge to run away with your friends felt all too real sometimes. But then you’d think what would Arthur might do if he ever found you? That’s where all your plans would fall apart. You had also learned, through Arthur, that neither he nor your father were earning their money honestly. He tried to keep it from you at first, but eventually told you when you were old enough. You had your suspicions anyway--his words were just confirmation.

Today was like any other day. Arthur had dropped you off outside Mrs. Anne's house as usual. But by 7:30, the weather took a sudden turn--it started raining heavily out of nowhere. It had been a bit windy earlier, but there was no sign of rain. Yet here it was, pouring down. Time passed, and it was now 8:10 p.m., but your idiot of a brother still hadn't shown up to pick you up. You were feeling awkward staying at your teacher's home, despite Mrs. Anne and her husband being the sweetest people. You’d already had two cups of hot chocolate with your friend, Isla, and didn’t want to impose any further.

"(Y/N), he might not come with this heavy rain. We could walk to your house together--it’s not that far," Isla suggested, whispering. It was just the two of us left, as most of the girls had gone home earlier. You both had work to finish, but even if you’d finished sooner, you couldn’t leave without Arthur. Going home without him wasn’t the first option.

"But what if he comes here after we leave?"

Isla groaned. "Mrs. Anne will tell him that we headed to your place. Look at me--my house is even further than yours, what the hell would I do-- oh my God! I can just stay at yours tonight! I already told my mother that if it rains, I might stay over at yours. Let’s just go!."

She had a point. Maybe Arthur was out doing--well, you didn’t even want to think about it. After taking leave from Mrs. Anne, the two of you dashed to your house with the umbrellas she had given you.

Once you reached the small, humble abode, you both headed to your room with the food you had prepared earlier, settling in to chat and relax while enjoying the soothing sound of the rain.

"Where are your dad and brother?" Isla asked.

You shrugged. "I mean--Dad being absent is normal, but Arthur is usually home by now. I’m kind of worried."

"Seriously, (Y/N)? I’d be happy to have the house to myself for a change. Not to mention, some space. He’s--kind of scary, isn’t he?"

"Scary? Well, yeah, sometimes. But trust me, he’s nice and caring. More than Dad could ever be. It does get a bit too much at times, though."

"Mhm. And it’s kind of messed up, isn’t it? The work they do. Both of them." Isla was the only friend you’d confided in about your family, and that was only because she had once seen Arthur with Dutch, a shady con man who often visited Strawberry or rather his boss. You hated Dutch despite never meeting him. He's the reason your brother is now on the same path as your dad.

"What can I do about it? I’ve tried talking to him, but he always shuts me out--" Your eyes caught a glimpse of a paper sticking out of the side pocket of your bag. "Wait, what’s that?"

You pulled out the paper, and both you and Isla began reading it. It was some kind of confession addressed to Mavis, another girl in your class. You couldn’t figure out who wrote it or why it was in your bag. The writer had only signed with an initial: A.

"Oh! Wait, wait, wait! It must be Amell. I saw him whispering to a kid outside from the window. He must be the one who gave this to him to put in Mavis’s bag."

"Amell who? And how did this end up in my bag?" you asked, confusion evident on your face as you looked back at the note.

Isla leaned back against the headboard, stretching her limbs with a relaxed sigh. "Amell is Mrs. Anne’s son. I’ve seen him talking to Mavis before. You and Mavis were sitting together today, and you both have the same colored bags. The kid must’ve gotten confused."

“Is the kid we’re talking about, Anders? He’s so dumb,” you said, shaking your head with a soft chuckle. “Anyway, don’t let me forget to hand this to Mavis tomorrow.”

Suddenly, the door to your room burst open, and Arthur stormed in.

Your eyebrows furrowed at his sudden intrusion. "Um... hi?" you said, your tone a mix of surprise and uncertainty.

Isla straightened up, her eyes quickly avoiding Arthur’s gaze, as she gave a hesitant but polite greeting as well.

"How did you get home?" Arthur's voice was cold, cutting through the room.

"Isla and I came together. Where were you, though?" you asked, trying to keep your tone casual despite the tension.

Arthur’s gaze shifted to Isla. "Isla, the rain has stopped. You should go home. Your family must be waiting."

Isla looked at you, confusion clear on her face. "She’s staying becau-"

"Not today," Arthur interrupted firmly.

"Why not? Are you going to tell me where you were?" you shot back, frustration creeping into your voice.

"Y/N, I--I’ll see you tomorrow."

You let Isla leave, your irritation with Arthur growing. You wanted to talk openly without making Isla uncomfortable in the middle of the family drama. As you moved to escort her to the front door, Arthur abruptly blocked your path. "Stay here," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

You sighed and sank back onto the bed, shoving the letter--which was still in your hand--back into your bag. Arthur stormed back in and slammed the door a bit too hard.

"What’s gotten into you?" you asked, trying to keep your voice calm despite the frustration bubbling up inside.

Arthur’s eyes were cold, his jaw set. "What did I tell you about coming home alone?" His irritation was palpable, fixated on the condition he had imposed.

"Well, what was I supposed to do, stay there? It’s 9 p.m.! Where were you?" Your words seemed to only fuel his anger, rather than penetrate his stubbornness.

Arthur’s gaze hardened. "I’ve noticed your tone changing recently, ever since you started going there. What exactly are they teaching you at that place, huh?"

"Basic knowledge. Like not overstaying your welcome at someone’s house when you can walk home," you retorted, trying to keep your tone steady despite your rising frustration.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed further as he took a few steps closer. "Is that so?" His voice was low, dangerously calm. "Well, our dear father got arrested, so I was at the sheriff's. And as for ‘basic knowledge,’" he said, grabbing your bag and dumping its contents onto the floor.

"HEY! My books!!" you exclaimed, a mix of shock and anger in your voice.

"Mhm, what might this be?" Arthur’s attention was fixed on the letter he had seen earlier. He picked it up and read it, his expression darkening as his suspicions were confirmed. "A confession, hmm? An A? This is what you two were gigglin' about earlier?" he murmured, crumpling the letter in his fist, his gaze still locked on it. You gritted your teeth, trying to keep your composure.

"A for… Amell, her son, right?" Arthur’s tone was icy, his eyes boring into you as he processed the revelation.

"What even--- That wasn’t for me! It was for Mavis! Have you forgotten to read?!" you protested, trying to defend yourself. He scoffed at your reply, eyes twinkling with amusement. "So Mavis is your codename?"

"Are you serious?"

Arthur’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did he drop you both home, or just you alone? Huh?" His fists clenched tightly, and you could see the anger boiling beneath his calm exterior. Arthur's boots struck the floor with a deliberate, menacing rhythm.

"What are you on about, Arthur? You know that’s not true! A kid put it in my bag. Look, it’s not mine. You can ask Isla."

Arthur’s gaze hardened even further. "Why should I ask her? Hm? She’s your partner in crime, isn’t she? And it’s not like you’re going to see her again."

"W-what? What does that mean?!" you stammered, panic rising in your voice. But nothing could have prepared you for the next moment. Your hands were now on his as he gripped your jaw, your body instinctively going stiff, the fear evident in your eyes. This was the first time he had raised his hands to you in such a threatening manner.

"Yes, no more Isla and no more of that whorehouse you go to. You’ve studied enough. I’ve been too lenient with you." A pained whimper escaped your lips as his gloved fingers dug into your jaw.

"N-no-don’t do that! Why are you not believing me, Arthur?!" you pleaded, your voice breaking. He shoved you by your jaw, sending you crashing to the floor. Your head narrowly missed hitting the bed’s edge.

"If you utter one more word or try to set a foot outside until I say so, especially to that school of yours, I WILL BREAK YOUR FUCKING LEGS!"

His heavy breathing was the only sound you could hear as you stared at the floor, your vision blurred by tears and chest tight with fear and anxiety. He can easily break you in two if he wants to right now, even Isla's gone. "I am here, working these jobs to keep a roof over your head while that fool has clearly given up, and you’re here, frolicking with your lovers! Learning to write fucking love letters." He stood over you, his anger uncontrollable, and grabbed you by your hair, forcing you to lift your head slightly.

"You’ve enjoyed yourself enough. Now stay at the fucking house and make it a home, like Mother did, like you are supposed to do. And I’m dead serious when I say you don’t want me seeing you going near that house or interacting with those little friends of yours, got it? Because I have eyes and ears everywhere." His words were a chilling threat, leaving you too stunned to fully grasp their meaning.

"DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?!" he demanded, his voice thunderous. He yanked your hair with a brutal force, his actions cold and devoid of the care he once showed you. This was the same brother who used to be so kind, now revealing his true, harsh colors over a simple misunderstanding.

"K-kay," you managed to choke out, nodding with tears streaming down your face. He released you with a rough shove.

"Get up and heat the food. I’m going to freshen up." And just like that, he left, leaving you alone in the oppressive silence. Your books lay scattered around you, their presence a painful reminder of a future now out of reach, as you were left enveloped in a cloud of despair.

[aglimmeroflightrefusingtofade]

☆ Will because WE NEED HAPPY WILL IN OUR LIVES!

WE DO! Buckle up!

When Will laughs really hard, his face turns red, and when he smiles super wide, he gets dimples. Mike loves both, and both end up with him grabbing Will's face and peppering it with kisses.

Will constantly wears a ton of bracelets - some gifts from Mike, others friendship bracelets, one's just rainbow - and he loves them all. He wears hairties on his left wrist, too, because he likes giving them away to his long-haired friends (and sister).

Will and Max are both disabled, and they hang out a lot. Their service dogs like to play with each other, and they frequently go to Will's favorite flower shop, their favorite coffee shop, the park, the mall, etc. Will tells Max what's going on around her (especially what stupid thing Mike's doing so she can properly make fun of him) and she holds his arm and lets him lead them around places, and she signs what she hears at Will when he takes out his hearing aids. She taught him to skateboard, and he learned a style of 3D painting so he could give her art. He also drew her D&D character in this style and made a Braille character sheet. (She cried.)

Will and Hopper get along great. They hang out regularly, Hopper attends the parent function thingamabobs, and they become close. They even come up with a scheme to sneak in a stray kitten and hide it from Joyce at one point - it lasts for less than an hour, but Joyce lets them keep the cat, so they're still happy. El names him Whiskers. Their real bonding moment came with music - Hopper was blasting Steely Dan, and Will came in and made him listen to Fleetwood Mqc, Queen, The Clash, and The Cure.

Mike joins a band, and he and Eddie cajole Will into learning an instrument. Will ends up trying bass and he fucking loves it. Eddie says he's a natural - it's in no small part because Will takes out his hearing aids when he's playing, and he just feels the vibrations of the notes and can tell what note it is just by vibration. He loves it, because music can sound weird through the hearing aid, and he's able to feel it playing bass. (He plays for Jonathan when he visits him at NYU.)

When the Party start 11th grade, they start school at a Montessori K-12 school, which they all do well in, especially Will. With a less structured school, minimal homework, disability aid, and shortened hours (8:30-3:00), he's able to get straight A's and pack his schedule, too. He has talk therapy on Tuesdays and Thursdays (3:15-4:30 PM) as well as physical therapy (5-5:30 PM), art club on Wednesdays (3-3:45 PM), science club on Mondays (3-4 PM), D&D on Saturdays, family pizza and movie nights every Friday, and volunteers at his synagogue on Sunday (a lot of the older ladies adore him). He works at a flowershop with El during the summers, and frequently goes to gay speakeasies and immerses himself in Deaf and LGBT+ culture (he starts to take out his hearing aids more the longer he spends with other Deaf people, as he learns sign language and starts to find his place without hearing) and makes a lot of gay friends.

Will gets a service dog. His name is Charlie, a rescued Burmese Mountain Dog, who adores Will. He takes a minute to warm up to the idea, but when he does, Will fucking loves that dog. I'm talking sneaks-him-extra-treats, that-dog-sleeps-in-Will's-bed-every-night, Mike's-cuddle-position-might-get-replaced loves. He's thrilled that Charlie gets to go with him everywhere after a bit, and with the dog around, Will's a much calmer, happier person.

Will becomes a lot less reserved as he gets more comfortable with himself, happily sassing people, flopping down in Mike and his friends' laps, signing more often, being less ashamed of his sexuality and scars and disability, becoming more comfortable with his body, wearing nice clothes, etc, etc, etc.

(Tried to think of enough to come to 11 😭 didn't work though)

[hyukassubi]

🍪 02 | Of Roses And Cookies

♡𓂃 Pairing -> (Former) Knight! Huening Kai x Seamstress! Reader

♡𓂃 Synopsis -> Growing up, you never believed in purpose, nor destiny. Simply following the path of life, becoming a royal seamstress didn't at all seem like a bad idea. Only thing is, it wasn't your idea.

Your best friend who just so happens to be the crowned prince knows what it's like to grow up having limited choices, and Prince Kang Taehyun doesn't want the same happening to you. The commander knight, in turn, has other plans for the future. After Huening Kai closes a profound chapter of his life, he seeks refuge from the chaos of his past, opting for a cozier lifestyle instead.

... And it just so seems that those plans wouldn't be fulfilled without you.

♡𓂃 Wc -> 628

Tabby hands, scrappy clothes, Mary Janes strapped to your feet where ever you go.

Unlike Taehyun, just like Hueningkai, you did not grow up with a royal background.

Two high school sweethearts that started off as a fling had an accident, that accident being you. Your parents didn’t give up in raising their happy little accident, though. Sure, marriage wasn’t a privilege they had until way later, but you had a great time staying over at your mother’s bakery and your father’s florist nonetheless.

You always did.

The kids at preschool kept talking about the way you smelled.

How, every day, you’d be smelling of sugar and frosting, chamomile and roses, cookies and flowers. Seatmates betting on whether or not that girl will come in smelling like chocolate today, or perhaps pistachio, but then they get it all wrong and the room starts fuming of a lavender haze.

The attention was nice until you begin to notice how talk was all talk and no one really talked with you.

Except for one person— Kang Taehyun.

Boba-eyed, impressively pearly white grin, the face of a baby pumpkin, three year old Kang Taehyun was too adorable to be real.

The baby prince who, to everyone’s surprise, landed in a montessori preschool for toddlers who can barely spell their names instead of a high class Royal Academy for Babies. A small boy like him hadn’t yet any responsibilities bared upon him, anyway. There was absolutely no need to learn basic etiquette nor book-balancing on the top of your head at four years of age. And so, lucky was Taehyun for eating mud in playgrounds and zooming past the teachers in scooters when he should be tucked in a pillowed-up rectangular cribs for naptime.

For now, he was surrounded by village toddlers his age with sacked diapers and snot all over their faces. So, yes, perhaps the girl in the corner of the room dressing up chewed up barbies was a refreshener.

Taehyun whiffs the air, nose pointing to the ceiling, nostrils flared like volcano craters. “You smell nice.”

She looked at him for a second, and then went back to putting paper eyelashes on dolls in skirts and clay blobs for shoes.

Taehyun tilted his squishy-cheeked pumpkin head to the side, eyebrows furrowed in adorable concern. “Do you talk?”

No response.

“Don’t be shy, I think you should talk more. To me.”

You sat quietly for a moment, and… snuck a cookie out of the pockets of your denim overalls.

You split the huge chocolate covered goodness into two uneven excuses of semi-circles.

You gave the bigger piece to the baby prince.

You had always liked keeping the bigger piece to yourself.

The baby prince looked at the cookie, and then you, and then his relatively clean toddler hands, and then back at the cookie.

He grabbed it.

He never left your side since.

You thought you had to get on your knees and bow too after dismounting the carriage to meet the King and Queen at the corridor of the Grand Palace like your parents did.

And then Taehyun said, “It’s okay, a ‘Hello’ is enough for us. And no need to call me ‘Little Crowned Prince Kang’. ‘Taehyun’ is what I go by.” ‘Taehyun’ is enough.”

“What he said.” The King patted his son on the shoulder.

He must’ve been proud.

Your parents did not move.

You had no idea who you were, or what you want or could’ve been besides being the daughter of a florist and baker and the walking aroma therapy in your kindergarten, but you knew the prince had a warm heart and his actions might’ve left you feeling touched.

“Okay.” You replied. “Hello, Taehyun.”

The little prince smiled, and happiness never left him since.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

♡𓂃A/n: My personal favourite line: baby Taehyun sniffing the air and his nostrils puffing up like volcano craters.

What the little toddler reader saw that day:

FJKHKAUJJEHFOAI I cannot wait for you guys to devour the following baby reader chapters because they're sooooo cute

♡𓂃Tags: @sweetheartsaku @imcringebutimfree @i-like-to-read-at-4am @pengningie @marloree @stormy1408 @blossommi

Reblog & review if you like my work !!

[charlotte-of-wales]

Happy 11th birthday to Prince George of Wales!

Born on 22 July 2013, George Alexander Louis is the eldest child of William, Prince of Wales and Catherine, Princess of Wales, the eldest grandchild of King Charles Ill and second in the line of succession to the British throne behind his father.

George was christened on 23 October by Justin Welby, Archbishop of Canterbury, in the Chapel Royal at St James's Palace. Prince George spent his first months at his parents' cottage on the grounds of Bodorgan Hall in Anglesey, Wales, before his family relocated to Kensington Palace in 2014.

He embarked on his first royal tour with his parents in April 2014, during which the Cambridges spent three weeks in New Zealand and Australia. In June 2015, George made his first public appearance on the balcony of Buckingham Palace following the Trooping the Colour parade. From 2015 to 2017, the family lived at Anmer Hall in Norfolk, where George started his education at the West Acre Montessori School Nursery in January 2016.

George started primary school under the name George Cambridge in September 2017 at the Thomas's School in Battersea. In 2022, the family moved to Adelaide Cottage in Windsor Home Park. Since September 2022, George and his siblings, Charlotte and Louis, have attended Lambrook, in Berkshire.

[loneghostdreams]

TW:Blood? (Idk how TWs work sorry :< )

I finally managed to finish another Monty drawing and finish @olibird's character sheet! I'm so happy :)

Name: Randall Alvarez Montessori

Aliases: 'That recruiter', Monty , Andy

Nationality: (Dual nationality) Filipino American

Ethnicity: White American/Southeast Asian? Idk about ethnicity

Age: 45 DoB: July 16, 1979

Pronouns: He/Him Gender: Cisgender Sex: Male Sexuality: Straight

Height: 6'0

Languages: Tagalog, English

Which CoD Universe: reboot

Branches of Service: Philippine Navy

Affiliation: Shadow Company, unnamed law firm

Specialties: Law, Negotiations, Hand-to-hand combat, rescue operations

Personality: inquisitive, helpful, ambitious, sometimes aggressive, silent, reserved

Backstory:

Born is 1979 to an American Navy admiral and a middle class Filipino woman, he was kept a secret during early childhood before being taken to USA where he befriended Phillip Graves when they were kids.

His parents being strict, he constantly rebelled as a teenager, even more so when his parents separated and his mother returned to the Philippines. He dyed his hair red, as much as his father didn't like it. He dreamed to study law, making a bet with Graves to see who'd have a better life in the future.

When he turned 17, he left America to start living with his mother and became a lawyer a few years later.While in law school, he made a friend, an girl who's aspiring journalist, they later became closer, dated and married. When his father heard of this, he told his son to follow in his footsteps. "Protect your family from future danger. The law cannot bring back dead people.", as his father said. He joined the Philippine Navy when he was 26, and his son was born shortly after.

10 years later, his wife who's now a journalist, uncovered multiple confidential files that endagers lives of thousands. Randall came home from the navy to find his small family missing. He searched everywhere, even accused his superiors of assisting in their disappearance, causing him to be kicked out of the Navy. He returned to America while his father helped him investigate. He reunited with Graves, who promised to help him.

2 years after their disappearance, Randall joined newly formed PMC Shadow Company as a spy and recruiter. He saw multiple shadows come and go, and eventually started training them. Years later, he finally found out what happened to his family, he was devastated by their deaths, but continued in Shadow Company where he is until now.

Issues: Family issues

Habits: smoking, reading, overworking

Scars: long scar on left side of face, multiple body scars

Preferred method of showing care/affection/love language: acts of service, physical touch

Preferred way of receiving care/affection: words of affirmation

Eye Color: Black

Hair description: proper and formal, natural color is black but he dyed it red several times

Clothing description: (casual) Leather jackets, dark clothing (recruiter outfit) dark suits with SC labels (SC uniform) -normal SC uniform

Body description: fit, sleeper build?

Favorite Activities: sleeping, messing around with shadows and Graves, thinking about his family

Blood Type: AB-

Favorite color: Red

Favorite animal: red pandas

Favorite food/Dessert: Filipino street foods,any of them

Other Fun Facts: He's absolutely rich, his father's got a lot of things and only he can get it, being the only heir. He keeps his money hidden due to his fear of wasting it all away, working normally and absolutely staying away from other bad habits

[floralembarrassment]

ok so like first off I adore the fact that you’ve written Evan as asexual I love you so much for that-

And second off, may I request more rosekiller visiting Jegulus raising Harry and them all just being together? Some regulus and barty banter? I love your characterization of them?? I’m currently living off of your writing you’re like a god

ofc all of this is /nf though <2

-- @moonys-moonings

hi! Asexual Evan is Evan glad you love me but those are the facts! What a great request btw I had to do it first (I know there are more in the queue they are being worked on!!) also I don't even know what to say but if you need to chat my dms are open - but I will keep writing so keep breathing! This one's for you @moonys-moonings - enjoy! with love

Ummm and could someone please translate the last sentence for me? I didn't realize I became ancient all of a sudden 😂

Practical Play (1/1) (jegulus rasing Harry | rosekiller)

"Oh come on, let the little one play! He's having a great time!" Barty complained from the table, big smirk on his face. Harry laughing away in the background.

"Wielding a knife is not playing! He's 3!" Regulus retorted, throwing his arm out in the direction of his son.

"It was how we played when you were 3..." Sirius muttered.

"You are seriously defending Barty right now?" James said as he chased after Harry trying to stop him and not get stabbed.

"It's Sirius and I'm not defending anyone I'm just saying," Sirius smirked.

"Good god," Regulus rolled his eyes.

Evan grabbed Harry in a fit of giggles, picking him up and swiftly disarming him, placing the knife in the sink. He turned to James who almost ran into him and handed him Harry, "here."

"How you're an auror but you can't take down a 3 year old is beyond me," Evan raised a judges eyebrow.

Harry turned in James' arms reaching for Barty, "uncle uncle sharp!" Harry giggled.

"That's right my favourite little one! Knives are sharp," Barty laughed.

"Barty if you let my son play with knives again you will not be allowed over," James said, an attempt at stern.

"James," Regulus squinted, "that's obviously not true but you have to at least show him how to use it properly," Regulus said as he turned toward Barty who was now thumb wrestling with Harry in his lap. "Not just run around with it aimlessly," Regulus added as he sat down.

"Reg!" James exclaimed betrayed.

"Oh give it up Potter, it's all that Montessori explore the real world play," Evan waved him off.

And they all laughed as James seethed because he was the one who pressed so hard for the Montessori daycare for Harry that they had to sit through 3 months of his pestering about the pros of it.

And somewhere in the laughing Harry found another knife, or more likely he went in Evan's pocket and took his pocket knife.

"Looky looky! Cut! Cut!" Harry said as he laughed and started running again. Everyone groaned except Barty and Evan, proud they he learned how to pickpocket like they taught him.

[theunstuffedpepper]

Doing some major gardening over here this past week! In addition to the railing and hanging baskets that I enjoyed putting together last year, I also took the time to weed the front garden bed (which had never been planted by us since owning the house). I pinned down some gardening fabric after weeding and aerating the soil, and then planted what I truly hope are deer resistant plants — some dahlias, lemon coral sedum, and some celosia I had leftover from the baskets. I have a feeling they’ll eat the celosia, but time will tell.

I went on my first guided birding trip recently and it was amaaaaazing. It was just me, the van driver (my age), and the guide and two other ladies who all were in their 60s. It was fab. The guide has been birding for 50 years and I was soaking up ALL the knowledge. I added a ton of new birds to my life list — 8 types of warblers plus a few scarlet tanagers, ovenbird, grosbeak, a redstart, veery, red eyed vireo, common yellowthroat, eastern towhee and an osprey. We tried our damndest to see the blackburnian and golden winged warblers that we could hear, but didn’t catch a glimpse. So fun. Consider me hooked.

My back pain has seriously ramped up lately, so much so that I’ve made an appointment with a physical therapist for next week. Something’s gotta give. I’m doing stretches and whatnot on my own, but I need some help at this point. I can’t wait.

The nature school season is almost done and we toured a Montessori preschool yesterday. The teacher loved Holden and thought he would be a great fit. I’m so relieved because apparently I waited too long to start looking for preschools (why are the waiting lists so long?!). We secured ourselves a spot there, so he’ll attend their 4-week summer camp in June/July and then start for the school year in September.

All is more or less well over here, just chugging along with work. My MIL has officially retired and so far, so good with her helping with child care on a more full time basis. I’m very cautiously optimistic. Very cautiously, but still. I’ll take it.

Bring on this warm summer-like weather with all the gardening and birding and poolside days we can fit in. 🐦‍⬛

[rootytootypie]

Super curious about Batman- 😳💨🫘❤️(ships could be with anyone or people he's close to working with-ex: Superman)

💨: Bruce isn’t a gassy guy, by all means. Probably a 3/10. He only gets gas at charity galas and if truly forced to eat on the run; otherwise, his diet is extremely refined. But what he lacks in quantity, he more than makes up for in quality. If he fully lets it out, it’s loud as hell and smells like death. He can make them silent, but the stink almost gets stronger. He definitely resorts to any and all means of muffling the sound and smell, and generally takes it to the bathroom, spreads his cheeks, and muffles it with toilet paper. He totally has charcoal lined underwear, regularly takes mints for more than just breath problems, and even has a soundproof room in his mansion for total privacy.

🫘: Hoo boy…do NOT let this man around fattening foods. Other than beef and poultry, Bruce’s stomach is unprepared. Anything rich, filling, creamy, sugary, or generally having empty calories is gonna cause some rumbles. Salad dressing other than vinaigrette gets to this man. And fast food? The other reason other than poison gas the Batmobile has a high-tech automated air filter. It’s also programmed to filter human gas, something other Justice League members are thankful for for their own reasons.

😳: 12/10 on the embarrassment scale. He’s mortified if he farts in front of Alfred, much less anyone else. He has to emotionally decompress after every time he’s forced to let a silent one go, even though he almost always gets away with it.

His most embarrassing moment? Hands down, it was during an at-home interview with Vicki Vale. He had given her a tour of Wayne Manor (at least the parts on the dummy schematics used to ward off nonexistent suspicion). He made jokes. Charmed her and the photographer she brought along. Told a funny story or two about his antics in Europe (that he had invented after rereading The Sun Also Rises). Then it happened (in slo-mo, as Bruce remembers it): she dropped her pen. He went to pick it up. *BWWWWAAARRRRRRTTT!* And his rear decided to play the salvo of last night’s charity dinner - particularly the stuffed mushrooms.

He jerked back into a rigid stance, cleared his throat, and said, “Excuse me.” This took a gargantuan amount of effort, as the last time he’d undeniably passed gas in public had been in his nursery years at a Montessori school, and as soon as eyes went toward him, he’d run out of the room in tears, which he vaguely felt the urge to do now.

To her credit, noticing Bruce’s tomato red face, Vicki said, “We’ll leave that off the record” and changed the subject to the first edition Dickens novels in the study.

❤️: Bruce never intends to let anyone get too close. He never plans to let his guard down. Flatulence is his definition of too close. Especially when, despite his intentions, he starts romanticizing his boyfriend, then having breakfast in bed with him, and then telling stories about his childhood. Damn it, his emotional walls should be too strong for even Superman to break through, and yet the guy has sprinted through them like they were made of foam bricks.

Why in God’s name did Clark have to find out from Alfred that Bruce’s secret favorite dish is escargot, and then surprise him with it for dinner on his birthday? Did Alfred want him to embarrass himself? Because he was definitely close. Especially after Clark decided to gave him a deep tissue massage as part two of his birthday celebration.

Why were Clark’s hands moving towards his butt? Why wasn’t he yelling out stop, knowing Clark would immediately cease? Why hadn’t he begged off the massage and invented a reason to go on patrol?

All this went through Bruce’s mind as, with his active stomach gurgling and his back yielding to Clark like a pie crust, he relaxed too much and so did his hold on his gas.

*Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt!*

“Good boy,” Clark said. “Now I’m sure you’re relaxed, Bruce.”

“Ha ha,” Bruce said joylessly. “Please forget that.”

“No, I’m serious,” Clark said. “I’m not teasing you. I’m just glad the massage is working. I’m sorry, Bruce. Please don’t be embarrassed.”

“I literally just farted in my boyfriend’s face,” Bruce said. “How can I not be embarrassed?”

“Because I love you, and would never hold something so natural against you,” Clark replied. “Also…”

And then Bruce’s sweet, doe eyed Midwestern boyfriend did something truly shocking.

*BBBBBRRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFRRRRT!*

“Excuse me,” Clark said, blushing. “I think the garlic sauce made me a little gassy too. I didn’t mean to let out such a monster. I only wanted to make you feel better about your little slip. Less…alone in your mortification.”

Bruce sat up, turned over, and gave Clark a passionate kiss. “You’re the greatest love I’ve ever known,” Bruce said. “Thank you for being you.”

And that night, Bruce didn’t feel claustrophobic as the two men passed gas throughout the night, but instead an incredible sense of warmth and comfort he’d never imagined.

[auspicioustidings]

Please, PLEASE start on how the guys are when the baby is born in the Flinch universe. I NEED Father-Price like breath in my lungs.

They are so messy my God!

Out of the four of them I like to think that the only one with experience around children is Simon. Johnny has siblings but they are a similar age and his sisters haven't had any kids (yet), Kyle is an only child and Price is estranged from his family.

Even at that Simon only experienced being an uncle, he has very little idea of how to be a parental figure and does not think he will do a good job.

The basic vibes I think are below.

Johnny does not understand babies at all. Gets scolded constantly for trying to get a tiny baby to play football or try food. He does take great delight in bath time because tiny baby mohawk time.

Gaz has always wanted kids, just hadn't gotten around to finding a partner yet. He reads every book going, can tell you all the facts about montessori, knows exactly how to fit a car seat. But when the baby comes he quickly realises that all that research doesn't mean shit in the face of a tiny merchant of absolute chaos. Poor boy is having a meltdown everytime things don't go as expected. The doctor is very patient with him given that he calls fifteen times a day thinking there is something wrong.

Price never thought he'd have kids but he takes to it like a duck to water. Keeps saying that it isn't so different from having a task force. Baby adores this man and loves tugging on his beard and he will smile through the pain everytime. She is also fascinated with his hat and he immediately plops it right on her head.

Simon is weary of having too much interaction with a baby so he focuses more on mama. How is she doing? Does she need a break? What can he do to make her life easier? It would take him a while to warm up to the baby, but one day when he is the lone babysitter he would quietly hold her and cry and the next day it's like a switch has flipped and he is always steadfastly there for her.

[yugiohz]

we need bnha reader scenarios for HAGS let me start bnha au where y/n is a teacher at a montessori school and has to keep deku and bakugo from killing each other

[dearestones]

Growing Up While Slowing Down (Mello and Reader)

Warnings: N/A

Anonymous Request: Sorry I'm so late in replying. I'd like to see mello when he's still at Wammy's house, maybe he'd like a caretaker sister who's a few years older than him. Or else you could write about when he was mafia and how awesome he looked like he had the world at his feet. For some reason I don't want to think back to mello dying, he's forever young in my mind. (Thank you for your reply and I wish you all the best!)

.

.

.

Life was hard. 

And life was infinitely harder growing up in a secluded orphanage that prioritized only what you could offer in the future than who you were as a person. 

You didn't particularly know why you procrastinated on your plans to leave Wammy's. Most other alumni who graduated from the orphanage without getting adopted were either drafted into specific positions to be later used by greater letters than themselves or faded into obscurity. As for you, life seemed to be simultaneously too fast and too slow for your own liking. You knew at one point that you had to leave the safety of your childhood home, but you wanted to stretch the days until it felt like years would pass. Although you knew that the social environment in the orphanage wasn't the best—if what your friends in the psychological sciences were to be believed—you could not bear to let go of something that had sunk its claws into you for so long.

It was childish, but then again, you were still a child.

Today, you were out in the gardens that surrounded the property. Although most of the landscape was maintained by staff, there were a few areas where several students were encouraged to plant and cultivate their own vegetation. Most of the time, the area was frequented with many of the younger children—most of whom believed that they could play in the mud all day.

They weren't exactly wrong—many of their tutors touted Montessori methods of teaching and the benefits of training proprioception—but the children were expected to complete a project or two every season.

From what you could gather, most of the children would not pursue botanical pursuits other than the rare oddball or two.

Even now, there were only two small children being overseen by one of your older cohorts. The older child gave you a nod of acknowledgement before directing one of the children under her care to start digging a small hole on a small patch of bare earth.

As you walked past them and deeper into the gardens, you thought about your future. To have survived this long at Wammy's House, you would have to be smart, cunning, and resourceful. It was no secret that your sole benefactor, the legendary detective L himself, only created and maintained proteges to either replace him or to aid him in future investigations. It was like a  factory where he oversaw the cultivation of future geniuses like himself.

While you were smart and clever, you never made it to the top ten students who made their home at Wammy's. No, that honor went to those who either worked their hardest to reach the top or were either gifted with intellectual superiority. That said, you knew that you were one of the fated students to fade into obscurity unless you were brought out of the shadows for something or other for either L or whoever took over when the elusive detective finally died.

Now that you made your way into the heart of the gardens, you headed towards a wrought iron bench. Despite it being decades old, it didn't look its age. Rather, the groundskeeper must have been doing his due diligence to make sure that everything under his care was flourishing and was the spitting image of what it must have looked like at the orphanage's inception.

Here, underneath the shade of an aging oak tree, you were able to relax. It was an overcast day and whatever sun was available did little to provide you with any warmth. Were you surprised? Of course not, it was England and everyone and everything had their own schedule to adhere to.

It was practically a crime to go against what was normal and usual.

So, it came to a surprise to you when you heard someone trudging down the path, making a beeline towards the bench. 

And you.

It was rare for someone to find you out here, especially since it was the weekend and most of the orphanage's minders didn't keep tabs on the older students since they often proved to be "responsible".

(Was that true? Debatable, but you'd rather that they didn't nag you do to homework or keep a strict eye on your day to day life).

Curious now as to who was following you, you glanced up only to find yourself blanching at the student who was heading your way.

When you first heard the footsteps, you thought it was someone who happened to come near, someone who might have wanted to go see the bushes and the native fauna that had come with the orphanage so long ago. However, that was far from the reality.

Really, you did not see this coming.

The person who picked up speed to talk to you was none other than M or Mello.

Despite the position of his letter in the Latin alphabet, Mello was far from thirteenth place. In fact, he far surpassed those who made it in the top ten. The top five.

He was in the top three, usually making his way to second place.

He was smart and ambitious, always chomping at the bit to leave this wretched place and make a name for himself.

But he couldn't do that.

Not yet.

He was waiting for your esteemed benefactor to announce his successor.

Not that the news would matter to you, but you supposed given the rankings and the personalities of the top three students at the orphanage, you could only assume that N or Near would be the one to take L's place. In fact, most other children would agree with you, but all of you knew to keep quiet about such assumptions.

Mello wasn't a physically aggressive child most of the time, but his anger was more than enough of a deterrent to hinder such rumors.

"Mello," you greeted placidly as he practically fell in his seat next to you, "it's not like you to be walking the grounds so late in the afternoon. What brings you here?"

Sometimes, you wondered about Mello. You knew what his dreams were, what all of his hard work and striving to be the best meant for his future. Unfortunately, you knew that didn't mean that he was going to eventually get what he wanted. There was no way he could ever beat Near in the orphanage and if L ever broke his silence about his definitive successor…

You had to wonder if Mello could be a person outside of M, the second place student.

He scowled at you, but decided to face forward when you gave him a look that conveyed how done you were with him. You were more than well aware of what he was like around other students, particularly when he was angry that Near had beat him again in the rankings, but you weren't scared of him. Despite the height difference that came with puberty, you still had a few years on him. Age was but a number, but higher numbers meant seniority and sometimes, superiority—both of which Mello intimately knew well.

So, his grumbly nature didn't affect you as much as it would had you been the same age or younger than Mello.

Instead, you merely leveled an unimpressed look at him before you poked him gently on the side. 

(Years ago, before the idea of rankings and numbers and letters took over all of his ambitions and dreams, he would have laughed before tickling you back). 

The blond glared at you, but did not offer any more of a rebuttal than to slightly shift his weight upon the bench. You were too caught up in your antics to feel bad, but you were feeling nostalgic. No matter how old some of the students got at Wammy's, you would remember most of them as squalling toddlers or inquisitive children having fun. In the midst of the dread that came with aging out of the system, you had to hold onto things that made you happy.

And—

Well—

Messing with someone who used to be bright eyed and shy was titillating.

Unfortunately for you, after a few more seconds of your shenanigans, Mello finally had enough. He grabbed your wrist tightly—not enough to cause harm, but to stabilize your hand and to prevent you from tickling him. It was then, at that moment, you realized that Mello was uncharacteristically quiet. Subdued. Not at all the type of person who would spend weeks trying to one up Near or the person who would raise hell if he so much as heard whispers that he wasn't the best that Wammy's had to offer.

Curious now, you stopped and looked at him, a question clearly in your eyes.

"Erm, Mello...?" You didn't know what to say, given that he hadn't made it clear why he had chosen to accompany you on this fine day. As a last resort, you tugged out of his hold and leveled him a concerned, but wary glance. "Did you need something?"

That had to be the one thing that made sense to you at that moment. It was rare that Mello talked to you nowadays, even though you used to take care of him when he was younger. You couldn't put a finger on when or why, but he slowly began immersing all of his free time into his studies and beating Near. Before that, he had been content to spend most of his time living life to the fullest and playing with his friends. Now, it seemed that the Mello you used to know was now a mere shadow approaching noon.

That is to say, it no longer existed.

Though, you supposed that it had to happen at some point. People weren't meant to stay the same throughout their entire lives. Growing and change were inherent to every living thing on earth; Mello was not exempt and neither were you.

Or, rather, you knew that you were not exempt from that fact of life, but that didn't stop you from procrastinating on it. It was ironic. You came out to the garden to escape the impending doom of becoming a fully fledged adult, but now that Mello was here, you couldn't think of anything else. It would have been mildly infuriating if it were not for the pensive look upon Mello's face.

"I talked to Roger today." That was not an angle to the conversation you expected. Roger kept up to date on all of the students under his care, but he reserved most of his face to face interactions for those who held potential to become L's successors... Or those who were ready to leave the House. You weren't exactly ready, but you knew that you were due to meet him in a month or so. Presumably, you would have a plan already in place or working on one. If not, you knew that he had a number of connections and career opportunities lined up at the ready for students who needed help or lacked initiative.

While you rarely spoke with the old man, you already knew that you were not looking forward to the impending conversation.

"Okay... And?"

You didn't know what to expect. Mello was a fair bit younger than you, so you didn't expect his news to be anything other than his longtime pursuit of trying to one up Near, but you were surprised.

"You're moving out soon."

You shrugged, not at all concerned on the outside, but cringing on the inside. "Technically, yes. I don't have any concrete plans at the moment."

The most that you could claim were only vague memories picking through university fliers or a list of phone numbers and emails that would get you connected to former Wammy's House alumni. You knew you had to move forward some day, but you did not want to start that large jump for the future right now. Rather... that should be saved for the future.

The frown that spread on his face was more than enough warning that you said the wrong thing.

But what could you have said?

And that’s when you realized that he looked rather downtrodden. For a young teenager recently experiencing the throes of puberty, he looked rather pathetic, but at the same time, you saw that there was a faint anger in his eyes. Even his body language screamed that he was battling something in his mind. Something that must have been bothering him. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, eyes narrowed in irritation. 

“Mello,” you crooned softly. He scoffed at your attempt to calm him, but it wasn’t like your attempts were in vain. Despite his appearance, he gradually relaxed. You faced away at the last possible moment to preserve a few seconds of your poorly disguised mirth. “Use your words, what’s wrong?”

The blond always played at being an adult, especially when talking to actual adults, but to you, he caved. 

His voice started out subtle, almost as if he was tearing out the words out of his mouth like a dentist pulling teeth. Hesitant and soft, he said, “You’re leaving.” A pause. “Without me.”

You blinked at him, confused. “Well, yes. But that’s what happens when we become of age. That’s the way Wammy’s works.” You thought a moment, trying to process why he seemed so put out at your inevitable fate. “You know this already, Mello, why would—”

And that’s when it hit you. 

Really, you knew that you weren’t bright enough to get into the top ten, but still. If you had the capacity to care, you would have been irritated at yourself for blatantly missing the signs. Of course, how could you not have seen it before! 

“You’re going to miss me.” It was a statement you reiterated when you observed Mello about to speak up, probably about to refute your assumption. “Awwww, Mello!”

Before he could leap off the bench, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and squeezed tight. 

Most students at the House would have balked at giving Mello affection, but not you. It was rare to see Mello be vulnerable and willingly show his more emotional side of himself. You couldn’t imagine him engaging in heart to hearts with Matt or god forbid, Near. 

“You’re just as annoying as I remember,” Mello muttered into the crook of your neck. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, his voice as small as the child he once was. 

For a moment, the both of you basked in the warm embrace. 

However, like all things, this moment had to pass. The both of you had to face reality. 

Grow up. 

At the other end of the garden, you heard the small children who had been busy planting were whooping and hollering in delight. Over the din, you could barely make out that they had found a wriggling patch of worms and were busy trying to get their current caretaker to touch one of them. The added screams made you smile, but also reminded you that you couldn’t hold Mello forever. 

Slowly—achingly—you released him. 

But Mello did not immediately leave. 

Instead, he leaned back against the wrought iron bench and closed his eyes. 

As a bit of sun peeked through the overcast clouds, you could barely make out what he said. 

But you heard him all the same. 

“Yeah… I’ll miss you.”

.

.

.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free: https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

DEATH NOTE MASTERLIST

[gwendolynlerman]

Deutschribing Germany

Education

Education in Germany is free and compulsory between ages six and sixteen. States (Länder) are largely responsible for education, with the federal government playing a minor role.

Types of schools

The vast majority of children attend state schools, but there are private schools (Ersatzschulen) as well. The latter have very low tuition fees and are also subsidized by the state, which effectively makes them privately-run schools funded by the state. Some are run by religious groups.

School terms

The school year is divided into two terms (from August to January and from February to July) and starts after the summer break, which differs from state to state but usually finishes in mid/end-August. Children have twelve weeks of vacation in addition to public holidays. Exact dates differ between states, but there are generally six weeks of summer vacation, two around Christmas, two around Easter, and two in the fall during the harvest season, since farmers used to need their children for field work.

Grades

The German grading system is as follows, from highest to lowest: sehr gut (1.0–1.5), gut (1.6–2.5), befriedigend (2.6–3.5), ausreichend (3.6–4.0), and nicht bestanden (4.1–5.0). The minimum to pass is four.

Levels

Preschool (Kindergarten)

Preschool education is neither mandatory nor free. Children between the ages of 2 and 6 attend Kindertagesstätte (Kita, “children’s daycare centers”). Many Kitas follow a certain educational approach, such as Montessori or Reggio Emilia.

Primary education (Primarstufe)

Primary education takes place in Grundschulen and generally lasts four years, from 6 to 10 years old. In Berlin and Brandenburg, it lasts six years.

Students are typically taught art, a foreign language (English or French), general studies (natural and social science), German, math, music, physical education, and religion or ethics.

Secondary education (Sekundarstufe)

Secondary education can take place in any of the following schools:

Gymnasium (grammar school) until grade 12 or 13 (ages 10–11 to 17–18/18–19), with Abitur as exit exam to qualify for university

Realschule (intermediate school) until grade 10 (ages 10–11 to 15–16), with Realschulabschluss

Hauptschule (secondary general school) until grade 9 or 10 (ages 10–11 to 14–15/15–16), with Hauptschulabschluss

Gesamtschule (comprehensive school) until grade 10 or 12/13 (ages 10–11 to 15–16 or 17–18/18–19)

The Gymnasium provides in-depth general education for university studies. Hauptschulen teach basic general education leading to vocational school or university entrance qualification. Realschule offers more extensive education than Hauptschule, leading to a vocational or university entrance qualification. A Gesamtschule combines all the aforementioned schools.

There are about twelve compulsory subjects in every grade: biology, chemistry, civics/social/political studies, up to three foreign languages, geography, German, history, math, music, physical education, physics, religion/ethics, and visual arts.

(F3 means Fremdsprache 3 [third foreign language], which is usually French or Spanish)

In grades 11–12/13, each student majors in two or three subjects (Leistungskurse), in which there are usually five lessons per week. The other subjects (Grundkurse) are usually taught three times a week.

Vocational training (Berufsbildung)

Vocational training lasts between two and three and a half years and can take place in any of the following types of school:

Berufsschule (vocational school): the standard type of vocational school, it prepares students for further vocational education or for a job in a profession. Apprentices attend school twice a week and spend the rest of the week working at a company, so they gain knowledge of theory and practice.

Berufsfachschule: similar to Berufsschule, it is aimed at people who want to study specific subjects, such as nursing or occupational therapy.

Fachoberschule (vocational high school): students who have obtained a Realschulabschluss or Hauptschulabschluss can attend a Fachoberschule, where they will specialize themselves in technology, economy, or administration and management, among other subjects. After completing the program, they can study for a university degree after passing the Abitur.

Berufsoberschule (upper vocational school): those who want to attend one need to have graduated from a Berufsschule. It provides in-depth education and training.

Higher education (Tertiärbereich)

To attend university, students need to pass the Abitur exams, of which at least one is oral. They are tested on four or five subjects, including their two or three Leistungskurse and two or three Grundkurse (German, math, and the first foreign language). All knowledge areas must be covered, including language, literature and the arts; social sciences; math, natural sciences and technology, and sports. Each semester of a subject studied in the final two years of Gymnasium yields up to fifteen points, where advanced courses may count double and final examinations count quadruple.

There are 380 universities in Germany, of which 114 are private. Public universities charge fees of around €150–350 per semester, which often include the cost of public transportation. Tertiary education institutions are classified into Universität or Hochschule. The former term is reserved for those which have the right to confer doctorates, in a similar distinction to universities and colleges in the United States. Fachhochschulen (Universities of Applied Sciences) are a type of Hochschule that concentrates on applied science and has a more practical profile with a focus on employability.

There are three types of admissions procedures for degree programs:

Free admissions: every applicant who fulfills the requirements is admitted. This is usually the case in programs in which many students quit, such as engineering, mathematics, or physics.

Local admission restrictions: only a limited number of places are available and students are admitting according to numerus clausus, whose criteria vary depending on the institution and the program but generally include the final grade of the Abitur, a weighted grade average that increases the weight of relevant school subjects, interviews, motivation letters, and/or letters of recommendation.

Nationwide admission restrictions: to study dentistry, medicine, pharmacy, or veterinary medicine, there is a nationwide numerus clausus in which applications are handled centrally for all universities.

There are three official university degrees: Bachelor (bachelor’s degree) takes three years to complete, Master (master’s degree) lasts two years, and Doktorat (doctoral degree or PhD) takes between two and five years.

Students can usually choose freely from all courses offered by the university, but all bachelor’s degree programs require a number of particular compulsory courses in the field of the study program.

[sadsillypuppygf]

i lay in my Montessori-style bed, a small hoard of pillows framed around me like a nest, my tail curled up between my legs, and a stuffie cuddled in my arms. Daddy had put me here about 20 minutes earlier, saying i was in time out for a while. apparently i had been “rambunctious” and a “bad puppy”🙄.

i can still hear him in his room. there is only 1 thin wall between Daddy’s bedroom and mine. i can hear everything that happens in the other room, whether that’s his tv or his bed creak or his voice when he plays video games with the guys. right now, i hear a quiet audio playing from his computer. it’s too low for me to make out the sounds, but it sounds vaguely familiar.

i listen harder, trying to figure out why it sounds so familiar. maybe it’s a movie we’ve watched together? or an old youtube video? no, it seems to be the same loop of audio repeatedly. maybe it’s a tiktok?

i strain my ears, holding my breath to try to hear better. i hear something else. a low grunting sound. this wasn’t part of the audio before, but it’s the only thing that changes. the original sound still plays in a loop. the audio seems to last about 2-3 minutes. the grunting isn’t in time with the sound or anything.

with a gasp, i realize where i’ve heard that audio before.

it’s me. in a short video i recorded for Daddy months ago. he’d requested a sexy puppy video to be sent to him on his lunch break one day. i remember i had been naked except for my tail, ears, and stockings. i recorded myself starting in begging position, id given a couple flirtatious barks, then turned around and moved into a deep doggy position.

and the grunting. that was familiar to me too. that was - still currently is - my Daddy.

my cheeks flush red as i realize what it is i’m listening in on. something i always love catching him doing. jerking off to me. a shot of pleasure courses through me. nothing makes me feel more loved than finding out Daddy’s masturbating to me. well, second to when he rapes me maybe. he always tells me afterwards he just loves me sooooo much that he can’t stop himself from showing me, or touching himself.

i listen more intently again. there’s less time between his noises now. he’s getting close. i bite my lip, feeling wetness start to form between my legs as i imagine what it must look like in the other room. Daddy sitting at his desk, one hand on his mouse, posed over the play button, the other hand underneath the desk grasping his hard cock. he clicks play, his eyes focused solely on the video before him. his hand starts to move, stroking himself slowly. he clicks play again. he zeros in on my tits, my tongue, my tail, my asshole. his grip tightens and he strokes faster. clicks play. tits, tongue, tail, asshole. his lips part, groans and grunts flowing freely from his throat. clicks play. tits, tongue, tail, asshole. i hear a not-so-soft fuck through the wall. no more audio.

a whimper escapes me. i wish i was in Daddy’s room right now. he could use the real me to jerk off. or he could use my body to meet his needs, preferably. i whine at an intentionally loud octave, hoping to catch Daddy’s attention. then i listen again silently to see if i can hear his reaction. there’s nothing for a minute, but then i hear his doorknob click. i jump up from my bed, excitement blazing through me.

i bound across the floor just in time for Daddy to open my door. our eyes lock simultaneously. his looking down at me, mine looking up at him. i’m sitting with all four paws on the ground, giving him my best wide-eyed good-girl eyes. he chuckles and i know i’ve won.

come, pup, let’s go play in my room. Daddy has a new toy for you…