#apparently even if you can find a doctor who will agree to do it its even harder to get your insurance to cover it

[freelancearsonist]

Parts and Labor

➔ Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - 5k

➔ Eddie’s van is practically falling apart, but he doesn’t have the heart to replace it. Luckily for him, you’re willing to put in the effort to fix it—as long as he helps.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (f receiving), heavy petting, creampie, fingering, cumplay, Eddie has scars and lies about where he got them, reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader is a mechanic [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

“SHIT, FUCK!”

Eddie slams down the hood of his van, kicks the front tire as hard as he can, then winces–both at the sudden pain in his foot and at the overreaction.

“Come on baby, please,” he pleads futilely to the unresponsive engine. “I’ll give you anything, just start.”

The engine, apparently, won’t be seduced.

Eddie digs through the pocket of his low-slung jeans, finds a dime somewhere in the pile of gum wrappers and old receipts, and runs to stick the coin into the nearest payphone booth.

The garage answers on the last ring, and Eddie doesn’t even have to identify himself. They’re almost as familiar with his junker van as he is himself. They’ve wrung more money out of him for repairs than the damned thing is worth, and Eddie knows it. He knows the vehicle is on its deathbed–repeatedly resuscitated at this point–and that he should just replace it. But he can’t. Beyond fear of hurting its feelings, he’s become attached to it. He’s made memories in that stupid van. To him, replacing his ride would be like wading a huge portion of his life up and throwing it in the trash. He just won’t do it.

The garage is merciful enough to give him a ride there along with towing his poor, lifeless van. He’s not eager to spend a day in the waiting room sipping lukewarm black coffee, but he needs to be there for her. His lady is dying–waiting for news from her doctors is the least he can do.

He forgets all about his lady when you walk through the door.

You’re the Porche 944 of women. He’s never seen anything or anyone quite as breathtaking as you–with the small grease smudge on your cheek, your hair pulled back so sloppily that half of it is already fallen down, and your denim overalls unclipped on one side to show off the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt you wear underneath. You’re wiping your hands on a grease rag as you approach him and Eddie just stands in dumbfounded silence. Who are you and where have you been his entire life?

“Munson,” you greet with a slight smile. 

He almost chokes. You know his name? He knows he’s never seen you before in his life–you’re the kind of girl he could never forget. Especially with how much time he’s had to spend here.

“Having trouble getting her to start?” you continue without missing a beat. Eddie doesn’t miss the way you refer to his van, and it makes him impossibly more hooked. “Seems to be a bad ignition coil. Easy enough to fix, except your crankshaft is rusted to shit and I’m honestly surprised the whole engine hasn’t fallen apart when you hit a bump or something. Seriously, it’s dangerous to drive at this point.”

Eddie hears you, but he doesn’t comprehend a single word you’re saying. He’s hyper-fixated on the way your lips form around your words, on how you’re speaking mechanics and you actually understand what you’re saying. He’s never met anyone like you.

“But you can fix her, right?”

You smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat. “Honestly? My professional advice is to just sell it for scrap and buy a new car.”

It’s like a smack to the face. He has to blink the shock out of his eyes while you stand there so simply, like you didn’t just tell him to kill his darling.

”What’s your unprofessional advice?”

You bite your lip, busy your hands with a grease cloth. “I could fix it. But it’ll take some time, and it’ll be expensive as hell. It would honestly be cheaper to buy new.”

”I’ll pay for the fix,” he says firmly before he can consider what he’s really agreeing to. “I can’t just replace her.”

Your smile is softer when you look back up at him. “I really admire that.”

Those words shouldn’t have as much of an effect on him as they do.

”I can do the job, but not here. There’s no way my boss would let me take up a lift for as long as I need to actually do a good job, and I don’t believe in doing mediocre work. But I’ve got enough equipment at my place if you trust me?”

You’re not only saving his lady, you’re promising not to screw him like so many people have before. He’s thinking about proposing, but he keeps his cool long enough to say, “yeah. Yeah, I trust you.”

”How much do you know about cars?”

He notices a strand of hair that’s fallen down into your face, and it takes all his restraint to keep himself from pushing it behind your ear for you.

”I know enough,” he says with a modest shrug.

Your eyes shine with something that he can’t identify as you gaze up at him. “Well, if you wanna help me, I’ll only charge you for parts.”

Eddie doesn’t even need to consider. A chance to spend more time with you, and a discount on repairs? “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”

The first night he comes over, it’s the sticky hot of a midsummer Indiana evening. He’s in low-slung faded jeans and a baggy white tank top that shows more of his chest than should be legal. There’s so much lightly tanned skin on display that you can’t decide where to focus—much less consider the engine you’re supposed to be working on. You can’t help asking about each little spot of ink you see on his skin, curious to learn even the smallest nuisances of his personality.

He’s the most interesting person you’ve met in this podunk town since your move to Hawkins from Indianapolis. He’s goofy and aloof, charming yet awkward. He’s so gentle and sweet you can practically smell the saccharine of his words as he speaks. He’s an animated speaker—so passionate about everything he does that he puts his whole body into it. There’s a refreshing energy to him that recharges your social battery as he goes, rather than draining it like everyone else does.

By the second night of working on Eddie’s van with him, you’re close enough to call him a friend. You know what seems like every small detail about him—his favorite color, the story behind the small scar on his left knee.

By the third night, you’re fighting every instinct in your brain to keep from throwing him inside said van and having your way with him.

Especially when you deliver to him a cold glass of iced tea and he drinks it in the sluttiest possible way he can—big gulps that send the condensation on the outside of the glass spilling down his chin to leave little paths of wetness down his neck and chest. It’s like full-on torture.

On the fourth night, you’ve had the engine block completely disassembled and ready for the new crankshaft for a couple days. It’s hard for Eddie to see his baby gutted and torn apart this way, but he knows you’ve got the most capable hands of any mechanic he’s ever known. There’s a delicacy and attention to detail in your craft that he’s never seen before, and he’s enraptured with watching you work. He’s even more enraptured by the sticky glistening of your skin in the red-orange light of sunset every night.

There’s really no reason for him to keep meeting you every single evening—all you’re doing at this point is busywork cleaning various parts because the real work can’t be done until the new parts arrive. Both of you know it, too—but neither of you will admit it. You’ve both come to look forward to these few hours together, comfortable even though you’re both sweaty, sticky, and greasy. Suspending them at this point would be a crime.

There’s just the faintest peek of reddish light left over the horizon when the conversation lulls, but Eddie’s not ready to go quite yet. “You hear Megadeth’s touring in Indy this fall?”

”No shit?”

”No shit. Tickets are probably going fast.”

”We should get some,” you say with a cautious glance over at him. This is it—this is as grand of an invitation as you can work up the courage to make. If he can’t take the bait here, you’ll be forever casting lingering glances and praying he’ll make a more substantial move than just eyeing you up and down like you’re the finest, purest water in a parched desert.

Eddie’s heart rate skyrockets even as he’s willing himself not to read too far into your words. ”Yeah? You’d… wanna go with me?”

”Might be nice. To hang out and do something other than pretend to work on your car.”

”All you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” he says with a look that’s far too smug for his own good on his face. 

Even though it’s a little ridiculous, his cockiness flusters you. ”Wasn’t sure you’d want to.”

”How could I not? I’ve got the girl of my dreams five feet away from me, I’d be crazy to not want to spend every second I can get with her.”

”Oh, is there someone else here?” You try to giggle and make it sound like a lighthearted joke, but it comes out far more flustered than you mean for it to.

”No. Just you.” It’s only three words, yet you’ve never heard anything more fraught with tension in your life. It’s in his dark eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands clench into fists at his side to keep from reaching for you.

All your eyes can manage to do is trace up the prominent veins in his forearms from his white-knuckled fists. If you meet his eyes, you know your resolve will disappear faster than a delicate snowflake on warm skin.

But he takes a step closer to you, and it’s too late before you can even consider stopping yourself.

His dark eyes are swirling with lust. There’s no mistaking it, no other label for it. It looks animalistic, almost dangerous. He looks like he wants to devour you whole, and you want nothing more than to find out if he will.

”You, umm… need a refill?” You gesture with your eyes to the now empty glass in his hand, then nod toward the house. It’s all the invitation he needs.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, Eddie’s hands are on you. They start on your waist, effectively pinning you against the closed door and using you as an anchor to press himself as close to you as he can.

It’s eager and rushed, even a little sloppy. He kisses wet, he kisses deep. It’s like he’s trying to suck the air straight from your lungs, and you let him. Nothing has ever felt so good before.

“Christ,” he mumbles as his hot lips work their way down your neck. “Been wanting to do this for days.”

There’s a slight tremble in your hands as your fingers work their way into his curls, already nearly overwhelmed with the sensation of his mouth on your overheated skin. “Why didn’t you?”

”Didn’t wanna scare you off,” he confesses. It’s so endearing it pulls a moan from your lips.

“There’s not a lot you could do to scare me off, Eddie.” You mean it; you try to prove it by tugging him closer and slotting him between your legs. You can feel his pent up desire, hard and thick, as it presses against your core through his jeans. The feeling alone makes you ache with desire. It’s like a wave sweeps through you, cascading from head to toe and making everything in its wake prickle with unbearable want. You are molten flame, and he is the only thing that can douse your heat.

No one’s ever had such an astronomical effect on you from doing so little.

Eddie isn’t faring much better. He walks in a fog, blinded by clouding desire—especially so when your leg hitches up and around his hip to tug him harder against you. It’s like his cruise control is set, speed regulating with every incline or downward tilt—adjusting every little movement and touch to draw more breathless moans and whimpers from your parted lips.

A slight tug to his hair snaps him back into his own body, drawing a sudden clarity on the situation. He’s no longer an outsider looking in, as if an astral projection watching and criticizing his every move. Eddie is fully present and hyper-focused on one thing: making sure no other person can ever properly satisfy you again.

”You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs over and over into your skin as he traces kisses over your exposed neck and shoulders. His fingers hook into the strap of your tank top and slide it out of place, making way for a series of open-mouthed kisses as he ensures that not an inch of your skin is neglected.

You keen at his praise and reward him with a gentle tug to his messy curls. “So are you.”

He prickles with affection at your compliment, his cheeks warming in a way that feels completely foreign to him. No one’s ever called him beautiful before—he’s really never thought it could even be applicable to him—but he feels like he could get used to it.

He asks so nicely to take your top off and you give him permission without hesitation. You can see the flash of want in his eyes as he takes in your mostly naked torso, gaze skirting around the boundary of your bra as if he’s too shy to ask again for permission to remove a garment.

You decide to put on a little show as you give him what he wants; you unhook your bra and slide the straps down your arms so achingly slowly he thinks he might combust. And then finally, gloriously, you let the fabric fall to the floor and Eddie gets his first look at your bare chest.

He gapes, open-mouthed, for longer than is frankly comfortable—to the point you’re almost about to cover yourself up again.

And then he says, “Permission to do something highly inappropriate and maybe even a little degrading?”

”Uhh… sure?”

In a flash he’s buried face first in your sternum, hands coming to cup your breasts and dramatically smother himself in your cleavage. He lets out a pleasured groan as you giggle, deft fingers lightly tugging and pinching the sensitive peaks of your nipples. He prickles with pride at the breathy gasp you emit when his mouth starts working—he turns his head to suck one hard mound between his lips and keeps up the pressure with his fingers on the other.

”Sh-shit…” you sigh and slump into his attention, arms hanging like limp ribbons by your sides. “Eddie…”

”Love the way you say my name,” he practically purrs. “So fucking pretty.”

He switches sides now, firmly dragging the flat of his tongue over your nipple before sealing his lips around it and sucking. The pure pressure of it makes you cry out, fingers tugging harshly at his curls.

”Jesus, that feels amazing,” you whine. It’s so good, but it’s not nearly enough at the same time. And it’s like he can sense it—like he’s got some kind of a psychic connection with your body. He adapts immediately to what you need, dropping to his knees to unbutton your jean shorts and deftly slip them down and off your legs. He smooths his palms against your bare thighs and lets you feel the cold kiss of his metal rings against the burning flesh there, all the while looking up at you with dark eyes that you can’t quite identify. There’s lust, sure, but something else in those chocolate orbs. Something akin to adoration—like he’s on his knees preparing to worship you.

”Can I?” Those long, thick fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear and you’re nodding before he’s even finished asking.

You wish you could put the sound he lets out once he finally has you bare on vinyl to repeat over and over again. It’s somewhere between a growl and a whimper, completely heady with desire and want; need, even. The fact that he needs you like this is so overwhelming and flattering that you can barely process it. You don’t have time to, because in a moment his lips are wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking. He goes straight past gentle and into pure pressure just like he did with your nipples; as above, so below. And it’s bliss—thigh-quaking, breath-hitching, earth-shattering bliss.

All you can manage to do is scrabble for purchase against the wall his hands have you pinned to. You have to sound absolutely pathetic, but you can’t be bothered to care because you’re precariously close to coming and it’s only been a matter of minutes.

He moans, like he’s tasting the finest, most expensive and decadent cuisine he’s ever had. The sound vibrates against your pussy and travels up your spine all the way to your brain—it nests there and makes it’s home, drives you into a fuzzy state of ecstasy. And all the while that luxurious tongue is hard at work, alternating between lapping thirstily at your entrance and fluttering against your clit in a way that causes every muscle in your abdomen to contract.

Nothing should be able to feel this good—it’s so desperately close to overwhelming. Simultaneously, you would rather die than lose this feeling is it crescendos to a fever pitch.

”Let go,” he murmurs against you, and you know he’s not talking about your grip on his hair. “It’s okay. I gotcha, let go f’me.”

You’ve never fancied yourself to be the obedient type per se, but apparently your body is feeling particularly traitorous today. It takes all of three more seconds before you’re doing exactly what he said—legs trembling with the burden of your weight as you crash and burn on his tongue. You whine and beg and plead, all of it meaningless babble as he works you over and through your pleasure with that wonderful, amazing, perfect mouth of his.

You don’t even process you’re collapsing, but thankfully Eddie does and catches you with ease. There’s a cocky chuckle in his throat as he lays you down on the floor, and you would smack him for it if he hadn’t earned it. Instead, you grab him by the collar of his shirt a little rougher than mean to and drag him to your mouth, relishing in the high-pitched whine he admits at your light manhandling.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, and Eddie can’t help grinding himself hard against your thigh in an attempt to relieve the pressure of his untouched arousal. This kiss is nasty—wet, gnashing, desperate. There’s no control to it on either end.

”That good, huh?” He mutters into your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper—you can’t expect much more when you’re kissing him the way you are, grinding your thigh against his aching cock all the while. And even still, despite his obvious desperation, he manages to be cocky about how hard he made you come.

If you weren’t head over heels for this man before, you certainly are now.

You start tugging at his belt and he chuckles, only growing more sure of himself by the second.

”Wait, baby, lemme take you to bed,” he huffs over the feeling of your hand finally sliding into his jeans where he needs you most.

It makes you gasp when you finally have him in the palm of your hand. As big as he felt through his jeans, nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He’s heavy, achingly thick, and you can feel the way he positively throbs in your grip.

And just as you’re about to agree and show him to your bedroom, you shake your head firmly; because as uncomfortable as this floor is going to feel and as much as your back is going to hate you for it later, you need him now. There’s no time for relocating; if he doesn’t give it to you right now, here in the middle of your living room floor, you think you might perish.

”Right here?” He hums as if he’s not affected at all while he slots himself between your legs. “On the floor? Can’t even wait thirty seconds to let me have you the right way? Dirty girl.”

It’s such a shift in dynamic; not an unwelcome one at all, certainly. But he’s been so shy and timid up until this point—always following your lead, blushing when his hand brushes against yours. You wonder if he’s like this with everyone—if he feels some pressure to perform an act or role, to hide his true personality. 

The thought makes your chest ache a little bit, but you don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s breaking you in half. He’s so slow about it, too; barely pressing his tip into you, giving you time to adjust to every millimeter he gives you. Even still it punches the breath out of your lungs and makes your eyelids flutter at the intrusion.

”Shit.” It’s not spoken so much as whined, and suddenly you’re starkly aware of just how much you’re affecting him. You bite your lip to steady yourself so you can look up at him, and the sight alone is almost enough to unravel you. Unruly curls spill down over his shoulder and dangle in the air over you. His mouth hangs open—fast, shallow breaths make his bottom lip quiver. His pupils are so blown with desire you can barely see the warm chocolatey color of his irises.

You’re suddenly aware that in your desperation, you forgot a very important step. He’s still fully clothed—your legs rub against his t-shirt as his hands hook under your knees to spread you wider for him. You almost feel bad about it; in your haze of arousal his attention to your body has brought on, you’ve forgotten to be attentive to his. It pulls a whine from your lips as your hands unconsciously come to tug at the fabric.

He chuckles but acquiesces—not before you see a flicker of hesitation pass over his face.

It takes a moment to process what you’re looking at as he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side… and then your jaw drops. ”Shit, Eddie!”

He’s quick to quiet your exclamation with a heated kiss, unintentionally shoving himself that little bit deeper into your cunt. It distracts you, but only for a moment. Then you’re pushing yourself up onto your elbows, trying to wrap your mind around the myriad of deep, whitish-pink scars that litter his torso.

“Eddie, what—“

“Car accident,” he lies before he can think better of it. It’s a story he’s told so many times that he’s almost starting to believe it himself. “Couple years back.”

“Jesus,” you whisper as your fingers trace over the poorly healed lines.

“I know. They’re not pretty.”

That one sentence tells you everything you need to know. “It’s not that,” he assure him. “Just… a miracle you survived something that bad.”

“Yeah,” he hums. “I got lucky.”

He’s deflating a little bit, and the last thing you want him to do is lose that confidence he’s been exuding. You wrap your arms around your neck and pulls him flush against you, feeling every warm inch of his torso against yours as your tongue tangles with his.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him again. And you mean it.

He draws a gasp from your lips when he presses even closer, every inch of his body covering yours and his length shoved all the way into your needy cunt. It’s almost too much for him—the combination of your tight, wet heat around him; the adoration in your eyes as you look up at him like he’s some kind of god; your hands pulling him closer like you might evaporate if you can’t feel every inch of his body at all times. It’s a heady feeling he’s never experienced before, being wanted this badly. It nearly unravels him—especially when you start bucking your hips up to him in search of the friction you so desperately need.

He sees your need, and it pulls him back into his dutiful role. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He starts with deep, slow thrusts that nearly make you drool—you feel the drag of every single inch against your walls, every vein and ridge and contour. It’s like you’re memorizing the shape of him from the inside out.

One ringed hand slides down your hip and along the length of your thigh to hook beneath your knee, hitching your leg up as high as he comfortably can to spread you wide open for the taking.

You get barely a moment's notice as he draws himself almost all the way out. And then he slams himself back into place—deep, hard, unrelenting. He revels in the sound it draws from you, something between a cry and a plea for more; he silently vows to himself that those little pleasures sounds are going to be all you’re capable of making by the time he’s done with you.

It’s borderline violent, the way he fucks you. His thrusts are relentless and expert in a way you didn’t expect him to be. His lips hardly leave your skin, muffling his moans into hickies and bruises on your neck and chest. His hands grip hard to your body, marks blossoming beneath his fingertips.

You’ve never fallen apart so easily.

“That’s it,” he purrs into your ear as he feels your walls fluttering around him. “Don’t hold back, lemme have it. Please, baby.”

And really, it would be rude to deny him after he’s asked so nicely.

Your orgasm comes like shattered glass. The sound is the first thing you process—your moans drowning out his steady grunts. And then it’s sharp. It drives its shards into your and makes you flinch away from the sensation, so pleasurable it’s almost painful.

You’ve never come just from being fucked before. Sweet, wonderful Eddie carries on working towards his own release like he doesn’t deserve a goddamned award.

“Can I…”

But you’re already nodding, wrapping your legs around his waist and coaxing him deeper—urging him to make a home in the deepest part of you.

He’s not a man who needs to be told twice. He rocks his hips as deep as he can and then presses even closer, the head of him bruising your cervix as he falls apart. And maybe it shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the sensation of him painting your walls with rope after rope or warm, sticky release; but you’re not in the mind to psychoanalyze yourself right now. Instead you do your best to help him through it, lightly ghosting the tips of your fingers in soothing patterns on his back as he pants and shudders.

“Holy…”

“Yeah,” you giggle.

It takes him a few minutes to summon the courage he needs to pull his softening length from your warmth, and he bites down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood when he sees the absolute mess that slides down the curve of your ass.

”Jesus H. Christ,” he murmurs. His fingers come to swipe up some of the combined cum before he can stop himself, pushing it back into where he’d spilled it to begin with and relishing in the moan you afford him at the feeling of his thick fingers pressing into your over-sensitive entrance.

He’s so thoroughly enraptured with the sight before him. Your cunt squeezing so tightly around his fingers, cum dripping, desperate to reject due to the overstimulation. And yet you take it without flinching, chest heaving, head falling back against the hardwood floor.

He swipes his thumb over your clit so lightly and yet it still makes you squeeze like a vice around him, and so he does it again. He curls his fingers in search of that spot that made you fall apart so prettily on his cock, and once he finds it he doesn’t relent. That, combined with the light pressure on your clit, is more than enough.

Your thighs tremble, caught indecisively between spreading further open for him and clamping shut on his cum-slicked hand. He watches in awe as your lips part in a silent scream, ass arching up off the floor; and then, as you come down, you have to push him away because it’s finally too much.

”Fuck,” you whimper—he coos so reassuringly as he leans down to gently kiss your lips, errant curls brushing and tickling against your cheeks.

”I know, baby,” he whispers. “God, you’re incredible. Did so good f’me.”

You have to stay still for a moment—let his sweet, gentle kisses bring you back down from the clouds. And then you’re aware of the ache in your back and the absolute puddle forming under your ass, and you push yourself up with a weak groan.

”M’sorry,” he winces in sympathy. “Bed next time, I promise.”

And really, the promise of there being a next time shouldn’t make your heart skip a beat the way it does.

You’re worried things’ll be awkward now, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Working with him now is so much more effortless. The tension isn’t as palpable—it’s a fluid thing that you move through confidently now that your feelings and his are known. He isn’t afraid to watch you anymore, awe and adoration in his eyes as you show him how to reassemble the engine block. He observes your skilled fingers at work, and he’s not afraid to tell you how fucking sexy it is to him. He’s not afraid to rest a hand on the small of your back as he stands beside you, even occasionally getting brave enough to let it slip down and cup your ass. He’s not afraid to be his goofy, adorable, manic self—it’s the best metamorphosis you’ve ever seen.

You finish working on his van finally, and he almost tears up at how well she runs now—although he definitely doesn’t let you see that.

And as worried as you were that finishing this job would feel like the end of whatever this is with Eddie, it doesn’t. You feel secure, somehow, that he’ll keep coming back—for more than just parts and labor.

THE END

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 ily lots

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[payasita]

Good job getting ADHD medication! I’m so proud of you :D

thanks so so much im very happy and so hopeful for the first time maybe ever but also it TOOK ME LIKE. A YEAR. A YEAR.

like yall for real?? for real. for real i have been diagnosed since i was like six. (funny story my teacher thought i was on the spectrum so my parents get me tested with the nodes and shit and according to mom, who loves this story, my neurologist did all that and talked to me and then just turned to my mom and went "she's not autistic. she just hates the other kids" but they DID find an adhd diagnosis in there so net win for all of us)

diagnosed since i was SIX. on stimulants until i turned 8, and you know why i got off em? my pediatrician retired. we could not find another who would take our low-income insurance. so i just had to rawdog The Rest Of My Fucking Life. diagnosed when i was six. legally neurodivergent for 20 slutty slutty angry years.

and it still took me like. a few months to get a psych appointment. a few weeks to reaffirm my diagnosis as an adult. a few more weeks for another appointment for meds. he doesnt Want to do meds first, because i must have been doing fine without them if its been two decades, right? i got a job and a car and everything. well gee fuckin shittickers Dr. Brain Guy, just WHAT was my alternative? would you prefer i be maladapted to the point of incapacitation; is that what it takes for someone to be considered? i cheated my way through school. every day after work i sit for an hour in my car because i dont have the executive function to stand up and walk the ten steps to my house. garbage just appears around me. i have three empty bags of hot chip and two cans of sprite on my desk as we speak, neither from today. at that point i hadnt had a debit card for six months because that would have required me to Drive To The Bank, a location that was new to me in this area, so i just did everything on credit. is this all normal? is this fine? am i GOOD, actually, Dr. WeirdBrain?

so we cordially agree that yes i should probably be medicated. i want to do a stimulant. he does not want to put me on a stimulant. "stimulants can mess with your heart," he says, "and you're young, you don't want heart problems." i say ok because i dont want to make him think im just looking for narcotics. even though i am. because they WORK. i agree to try some kind of antidepressant.

the antidepressant gives me tachycardia. i go to the emergency room after reading a heartbeat of, oh, 140 bpm, which is about like double what it normally is and juuuust below the You Are Having A Heart Attack threshold. i get to the ER and the doctor there is very obviously convinced i'm a local addict having some sort of episode. it is the most ironic experience i've had all year and i feel an abrupt and all consuming kinship with those birds in australia that will swoop you and peck at your face for seemingly no good reason.

so yeah, we narrow it down to the antidepressant. as it turns out, these particular meds are known to, semi-commonly, Mess With Your Heart. i have my next appointment with my psych and somehow refrain from pecking his eyes out. he puts me on a noreprinephrine inhibitor(iirc) that isnt actually FDA approved to treat ADHD specifically(i DEFINITELY rc) but it IS given to smokers to help them quit. i dont smoke. i may very well fucking start before this whole ordeal is at the point where someone listens to me

it obviously does a combined total of jack and shit, and the man waffles with this one because he has "had success" using it as treatment for other ADHD patients. he ups the dose. twice. three months on the smoker meds, which are also apparently notorious for destroying your appetite, but they didnt even do THAT. no change to the average amount of hot chip on my desk.

he wants to try quelbree after that. i finally tell him i'm tired of this shit and would like to have more than two hours of usable daylight to function before it all falls to uncontrollable youtube shorts binges and a daily experience i like to call The Weighted Nothings and i would very much like to PLEASE. TRY A STIMULANT.

he's been friendly enough with me over these past four or five or whatever months but at this he gets suddenly very very business-baseline. gives me the whole spiel about the north american shortage. gives me a spiel about how i absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, lose or sell this medication, because they will not refill it if i do. i am sitting here wondering if he he's telling the truth about having other ADHD patients at all like ever in his career, and also, am i nuts or should the "don't sell your prescription drugs" bit apply to EVERYTHING? i dont fuckin know man i just live here

he says he wants a urine test first. its scheduled for two weeks out. i take it.

"hey uh, your piss came back with cannabis in it" "well it'd be weirder if it didn't, we are in california and i am a kitchen manager" "you can't have weed if you want adderall" "fine i'll stop" "we'll schedule you another test in a month" "aight bet" it didnt go exactly like that but this is kind of what the vibe between us has devolved into by this point.

anyway i wait a month and get a good grade in piss. i get the meds prescribed. i go to fill out the prescription

all i really need to say to you are the words "prior authorization error" for most of you to get what happened next.

the psych isnt even aware. i wait another month for our next meeting, which was yesterday. i do not yell at him. he tells me to take it up with the pharmacy, and yell at them. i am going to yell at them.

so i go, and guess what, it actually went through a while ago! NO ONE TOLD ME OR DR. FEEL-BAD OVER HERE. but we can't fill it right now because its a controlled substance so come back in a few hours. hey it's ready where the hell are you? TAKE YOUR METH AND GET OUT

anyway i started it today, reorganized my pantry, and fixed the fire alarm in my hallway that's been chirping at me for a week. i no longer have to wear earplugs to bed.

and with my newfound executive function superpowers, i will be spraying my weed-free piss all over Reagan's grave.

[twstfanblog]

So how did azul find his girls???

Evil Dad AU meeting story 2 unlocked!

As stated, Azul's girls sink a ship that he had promised safe passage. That deal falling through really puts him in a delicate position so he's of course, PISSED. He demands the Tweels look into who sunk that ship and potentially fucked up his whole operation. The Tweels come back saying...by the rumors that...the Sea Witch...was the one who did it... Azul, The Sea Witch: Azul: WHAT!? After more research, they head to where this 'Sea Witch' is supposed to live. Finding an abandoned coral cliff close to a coastline, Azul is already angry and demanding whoever is impersonating him comes out RIGHT NOW. So imagine their surprise as what could only be described as 'Little Girl Azul' pops out from the coral to yell at them to be quiet. After a few moments of the Tweels looking back and forth between Azul and who is CLEARLY his daughter, Azul finally remembers what he was doing and starts demanding she tell him who she is Charysa: What do you have a monopoly on being an octomer? Azul: I-No! I just- Charysa: Look. I'm a very busy girl and I haven't got all day unlike SOME PEOPLE apparently. Just speak your wish and I shall grant it, for a price of course. It's a back-and-forth of sass and underhanded comments before Charysa agrees to not fuck with the route anymore if Azul brings a contract detailing a fair deal for them both. Azul, not really knowing how this young girl sunk a whole ass trading vessel alone, decides to agree to said terms. Azul DOES write the contract and they come back to do the deal, only the mer who exits the coral is SCYLAR. a fact none of them notice because as far as they know, there was only one. it's more sass, but now this child is MOCKING Azul saying this deal wasn't fair in the slightest and if he assumed she couldn't read (Like he couldn't at her age. BURN) Azul snatches the contract back, ready to point how she can't read because the contract CLEARLY SAYS-... The contracts change during each meeting. The sisters switching back and forth to get around any verbal contracts by saying they were only going to keep their word for a week. Knowing Azul only talks to them each once a week with the travel time to get to their coral cliff. Azul is BLINDED by his frustration about being mocked by a 'toddler' but the tweels are more aware that something is going on and that One is more than likely Two. They also...can do basic math and are 90% sure these kids are Azul and Yuu's children. A fact that Azul refuses to accept because he's been getting the run around by CHILDREN.

Azul: Those smug little upstarts are not- Jade: Remember. They'd also be Yuu's children. Azul: Azul sighs, finally relaxing and allowing himself to think about things clearly. Azul: By the Seven, they're mine...Well…they'll have to be punished for targeting their father… From there, Azul realizes that they most likely have the missing conch. And they're both clearly too young to use it to its full capabilities. While they can't use it to 'take' things, it'll be easy to figure out how to use it to 'replace' things. Like words on a contract.

Azul chooses to use what is basically chemical warfare. Makes a scenario where he can spill a potion into the water during a meeting without the current twin knowing about it. It gives them a severe stomach ache, but without knowing the full effect of the potion is concerning enough to warrant a doctor's visit. Scylar, panicked and wanting the deal over with so she can get her sister to a doctor, tries to rush through the signing of the contract Azul brings their next meeting. Azul, smug, snatches the contract out of reach and just coos. Azul: Oh dear! Why so frazzled? In fact, I'm rather surprised you look so well. That potion I used is known to put even the Tweels on bedrest until the antidote is given…then again one of you is on bedrest, isn't she? Scylar: Scylar bolts back into the reef, trying to get to Charysa in an effort to escape. Unfortunately, the Tweels are adults and much faster, so they're both caught fairly quickly. Azul knows they are his and Yuu's children. And now he has the perfect method for getting Yuu to come right back to him and he gets a family. Win-win for everyone in his eyes. But when he asks them where their mother is, they admit they haven't seen Yuu in two years, as the port they use to meet Yuu at was overrun with guards and her wanted posters one day. Azul is mad; One, because that means Yuu ISN'T a mer like he thought which would explain why he couldn't find her over the years. Two, he has to find a clear-cut way to lure Yuu back into the water. As such, he let his children live alone in a dead coral. So, in a turn of irony, he locks the twins into the cleared-out safe room. Claiming them as his two new treasures. (He does let them out as they all get more used to each other. And Azul's efforts to make them trust him via pampering them REALLY pays off.)

[foster-the-world]

Fun!

Oh Mary play was fun. Bizarre fun. Not sure it was my favorite but def some clever moments. My husband was a big fan.

A few years back I mentored one young mother through a very small nonprofit that helps former foster youth. Its basically two middle aged ladies who helped out a group of 8-10 former foster youth. They act as the informal support most people would receive from their family + recruit mentors. Anyway, they reached out today because one of the people in their current group has a ten year old whose struggling in school. Apparently her's in a not great school in the Bronx. Asked if I had any resources since we aren't that far. Neither of the group leaders have school aged kids. Wanted to know if a charter school would help him. So hard to know. If he's just having trouble because the schools not great then most charter schools will provide extra hours support to get him caught up. If he has a learning disability then most charter schools are going to counsel him out. They don't want kids who are going to bring down their test scores :( So depressing.

I tried to provide the DOE process of getting special need services but that takes months to even get an assessment spot. Compared to 99.9% of places there are a shit ton of resources. You can get literally hundred of thousands of dollars of services provided by the city. I know so many people who get over $200,000 of services per year free of charge from the city. Top notch/can't be better services. But its a fulltime job to figure it out and you've got to be first in line or its not happening. Or you need the cash to pay for assessments, etc that prove your kid needs these services. I have some friends that work in charter schools so if she's in the right neighborhood I can see if they still have room. I provided info on an organization that helps. But its all going to take so much time. For example today I've spent at least 2.5 hours researching, talking to other parents and texting with his providers. Its not an abnormal day. I'm not currently trying to chase down any new services. It just what is normal. I mean a little extra as its only the second week of school but still. I'm lucky I can do it at work/lunchtime. Anyway its all depressing. I don't know a solution. I'm thankful services are there but there has to be a better way.

I'm touring a school geared for ADHD kids next week. It would be for Kindergarten next year. Looks good for him. My only fear is they don't accept kids with behavior issues. He's a four year old boy with ADHD of course he has behavior issues. Why else would we be there? I assume they mean aggression? Going to find out. I read they require the kids to be medicated. I'm assuming that's for older kids. I can't imagine its a requirement for 5 year old. The APA doesn't even recommend until 6 unless there are extreme issues. We are unfortunately in the extreme issues territory hence looking for a school for kids with ADHD. I'm surprised private schools can make that requirement but I guess private schools can do whatever the hell they want. Seems fishy considering I'm sure every kid there has sued the city to have them foot the bill.

Baby boys doctor wants us to try Flovant to stop the asthma. Its the normal protocol. Not excited that some people have behavioral issues as a side effect. Not what my kid needs more of. Of course, as his doctor pointed out kids behavior gets much worse when they are feeling bad because of an asthma outbreak. Also, nervous because we are thinking of trying ADHD meds next month. I don't want to mix new things. Also, don't want to wait on the Flovant because Oct/Nov are his problem asthma months.

Feeling stronger about trying the ADHD meds. Every medical provider I've talked to has encouraged us to try. I know some people would take that as doctor's wanting a quick fix. I don't agree. I think they've seen it work from other kids and don't want our kids to suffer unnecessarily. Our ADHD parent coach- whose a big wig that's done a ton of published research on ADHD was very supportive of the idea.

Baby boy has also been using some language that is so sad. "My body feels wild. I can't stop it." "I'm mean to my friends. I don't know why." "I'm bad." He's only four. We don't use "bad" language. I don't want him thinking these things about himself. He has a really hard time controlling his body but he has the sweetest little heart.

Parent Teacher night for the girls. Excited to hear from Bee's teachers - as they are both new to the school. Bee had Rebel's teacher last year so that's not new.

The very kind teacher at the school who produces a morning announcement video created by/with the kids every morning announced she was pregnant today. I happened to be in the office. The kids were so excited. Very sweet.

[britcision]

Alright my lovelies, despite my Dragon Age distractions it is still WIP Wednesday and I still have snacks for you!

Today we shall be snacking on BRUCE! 😈

Things have picked right up again with this chapter since I’ve changed a couple scenes to Harley’s POV but I am gonna let it run long to make sure we get all the way through Croc so I can close the door on that lil side quest

The final chapter miiiight need to be posted in two parts, which I don’t like doing but then the next one after I get to boop back to the Ghost Zone, so we’ll see!

————————

A Good Excuse To Be A Bad Influence iv

Pulling himself slowly from sleep just a little past noon, Bruce had to admit he was feeling better. The headache had dulled to a low throb but he felt clearer.

More aware of himself, and after a glass of water, more like he could take on the day.

It was far from his first concussion and he was well used to navigating the symptoms over the next few days. So long as he didn’t get any serious memory loss he wasn’t going to worry about it.

He had far more serious things to worry about, but even they seemed more manageable after almost nine hours of sleep.

Honestly… he wasn’t surprised that Jason hadn’t come to the cave. Hadn’t agreed to stay away from Danny when asked.

It had felt like a reasonable request at the time, like the bare minimum of common sense. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore.

Jason didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust Bruce’s judgement, in how to deal with criminals or anything else.

Jason hadn’t been the boy who’d looked to Bruce with such trust, such wonder and awe, even before he’d died.

Sometimes Bruce wondered where he’d gone wrong.

But there was no use dwelling on the past. Bruce would like to re earn Jason’s trust some day, but he wouldn’t ignore their present relationship.

Jason wouldn’t trust that Danny was a danger to him without proof, so Bruce would find that proof, if it existed. Hopefully before Jason’s condition became proof itself.

The first and most obvious step would be to consult the Justice League Dark at today’s meeting, and then make arrangements for this doctor from the Infinite Realms.

He’d have to look into those laws Jason mentioned ahead of the meeting. Perhaps bring them up to Constantine, see how it might affect matters with the Infinite Realms.

A bitter part of him mused that he wouldn’t be surprised if the magician was completely unaware of most international laws, let alone the ones of the various lands he travelled, but still.

The man had been so adamant that the Infinite Realms were completely beyond their ability to handle. That they should cut and run at any cost.

Bruce could hardly imagine he’d be pleased that the US had apparently declared its inhabitants the targets of its newest genocide.

Of course, changing the laws and having them struck down would take time, but Bruce still hoped that the act of beginning might be enough.

Enough for him to visit Jason’s doctor in the Realms or some other neutral ground, since the doctor couldn’t come here.

Jason had said that he would be fine, not that he was already fine. Bruce wouldn’t have believed him if he had, not really; Jason hadn’t been fine since he’d been dunked in those damn pits.

Their poison had stuck with him far longer than anyone Bruce had ever heard of.

Hells, Bruce had had his own dunking. He could just barely remember the rage that had forced itself down his throat, into his lungs as he was brutally thrust back into the land of the living.

He had controlled it, had mastered it quickly, and now it was nothing more than a faint scrap of memory. Even that was still enough to grant his deepest sympathy to Jason’s struggles.

If the rage had never left him…

But no, he decided, going through his morning routine like he was still the young playboy Brucie who never showed his face before 3pm.

There was no point in indulging those thoughts either. He had mastered the pit’s fury, and it released him. For whatever reason, Jason hadn’t.

And now they all had to deal with the consequences.

Still, Bruce let himself hope for the future instead.

If his children were right, if Jason was right… if Danny or this mysterious doctor from the Infinite Realms could help him with the pit rage…

He might one day see that little boy again. The boy who looked at Bruce like he’d hung the stars, who could fly because Robin made him magic.

There was nothing in this world or any other that Bruce wouldn’t give to see Jason whole again. To see him happy.

The United States government were going to learn (again) what it meant to come between the Batman and the safety of his sons.

The Justice League’s meeting would be in another four hours. He had plenty of time to do some research and amend their presentation.

So long as Jason was right.

And speaking of Jason… there was just one other thing he’d like to do this morning. Heaving a sigh while he had the privacy of his room, Bruce pulled up his phone again.

He didn’t quite indulge himself as far as making a face as he punched in Constantine’s number, because concussed or not he was an adult. And he was going to need the man’s help.

Surely Jason wouldn’t object to a single check in with a trusted practitioner?

As the phone rang, Bruce once again cursed the circumstances that kept Zatanna off world. He was about 75% sure that Jason actually liked her.

But maybe the extent to which Constantine annoyed Bruce would also cheer him up.

The call went through, and Bruce snapped his wandering attention back. Maybe he’d take the rest of the day off after the meeting. Heal up a little more.

Alfred would be proud.

“Constantine. A moment of your time before the meeting?” It even sounded like a question, not a command. Sleep really had done him a world of good.

——————

Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai

[bisluthq]

You guys sound very victim blame-y talking about that woman… It’s okay to not really care about her life and her struggles but it’s really not easy to just “leave”. Especially with the way she was raised, the way her husband treats her, the fact that the company is apparently under his name so who knows how much money she actually gets herself, the fact that they have children together. She’s clearly in a shitty situation that would be hard to leave and blaming it on her instead of the misogynistic husband who pushed her to marry him faster than she was ready to and who forced the lifestyle he wanted on her… No one is saying she has it worse than everyone else but c’mon… I also think it’s good that they wrote this article now with the whole “tradwife” trend, it shows that it’s not as perfect as they all paint it

Oh come on lol. No, it’s not victim blaming because I simply don’t think she’s a victim of anything other than her own shitty life choices. She’s a person with a lot of choices and options before her who made and continues to make certain choices and pick certain options. Yes, her upbringing led her to think this is the best set of choices and it probably wasn’t and isn’t but it’s also patronizing af to decide someone’s culture is “wrong” especially when the person who is participating in it had and has many ways to opt out of that culture and information regarding other cultures. For one, she lived independently in NYC away from that community. So she chose to marry this guy - yes he pressured her but she… still agreed? She wasn’t kidnapped or placed into an arranged marriage or anything like that. The company is in his name but she’s got her personal influencering brand right and he clearly is happy for her to do shit she decides to do like the Mrs World competition (which involved travel without him so?? She’s not being held against her will???) like idk man. I agree that it’s important to write this story and show that this is… not a great life… even for the people actively choosing it…. but I also don’t think we should be all “oh no this mean misogynistic man” when she’s clearly agreed to all of this stuff.

She also could go and get BC without him ever knowing tbh so popping out all the babies is also a choice she’s agreeing to? She knows about BC and she can access it and she could go and get something without ever talking to him or telling him about it because doctor/patient confidentiality tbh. There are ways to access BC and pay cash or even free BC if he’s exerting financial control or she’s worried he’ll see it on the insurance docs in some way.

Shitty decisions -> shitty outcomes. That’s not victim blaming. That’s saying human beings have choices and women are full blown human beings and if we make shitty choices (like become tradwives) there’s a good to great possibility that our lives will suck.

idk man I made/make a lot of really shitty choices and they often lead to questionable outcomes and that’s because I was making bad choices, not because I’m a victim. A victim mentality is not the right approach here imo. There are SO MANY WOMEN (and other marginalized people) in the world who ACTUALLY don’t have choices or only have so called choiceless choices available to them who actually deserve our support and sympathy and mental bandwidth and who are actually victims of their circumstances that I just… don’t find this that sad? Like fafo is what happened here.

still a bit sad ofc poor Ballerina Farm lady - sounds like her life is shitty. Because of the shitty choices she fucking made tho.

also fwiw if the reporter believed her to actually be in danger this would be dangerous af to publish in its current form so either that’s an irresponsible decision or the reporter feels the husband is shitty but not straight up abusive.

[excentricat1]

AU where Van Helsing is called for consultation but Dracula isn’t around. Renfield hears Van Helsing monologuing about corn and realizes that each kernel of corn, each pea has the life potential to become a whole new plant.  Meanwhile, Dr. Seward can’t make heads or tails of the metaphor.

Dr. Seward’s diary, kept on phonograph

“So, doctor, I have been thinking that it would be very good for me to have more activity to occupy my brain and my body. I would like to start a garden in the courtyard.”

This seemed like one of his more sane and sensible proposals, and easy enough to do. Perhaps this was what Dr. Van Helsing was trying to tell me earlier.“Would this garden be just for you, or would it be a community project for all the patients who wish to help?”

“Oh, I don’t mind that, but it has to be the right kind of garden. Beans and corn and squash. None of that nonsense with carrots or onions or flowers. They’re a waste of good space.”

__________

Summer is getting on now, and the garden is lush. Many patients are spending time in working it, but none more than Renfield. It seems he was right about the work being good for them. There have been fewer incidents and injuries all around. Alas, he does tend to eat the pests when he finds them threatening the plants, or feed them to some quite large spiders he has collected, but it hasn’t done him any harm. An attendant has just come in saying he has requested to see me. 

Renfield requested a chicken coop and chickens.

“You can see what good the garden has done for me Dr. Seward. All this fresh air and activity has made me nearly as sane as any man. But what is a garden without a few chickens. You can even have the eggs and they will eat scraps. They are such interesting birds and I would love to observe them closely to see all the things they do.”

Well, I do understand a desire for close observation. It was such a winning argument I had to agree. I will get the supplies for building a coop tomorrow. He already had the design drawn up in his little notebook. 

____________

The garden and chickens are coming along beautifully and everyone seems to enjoy the fresh eggs in their meals. There is not so much work to be done now, but Renfield still spends as much time as he can in the garden with his notebook. I have asked him what he’s doing and he explained that he is counting the fruits of each plant so that he knows which are the best and most lively ones. Saying this, he selected a plant and picked several ripe pea pods off of it and scattered them for the chickens. I saw him open his notebook and make tally marks in the first column on several different pages, perhaps noting which chickens had eaten? His spider collection doesn’t seem to be growing any more either, though he still brings the box out with him each day. 

____________

A hawk has taken one of the chickens today and the patients are all distraught. Apparently it was out of its enclosure. Renfield says that he only wanted the chicken to help him remove the pests from the garden. 

__________

Renfield asked for me again this evening. 

“Dr. Seward, you have been so good to me as to permit my little farm, I have just one more small request. I have captured the hawk that took the beloved chicken, and I would like it to be cooked whole for my dinner.”

Just when I was thinking him so well, and he wants to do a mad thing like eat an entire hawk. But he refused to tell me where it was kept. I fear he may try to eat it raw like he once did with the sparrows if I don’t agree. I have told him I will think about it.

__________

Attendants have started finding piles of corn kernels baiting live mousetraps. Renfield does not admit responsibility for these, but I suspect him of trying to catch mice for the hawk. I will have to give him my answer soon. 

[asylos]

I posted 24,363 times in 2022

That's 21,469 more posts than 2021!

197 posts created (1%)

24,166 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@one-thousand-bees

@pyromanicdaydreamer

@lunarcatninja

@skadren

@salva

I tagged 651 of my posts in 2022

#miri cats - 51 posts

#miri writes - 47 posts

#dracula daily - 36 posts

#my child - 10 posts

#youtube - 9 posts

#morning reblog - 7 posts

#art - 6 posts

#i don't go here - 6 posts

#cats - 5 posts

#queueueue - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#a friend and i were playing with randoms and when i found out one of them was another girl i went out of the way to be extra nice to her

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Received my Hanafuda deck from @risingoflights this week! The cards not only look good but feel really good too. Very happy to support the making of this on Patreon.

16 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

#4

Dracula Daily Responses

 June 17

It has been… weeks since I last heard from my dear friend Jonathan. My heart was pounding from my chest with excitement, my hands trembling as I gripped the envelope and tore it open. He is alive! But trapped, still, within his chambers. Still he looks to those in service of the Count for aid, and unsurprisingly finds none. 

June 18

The radio bursts alive with a short blast of static, and again I hear the voice of Dr. Seward. He speaks quickly, and I can only assume it must be of his patient Renfield once more. It seems to be the only subject which captures the doctor’s attention, since Miss Lucy’s refusal of his proposal. The man is apparently keeping spiders as pets now. What a peculiar man. Though I do find such creatures helpful in keeping the house free of other pests, I would hardly make the effort to attract them myself as they come and go as they please. My cats find them entertaining.

23 notes - Posted June 18, 2022

#3

Dracula Daily Responses

(Previous days https://asylos.tumblr.com/post/684810916316037120/may-1819-below-the-cut-oh-my-poor-friend-it-was)

May 24th:

Another letter mislaid upon my door, from Miss Lucy to my dear Mina. I shouldn’t read it, but I cannot help myself. I hope for some news of my dear friend Jonathan buried within, but I am doubtful. Perhaps the gossip within will lighten my spirit for a moment or two.

Miss Lucy has had quite an eventful time since her last letter! Three proposals! A dream for many girls her age. The doctor who she had thought might be a good match for Mina, had our dear Jonathan not been already in her heart, was first to propose. Ah, but Lucy was already firmly set on another. Ah yes, Mr. Holmwood, who she spoke of before. I do recall this now. Surely he must be one of the three proposals this day? 

Ah it seems Mr. Holmwood was trying to find time to make his proposal but just couldn’t seem to get Miss Lucy to himself before the other two, even with her aid. Mr. Morris therefore was the second of the day. And this man too, realizing Miss Lucy’s heart belonged to another, pledged to be a great friend to her. What a blessing to her to have found such good and honest men in her life. Oh Miss Lucy, I do agree, they should let a girl marry as many men as would agree to marry her together and be happy.

Ah, and then Miss Lucy, you rob us of the details of Mr. Holmwood’s proposal! But such happiness is a blessing.

I shall reseal this quickly and send it on its way to dear Mina so she can share in her closest friend’s joyous news. Hopefully it will distract her too for a moment from our worries.

27 notes - Posted May 24, 2022

#2

I went into the office today to clean out my desk (the office is moving, I’m still remote) and my area had been gutted by IT. My phone doesn’t even have a receiver. But my @risingoflights calendar was still there, left on March 2020.

55 notes - Posted March 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I have received several days' entries of my dear friend Jonathan’s journal, in his most familiar shorthand. He has arrived in foreign lands, and has written in lush detail of his travels so far, both of the land itself and the peoples therein. I have found his descriptions of the food there most tantalizing, and amusing that he had so much trouble with it and yet, he makes note to remember to fetch the recipes to bring home to his beloved Mina still. (Ah Mina, I should write to her soon. It has been far too long!) The castle that was his destination is most interesting, and I cannot wait to hear more about his stay, and the peculiar master of it. I shan't write back to him at this time, as he will surely be on his way back before any such letter would reach him.

89 notes - Posted May 5, 2022

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[getmemymicroscope]

Okay, I really can't complain because - well, anyone that has heard about this movie, or even if you're just looking at the posters, you know what this is (utter shit). And it's creepy as fuck, seeing Rajesh Khanna in this role. I mean, he's not the only old timey actor who has done some really junky movie (Amitabh Bachchan in Boom, for example), but this one undoubtedly takes the cake. In a very, very not good way. I don't know how he agreed to this at all. (Honestly, that can probably be said for everyone in the movie - though, in 2008, I guess we were amidst the whole 'skin show' thing, so it makes sense that some folks signed up for their 15 seconds of fame.) Also, they go way over-the-top with the devoted husband bit, and its fucking annoying (though, I guess, that can be expected given the name of the movie).

Get a fucking doctor to advise, because asthma inhalers should not be used as perfume bottles. What a fucking shitshow. ... Also, how the hell does he just walk into a hotel and be like "is there any room for (name)" and when there isn't, "is there any other name?" (uh, of course?), and when so, "can I know the room number?" - and he gets the fucking room number from the manager at the hotel! Like, talk about a horrible hotel manager. Privacy, security, everything - all right out the window.

Worst movie I've ever seen? Yeah, maybe - though this was expected to be that the second I turned it on (and even over the last 16 years, when I avoided turning it on). I expected Red to be bad, but not the worst - but it was destroyed by horrible medical knowledge in the plot; Deewana Main Deewana had Govinda and Priyanka Chopra, so I did expect at least something out of that one. This one, though, had no expectations at all, so I guess in a relative sense, it may not be the lowest of lowest 0 star movies. (Money Hai Toh Honey Hai also comes into the conversation, I guess; I'm sure a few more, too, that just don't come to mind right now.)

The songs are very fitting for this movie and this acting.

Once the 'suspense' starts, a couple of considerations came into play for me.

Raqeeb, where he knows what's coming and somehow faked it (but unlike Jimmy Sheirgill in that movie, in this one Rajesh Khanna returns immediately and makes no attempt to hide it; also, if the body was messed up beyond recognition, how did she recognize it as him so easily; and where did he even find a body?), or Rishi Kapoor's Khoj, which had a similar attempt many years before.

Red Swastik, where she's hallucinating him (completely different setting, but same idea) - in that case, this would probably be a portrayal of the guilt of the crime riding on her (this seems clever, but also very deep for this type of movie - and most Bollywood movies in general, and would be hard to pull off with them showing that everyone else also sees him).

Vodka Diaries-level psychiatric break? This also had a hallucination at the end, but not to the level of Red Swastik.

And, of course, a Dhoom 3-style double role is always in play in Bollywood - but then, how did they be married for 5 years and her not know (and even his sister never brought it up)?

But, honestly - if she's demanding it isn't her husband, forcing them to stay together seems to be very risky and dumb. Can't believe they'd keep doing that.

And how she keeps alternating between yelling to everyone he's a fraud and then trying to seduce him - first, obviously fake and he's got to know that, but second, why the fuck does he keep letting her do that? He's clearly got to know what she's trying to do - but what is his end goal? Because unless this goes full-scale Bollywood-level shit, there's no way she's just going to be like "I screwed up, let's go back to how it was before when I felt super trapped (and literally almost had 2 psychotic breaks in the first 5 minutes of the movie)." And how would the relationship even last, because she's not going to stop feeling trapped. And sexually unsatisfied, because apparently whenever she even tries he has an asthma attack and then passes out. So, again, what is his end goal in all this? He already knows she tried to kill him, so he can admit everything and have her arrested at once. Essentially, his end goal seems to amount to "I love you, so I will torture you incessantly (to make you accept me as your husband) instead of having you arrested for attempted murder." Clearly she doesn't love him, and he's completely oblivious to how trapped she feels (even though she already told him that). He's like "I love you," so be with me even if I can't have sex without having an asthma attack and am constantly harassing you and not allowing you to do anything; by the end, he's literally driven her insane. (Well done, you torturing asshole.) You got what you wanted, I guess - she admitted to trying to kill you (which you already knew), the cops literally tortured your driver/her boyfriend(?) with electric shocks, and you drove her fucking insane with your stupid decision/actions. (Hell, the ending is even a little bit like Kaashi, but even that movie portrays it's overall story better than this nonsense.)

Also annoying - the future brother-in-law, who just shows up to say 'bhabhi' in a very annoying way, over and over again.

Even the appearance of Tinu Anand and Sudesh Berry can't save anything here, because they're essentially not here - and when they are, they're just being stupid and saying "oh, you have to keep staying with him." And the cops just letting him go and touch her over and over again when she says stop (husband or not) is pathetic. In fact, Sudesh Berry's cop allowing this sort of harassment (on both ends) to go on is just fucking annoying - also because we have to keep hear her yelling as a result. Neither of them amounted to anything here.

Somehow, the movie's ending is even worse than everything leading up to it, which I would've thought impossible with the way the first half of the movie went.

I've changed my mind - yes, this movie is very much in serious contention for worst movie I've ever seen. What Red has in horrible medical storytelling and Money Hai Toh Honey Hai has in terrible plot and Deewana Main Deewana has in terrible moral/message and that Sunny Leone/Arbaan Khan movie has in floating mango horror, this movie has in literally fucking everything. What a shitshow.

[joshuacuellar]

What to Chat About

You wouldn't expect two people who meet at a bar, where ones a doctor and the other is an attorney to start talking about HIPAA compliance. Although this may be an area of life they both have in common, its work related and people don't usually go to a bar to make business contacts. Making a friend at a bar that turns into a business deal can happen but its important to remember that everyone's drunk or at least slightly buzzed and would probably rather talk business sober, especially if more than just a few bucks are involved.

Using the example of an attorney and a doctor. Let's say they are 26 and 28, both completed 8 years of school and graduated high school at 17 and 18 with advanced placement. Both took a gap year to travel and get their apartments arranged before they started work and are planning to retire or switch careers around 45. House paid off, student loans gone and a little bit of money saved for retirement. Probably not a lot.

So what do you talk about?

Thinking back to high school when everyone used to go around chit chatting people up, asking for their phone numbers, emails, chat room handles and home page addresses, there's some obvious conversation starters:

So what do you do for a living? (what classes are you in?) Those are some nice shoes you got on. Is that a __ so and so drink? Is it any good? Do you hang out here a lot, or not really all that often?

Asking what someone does for a living should not be followed up with "so how much money do you make?"

A lot of dating sites suggested doing a background check, credit check, income check and housing verification check on everyone you date pre covid. This is not only creepy, it is usually stalking and harassment and can result in other crimes being committed such as illegal eavesdropping but apparently its the norm in China and parts of the UK where China is trying to push parliament to pass red flag laws so someone can run a background check on you just for asking them for their number and if they'd like to get a drink sometime. Swiped someone as a hot date on a dating app. Background check, credit check, income range from last years taxes and your approximate home address submitted to your swipe.

Kind of disgusting and unpalatable even if they bring up good points.

Some of the points they bring up can easily be addressed by not expecting to find the perfect friend, significant other, lover, one night stand or business partner by going to a bar and running a background check on everyone that offers you a drink or accepts a drink from you. Ask questions and we live in a country where, if you tell someone you don't want to hang out anymore and they keep harassing you, you can call the police and get a restraining order.

Most people who frequent bars frequently have a hotel budget that is not meant just for sleeping around. Want to grab some drinks and play cards or watch a movie and then go jogging in the morning? Grab a hotel, they come with all kinds of beds like 2 queens, 2 full; not just a single bed and a lot of them have living rooms with couches.

While it seems kind of -insert epithet-, a lot of business people meet in hotels strictly to use the computer or conference room, maybe go for a swim and eat at the hotel bar or restaurant. You have to keep in mind, dropping $100 to hang out somewhere is probably not a whole lot of money to someone that does regular business.

Although, post covid, a room is likely closer to $150 to $200 per room, It's likely part of their hobby and leisure money.

Getting back to the deranged psychopath who wants to run a background check via NFC tap of every person that looks at their eyes on public transportation, a simple "I don't think we should hang out anymore" is often enough to get most reasonable professionals to stop talking to you. You might nod knowingly at each other that you both agreed not to talk anymore if you both met at and continue to hang out at more or less the same bars, albeit without each others company.

So that aside, what do you talk about?

What do you do for fun? Do you like --insert hobby I like to do--? How often do you work? Do you have a lot of free time outside of work? Do you drink a lot?* Do you work everyday or do you get more time off than work? Do you like to watch movies? When was the last time you've been to a movie theater? Do you like concerts or sports games? Do you do any workouts [exercise] outside of the gym? e.g. hiking, nature walks, beach strolls, or swimming pools Oh my gawd, I love this song. Do you like this music? [alternatively, aw dawm, this my jam. Do you like this stuff?]

* try not to ask this when a persons too drunk.

Going to bars should not be that big of a deal for people over 25 even if they can be a lot of fun. Even people in their early twenties can be very mature about meeting new people at a bar even if they are extremely excited about meeting people at this new venue.

While turning 21 is an exciting date for young adults and lets be real that most kids don't wait to turn 21 to drink their first sip of alcohol. In the UK, the legal drinking age is actually 16 which many people from the US consider progressive and realistic and even in the USA, the legal drinking age is still 18 in some states.

The point is, by the time you are, 25 or 28, you should be comfortable going to a bar and socializing with complete strangers without having anxiety about being kidnapped or held hostage in an abusive relationship by someone you've just met 5 minutes ago.

You should also be mature enough to understand your comfort levels and assess risk. And both women and men should be respectful and verify 2-3 times that someone is agreeing to be your friend or entertain you outside the of the bar or agree to meet up a few more times before making that decision. And don't feel bad about getting a no for an answer. At least you built up the courage to not just wonder but to ask, and interact with other people that have similar interests to you, even if that's just meeting new people at a bar for the time being.

[theygender]

I was able to refill my BC prescription again but I missed one day of it bc I have ADHD and now I'm dying again 🙃 I wanna get a hysterectomy so bad it's just a matter of finding out which hoops I need to jump through

[throwawaydracula]

Some Thoughts on Mrs. Westenra

So, she's dead now.  And let's be frank, from a purely functional literary standpoint, her main purpose was to serve as an obstacle for the protagonists to overcome.  The fact that everybody-- including poor Lucy-- had to walk on eggshells lest they tax too much Mrs. Westenra's heart was a pretty handy setup to maintain a sense of drama and to oblige our heroes not to face problems head-on.  Her removal of the garlic caused a reversal of fortune that imperiled Lucy once, and now twice.  In some ways she’s just short of being a Diabolus ex Machina.

Lots of people hate her.  This includes my own septuagenarian mum, who I called up specially in preparation for writing this post, because I wanted her opinion particularly given who Mrs. Westenra was.  Mrs. Westenra could be taken as another stock character—The Stupid (or more gently but no less contemptuously) Silly Old Woman.  It’s an archetype that shows up with odd regularity; it’s especially common in the Regency and Victorian and Edwardian stuff I’ve read, but she shows up today, too.  Oftentimes she ends up being a repository for all those qualities that have been deemed ‘feminine weaknesses’, even in works that are otherwise female-friendly or actively feminist.  Something I thought about mentioning in an earlier post, but cut because it seemed too much a digression, is that for some reason misogyny seems to become more palatable to a lot of people when it’s combined with ageism.

It would be easy to assume Stoker was in that camp, too.  Make no mistake, the man was not what we would call a progressive today, nor even what we’d call a progressive in the 1890s—but he doesn’t seem to have been a diehard reactionary, either.  Believe me, you’d be able to tell.  Add to this the fact that the Whitman letter and his visit to a post-Exile Oscar Wilde confirm that his private opinions didn’t always match up with what he said publicly, either, and you end up with… well, a lot of possibilities for interpreting what Stoker might have meant at any given point.  Of course, what an author “means” is not the be-all and end-all—no-one is perfectly awake to their own presuppositions and unconscious biases, no-one can be aware of all the possible implications of anything they communicate.  But I am going to be working under the assumption that Stoker felt a little of Van Helsing’s sympathy for Mrs. Westenra, or that he could at least comprehend such sympathy as legitimate rather than simply the result of extreme softheartedness.

First, consider that Mrs. Westenra did not have any of the information we have, or that the other characters have.  She knew her daughter is ill, but she had no idea how ill.  Lucy is apparently very good at acting even when she feels absolutely terrible.  As far as Mrs. Westenra knew, Lucy’s chronic illness was more of an inconvenience than anything.  Yes, she knew a foreign expert was getting involved, but for all she knew that was just a personal favor—Jack being extra nice and considerate, and his mentor being very gracious.  Nobody told her otherwise.  She did realize Lucy was sick enough to warrant a doctor, but not that she had—before the flower episode—needed two freaking blood transfusions.  So she was not on high alert, because everyone was afraid putting her on high alert would kill her.

Secondly: Mrs. Westenra was herself dying.  She was given mere months to live.  I can imagine that being, to put it lightly, somewhat distracting.  Seward at least seems to agree with me on that point, because here’s his interpretation of Mrs. Westenra’s mental state:

She was alarmed, but not nearly so much as I expected to find her. Nature in one of her beneficent moods has ordained that even death has some antidote to its own terrors. Here, in a case where any shock may prove fatal, matters are so ordered that, from some cause or other, the things not personal—even the terrible change in her daughter to whom she is so attached—do not seem to reach her. It is something like the way Dame Nature gathers round a foreign body an envelope of some insensitive tissue which can protect from evil that which it would otherwise harm by contact. If this be an ordered selfishness, then we should pause before we condemn any one for the vice of egoism, for there may be deeper root for its causes than we have knowledge of.

Note, please, the lack of judgement here.  This is important because the Victorians were very judgey people (about as judgey as we Tumblrians).  Basically Mrs. Westenra was so caught up with the whole “you’re not going to live to see next year” thing that most of her thoughts were turning inward.  And as Seward muses, that’s not only understandable, it’s kind of beneficial—she’s less susceptible to shock because of it.  He directly compared the psychological state to a biological process, seeing it as natural and purposeful. Unfortunately, although it kept her alive longer than it might have, it also kept her from being as observant or reflective as she otherwise might have been.

Removing the garlic flowers from Lucy’s room could be seen as a sort of side effect of this.  Mrs.  Westenra wanted to be able to do something for Lucy before she died. She wasn't even sure she'd see her only child marry.  She wanted to be part of her daughter’s life in a positive way while she could, but wasn't really in a frame of mind conducive to thinking beyond the immediate.  Yes, she didn’t want to let Lucy sleep in her room, earlier, but as Lucy surmises that might have been because she didn’t want Lucy worrying about her.  Or—even more tragically given current circumstances—she might have been afraid that when Lucy woke up, it would be to Mrs. Westenra’s corpse.  Note that this last time, she still didn’t intend to stay the full night.

All that said: I do not think removing the garlic was excusable.  Yes, I am aware of miasma theory and that Mrs. Westenra’s concerns about the smell were understandable in that light.  However, by this point Mrs. Westenra was aware that two doctors, one of them a foreign expert, was seeing Lucy.  It would have behooved Mrs. Westenra to at least wait to ask the doctor if the removing the plants was all right, even if she had not assumed that the doctor had placed them there.  The very fact that someone had apparently gone to a lot of trouble putting all the garlic flowers there should have given her pause.  It’s really not a good idea to remove something apparently deliberately constructed if you don’t know why it’s there.  It was really quite officious of her to do that without asking, especially knowing both Seward and Van Helsing could be consulted.

At the same time, Van Helsing’s neglectfulness in telling Mrs. Westenra what the flowers were for is also not excusable.  No, ‘not wanting to worry Mrs. Westenra because of her heart condition’ is not sufficient.  Seward and Van Helsing still could have downplayed the seriousness of Lucy’s condition while explaining the garlic flowers did have medicinal value.  Van Helsing himself is the only one at this point who understands what the garlic is really for; he has Seward’s trust, but Seward is his student. Seward has had a long time to develop implicit trust in Van Helsing, but Mrs. Westenra has not.  It was really quite officious of him to assume he didn't need to give even a token explanation to Lucy’s own mother. He managed to explain things to her in the wake of the disaster just fine.

Note, please, I’m not looking for someone to pillory here.  We don’t need to single someone out for fault, we don’t have to point out the guilty party and chant ‘shame, shame, shame’.  People make mistakes with tragic results all the time, and I personally think a need to assign blame is counterproductive in many instances. Sometimes it's better to just try to fix things.  Van Helsing certainly thought the same.

How much sympathy Stoker intended Mrs. Westenra to be read with is ambiguous to me.  Having both Seward and Van Helsing interpret her sympathetically doesn’t necessarily mean Stoker did.  That said, Victorian writers generally weren’t subtle when it came to pointing out who their audience ought to be seeing in a positive or negative light, and using characters as mouthpieces for that.  Stoker might have been using Mrs. Westenra as a device to cause problems for the heroes, but I’m not sure he conceived of her as someone his audience should outright hate.  She may well have been someone he pitied as much as anyone in the novel despite mostly using her to cause problems.  But again, who knows, really.  Plenty of books are written with an intent to ridicule, while the object of that ridicule comes across more sympathetically than the characters we’re supposed to root for.

I have come to the point where I feel more sorry for Mrs. Westenra than anything.  She was a dying woman who loved her daughter and tried to help her, even if she didn’t make the best decisions.  That said?  Even I admitted I would have found it kind of cathartic if Van Helsing privately started cussing her out a bit. Never said it was rational or justified, just that it would be cathartic.  My mum absolutely hates Mrs. Westenra because of what they have in common—she told me she hated her when she first read the book, and only dislikes her more now that she’s raised children to adulthood herself, and also taken care of her own mother in her old age.  On that note, my sister also hates Mrs. Westenra.  Haven’t talked to my dad about it but I reckon he’d probably hate her too.

And you know what?  It's OK that they hate her. It’s also OK that some people aren’t even slightly upset with her, it’s OK that they feel unmixed sympathy for her and disagree with me about the decisions she made.  It’s OK that people react differently to the same character.  There is no ‘correct’ emotional response.  If there’s anything I genuinely hate to see in some forms of literary criticism (or anywhere else) it’s the idea that there is one correct reaction to a complicated situation, especially in fiction. Dictating other peoples' feelings never ends well. It is a good thing that we have so many different perspectives on all this, and I'm glad to see people aren't afraid to disagree with each other.

[chericarlisle]

You asked for Carlisle Cullen requests and I am here to deliver❤️ can I ask for a fic where the reader finally confesses to Carlisle they are in love with him? Preferably fluffy with some kisses 😌, I would also prefer the reader not be a doctor or nurse if possible! Thank you so much!

𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐞 || 𝐜.𝐜

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: carlisle cullen x human reader

(𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k

𝐚/𝐧: i hope you enjoy this! i tried to think of a way to get the two to meet, but have it still correlate! so the reader will be Alice’s friend :) thank you for requesting <3 please know that the reader is NOT a minor!!!

For the years that you had attended Forks High, you had grown close to a certain Cullen daughter, Alice. Her personality was that of a pink rose and its symbolism. She was more than one could want in a best friend, and between her amazing advice or sense of fashion, there was never a dull moment. 

Unlike a majority of the students, Alice was genuine and welcoming, causing the two of you to grow close as friends. It made you feel like high school wasn’t so bad after all.

As you talked more and more with Alice, you often wondered why the rest of her family was so reserved. They rarely interacted with any one else who didn’t share the last name ‘Cullen’. Alice, though, was the exception, having branched out to you.

 It seemed that being friends with Alice was something that was a package deal because on occasion, she’d bring along her boyfriend Jasper. You didn’t question their family dynamic as Alice had already explained in simplest terms who they were. It was a much better definition than what Jessica had told you and the rest at that table on the first day. Looking back, it was more petty gossip than it was useful information.

For the first summer, you didn’t see much of Alice and rather texted her much more. You’d invite her over, but it appeared that they were on a long family vacation that summer. It was then that you truly realized that you knew nothing about Alice, let alone the Cullens, aside from what you had been told at school. 

There was something that constantly affected Alice’s decision making, along with her siblings, but you didn’t yet know that factor, and you wouldn’t for a while. Instead, you let your mind consume the harsh option that Alice wasn’t exactly the person you thought she was. Maybe she really was just like the rest of the Forks High students. 

Fortunately, your fears were consoled that next school year.

After much consideration, Alice eventually invited you over to her house where you officially met the rest of the Cullens. Edward, Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper acted so much differently than they did at school in the way that they even acted at all. Normally, they would just go through the school day rarely interacting with any one or anything else but themselves. It made you curious as to why they weren’t like this at school. They seemed to be such lovely people so why would they be so monotonous for eight grueling hours of the day. 

You were able to see where they got those characterful values from. Well, more so who.

Dr. Carlisle Cullen, their adoptive father who looked too young to be a father at all and was so perfect that he must’ve been a hallucination. 

Since that moment three years ago, you’d gone over almost every other weekend to do whatever extravagant thing Alice had planned for you. She hadn’t had a real friend in so long that she wanted to make up for all the missed time. 

Over the course of time, the man, who you knew only as Dr. Cullen, had caught your eye. His compassionate mannerism and old fashioned style was something that just seemed to make you fall head over heels. At the mere sight of Dr. Cullen, the heat of your cheeks would make itself known and you wanted nothing more than to slap some sense into yourself. Whenever he spoke, you shamefully latched onto every word, his voice ever so comforting. The small smile resting on his lips whenever he spoke to you added even more charm and there was no hope left for you. This man made you swoon and you were so embarrassed over the fact that he was the adoptive father of your best friend. 

High school graduation arrived in no time and along with it a huge family secret. A family secret that wasn’t yours, but once again, relating to the Cullens. 

The family revealed it at a dinner, which was a rare occasion, considering that you hadn’t ever really seen them eat. You came over to their house like any other visit, except this time, the inviting smell of a freshly cooked dinner greeted you at the door. 

The lovely dinner and charming smiles were all just the calm before the storm. Playful conversation ceased and suddenly Carlisle was speaking on behalf of everyone at the table. In a matter of seconds, it went from ‘casual family dinner' to ‘game show questionnaire' that was borderline an interrogation with the lack of feedback you were receiving. None of the Cullens, not even Alice, would confirm or deny any inquiries that left your mouth, leaving you to your own judgment. It was almost like your speculation was crucial to ending the slew of questions. 

Eventually, you drew up the conclusion that they were vampires. You said this with such lighthearted intent that you were waiting for the big joke until you scanned the tables and saw their emotionless expressions.

All that you could really remember was falling from your dinner chair with Carlisle, who was sitting right beside you, catching your fall before you became close friends with the hardwood floor. 

Needless to say, it took a moment to process this information, but you still continued on with Alice and her family. They were still the same Cullens you had known since the beginning and a small sliver of their real life wasn’t going to change who they were to you.

A couple of months later, you were spending the night with Alice for the weekend. She wanted to go visit Seattle for the day and do some holiday shopping. You readily agreed, remembering that you had to get some gifts for your own family. Shopping with Alice was always an experience, but an entertaining time nonetheless.

You had gotten there Friday night as both you and Alice planned to leave the next morning. There was no point in leaving now as the stores had been closed for at least a couple of hours. 

Walking in the living room, you saw Emmett and Rosalie thoroughly invested in a comedy on tv. You had invited Rosalie to go shopping, but long hours with Alice in a store was not an activity for the less patient and she knew this. Edward was apparently missing from the scene, but Jasper, who was standing afar, greeted you and said that he was out with Bella. Jasper had finally loosened up around you, and after the family’s confession, you understood why he looked so uncomfortable all the time. The willpower these people had astonished you. 

Alice had disappeared after letting you in and it wasn’t until she returned with Dr. Cullen in tow, that you truly noticed she was gone. You bashfully greeted the doctor to which he returned with his signature smile that could make you melt. 

“I know this is bad timing, (y/n),” Alice walked to stand beside you, “But I have to go hunt, as do my siblings. You’ll stay here with Carlisle. He doesn’t need to go with us right now and we can't leave you alone.” By the end, the petite vampire was smirking and you jokingly scowled at her little plan. She knew of your silly crush on Carlisle and would relentlessly tease you about it, as a best friend would. 

Before you could even answer, Emmett, Rosalie, Jasper, and Alice were out of the room without so much as a peep. You shook your head at Alice’s sneakiness, forgetting for a second that a certain someone was left with you.

“How about I make you some dinner, (y/n)?” 

The way he said your name was something you could never handle. It just rolled off his tongue like any other word would, but with the hint of his accent, it sounded so lovely.

“I don’t mean to be a nuisance. Dr. Cullen.” 

Already flustered with the whole situation, the last thing you wanted was to bother Dr. Cullen any more than you thought you’d already done. 

As if he could read minds, the blonde stopped in his tracks to face you. “Please, call me Carlisle and you are never an inconvenience, (y/n). Besides, I’ve already hunted so I’m more than happy to be here with you.” 

Carlisle, being kind as usual, shouldn’t have said such words because your brain was currently going into a frenzy as his thoughtfulness. If it was possible, your heart must’ve been beating faster than what would be considered healthy for someone actively working out. 

You weren’t able to find the words, but instead able to offer what you hoped was an endearing grin.

In the kitchen, Carlisle searched the desolate fridge in hopes of finding some food. The kitchen and its appliances were more of decor than they ever were useful. 

After a minute or two, Carlisle closed the freezer door of the fridge, a pack of steak in his hand. 

“It seems steak will have to do tonight.” 

You shot him a pleased look. “You can’t go wrong with steak.” Famous last words.

While you insisted on cooking your own food, Carlisle returned the same persistence and eventually you gave in. 

The two of you carried on a conversation while he cooked. Talking with him seemed so natural that for a moment, you weren’t nervous about talking to this man.

Carlisle plated the steak and brought it before you, an excited look painted on your face. He sat down beside you and eagerly waited to see how the steak turned out. At first, you felt a bit bad that he wasn’t going to eat anything, especially after all the trouble he had gone through.

“Carlisle, are you sure you’re fine? It just feels so wrong eating in front of you like this!” 

He chuckled, quickly placing his hand on your own to reassure you. “I’m fine, truly. I just hope it’s edible.” 

You grabbed the steak knife, jokingly rolling your eyes at his statement. Upon cutting into the steak, an unpleasant rush of cow blood came out revealing that the steak was far from even being rare. 

Immediately your plate was being scooped up and brought to the kitchen counter where you joined Carlisle. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, it’s been some time since I’ve cooked anything and it seems that I haven’t caught up with modern cooking principles.” Carlisle looked a bit sheepish at the moment and you couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from your lips. You weren't sure if it was the unintentional term of endearment or his adorable attempt at cooking. Either way, Carlisle was relieved to see that you weren’t upset, but rather enjoying this moment. 

You stepped up beside Carlisle at the stovetop, shoulders touching as you reached across for the seasonings. “Here, we should probably season the steak a bit and clean off the pan.” 

As you continued to do your own thing and guide Carlisle in cooking, he carefully took each word of your advice.

“See, you did everything right, Carlisle. It was just the heat and time that threw off the doneness of the steak, a bit.” Your words ended with a small twinkle as you turned to face the man who’d been so intently watching. He seemed to be so entranced at the moment… and by you. 

It was like time was frozen and everything moved in slow motion, something you’d only see in a cheesy movie scene, except you were living it. Suddenly, life sped up and Carlisle’s cold hand was cupping your face and bringing you in for a kiss. You were happy that this was how you’d “confess” your love to Carlisle because words weren’t exactly your strong spot given the circumstances.

You two stayed lip locked for the longest moment in time, just pure bliss. It seemed like the kiss would never end until the smell of burnt oil hit your nose. Carlisle could feel you smiling against his lips and you began to peep out a small laugh. 

“I think we overcooked this one a little too much.”

a/n: i’m sorry if this is cringe-worthy, i wrote this at 12:30 am. i swear it will get better lol i just need to stop writing at ungodly hours of the night--

[tomurasprincess]

Kinktober Day 24: Monster (The Asylum)

Day 24: Monster Title: The Asylum Pairing: Mothman Shigaraki x Reader Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Noncon, monster mind control stuff, oviposition, cumflation, belly bulges, breeding, forced orgasms, some slight descriptions of gore and blood, yandere Note: The Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum is a real place, although parts of what I wrote is fake, mostly the part where they close down a second time in the fic. IRL, they’re still open and doing tours. Tagging @ichor-and-symbiosis​ and @kazooli​ as two of the OG Mothura writers 👀

Sequel: The Brood

Kinktober Masterlist

You’ve always loved urban exploring, going to old mental asylums and hospitals to look around and see the decay of places that used to be so bustling with people. You especially liked the places that had tragic pasts, the ones where horrific things occurred. It sounds morbid to anyone you talk to about your interests, but it was the truth. You’ve always believed in monsters and ghosts just out of sight of humanity, lurking in the dark corners of abandoned places.

That’s why you instantly planned a trip to the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum the second you heard about it. It had been abandoned years ago due to extreme abuse of patients. A historical society had moved in later, renovating the place and making a history tour of it that also did ghost tours at night.

But even they ended up abandoning the place due to the fake ghost tours apparently starting to become real ghost tours. People began to see creatures out of the corner of their eyes, something they said was much larger than a human, with wings on its back and piercing red eyes.

It was initially dismissed as overactive imaginations, people who wanted to see ghosts so badly that they were seeing things that weren’t there. Or people who just wanted to start tall tales  for attention and were flat out making things up in order to scare the rest of the group.

But then the disappearances started to happen. It was almost always young women who got separated from the tour group, although a few times it was a boyfriend and girlfriend who got lost together. The tour guides scoured every inch of the asylum looking for the missing people, but they found no trace of them. At first it was dismissed as the people getting scared and running off without telling anybody.

Until one day, a regularly scheduled tour group stumbled across the bodies. Not the bodies of the missing girls, but their partners. They were viciously torn apart, with limbs scattered all over the room. Their blood covered the walls, the floor, even the ceiling of the room. The women were alive but traumatized, rocking back and forth in a corner of the room absolutely covered in blood, none of which was their own.

They told the same tales that the rest of the people did. They were captured by a monster, around 8-9 feet tall, with large moth-like wings and red eyes. The creature was surprisingly gentle to them, they said, at least until they saw that they were with someone. The creature had become enraged, tearing their partner to pieces as they watched. They knew for certain that they would be next, their eyes squeezed tight as they waited for their death.

But the creature did nothing, simply turning away and leaving the room like they were not what the creature wanted.

Although everyone agreed that something horrible had happened to the young women, none of them believed their story. They had stayed in that room for several days, covered in the blood of their loved ones, not knowing if they were ever going to make it out. Of course they were traumatized, thinking they saw monsters. But monsters aren’t believed to exist, and so everyone began to look for a human murderer that was never found.

The asylum tried to recover from the tragedy, but it was never able to. The amount of bad press they got for having lax safety standards and not taking care of their tour groups caused everybody to stay away. Finally, having no other choice in the matter, the asylum had closed.

When you heard this story, you were over the moon excited. Not just a historical landmark, but also a place with a possible real life monster sighting. Nothing was going to stop you from going there and seeing the place for yourself.

And now here you stand, in front of the building with a backpack full of supplies slung over your shoulder. You had your phone, flashlights with spare batteries, a spare change of clothes, matches and lighters, even a rope and various other tools should something happen inside of the building.

And so, with a deep excitement bubbling up in your stomach, you find your way through a hole in the fence and walk through the front door. The first thing you see is the reception desk with various odds and ends left over from the closure. There are even still brochures describing the various types of tours and listing prices.

You walk down the first corridor you see, going past various closed off rooms that look to be basic examination rooms. There is surprisingly little decay, mostly everything still looking rather clean and intact besides a thick layer of dust and cobwebs covering everything. You’re a bit discouraged but decide to continue on to see if things get more interesting.

After all, the murders occured in the basement, and you’re not anywhere close to that yet.

Soon you find yourself in the medical ward where the patients were kept, and you instantly realize one of the reasons this hospital was so nightmarish. The rooms are even smaller than jail cells, leaving barely enough space for patients to lay down in. There are so many rooms of that exact size that you wonder how the staff could accurately take care of the amount of patients there had to be. But you remember your research, remember the fact that they couldn’t.

That was why so many brutal procedures were performed such as lobotomies, in order to keep the peace at the asylum and make things easier for the doctors and nurses. You give a quick shudder and begin to move on, feeling a strange sensation that you desperately want to get away from.

The decay gets worse and worse the closer you get to the basement, rust and decay beginning to cover every surface you see. You walk past some of the surgery rooms and feel horror at the utensils and instruments you see in them. The historical society tried to keep things as accurate as possible, and as such, they had kept most of the equipment that you would see back in those days.

You’re beginning to wonder if this is a good idea, as that strange sensation continues to worsen and worsen. You realize with a start what this feeling actually is.

It feels like someone is watching your every movement. You whirl around, shining your flashlight in every direction as you try to see what’s watching you. But there’s nothing but darkness and the decaying walls of the hospital. You shake your head, laughing quietly at the fact that you’re spooked out by a few weird shadows and an odd feeling.

You’re not going to let it stop you from your goal, however, and you continue forwards until you get to the doors of the basement. The feeling here is overwhelming, simultaneously telling you to run and move forward all at the same time. The conflicting emotions leave you off balance and light headed, and you reach your hand out instinctively when you sway on your feet. You touch a section of the wall and instantly pull your hand back.

The wall is warm, not cold like it should be. A sense of unease crawls up your spine, and you decide then and there that it’s time to go. Making it to the basement is not worth this, whatever it is you’re feeling. But then you hear a soft humming and the flapping of wings, coming from deep within the basement of the hospital.

Instead of being terrified, however, you feel entranced. It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard, and it’s calling you. You open the basement door without even thinking about it, walking down the stairs in a dreamy haze. You don’t even pay attention to how heavy the rot here is, how the walls are entirely blackened by decay that spreads out like veins on a body.

You don’t pay attention when the door slams closed behind you, locking you in with whatever is calling you closer. All you can think about is getting to that beautiful sound, that lonely haunting call that seems to burrow deep into your brain. You walk as if you’re in a trance, turning corridors that you’ve never seen before but somehow know where they’re going.

Finally, you get to a door that is deep within the bowels of the basement, a bright red door that seems to beckon you inside. You push open the door with no hesitation, walking through and letting it close behind you.

And you finally come face to face with the creature. He is about 9 feet tall, towering over your small form. He’s not overly muscular, but he has a thin wiry look to him that says he is deceptively strong. His red eyes bore into you like they’re staring directly into your soul. On his back are two massive wings, spread to their full wing span and utterly gorgeous.

The creature makes a small chittering noise as he motions you towards him, and you follow like he’s a puppeteer holding your strings. He pulls you tightly into his body, burying his nose into your neck and taking a deep whiff of your skin. His hot breath on your sensitive skin pulls a shudder from you. and he tightens his grip as if he’s worried you’ll get away.

A long tongue pokes out of his mouth, licking at the pulse point that is frantically beating. “Mine,” he groans into your skin, sharp teeth grazing you. “Mate.” You’re lifted up off your feet before being laid down on the ground, hips in the air and face down on the floor. He rips your pants off easily, leaving your panties on as he lowers his head down. You feel a flash of embarrassment as he sniffs them like he sniffed your neck, groaning again as his tongue drags across the wet abric. “Fertile,” he whispers as he pulls your panties aside, “fertile mate.”

The haze parts from your mind long enough for you to feel a sharp flash of fear, and then his tongue is lapping at your folds and the fear is quickly chased away again. You dig your nails into the floor as you feel him work his tongue inside of you, using it to fuck you like a cock would. You gasp when he hits your cervix with his tongue and keeps going, wiggling against the barrier like he’s trying to break through it.

Something in his saliva causes your body to heat up and your muscles to loosen enough for him to batter his tongue harder against you and push through. Your scream echoes through the walls of the room, but not of pain. Instead, a fierce pleasure overtakes you as your cervix gives way to the creature’s tongue, allowing him to enter into your womb.

The feeling of this tongue wiggling around in your empty womb causes you to tip over the edge and cum around the creature’s tongue as he eagerly laps at your juices. He withdraws his tongue, causing you to let out a whine of disappointment, only to be surprised when you feel something prodding at your entrance. It doesn’t feel like a human cock at all, with ridges and bumps along the length and much thicker than a human cock would be.

You have a single moment to wonder how it will fit inside of you before it’s pushing in, stretching out your tight outer ring of muscles and causing a sharp burning in your lower stomach. You whine and try to pull away, only for the creature to let out a snarl as claws dig into your hips, causing your blood to drip down onto the pavement.

Even though there is no pain, only more pleasure, you learn your lesson and don’t try to move away as the thick cock slides even further into you. It’s so much thicker than anything you’ve ever taken before, and you’re shaking like a leaf when he finally bottoms out inside. You think he’ll start thrusting like a human male would, except that he doesn’t.

He keeps pushing, humping into you with sharp movements designed to force your cervix open even further. You squeal as the cock makes it past the barrier, burying deep inside of your womb. You glance down and let out a choked sob at the bulge in your stomach where the tip of the creature’s cock is.

“Pretty - pretty mate,” the creature says hesitantly, rolling his hips experimentally into you and drawing a groan from your throat. “Tomura,” he adds, and it takes you a second to realize that’s the creature’s name.

“Tomura,” you murmur, and the creature chitters happily at the sound of your voice saying the name. You try to think of something else to ask, maybe even to beg to be released as the haze seems to clear a bit, but Tomura begins to hum again, and you instantly smile in bliss as all of your concern fades away.

You feel something else pushing into your entrance, and it takes a long moment to realize what it is as you feel it slip up your stretched out tunnel.

Eggs. The creature is filling you with eggs. Instead of being horrified, however, you moan as they continue to move inside of you. There are multiple eggs at once, small and gooey, and they coat your insides with wetness as they make their way to your still stretched out cervix.

You feel them pass through the opening to plop down into your womb, and you cry out and cum hard, pussy wildly fluttering around Tomura’s cock. He lets out a deep grunt of pleasure as he rocks his hips against you, and you feel more eggs pushing into you. This time, a few of them get stuck against a spongy spot inside of you, and you scream out your orgasm, legs shaking and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Fuck, oh god, shit, Tomura - “ you babble mindlessly as more eggs push into you, “it feels so good, why does it - “

Before those eggs can push fully in, there are already more entering you, and you feel so incredibly full. They drop down into your no longer empty womb, wringing another orgasm from your tired body. The skin of your stomach is stretching, making you look bloated, and Tomura still isn’t done.

You lose track of time completely, only aware of your body twitching and convulsing as more and more eggs push up into you, settling into your womb with the rest of them. Your stomach already looks 9 months pregnant, and you can barely hold yourself up.

Tomura sees this, and he gently picks you up and lays you down on your back. “Pretty mate,” he leans and kisses your forehead, “look so good with my children. Our children.”

“Oh god, no more, please no more, I’m so full Tomura,” you whimper as more eggs push into you. “Please, so full - “

Tomura hums softly at you, and you smile with bliss as the final eggs plop down into your womb.  His movements become more savage, thrusting hard into you as he grunts and groans. The force of his thrusts has you sliding up, breasts bouncing and your belly jiggling. The feeling of the eggs moving around inside of you has you howling out your orgasm, blackness dotting the edge of your vision as you almost lose consciousness.

Finally, Tomura is finished, and his cock begins to twitch inside of you as hot ropes of cum fill you up, shooting directly into your womb where the eggs reside. You sob as you watch your stomach bulge out even more as the creature’s cum fertilizes the eggs inside. You can no longer see the dents and valleys of the eggs along your stomach, and you reach down to gently run your hand over your bloated stomach.

You can feel the eggs through the barrier of skin, and it causes your eyes to roll back at the pleasure. Tomura gives a soft, happy chirp as he places his hand over yours on your belly, rubbing it gently. He pulls out slowly, causing a mixture of your cum and his to gush out of your now gaping pussy.

He reaches down to pick you up as he walks towards a door in the back of the room that you hadn’t noticed before. You’re shocked by what you see when you walk through. It’s an utterly untouched room, still looking brand new and with none of the decay that covers the rest of the basement. There is no bed, but there is a pile of clean blankets and pillows in the corner, piled up high and in a circle.

A nest, you realize. It’s a nest. For you. He tucks you in gently, chirping again as his clawed hand runs over your pregnant belly. “Mate,” he says happily, “my pretty little mate.” He stands up and walks towards the door, turning to you one last time as his gaze narrows and darkens just a bit.

“No running. Don’t want to have to tie mate down.” He continues to gaze at you, as if waiting for something.

“I won’t run,” you say quietly, and the dark look on his face is gone instantly as he beams at you.

“Good mate, good.” And with that, he’s gone.

With his absence, some of the haze lifts and you’re able to realize the horror of the situation you’re in. Nobody knows where you are, and you’re trapped. Even if you wanted to run, you don’t think you could with how large your belly is. No escape and no help coming for you, and the creature already seems so possessive of you that he’s not going to let you easily escape.

If only you had listened to your instincts earlier, if only you hadn’t been so fascinated with the grotesque, if only you had simply chosen to stay home.

You’ve always believed in monsters. You just never thought you would find one.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern​, @vixen-scribbles​, @katsukisprincess​, @hisoknen​, @trafalgar-temptress​, @leeswritingworld, @burnedbyshoto​, @bakugotrashpanda​, @dee-madwriter​, @kittycatkrissa​, @reinawritesbnha​, @yanderart​, @dabilove27​, @anxietyplusultra​, @flutterfalla​, @angmarwitch​, @nereida19​, @babayaga67​, @fromsunnywithlove​, @dabis-kitten​, @bakugos-cumsock​, @yumeneji​, @the-grimm-writer​, @iwaizumi-chan​, @slashersheart​, @bunnyywritings​, @bakarinnie​, @angie-1306​, @lalalemon101​​, @videogameboiwhowins​​, @f4nficbaby​​, @tenkoshimmy​, @baroque-baby​​, @bbyspiiice​​, @thirstyforthem2dmen​​, @blissfulignorance2000​, @bluecookies02-main​

[shemarmooresfedora]

Home

Series Summary: After being arrested, Spencer Reid desperately tries to get back home to his daughter, Camellia, who was placed into foster care in your home.

Pairing: Single!Dad!Spencer x Foster!Mom!Reader

Content/Warnings: swearing, mentions of mother abandonment

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist

Chapter 4

“You have a call from an inmate at the Washington D.C. Correctional Facility. To accept these charges, please press 1. To decline-,” you punched in the 1.

“Hey Spencer,” you greeted him.

“How did you know it was me?” he grinned.

“There’s not too many prisoners calling me, believe it or not,” you teased.

“I was calling to see if you could do me a big favor,” he spoke.

“What’s up?”

“My lawyer has told me that JJ told her my mom isn’t doing so well. She’s in a facility for her schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s,” he informed you.

“How can I help?” you asked.

“Could you bring Callie to go see her? I really think a familiar face could do a lot of good for her.”

“Of course, I’m 5 minutes away from her school. We can head right over,” you stated.

“Thank you so so much. Also, she doesn’t know I’m in prison so tell Callie just to tell her I’m away on a case. She’s in a fragile condition so it’s best to just say yes to everything she asks,” Spencer explained.

“Will do. If you are able to stay on the line for a few more minutes, you can say hi to Callie,” you told him.

“I was the last in line so I should be able to. I’ve got 6 minutes left,” Spencer said.

A bit of an awkward silence filled your car.

“So…are there any more injuries I need to attend to before work tomorrow?” you asked.

“No, I’ve got some help,” Spencer spoke vaguely.

“Okay, that’s good, I guess,” you pulled the car to a stop as Callie hopped in the passenger seat, “Your dad is on the phone, Callie.”

“Hi Dad!” she greeted.

“Hey sweetheart. How’s it going?” he asked.

“Really good. At soccer practice today, Coach told me I’m going to be a starter next game,” she beamed.

“That’s amazing! I wish I could be there to see it,” Spencer frowned slightly.

“Which is why I bought a camcorder so I can record the whole game for you to watch later as well as other things you may be sad to miss,” you said.

“Y/N, as much as I appreciate all you do for us, you need to stop spending so much money. I feel bad, I’ll reimburse you as soon as I’m out.”

“Spencer, I’m a doctor who rarely goes out and my closest friend is a cat. I have some money to spare,” you assured him.

“Why are you going left here?” Callie asked as you made a turn that wasn’t on your usual route home.

“Your dad wants you to visit your Grandma,” you replied.

“Callie, she just needs a familiar face so talk to her about your new school, soccer, anything but me going to jail,” Spencer explained, “Okay, I have 30 seconds left. Bye, love you, sweetheart!”

“Bye, Dad! Love you too!”

“Stay safe!” you added.

-

You walked up to the receptionist's desk with Callie, “Hi, she’s here to see Diana Reid.”

“Hi Callie, long time no see! No Dr. Reid today?” she asked.

“No, he’s away on a case,” you smiled politely.

“Callie, she’s in her room, dear,” the receptionist directed you down the hall.

Once you were outside the door, you stopped, “I’ll wait out here. Remember, your dad is on a long case. You are staying with the LaMontagne’s. And just agree with the stuff she says to not upset her,” you reminded Callie, “I’ll be right out here when you’re done.”

Before you had a chance to sit down in the waiting room, the door swung open.

“Grandma!” Callie exclaimed.

“My dear Callie,” she hugged her.

She looked up at you, “Is this who I think it is?”

You thought back to Spencer’s words.

She’s in a fragile condition so it’s best to just say yes to everything she asks.

“Um yes?” you answered.

“Callie’s mom! Oh my! I haven’t seen you in ages. I forgot what you even looked like, I remembered you differently. Forgive me, dear, could you remind me of your name?” she asked.

You looked to Callie for help but she looked just as confused as you and shrugged. She must not know either.

“Y/N,” you extended your hand for her to shake.

“What a beautiful name,” she smiled, “Come in! Come in!”

“So Callie, how has my favorite granddaughter been?” she asked.

“I’m your only grandchild, Grandma,” Callie playfully rolled her eyes, “I’ve been really well! Y/N-I mean Mom actually got me into a better school and I’ve been keeping busy with soccer and clubs and hanging out with friends.”

“That’s wonderful to hear! Y/N, how are you doing?” she turned to you.

Shit. What the fuck were you supposed to say?

“I’ve been well,” you simply stated with a nervous smile.

“Are you and Spencer dating again?”

I suppose you had to agree to this too.

“Yes, we are,” you nodded.

“Well, I hope you are back for good this time,” she stated.

That seemed kind of back-handed but maybe deserved, you didn’t know Callie’s mom’s backstory. You just continued to nervously smile through the rest of the visit as Callie caught up with her grandma.

-

“Well that was awkward,” you sighed as you got back into the car after the visit, “I need a milkshake.”

Callie was silent all the way to the drive-thru and as you ordered two large chocolate milkshakes and fries.

Finally, she spoke as you parked the car in the parking lot to eat, “I mean you’re more of a mom to me than my own mom. Dad never really told me much about her. She must have left when I was a baby because I don’t remember her at all.”

“I’m sure your dad has his reasons for not telling you but you must know that her leaving wasn’t your fault at all,” you told her.

“Who would leave a baby and my dad?” she teared up.

“I don’t know, honey,” you pulled her in for a hug, “It was her loss though whoever she is because she didn’t get to see what an amazing girl you have become.”

-

“Reid, visitor,” the guard called out.

Please let it be Callie and or Y/N, Spencer prayed.

He needed a ray of sunshine in his otherwise completely dark week. He didn’t want it to be the team or his lawyer asking if he remembered anything else because he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He slumped out of bed and let the guard cuff him on the way to the visitor room. His pace quickened when he saw you waiting there for him, just as beautiful as always.

You smiled at first when you saw him but it morphed into a frown when you saw fresh bruises forming.

“Spencer, I thought you said you had help,” you whispered.

“Apparently not all of the time,” he mumbled.

You bit your bottom lip worriedly, “Well, I brought my med kit.”

You got up and started to inspect his face.

“How did the visit with my mom go?” he asked.

“Good, I guess,” you replied.

“You guess?”

“She saw me before I went to the waiting room. I said yes to everything she said but that included her thinking that I was Callie’s mom and that we were dating,” you grimaced.

Spencer sighed, “Oh god.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know what to do,” you apologized.

“No, no, it’s not your fault. You were just doing what was told. Did Callie have questions?”

You nodded.

Spencer ran his hands through his hair, “I knew this day would come but I’m still not prepared. I just avoid thinking about it at all costs.”

“Do you want to talk to me about it and maybe I can help you put the right words together,” you offered.

“Um okay, her name was Austin. I met her on a case. She was a bartender. We were long distance for a bit. She got pregnant early on in the relationship. We decided to try to make it work. She moved in with me in D.C. and had Callie. When Callie was about 4 months old, she got overwhelmed and just left…just like that. I went to the park with Callie and came back to find all of her things gone and a note that just said ‘sorry’. I haven’t heard from her since. We were trying to force a happy ending that wasn’t there,” Spencer finished.

“Well lucky for Callie, she has one amazing dad and that is more than enough,” you reassured him.

“And a pretty kick ass foster mom,” Spencer smiled.

“I try my best,” you grinned.

A/N: i have a smut one-shot (not related to this series) coming out tomorrow and i’m very excited about it

main taglist (just ask to be added/removed): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana-deactivated20210709 @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187 @babymetaldoll @fics4arainyday @ssavanessa22 @all-tings-diego @idonotexiste @beepbooptoop @tvandfanfic @mggsprettygirl @big-galaxy-chaos @navs-bhat @spencerreidsmommy @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm

series taglist: @ilovespencerreidmarryme @nani-2305 @obsessivelysearching @fantasynerd09 @bvttercupbby @britishspidey @ladyravenclaw @belledawnidk @annesauriol @smokey102 @lady-himbo @kaitieskidmore1 @westanspencerreid @manuosorioh @haylaansmi @unhea1thy0bsessions @meganskane @lovergirl24 @queenariesofnarnia @asexual-booknerd @spideyyypeter @yeehawbitchs @emma-is-a-nerd @lellsinthesky @itsdars @aliahemmings97 @xdsage @cutekashi @theodore-likes-frogs @girlgotattitude448 @royalestrellas @co0chiegrip1

[mrsmaybank]

Crushing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

“Reid, stop giving JJ’s intern bedroom eyes. It fuckin’ weirds me out.”

A/N: I love baby genius, season one Reid so much. I wanted to give him a soulmate. Soulmate is you: shy and also a baby genius. Okay, thanks for reading. This was honestly just for me. 

CW: Implied Smut, Mild Cursing, shitty writing 

“Who...Who is that?” Dr. Spencer Reid, debatably the wordiest boy Derek Morgan had ever met, was suddenly at a loss for words. Maybe it was your perfectly sculpted face, your shoes, the copy of The Kreutzer Sonata held to your chest, your chest, or maybe a mix of it all.  Whatever it was, at sight of you walking through the office doors, he was stripped of his ability to speak. 

“That’s JJ’s new intern.” Morgan said plainly, before noticing the completely enamored look on his friend’s face. “What, pretty boy?” Reid couldn’t even be bothered to reply. He was too busy studying every detail of your frame. 

“You think she’s cute or something kid?” Morgan playfully jabbed his shoulder, Spencer’s face instantly flushing an embarrassing shade of red. 

“What?!” He shrieked, “I-no! That’s not..No!” That’s a lie. 

“I just..I didn’t know JJ was getting an intern.” That though, was true. 

“She’s supposed to be pretty impressive. Let’s go meet her.” he started in the direction of the coffee stand, where you and JJ had begun chatting. Before Spencer could protest out of his shyness, he was being dragged along. 

“Morgan,” JJ smiled, “Spence,” she nodded in his direction, “This is Y/N Y/L/N. My godsent savior.” JJ beamed in your direction.

You smiled more sheepishly then you would’ve liked, muttering a “Hopefully.” that got a laugh from Morgan and a “Oh, please.” from JJ, but nothing from the man in the glasses. You did your best not to read into it. 

“Derek Morgan.” the muscular agent extended his hand to shake yours, an offer you timidly but happily accepted. 

The taller, lankier, younger, incredibly cute man next to him stuffed one of his hands in his pocket and shifted uncomfortably with a small wave, “I’m uh, Doctor Spencer Reid, oh! Uh, you don’t have to, uh call me Doctor. No..” He shook his head, “Just Spencer is fine.” He looked at you with wide eyes that sent butterflies berserk in your stomach and swiped his tongue in between his lips that only made them go crazier. JJ had told you all about the team. About the magnificently brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, his 3 PhDs and eidetic memory, and all the other quirks you’d have to know in order to work with him, but had failed to mention how utterly hot he was. You felt a crush hijacking your system already. Dear god. 

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Your hands gripped your book tighter as you shifted onto your tiptoes, “I’ve heard really exceptional things.” 

The conversation was set to continue, but Morgan and JJ were summoned by Hotch to the closed doors of his office. Leaving the resident genius and you starting at each other with tight lip smiles. 

Spencer started first, “The Kreutzer Sonata is great.” He excitedly continued, “It uh, it actually used to be a pretty bold book to carry around. After the work had been forbidden in Russia by censors, there was actually a mimeographed version that was widely circulated. Then in 1890, the United States Post Office Department prohibited the mailing of newspapers containing serialized installments of it too. Theodore Roosevelt even called Tolstoy a-” 

His enthusiasm was beyond endearing. You finished for him with a soft smile, "Sexual moral pervert.”

Spencer’s lips upturned in a smile. It was rare somebody in the office could finish his sentences. And he couldn’t help but replay the crass words being said in your soft voice. He felt a crush hijacking his system already. Dear god.  

“Most people don’t recognize it in the original Russian.”  Spencer heard you say. 

“Most people probably wouldn’t recognize it in English.” he retorted.

You laughed, “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Spencer wasn’t even kidding. “I’m not joking.” He shook his head. “It’s unfortunate how many people aren’t even vaguely familiar with Tolstoy.” 

“It is.” you agreed. “You went to Caltech, correct?” 

He smiled, “Yes.” 

“I almost did too. Decided last minute on Columbia.” 

“You went to Columbia?” he asked. 

“I just graduated.” 

“How old are you?” he asked before quickly correcting himself,  “I’m sorry! That was forward! I am not...I’m not trying to undermine your studies with your age, I promise. I’m just curious.” 

“No! It’s okay!” You got out fast. “I’m 19. I graduated high school a little bit early.” 

“Me too.” He smiled. “12, actually.” 

Your eyes went wide, “12?” 

“Yes, um, in a Las Vegas public high school.” He winced, but the self-deprecation somehow came out charming, “I uh,” His eyes narrowed, “didn’t go to a lot of parties.” 

That made you wholeheartedly laugh. “Me neither! I graduated at 15, which you know is the age everybody else starts. It created a really weird dynamic because the older kids in my grade didn’t like me, but the underclassmen my age really didn’t like me.” 

Instead of the laugh you were expecting, Spencer just gave you a pensive stare. 

“Um..I can’t see why. I think you’re very likeable.” The compliment would’ve been strange exchanged by anybody other than Spencer to you.

  “Wait till you get to know me.” You said it through a smile but so softly you were afraid he might not be able to hear it, but he did. 

And that was confirmed when he flashed you the most incredible, toothy grin you’d ever seen. “I uh, I doubt there will be any change in opinion.” 

“Well, um, I’m sure- I think! You’re very likeable as well Dr. Reid.” you said. 

“That’s what you say now.” He retorted in the same coy tone you had earlier. 

You shook your head, “You’ll find I can be insufferably stubborn.” 

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

After two weeks, there was little Spencer could do to hide his massive crush affinity for you from the team. 

In the bullpen: 

You guys had locked eyes and were mouthing out exchanged of No’s and Yes’s from across the room. There was an ongoing half-serious dispute about whether or not Xanthippe slept with Plato. 

Morgan glided in his wheeled chair to whisper into Spencer’s ear. 

“Reid, stop giving JJ’s intern bedroom eyes. It fuckin’ weirds me out.” He said, shoving files into the cabinet below Reid’s desk. 

“I’m..I’m not.. I--what? Bedr--No!” Reid whisper-shouted back. 

On the jet: 

“Reid?” Gideon called Spencer, “Chess?” He motioned towards the board. 

“Yes, sure. Just give me a second. I’m almost done. I’m reading Infinite Jest. I don’t usually enjoy literature if it isn’t classic, even less so if it’s American. But..” Spencer smiled, “Y/N likes the author.”  He continued his fast-paced reading of the third-to-last chapter of the book. 

Morgan and Gideon exchanged glances. 

Even in front of you: 

You opened a sugar packet and began stirring. 

“De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium is still some of the best work on  heliocentric theory out there, I think. Copernicus knew what he was talking about!” You spun on your heels to see Reid’s face contorted in disagreement. You giggled, “Don’t give me that face! I’m right!” 

He took a sip of his coffee as to keep himself quiet. “Listen, cosmological theory is for…” 

But the pair of you were interrupted, it was Elle, standing behind you and in front of Spencer. 

“New skirt?” Elle asked as you turned, back now facing Reid.  She was pouring herself a cup of coffee too.

“Yes!” You excitedly nodded. “You like it?” 

Elle looked up and down, but not at you. The judgmental eyes were for the man behind you. She pursed her lips, “Not just me.” 

The only face redder than yours was Reid’s.

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

Nights spent in a bar after a case that had dragged on far too long was nothing new, but the energy tonight was especially light. Gideon had refused, but everybody else was just relaxed, even Hotch, and the team just got happier at each other's happiness. It was great, really. As Hotch and Morgan sipped on whiskey, JJ and Penelope had already downed four sugary, colorful cocktails and were in a whispered fit of giggles. Elle and Spencer settled on a tamer option of an IPA Spencer couldn’t name. 

“SPENCER!” Penelope excitedly shouted, “Y/N is literally you! You’re both adorable! You’re both geniuses! You’re both young!” She drew on her rant, “And if you have a crush on her you should just tell her!” JJ’s eyes widened in embarrassment as she tried to cover Penelope’s mouth. 

Morgan and Elle erupted in soft laughter while Hotch cracked an uncharacteristically amused smile. 

“Spence, I swear, I didn’t say that! I just...I may have mentioned how happy you get every time she’s around! And how you guys can talk for literally hours!” JJ defended, her words slurring in silly drunkenness. 

Spencer rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first time they teased him about you, and it probably wouldn’t be the last time either. 

“I don’t have a crush on her! We just….we like the same things! It gives us a lot to talk about.” 

“Yeah?” Morgan said through a laugh, “And what is it that boy and girl wonder talk about so much?” 

“Well, uh.. a lot of things. But I find she gets the most excited when we are discussing the theories of postmodernism, in that apparent realities are actually just social constructs and veritable realities are subject to change, and uh... we like to talk about linguistics….political philosophy….history... mathematic theory...and uh, oh! Doctor Who.” 

Spencer was blushing and spoke about you like a teenage girl did their boyband crush, and the team noticed. They didn’t even need to say it out loud. Spencer gathered from the way they looked back at him. 

“I heard she lent you a book too, Reid.” Hotch said before taking a sip from his glass. 

“Yes! She did!” He smiled, “It was her copy of Pale Fire. She has an impressive collection of 19th century Russian literature. All in its original dialect! Some of it’s even annotated, which usually would annoy me but since it’s her thoughts and notes I sort of find it endearing.” 

“Dr. Reid is endeared!” Greenaway shrieked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, pushing his glasses up a little higher on his nose, “I find her incredibly endearing.” 

“Y’all that sounded like a dorky love confession.” Morgan said as the team erupted in laughter and Reid’s head fell in a smile. There was no point in denying it anymore: He really, really liked you.

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

Within two months, you and Spencer had finally put your shyness aside, and spent a very lovely evening at watching an orchestra at the Smithsonian Music,  and sharing noodles at your favorite Thai restaurant. And then you guys spent some time on your couch. And then in your bed. And then in the shower. And then in the kitchen. You were both very sexually frustrated. 

For the following two months, as soon as you both stepped out of the office, it was very, very hard to keep your hands off each other. Could either of you help it though? Teenage geniuses don’t experience parties, or football games, or clumsy sex. The time was perfect to make up for it. 

And you guys did. The sex part at least. “Football involves a lot of dirt. And germs. And sweat.”

“Oh my god!” you shrieked. His hands were in a place they found themselves more and more often: Your pants. 

“Does it feel good?” he asked, continuing his pattern of small circles on that particular bundle of nerves. 

“It feels great.” You nodded. 

“I uh, I’ve been researching the female anatomy.” 

You closed your eyes and nodded your head, but trying to focus on your boyfriends newfound intellect. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” 

He watched your undoing with boyish adoration and curiosity before swallowing, “Very.” 

“Oh fuck!” Your legs began to shake, “Spencee...I’m gonn--” 

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

You and Spencer just understood each other.