#processing disorder linked

[itsaspectrumcomic]

I love going to dinner with my friends, but do restaurants have to be so loud?? Every sound turns to mush.

[thebibliosphere]

Audio processing disorder is so funny. Like it's a pain in the ass, but it's also so funny.

Every time the Pedro Pascal edit goes over my dash (you know the one), and I hear the audio start up, I know the lyrics are "hey sexy lady, I like your flow," but my hard-of-hearing, goth, ADHD-having-ass hears "hey sexy lady, I like your bones" and just never questions it.

Like yeah. Same.

[mad-pride]

is this SPD pride flag for sensory processing disorder or schizoid personality disorder? if it’s for SzPD, would you mind making a sensory processing disorder flag? /nf I can’t find one anywhere

that's for sensory processing disorder, as you can check here.

[learnapplysurvive]

Tinnitus's Whisper: Unlocking Clues to Cognitive Health

The human auditory system, an intricate labyrinth of sensory pathways, produces a symphony of sounds that paint our perception of the world. Yet, amidst this symphony, tinnitus—a phantom sensation—whispers secrets about our cognitive health. Recent research has forged an unexpected link between tinnitus and early-onset dementia, suggesting that the subtle sounds heard only by the afflicted could hold the key to unlocking early indicators of cognitive decline.

Leveraging the comprehensive Taiwan National Health Insurance Research Database, researchers embarked on a journey to untangle the connection between tinnitus and dementia. The revelations were striking: individuals grappling with early-onset dementia exhibited a significantly higher prevalence of tinnitus compared to control groups. This intricate relationship underscores the potential for tinnitus to serve as a quiet harbinger of cognitive decline, necessitating a shift in how we approach assessments of cognitive health.

As the medical community grapples with the implications, this discovery challenges conventional wisdom surrounding tinnitus. Often perceived as a benign annoyance, tinnitus may be an invaluable sentinel of cognitive well-being. Incorporating tinnitus evaluations into cognitive assessments could pave the way for early interventions, optimizing treatment outcomes and offering a new dimension to our understanding of cognitive health.

While the mechanisms underlying this connection remain enigmatic, researchers speculate that shared neurodegenerative processes might be at play. The intertwining of auditory pathways disrupted in tinnitus with the cognitive pathways implicated in dementia hints at a symphony of biology that shapes both our sensory experiences and cognitive functions.

As we journey further into the intersection of tinnitus and dementia, the future holds the promise of interventions that delay or prevent cognitive decline in individuals with tinnitus. The enigmatic whispers of tinnitus are becoming clearer, revealing a hidden melody that holds the potential to transform our approach to cognitive health.

[wellhealthhub]

Delving Deep into the Multifaceted Indicators of Type 2 Diabetes: An Exhaustive and Comprehensive Examination

In this incredibly extensive and all-encompassing guide, we embark on a profoundly profound exploration of the telltale signs of Type 2 diabetes, shedding an exceptionally brilliant and illuminating light on its early warning manifestations while providing invaluable insights to empower you with an unprecedented depth of knowledge about your health. Within these meticulously crafted pages, you…

[cripplecharacters]

Where to Start Your Research When Writing a Disabled Character

[large text: Where to Start Your Research When Writing a Disabled Character]

So you have decided that you want to make a disabled character! Awesome. But what's next? What information should you decide on at the early phrase of making the character?

This post will only talk about the disability part of the character creation process. Obviously, a disabled character needs a personality, interests, and backstory as every other one. But by including their disability early in the process, you can actually get it to have a deeper effect on the character - disability shouldn't be their whole life, but it should impact it. That's what disabilities do.

If you don't know what disability you would want to give them in the first place;

[large text: If you don't know what disability you would want to give them in the first place;]

Start broad. Is it sensory, mobility related, cognitive, developmental, autoimmune, neurodegenerative; maybe multiple of these, or maybe something else completely? Pick one and see what disabilities it encompasses; see if anything works for your character. Or...

If you have a specific symptom or aid in mind, see what could cause them. Don't assume or guess; not every wheelchair user is vaguely paralyzed below the waist with no other symptoms, not everyone with extensive scarring got it via physical trauma. Or...

Consider which disabilities are common in real life. Cerebral palsy, muscular dystrophy, stroke, cataracts, diabetes, intellectual disability, neuropathy, multiple sclerosis, epilepsy, thyroid disorders, autism, dwarfism, arthritis, cancers, brain damage, just to name a few.

Decide what specific type of condition they will have. If you're thinking about them having albinism, will it be ocular, oculocutaneous, or one of the rare syndrome-types? If you want to give them spinal muscular atrophy, which of the many possible onsets will they have? If they have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, which one out of the 13 different types do they have? Is their amputation below, or above the knee (it's a major difference)? Not all conditions will have subtypes, but it's worth looking into to not be surprised later. This will help you with further research.

If you're really struggling with figuring out what exact disability would make sense for your character, you can send an ask. Just make sure that you have tried the above and put actual specifics in your ask to give us something to work with. You can also check out our "disabled character ideas" tag.

Here are some ideas for a character using crutches.

Here are some ideas for a character with a facial difference (obligatory link: what is a facial difference?).

If you already know what disability your character is going to have;

[large text: If you already know what disability your character is going to have;]

Start by reading about the onset and cause of the condition. It could be acquired, congenital, progressive, potentially multiple of these. They could be caused by an illness, trauma, or something else entirely. Is your character a congenital amputee, or is it acquired? If acquired - how recently? Has it been a week, or 10 years? What caused them to become disabled - did they have meningitis, or was it an accident? Again, check what your options are - there are going to be more diverse than you expect.

Read about the symptoms. Do not assume or guess what they are. You will almost definitely discover something new. Example: a lot of people making a character with albinism don't realize that it has other symptoms than just lack of melanin, like nystagmus, visual impairment, and photophobia. Decide what your character experiences, to what degree, how frequently, and what do they do (or don't do) to deal with it.

Don't give your character only the most "acceptable" symptoms of their disability and ignore everything else. Example: many writers will omit the topic of incontinence in their para- and tetraplegic characters, even though it's extremely common. Don't shy away from aspects of disability that aren't romanticized.

Don't just... make them abled "because magic". If they're Deaf, don't give them some ability that will make them into an essentially hearing person. Don't give your blind character some "cheat" so that they can see, give them a cane. Don't give an amputee prosthetics that work better than meat limbs. To have a disabled character you need to have a character that's actually disabled. There's no way around it.

Think about complications your character could experience within the story. If your character wears their prosthetic a lot, they might start to experience skin breakdown or pain. Someone who uses a wheelchair a lot has a risk of pressure sores. Glowing and Flickering Fantasy Item might cause problems for someone photophobic or photosensitive. What do they do when that happens, or how do they prevent that from happening?

Look out for comorbidities. It's rare for disabled people to only have one medical condition and nothing else. Disabilities like to show up in pairs. Or dozens.

If relevant, consider mobility aids, assistive devices, and disability aids. Wheelchairs, canes, rollators, braces, AAC, walkers, nasal cannulas, crutches, white canes, feeding tubes, braillers, ostomy bags, insulin pumps, service dogs, trach tubes, hearing aids, orthoses, splints... the list is basically endless, and there's a lot of everyday things that might count as a disability aid as well - even just a hat could be one for someone whose disability requires them to stay out of the sun. Make sure that it's actually based on symptoms, not just your assumptions - most blind people don't wear sunglasses, not all people with SCI use a wheelchair, upper limb prosthetics aren't nearly as useful as you think. Decide which ones your character could have, how often they would use them, and if they switch between different aids.

Basically all of the above aids will have subtypes or variants. There is a lot of options. Does your character use an active manual wheelchair, a powerchair, or a generic hospital wheelchair? Are they using high-, or low-tech AAC? What would be available to them? Does it change over the course of their story, or their life in general?

If relevant, think about what treatment your character might receive. Do they need medication? Physical therapy? Occupational therapy? Orientation and mobility training? Speech therapy? Do they have access to it, and why or why not?

What is your character's support system? Do they have a carer; if yes, then what do they help your character with and what kind of relationship do they have? Is your character happy about it or not at all?

How did their life change after becoming disabled? If your character goes from being an extreme athlete to suddenly being a full-time wheelchair user, it will have an effect - are they going to stop doing sports at all, are they going to just do extreme wheelchair sports now, or are they going to try out wheelchair table tennis instead? Do they know and respect their new limitations? Did they have to get a different job or had to make their house accessible? Do they have support in this transition, or are they on their own - do they wish they had that support?

What about *other* characters? Your character isn't going to be the only disabled person in existence. Do they know other disabled people? Do they have a community? If your character manages their disability with something that's only available to them, what about all the other people with the same disability?

What is the society that your character lives in like? Is the architecture accessible? How do they treat disabled people? Are abled characters knowledgeable about disabilities? How many people speak the local sign language(s)? Are accessible bathrooms common, or does your character have to go home every few hours? Is there access to prosthetists and ocularists, or what do they do when their prosthetic leg or eye requires the routine check-up?

Know the tropes. If a burn survivor character is an evil mask-wearer, if a powerchair user is a constantly rude and ungrateful to everyone villain, if an amputee is a genius mechanic who fixes their own prosthetics, you have A Trope. Not all tropes are made equal; some are actively harmful to real people, while others are just annoying or boring by the nature of having been done to death. During the character creation process, research what tropes might apply and just try to trace your logic. Does your blind character see the future because it's a common superpower in their world, or are you doing the ancient "Blind Seer" trope?

Remember, that not all of the above questions will come up in your writing, but to know which ones won't you need to know the answers to them first. Even if you don't decide to explicitly name your character's condition, you will be aware of what they might function like. You will be able to add more depth to your character if you decide that they have T6 spina bifida, rather than if you made them into an ambiguous wheelchair user with ambiguous symptoms and ambiguous needs. Embrace research as part of your process and your characters will be better representation, sure, but they will also make more sense and seem more like actual people; same with the world that they are a part of.

This post exists to help you establish the basics of your character's disability so that you can do research on your own and answer some of the most common ("what are symptoms of x?") questions by yourself. If you have these things already established, it will also be easier for us to answer any possible questions you might have - e.g. "what would a character with complete high-level paraplegia do in a world where the modern kind of wheelchair has not been invented yet?" is much more concise than just "how do I write a character with paralysis?" - I think it's more helpful for askers as well; a vague answer won't be much help, I think.

I hope that this post is helpful!

Mod Sasza

[helenwhiteart-blog]

Two ends of the see-saw: getting to see my ADHD brain in action

I haven’t written very much lately as I’ve been unusually busy. The fact I am writing this today tells you things have paused, at least for a moment. What Ive learned about the wiring of my ADHD brain across this period of time, given my uncharacteristic busyness (compared to recent years of chronic illness and having relatively little to “handle” in the day-to-day) is just starting to come home…

[steviewashere]

What if—

Steve Harrington has an audio processing disorder and that's why he was staring at Eddie's lips in the Upside Down? Like, he certainly doesn't mind staring, because they're attractive lips. But also, it wasn't initially due to infatuation or flirting.

And then, when everything is over, him and Eddie hang out a lot. And Eddie notices that Steve still stares at his lips—like a good 99% of the time. So he just leans in and kisses Steve.

And Steve like blue screens, essentially. Like that's his moment of realization? It's not like he wasn't aware of his feelings for Eddie, but he didn't realize how badly he wanted them to kiss. But now that it's happened, he has even more of a reason to keep staring at Eddie's lips. (Even though it definitely doesn't help that he stops listening and processing whatever Eddie's saying, because he just wants to kiss so bad. So Steve has to kiss Eddie every once in a while to shut him up and then ask for him to start over. And Eddie isn't bothered by this, just rolls his eyes and fakes annoyance.)

(This is brought to you by the fact that I stare at everybody's lips and yeah, sometimes I want a kiss. But also, what the fuck are you saying? I have to know.)

Edit: I reblogged already, but there's a little drabble now, if you're interested! The link can be found here!

[sundrop-writes]

Careful - Chapter Five

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter Five: Brick By Boring Brick

Her prince finally came to save her, and the rest you can figure out. 

Summary:

The world is closing in around you. You're supposed to sit in your home and wait for a killer to come to you, and your son seems to prefer a man that you were convinced never should have been in his life in the first place.

What happened? Where did you go wrong?

The only way to find out is to reflect on the past - and to perhaps, forgive something you once thought was unforgivable.

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst.

Word Count: 9,700

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: again, general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder, stalking; the reader character is being victimized by a serial killer; angst - lots of emotional angst; the reader character and Spencer argue and hash things out; this chapter shows the flashback of how their relationship ended; mentions of drugs/drug use/drug addiction - there is mentions of Spencer’s drug addiction after the incident with Tobias Hankel; mentions of the reader having an eating disorder (in the past, before meeting Spencer); mentions of how pregnancy can affect eating disorders; mentions of the reader having an absent father; mentions of Spencer’s trauma/PTSD after the Hankel incident; mentions of lack of hygiene/lack of cleaning his apartment due to trauma and depression; Spencer uses his profiling skills to insult the reader; I believe that is it for this chapter.

A/N: This is it! This is the big chapter where we all find out what happened for them to break-up! I hope everyone enjoys it. (I am not gonna lie, I am really starting to mentally stall with this series, and I am really eager to work on something else lmao. So let's hope I can stick it out and get it done.)

...

Spencer considered lying to you. 

He knew that you were going to have a hard time taking the news - there was no safehouse, no protective custody. Just him. Everything he had been offering before, nagging you about - it wasn’t truly being offered to you now. You would take it harder because now, in a sense, you and your son were being used as bait to lure the killer out and catch him in the act. 

He considered lying to you. But he knew that it would ruin all the progress that the two of you had made. 

So he made what he hoped was the right choice. He laid it all out for you as plainly as he could. They needed to catch him into the act, or he might choose a different victim. More innocent women might get hurt, their children being orphaned in the process. There would be unmarked cars stationed nearby, ready to help when Spencer called them in. 

He would be there to protect you. 

You still had a glisten of tears in your eyes, and he thought that you were going to panic. He was surprised when you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him again - but he embraced you tightly, feeling a certain selfish joy at having you back in his arms. 

“As long as you’re here to protect me.” You sniffled quietly, burying your face in his chest once again. 

“I’m not going to leave you.” He promised. “I don’t care what happens - I won’t let you out of my sight until we catch him.” 

You didn’t bring up the fact that this likely meant sleeping in the same bed with Spencer. You weren’t sure if that was something you were looking forward to or dreading. 

… 

Spencer encouraged you to go about your usual routine - especially because he didn’t want Sebastian to be afraid or paranoid, even if such a smart boy could sense that you were upset and didn’t understand why. 

Sebastian was easily distracted from the underlying tension when he realized that Spencer would be around to tuck him into bed. 

He became so ripe with excitement that you thought it might be difficult for him to sleep. Even though his bed time wasn’t officially until later, he skipped his evening TV time to rush up the stairs so that Spencer would come with him. He insisted that Spencer help him pick out his pajamas, and then he wanted to show Spencer his toothbrush that played Moonlight Sonata (a toothbrush that was designed to play exactly two minutes of a song so that kids knew how long to brush their teeth). 

You followed them upstairs and any efforts you made to help - showing Spencer which drawer the pjs were in and pointing to the drawer with the toothpaste in it - you were brushed off by Sebastian, who insisted that they didn’t need your help. He only wanted help from his new best friend. 

Observing the whole thing truly made you wonder what the past four years of your life would have been like with Spencer there. 

It caused a kind of lovesick nostalgia to flood you. Something that overtook you as you watched Spencer kneel down by the sink to get on Sebastian’s level, quietly complimenting him on his brushing technique and reminding him not to miss any spots - ready with a cloth to wipe your son’s face when he was all done. 

You could only imagine how sweet he would have been with the newborn, tightly swaddled Seb; how he would have taken care of you so well after you gave birth, how perfect he would have looked with a baby in his arms. All of it left you stewing in regret, and you tried incredibly hard to hide a frown from Sebastian for the dozenth time that day. 

Soon, Sebastian was rushing to jump into bed, and shouting an all too familiar request. 

“Mommy, the stars!” He cheered brightly, pointing toward the lightswitch. 

Spencer’s expression grew confused at this, and you felt a tingle of delight surge over the fear and anxiety for the first time in hours. 

You turned off the lights, and then you walked over to a bookshelf on the far side of the room - on top of which, you had set up a star projector for Sebastian. It was something you had gotten for him as a night light when he was still very little. Even if it was an unconscious whim at the time - you couldn’t deprive Spencer’s son of the stars. 

You switched it on and an array of bright stars were projected onto the ceiling, causing Spencer’s neck to crane upward in awe. Sebastian giggled in delight and flung himself backward in bed to look at it. 

“He usually sleeps with this on as a night light, but he’s probably gonna want a story before he goes to sleep.” You said, motioning toward the book shelf. “You can turn the side lamp on.” You pointed to that as well. “Are you guys gonna be okay while I go get my pjs on?” 

You knew that Spencer wasn’t likely to let you out of his sight - and that was exactly the look that came in his eyes; hesitant dread, clear to you even through the semi-darkness with the bright swirling lights moving across the ceiling reflected onto his face. 

“Don’t lock your door.” He told you quietly. “And make sure to holler if you need anything.” 

He chose his words carefully, not wanting to alarm Sebastian. 

“I’ll be fine.” You assured him. “I’m right down the hall.” 

Then you turned to Sebastian - who was laying on his back, still admiring the stars, already looking sleepy. He’d had quite an exciting, usual day - so that wasn’t entirely surprising to you. 

“I’ll come back and kiss you goodnight in a minute, okay?” You told him. “Spencer is gonna read you your goodnight story. Sounds good?” 

“Yeah!” Sebastian easily agreed. “I love you, Mommy!” 

That grin, those big eyes looking up at you - it really reminded you why all the pain was worth it. That you would do anything to protect him. 

“I love you, too, Seb.” You leaned down and kissed his forehead, and then you moved to walk out of the room. 

He added something on that caught you off guard, though, causing you to freeze in the doorway. 

“Mommy?” He called out, and you turned back to look at him. “Can Spencer stay forever?” 

You felt as though a fist had been jammed into your throat. 

All of your bones were concrete stiff, and you couldn’t bear a single glance in Spencer’s direction - you felt his eyes on you, but you couldn’t face him. 

“We - we’ll talk about it more tomorrow, okay?” You replied, having to clear your throat roughly in order to get the words out. 

“Okay.” Sebastian huffed quietly, rolling into a yawn. 

When you left the room, Spencer felt an intense temptation to follow you simply to pursue that subject - but he had an obligation toward his son now. Something he hadn’t had the privilege of partaking in before. 

A simple bedtime story. 

Spencer settled in with Sebastian and you rushed down the hallway toward your room. You closed the door behind you (not locking it) - the second that you were alone, the tears rushed out before you could stop them. 

Of course your son had missed his father’s presence in his life. Even if he didn’t know that Spencer was his father - their personalities were so well-matched, and Spencer was so good with him. 

How could you have been so stupid? Who were you to deny a child of his father? 

You walked over to your bed and sat on the edge, and then you took your jewelry box out of your bedside table drawer - you kept it right next to the lock box that contained your gun. You opened the jewelry box and took out the star necklace that Spencer had given you, staring at the pendant in the middle of your palm with deep contemplation. 

You had broken up with him for a good reason. Many good reasons. And you had known your reasons back then - and they had been life-altering. Back then - it felt like choosing between a secure life for your baby and choosing the chaos of chasing the life of your love. Back then - Spencer was so unstable. He hadn’t been fit to raise a child. 

The Spencer who had swept you off your feet and treated you like a princess - the man who had given you the necklace; he was not the same person you had faced down, vicious and bitter on the night that you had broken up with him. 

But that man who gave you the necklace - it felt like the same man who held you in the kitchen and promised that nothing would happen to you. It felt like the same man who looked at your son like he had hung each and every star in the sky. 

You put the necklace back on with shaking hands, struggling to clasp it for a moment. You hoped that it would be an omen. The man who had given you this necklace was back, to stay - he could raise a family with you. He could be your stability. He could be what you and Seb needed. 

Then, you tried to shut off your mind as you went about getting ready for bed yourself. Even though you were pretty certain that you weren’t going to sleep with all this hanging over your head, it was still nice to be in comfortable clothing; to have a routine. You did your nightly skincare (but you didn’t bother to brush your teeth, knowing that you were likely going to want some coffee soon), put on your pajamas, and uncaring if Spencer noticed - shed your bra, needing to relieve some tension from somewhere. 

You left the room wearing a pair of loose, thin pajama pants and a large tee shirt with Garfield on the front of it; along with your slippers and an unzipped hoodie. You had the necklace freely untucked from the neckline of your shirt, knowing that Spencer would spot the silver chain and know what it was anyway. 

He was a profiler, so he could read you like a book anyway. You hated that. 

When you walked back to Sebastian’s room, you found it oddly quiet. 

You were surprised that you didn’t hear the sounds of Spencer’s soothing voice reading a story, Sebastian’s laughter - his small voice egging Spencer on to read more even though it was time to go to sleep. 

You stood out of view, just beyond the doorway for a moment before you decided to peer inside. 

The sight inside made your chest twist with a very unique kind of pain. 

Spencer was laying half on the small single bed, one of his feet on the floor to keep himself from falling off completely, his head awkwardly propped up against the headboard. Sebastian was about half a foot off the wall, cuddled up closely to Spencer, his head laid in the middle of Spencer’s chest. The Rubble plushy that Spencer had gotten him was curled up under his chin, Spencer’s arm gently petting his curly hair while he peacefully slept on top of his father for the first time in his short life. 

The way Spencer looked at him was what truly broke your heart. 

You knew that was the gaze of a man who had missed so much - whose own heart was breaking from all the time he had missed. Someone who was enjoying this moment more than anything in his life because he had missed out on so much of Sebastian before this. 

After a few moments of you standing in the doorway silently, tears gathering in your eyes, Spencer felt your presence there. He was finally able to tear his gaze away from Sebastian’s gentle, sleeping face to look up at you. 

“He said he wanted to hear ‘a new story’.” Spencer told you. “I started reciting The Old Man and The Sea from memory, and he only got about five pages in before he fell asleep.” 

It didn’t surprise you that Spencer knew the novel by heart. It didn’t surprise you that his theatrical, meditative speaking voice had so easily soothed Sebastian to sleep. 

You nodded, and deeply against your will - a thick tear rolled down your face. 

Unable to face it any longer, you left once again - feeling like a prisoner in your own home, running from corner to corner in a poor attempt to avoid the inevitable. You rushed to the kitchen and clicked on the coffee machine before you began attending to the larger dishes from dinner - pots you had left to soak in the sink that you now wanted to scrub at in an effort to distract yourself.

Spencer felt a sense of urgency rise up in him when he saw you start crying (seemingly out of nowhere). He hated watching you run away from him for the dozenth time that day. 

Any calm he had felt from watching his son fall asleep was chased out of him. But of course, he didn’t want to wake the peacefully sleeping boy, so he had to very slowly, very carefully wiggle out from underneath the sleeping boy. He adjusted Sebastian’s head onto the pillow, making sure to cover him up and tuck him in with his toy before he left the room - leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar behind him, with the star lights still circling the ceiling. 

And then he practically raced downstairs to see you. 

What had he done to upset you? 

You wanted him to be a part of his son’s life, right? You wanted him to be a good father, right? 

What the hell had he done to upset you now? 

When he came into the kitchen, you were standing at the sink with your back to him, furiously scrubbing at one of the pots from dinner. 

“What the hell happened?” He sighed, tired and frustrated. “What the hell could I have possibly done now?” 

“You didn’t do anything.” You replied, your voice short, angry, and still choked off by tears. 

In truth, it was your most honest view of the situation. 

This made Spencer spike with an even deeper frustration. 

He thought that the two of you had been making progress. But now, you were cutting him off again. You were trying to placate him with lies when he so badly wanted the truth. He wanted to air it all out. The two of you needed it out - out it in the open instead of festering away like a damn secret.  

“No, no.” He pressed, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms, swarming with bitterness. “Come on, I must have done something.” 

You remained silent, letting out a single sniffle as you continued to scrub - the only sound going through the kitchen being the sloshing of water through the sink and the bubbling of the coffee maker. 

“Trust me, I know how it is.” Spencer sighed. “I don’t open up enough, I don’t trust you… it’s always my fault.” 

In the months after the break-up, he had done a lot of thinking. He had gone over it in his head again and again - he had picked apart his own flaws in his mind, wondering how he could have been better for you. 

“That’s just it.” You replied, your throat closing up due to your own tears. “You’re perfect.” You sniffled again. “You didn’t do anything.” 

This left Spencer silent and confused - wondering for a moment if you were being sarcastic. 

You put down the sponge and grabbed a dry dish cloth off to the side, drying your hands as you turned back to Spencer. 

When he caught your eyes, he knew then that it wasn’t sarcasm. You were swimming in sadness, turmoil, but most of what he could see was guilt. You didn’t blame him for any of this. 

“Y/N-” 

“All day, you’ve been perfect.” You huffed out, cutting him off. “I’ll be honest, at first, I thought it was an act. I thought you were just playing at it, trying to show me that you could be a good father to get in my good graces. To maybe get me back.” 

Spencer was hurt by this. But with the way you had started off the sentence, that didn’t seem to be your opinion now. He remained silent, letting you continue to get the full stream of your thoughts out. 

“I didn’t think you’d be able to keep it up. I thought something would happen. I thought you’d slip… but then, I realized: you can’t fake it. You’re not faking it. The way you are… you’ve changed. You really have changed.” You sighed. 

He was glad to hear that, but he knew that there was something else. Now, he was determined to find out why you were upset. 

“Look-” 

“Did I hallucinate the whole thing?” You spoke suddenly. “I just feel so crazy… Did I really break up with you for no fucking reason?” 

This stung Spencer. 

He knew that there had been a myriad of good reasons at the time. But something he had gone over in his mind, stewing with regret over and over again - he had never wanted it to be a break-up. He had wished over and over again that the two of you could have worked on things instead of just ending them so suddenly. 

“You did have your reasons back then.” Spencer admitted quietly. “I know that you did.” Then, after a moment, he felt the need to add on: “I… I know they were good reasons. I don’t blame you for wanting to end the relationship.” 

He chose his words carefully in that sense. 

He fully understood ending the relationship. That was your choice. But the one thing that still plagued him- 

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that you were pregnant?” He asked, entirely exasperated. 

It was as though he had flipped the knife around, plunging it into you this time. 

You remained stunned and silent, not prepared to be confronted by the question, and Spencer, utterly hurt, continued on. 

“You stole four years of his life from me! Four years!” He shouted, his words whipping at you in a way that made you flinch. “And you were never planning on telling me! You were gonna let me miss everything! His first day of school, his college graduation, his wedding! You never wanted me in his life! You-!” 

“Because you weren’t good enough for him!” You shouted back, utterly defensive. 

You hated that you couldn’t take it back - you hated the pain that flooded across Spencer’s features. 

“Not back then.” You added on, knowing that it was barely a worthy addendum. “The man I left standing in that apartment wasn’t someone I wanted to raise a child with-” 

“How is that any excuse?” Spencer spit back bitterly. 

You glared at him. 

You had your reasons then. It felt like you were on trial, now, though. And you had to scramble to put together a defense - to explain it to him when he had been the accused in the crime at the time. 

“You really can’t understand why I didn’t tell you that I was pregnant?” You gaped, still defensive. 

“No, I really don’t get it.” He agreed, shaking his head. “You had to know that I would have done anything to become a father. No matter what, I would have stepped up, I-” 

“Oh, don’t give me that!” 

You were raising your voice now, years old anger bubbling up in your veins, awoken by his self righteous attitude - his foggy nostalgia when viewing his past self. 

“It was bad, Spencer. It was a bad time. And you can’t tell me with all honesty that you would have turned it around like that,” You snapped your fingers to help demonstrate the point. “Just because you found out that when you came inside me, it stuck.” 

“I would have tried.” Spencer pressed. 

“But you wouldn’t have tried for me?” You replied desperately. 

That stung you deep, tearing open some of the wounds you still had from that night. 

It was something you had suspected, but you had never heard him confirm it for certain. 

When you had been back there, begging him to change - he had turned on you. You alone weren’t good enough for him. 

Spencer’s face fluctuated rapidly between shock and discomfort, and with no words from him, you continued. 

“A baby would have been enough for you, but when I was sobbing, begging you to get better - that wasn’t good enough?” You continued, fresh tears clutching at your throat, beginning to simulate the sight he had been met with on the night you had broken up. 

It was a terrible mirror. You standing in front of him, your face a picture of pure pain with glassy tears dancing in your eyes - begging him for answers, begging him to show that he loved you. That he would step up and improve out of love for you. 

Because that’s what it was. 

It hit him so suddenly then. 

He saw that night - that deadly, world ending fight - in a whole new light now. 

… 

Just before the break-up, you and Spencer hadn’t officially moved in together, but you did have a key to his apartment. Moving in together was supposed to be the next logical step in your relationship, and he was heavily considering asking you to move in with him. 

Well, he had been thinking about it - before his entire world was turned upside-down by a man named Tobias Hankel. When he came home scarred and emotionally chaotic, thinking about taking ‘next steps’ in life wasn’t really something he was doing. 

Instead, he was in survival mode. And for the first time in his life, he was trying to do as little thinking as possible. Whenever he spent too much time in his own head, he had nightmares - he found himself back in that tiny room, strapped down to that chair, cold and unable to escape, with death looming over his head. 

He hated that he relied on the drugs to drown it all out. 

Among the mess that he often found between his ears - he often forgot that you had a key to his place. 

When he came home that night, he was expecting to take a particularly heavy hit that would hopefully put him right into a long, dreamless sleep. He definitely did not expect you to be there. It wasn’t something that the two of you had discussed beforehand. If you had asked to come over, he likely would have said no. He squinted against the lights as he opened the door to his apartment and a particular wave of nausea hit him as the smell of food cooking hit his nose. 

Perhaps it was that ironic kind of nausea that only comes after starving for so long. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. Of course, his body seemed to run perfectly fine on nothing but coffee and that precious thing that felt so heavy in his pocket. As far as he knew, he didn’t need to eat. 

“Spencer?” You called out his name when you heard the door creaking on its hinges, and Spencer sighed deep in his chest when he realized that the interaction was inevitable. 

So much for a peaceful night. 

You had been so much of a nag lately. The way you had been acting, he would even border on calling it bitchy. 

When he wanted you there for meaningless sex to get his mind off things or even if he just wanted to cuddle, when he needed you to hold him - you always wanted to talk. You were constantly on him, asking him what was wrong, and how you could help. You wouldn’t just shut up and leave well enough alone; no matter how many times he told you to lay off and insisted that he was fine. (He knew that it was a lie, but he didn’t force you to talk about your problems. He wished you could see that he just wanted to be left alone. That he could get through this on his own.) 

The last time he had seen you, he had torn out of your apartment at the speed of sound when he had taken off his sweater in anticipation of some hopefully mind numbing orgasms - and instead, you had asked about the marks on his arm. 

And he had been dreading seeing you again ever since. 

“Hey.” He called back dully, slinking in the door and closing it behind him. 

He tossed his keys onto a nearby table - one that was already messy with books and newspapers. He took off his messenger bag and tossed it down carelessly too, still not turning to look at you as he peeled off his outer jacket. He left a sweater on underneath to keep his arms covered; he didn’t need any more questioning from you right now. 

“I made you dinner.” You pointed out, your voice tentatively hopeful. “It’s that cheese tortellini that you said you liked. And I stopped by that little shop downtown and got some of those chocolate cupcakes.” 

When Spencer finally turned around, you were holding a bright pink box with the lid open, displaying two very plump, beautifully decorated chocolate cupcakes - a small, tired smile on your lips while you waited for him to say something about the kindness of the gesture. 

A fresh wave of nausea rolled over him at the sight and all he felt was annoyance. 

(What made things worse was that you had clearly taken the time to dress up. You were wearing one of your nicer dresses, a matching cardigan thrown over your shoulders. A light, but well done dusting of makeup across your beautiful features. If Spencer wasn’t mistaken, he could hear the clack of heels beyond the counter where he couldn’t see your lower half. You looked gorgeous, and it made him feel all the more like garbage where he stood.) 

“You didn’t have to.” He huffed out, still trying to be civil, even though all he wanted at the moment was to be left alone in his own home, rather than having you there, bothering him. 

“It’s okay, I wanted to.” You giggled, closing the box and setting it aside. “You’re absolutely worth it.” 

That was it. That was the comment that truly cut through him. 

Because he wasn’t worth it - he was a scumbag. He was a piece of trash who pitied a man who had killed seven people, and he should have died in that shitty little shack in the cemetery instead of standing here with you while you took the time to buy him cupcakes and make him dinner. He shouldn’t get to be spoiled by you after everything he had done. 

Every ounce of that anger that he was feeling toward himself boiled over like a terrible overcooked pot and came spitting out like hot oil, ready to burn you. 

“Can you just shut up?” He snapped. “I didn’t ask you to do any of this.” 

He felt regret churn in his stomach when your face curled with hurt, and he was surprised when you didn’t immediately leave. 

“It’s okay.” You said quietly. 

The fact that you rolled over so easily, so apologetic - that annoyed him more. 

He watched on with shock as you reached a hand toward your purse, which was sequestered off on one edge of the counter - a space you had clearly cleaned off before you had started cooking. 

(Spencer could only imagine how much you looked down upon him, considering him a lazy pig with how messy and generally unhygienic his apartment was because - even though he hated it - he couldn’t bring himself to clean with his generally mental disarray as of late.) 

You put a hand into the open zipper of your bag and soon came out with something you easily knew was there, didn’t even have to dig around for, and Spencer watched on curiously as your hand came back with a thick fistful of colorful pamphlets. 

“I also got these for you.” You said, extending the arm out to him. 

He had a terrible knot in his gut. 

He stepped forward on shaking legs and when he grabbed them from you - surely enough, it was exactly what he had feared. 

Spencer’s eyes grew tense with anger as he scanned over it all. 

A bunch of crap about sober living with generic stock images of people smiling - well paid models who had never known a single day of pain in their stupid, well groomed lives. People who could never even imagine what Spencer had been through. 

“We can talk about it when you’re ready.” You told him, anxiety keeping your breath tight in your chest as you spoke. “I know it’s hard, so-” 

What the hell did you know? 

“God, you are so fucking full of it!” Spencer shouted, tossing down the pamphlets, causing them to scatter across the counter in a mess, his sudden spike in volume making you flinch. 

As though you had been slapped, it took you a moment to recover from the pure shock of his words before you could actually speak any kind of reply. 

“What?” You gaped at him. “Spencer, what the hell do you mean? I’m trying to help-” 

“‘Oh, I know it’s hard.’” He repeated your words in a mocking voice. “Please, what the hell do you know?” 

That caused a dangerous shift in you, turning the understanding and pity inside of you toward fed-up anger. 

“I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me!” You shouted back. “You won’t even tell me what the hell is wrong! It’s like you don’t even fucking trust me!” 

Unconsciously, this is exactly what Spencer had wanted. He had wanted a fight - claws, noise. He needed to be punished. He couldn’t stand you sitting around, acting so damn calm, being so sweet to him when he was so awful. 

“Why should I tell you?” Spencer argued, grasping blindly at nothing, yelling just to make noise. “It’s none of your goddamn business!” 

“Why wouldn’t this be any of my business?” You gasped. “Spencer, we’ve been together for - what? Almost three years now?” 

It had been two years, eleven months, and three days since your first date. It had been two years, eleven months, and fifteen days since he had first spoken to you. It had been three years and four days since he had first laid eyes on you - thinking that you were the most beautiful woman on earth, thinking that he would never, ever work up the courage to speak to you. Thinking that there was no chance on earth that you would ever actually be his. 

And now, he was about to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

All good things must come to an end, right? 

“I care about you.” You said, your voice cracking around the words - the ghost of tears beginning to form in your throat, like dark clouds forming in the sky before a storm. “That makes it my business.” 

Spencer huffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” 

“It’s not just ‘whatever’, Spencer!” You screamed, your frustration flaring up once again. 

He didn’t speak, he just kept on glaring at you. This pissed you off more - finally gave you the balls to say it. 

“You’re on drugs!” You finally found the courage to speak it aloud. There was a tense stare down as you waited for him to deny the accusation. When he didn’t, a sharp spear pierced your chest, and the first tears fell. “You’re hurting yourself. This is a big deal, baby. You need help.” 

Looking back on it now - it had been four years, nine months, and eight days since the last time you had called him ‘baby’. He should have seen it then, but this was the beginning of the end. 

He should have latched onto it as a safety line and pulled himself ashore. He should have accepted the help that you were so graciously offering him. 

But instead, at the time - it only stung him more. It only showed him a display of the sweetness that he didn’t think he deserved. It only caused him to turn on his defenses more. 

Like a poisonous plant evolving his instincts in the worst way - it made him fight back harder. 

“Don’t tell me what I fucking need!” Spencer cried out, every inch of his voice utterly insulted. “So what if I’m on drugs? You’re not a fucking peach yourself!” He let out a bitter, airy chuckle with these words, and instantly your face shifted. 

A very large part of you knew that he was resorting to personal attacks because he was desperately trying to shift the attention away from himself - away from talking about his own problems. But with the shock and hurt pulsing through your system, you couldn’t truly focus on the logic of it all. 

“What?” You gaped. “Spencer, what are you talking about?” 

“You - you act so goddamn perfect all the time, but-” 

He stuttered, hesitating for a fraction of a moment, watching the hurt and confusion tangle over your beautiful features - he could have blamed it on the drugs in his system or the fact that the trauma had been so recent and he technically had not ‘recovered’ from it. But he made the final move, then, hurling a harpoon into your relationship, making a giant wound that couldn’t be recovered from. 

“But you’re a pathetic, shallow little girl with abandonment issues because your father left you before you hit puberty-” He said, breaking you down in that intense, psychological, profiler way. “You seek validation from me, the man you’re having sex with, in the most utterly Freudian way, and when you don’t receive that validation, you starve yourself in the name of vanity, seeking satisfaction and control that you’ll never truly obtain because you’re a narcissistic control freak!” 

He managed to hit every point perfectly; he had used his skills to look into your soul, hand-picking every single thing that would have hurt you most. Given, he also had information that you had told him during late-night conversations where the two of you had bonded. You had told him about your shitty father and the eating disorder that you struggled with on and off since childhood (and still occasionally struggled with since you had met him). He had told you about his mother and his own shitty father - but it was never something that you would have used against him. 

You knew that it was meant to hurt you - to distract you. You knew that he was lashing out in order to put a wall between himself and you. But you couldn’t help the giant lump that rose up in your throat, the flood of tears that poured freely down your face. 

Hearing those words right from his mouth was one of your worst nightmares come to life - as though one of your safest, softest places to land was now a bed of thorns. 

Spencer’s gut twisted when he saw you crying, but like a man possessed, he couldn’t stop himself. 

“Did you honestly think that being with me was going to fix you?” He let out a dark chuckle, sounding well and truly like a super villain, punching right through your heart. “Maybe, you should spend less time focusing on me and my supposed problems,” He griped, sarcasm tight on his lips. “And spend a bit more time fixing yourself.” 

You sucked in a chest rattling breath, and began gathering your purse, leaving the pamphlets on the counter as you moved to grab your coat off the hook. 

You would forever regret turning back for one last word, your throat quaking hard and struggling to even get the words out. 

“And how would you recommend that I do that?” You asked, entirely bitter. 

“Well, for starters, you could use a few less cupcakes in your life.” He replied, snarky, demanding. 

He was angry about the cupcakes because they represented everything good about you - your generosity, your kindness, your propensity to view the small things in life as a representation of life being good as a whole. 

It came off sounding like a jab at your weight, degrading your perfect body - especially after he had called you narcissistic for having an eating disorder. 

A sharp jolt went through his chest when the words fully penetrated his own ears - when he truly heard how terrible it was. 

Especially when he saw the look of horror that struck your gorgeous, tear-soaked features. 

“Y/N-” He said your name so softly, and an apology begging to be chased from his lungs. 

But you wouldn’t let him. 

“We’re done here.” You declared, a dark finality in your voice as you turned and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind you. 

At the time, Spencer simply thought you meant - done with the conversation. He didn’t know that you had already decided that your words were declaring - done with the relationship. At the time, you were well and truly done with Spencer Reid. 

He ached to chase after you, to scream apologies down the hall, no matter who would hear him - but his feet only carried him as far as the door before he collapsed against it, pressing his forehead hard into the wood while his soul clawed at the inside of his chest, aching to get to you, mourning that he had hurt you so badly. 

Spencer left the food to go stale, turning off all the lights in the apartment. Then he took a strong hit, and cried himself to sleep. 

He woke up the next morning stewing in regret. He called you, and of course, you didn’t answer. He sat on the edge of his bed, thinking. He wondered if he should go to your favorite coffee shop, get your favorite breakfast and go to your place to force his way in so that he could talk things over with you. He wondered if he should agree to go to one of the sober treatment programs that you had picked out just to please you. 

While he was considering all of this, his phone rang, and he rushed to pick it up, thinking that maybe it was you. It was JJ, alerting him to a case. He gathered his things and left for work, letting you fall into the back of his mind, thinking that he would be able to pick up the pieces and apologize when he got back. 

But it had been too late. 

The next time he opened his apartment door, he tripped over the key he had given you. You had slid it under the door in order to return it to him after locking up. 

You had let yourself in to gather your things from Spencer’s place, and to leave a very large box of his things that had been left at your place in the middle of his kitchen counter. Beside that box was an envelope with his name on it. A six page handwritten letter from you, explaining all of your reasoning for not wanting to speak to him in person, wishing him well in getting sober, telling him not to make any efforts to contact you again because he had hurt you so badly and you simply needed to heal - and declaring the end of the relationship finite and official. 

(Your pregnancy, of course, was mentioned nowhere among those six pages.) 

Several weeks later, Spencer would receive a similar letter from Gideon when he left the BAU without telling anyone. 

When he read your letter, Spencer sobbed so loudly that his throat hurt. 

And after reading it several more times, letting it truly hit him - he flushed the last of the stash he had down the toilet. A few weeks later, after he had worked up the courage, he went to your apartment. After a while of him knocking on the door and calling your name, begging for you to come out and see him, one of your neighbors came out. They yelled at him to shut up, and informed him that you had moved. 

That was the first day Spencer went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. 

…

It had all happened so fast. 

You found out you were pregnant, and you knew that the end of your lease was coming up. It had been a time you were hoping to move in with Spencer, but with that hope blown to shreds, you needed a fresh start. 

Your mom knew someone selling for cheap because it was in a newly developing area, and most of the other houses around it weren’t finished yet. She thought it wouldn’t appeal to you because it was in a different state, but - you found yourself calling the real estate agent and packing up your boxes that week. 

You figured that because you had done so well growing up without a father, your kid didn’t need one either. You didn’t want Spencer to cause more trouble being in his life and being unstable than not being there at all. 

So you fled. It seemed like the wisest decision at the time. 

…

Spencer had been so stupid. 

Not only had he hurt you badly - but you had wanted him to get sober out of love. You had been so patient with him, so soft, so loving. You weren’t talking about his addiction because you wanted to pick apart his flaws. You hadn’t gone to his apartment that night because you wanted to hurl around accusations. You hadn’t wanted to be invasive; you hadn’t thought that he was a genuinely horrible, broken person and you simply wanted him to admit that. 

You saw that he was hurting and you had wanted to help him heal. 

At the time, you had nothing but love for him - and you had even loved those broken parts of him. He hadn’t been prepared to accept that love. He had made a terrible mistake. And there was only one thing he could do now. 

Spencer shocked you when he moved from leaning on the kitchen counter and got down on his knees in front of you. Your jaw slacked in shock and you stared down at him as he clasped his hands together as though praying, staring up at you with his wide, wet eyes. 

“I am so sorry.” He said, his voice quaking around the words. “I know that I could never apologize enough for what happened - I was horrible to you back then. You definitely didn’t hallucinate that.” 

“Well… it wasn’t all you, right? I mean, you weren’t really yourself then.” You sniffled, clearly making an implication toward the fact that he had been taking drugs. 

All this time, you had put a lot of emotional stake in that. When you looked back on your memories with Spencer, you hoped that drugs was solely the reason he had turned into a different person - a kind of person who would make such harsh personal attacks toward you. 

It made a lot of sense as to why he was so sweet, so normal, so personable, so good with Sebatian, so himself now. He must be sober. 

“That’s no excuse.” He told you. “I need to take full responsibility for my behavior. I treated you with the type of cruelty that no person should ever have to experience, let alone a partner.” 

“Spencer, get up, please.” You reached over and grabbed the fabric at the shoulder of his shirt, and he let you haul him to his feet. 

It felt all too natural to stay close to you. 

As you leaned up against the counter beside the sink, your hands drifted to his waist and pulled him to you. And his hands lingered behind you on the counter, bracketing you in. His face hovered close to yours - this was the closest he had come to kissing you all day. His eyes lingered on your lips. 

But he knew that the two of you were too close now - too close to the truth. 

He had to let you speak instead. He couldn’t risk ruining things again. 

“I accept your apology.” You told him quietly. 

It was something you had been waiting years to hear him say. This moment - this whole day - it was like something out of your distant fantasies. You didn’t think that you would ever get to see this version of Spencer again. And now, you weren’t entirely sure what to do with him. You still felt too cautious. 

“I really want to work on things.” It was the truth, and you knew that you had to speak it out loud. “I really want you to be a part of Sebastian’s life.” 

I really want to work on things. 

It was the tiniest scrap of hope, but it was all he needed to pursue things. 

“Are you and I gonna work on things?” Spencer asked, barely above a whisper, reaching a hand up to oh-so-gently brush his fingers across the side of your face. “Is there a future for us?” 

He closed his eyes and tentatively pressed his forehead into yours while you tightly gripped onto the fabric of his shirt. His soul was clawing at his chest once again, feeling all too much like the night you had left him in the apartment all alone. 

But this time, he wasn’t prepared to let you go. 

“Can you answer something honestly?” You whispered. 

“Anything.” Spencer replied. 

“Have you…?” You breathed out, unsure how to phrase the question. “When was the last time… are you clean? Like - are you sober?” 

You were almost certainly sure that he was. He was acting so different, so much more like the version of Spencer that you had fallen in love with. But you couldn’t have someone who was actively on drugs parenting your son. And you had to hope that his prolonged trip to the bathroom earlier wasn’t for that reason. 

“One thousand, seven hundred, and two days.” Spencer replied. “That’s how long I’ve been sober.” 

That was a very long time. You let out a breath of relief, and Spencer felt it puff out against his chin. To clarify, he then said: 

“It’s about - four years, eight months, and two days.” He added on. 

“So… a little after the time I ended things.” You concluded. 

You felt a pang of guilt flow through you. At the time, you knew that breaking up with him was a risk. It was a painful event, and he could have turned to drugs even more for comfort. You had taken away his support system, something that could have helped him in getting sober. But he was spiraling, and you couldn’t stay there and let him take you down too. 

When you found out about the pregnancy, you realized that a large part of how quick you were to act and how rash you were was likely due to the pregnancy hormones. But you weren’t going to rush back and apologize to Spencer because you didn’t want an addict helping to raise your child. You didn’t think that he would simply quit cold turkey because he found out about the baby - not from the way you had seen him. 

But apparently - 

“The break-up… the way things ended, it was a huge catalyst in helping me get sober.” Spencer told you. “And I’m thankful for that.” 

That part surprised you. 

At the time, you know you could have severely relapsed in your eating disorder. 

The only reason you didn’t was because you found out that you were pregnant. Knowing that you had another human life to support, that your body wasn’t just your own - it pushed you to eat healthy, and allowed you the mental room to eat ‘treats’ when you wanted to. Nobody cares if a pregnant woman gets fatter, and that did make you feel safe, in a sense. 

You knew that you didn’t want to date after Sebastian was born - you were focusing so much on him that you didn’t have too much room to be self conscious of your Mommy body. You exercised by lifting Sebastian and carrying him around. Later, you got plenty of exercise chasing him around when he could walk. You didn’t think too much about your diet, because you mostly just ate what he did, and made sure that he was eating healthy. 

In a lot of ways, he saved you. Becoming a mother was the best thing that could have happened - for your mind, body, and soul. 

“What I was doing… it was not the kind of coping mechanism I should have used.” Spencer spoke up again, distracting you from your own thoughts. “But knowing that I hurt you like that - knowing that I lost the best thing in my life… it made me realize that I was turning into someone I didn’t want to be. I was turning into this utterly horrible person, and I needed to change.” 

“Spencer-” You choked out. 

Hearing him describe himself as an ‘utterly horrible person’ did hurt. 

“It’s okay.” He said softly. 

“Can - can I ask what happened?” You whispered. “What made you turn to-? I mean… you left and then when you came back… you were so different.” 

He knew what you were talking about. 

He wasn’t even sure how he could put it into words for you. 

A man in Georgia who had taken on the personality of his father in order to survive. Seven murders in the name of religion. A case that was supposed to be straightforward - a time where Spencer had nearly met God himself. 

He had refused to tell you back then because he didn’t want to be seen as weak. He didn’t want to taint you with the details. He wanted to be comforted and coddled by you without you knowing why he needed that comfort. 

After a moment of Spencer not speaking - standing there with distant horror in his eyes as it all replayed in his mind, you spoke again. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.” You said, reaching up and gently petting a hand down his arm. “You’ve done a lot of healing since then, and I know it’s in your past now.” 

“Tobias Hankel.” He told you, confusing you slightly for a moment before he continued. “He - he was a man who killed seven people. It was a case in Georgia. It was supposed to be standard. We were called in to profile the murders, and actually - he was listed as a witness, and JJ and I went out to interview him. It was a really secluded area. And we got separated.” Spencer took in a breath, and you continued touching his arm, a gentle assurance that you were there, that it was okay. “And… he caught me off guard. He knocked me unconscious.” 

Spencer didn’t feel the need to give you all the dirty details. How he had been shocked by Tobias speaking in the voice of his father, by the appearance of ‘both suspects’ in one body. How he had begged for mercy. 

“And he took me to another location. And when I woke up… I had no clue where I was.” He said, this throat tightening up as the memories came flooding back to him. 

“Oh baby, that must have been so scary.” You said, the word flying from your lips out of instinct as you moved your hand to his chest - instinctively trying to protect his heart with the whole of your palm. 

Hearing it from your lips, so gentle, so soothing - baby. 

Spencer felt like he was at home again. It was the last thing he needed to crack open that door - everything he had been holding back, every raw emotion - it came flooding out. 

He blinked out tears, and you thought that it was terror resurfacing from that day. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” You told him, reaching up to wipe those tears away. “I’m here now.” 

That’s all he had ever wanted. To be here with you. All he had ever needed. 

“Thank you.” He said quietly. 

“You don’t have to thank me.” You replied, your voice gentle. 

“At the time - he drugged me.” Spencer continued the explanation - the one he so dutifully owed you. “That - that’s why.” He stuttered out. “When I came home… I couldn’t stop. It was the only thing numbing the pain. The only thing stopping me from… truly facing it all. From thinking about everything that had happened to me - processing it. I didn’t want to like it, but… it was the only thing that got me through when I was… when I felt like I was so close to death. I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t know how to exist without it at the time.” 

Spencer took in a sharp breath. 

“And when you left, I realized that I needed to stop - I needed to stop the drugs, or I was just gonna lose everything.” 

“You are so strong.” You said, your own voice ripe with tears as you continued to hold Spencer’s face, holding both of his cheeks now, forcing his gaze toward you. Your eyes were burning passionate, every inch of the declaration intense and strong. “Spencer, you got through that and came home. I don’t know if I could have done what you did.” 

“You could have.” He told you, entirely truthful. “You’ve been raising a child by yourself for four years. Never doubt how strong you are.” 

He wanted to deflect - eager to stop talking about himself now. But he was doing it with compliments this time. He knew that he could never make it up to you, but he would never stop with the flattery. He would never stop trying. 

“God, Spencer. I missed you so much.” You said, your throat clenching around the words. Then, before you could stop it:

“You know I never stopped loving you, right?” 

He swore that his heart stopped in that moment. 

“I - I don’t think I could have stopped loving you if I tried.” He replied, his tongue fat and dry in his mouth, having to swallow tightly after he spoke. 

You used your hands on his cheeks to pull him toward you, then, and like the inevitability of the earth rounding the sun as the years passed - Spencer came home to you, sighing into your mouth as he felt your lips in that perfect, beautiful kiss. He finally felt that tightness ease in his chest - maybe it was a feeling he had been waiting to pass for years, his heart locked up and tight with that love for you strangling him from the inside, clawing to get out with you not around for him to truly love you the way he needed to. With his son somewhere out there in the world, waiting to be loved by him. 

Your lips were so smooth and perfect against his - and it wasn’t long before that sweet love turned aching, insistent, and passionate. 

Spencer put his hands on your hips and scooted you back up onto the counter. You let your body naturally shift with the movements, letting yourself slowly fall into the trust of being touched by him again. You let out a moan into his mouth and embraced his tongue past your lips, one of your hands moving to tangle into his now much wilder hair. You loved the feeling of his voice vibrating a moan against you as you gave his roots a gentle tug. 

Heat surged through your body as he stepped between your now wide open knees, pressing himself right up against you where you were sitting on the counter - he needed to get closer. He needed to feel you. His crotch pressed tightly against yours - causing a stirring of heat and wetness in your underwear matching him as he was just beginning to get hard. 

He had missed you so much. And it had been so long for both of you - you had barely looked at other people since the break-up, and having the touch of a lost loving stirred something in your bodies that made you both so hungry. 

Spencer pulled away from your lips and began kissing down your neck, eager to suck and lick and kiss and consume as much of your skin as possible. When he came across the chain of the neck sitting on your skin, he gave it a loving lick and hummed into your skin, and you moaned his name into the air. 

“Spence, oh!” 

And then-

Then there was a crash from somewhere else in the house. The sound of glass breaking. 

You hadn’t set the alarm - because typically that was something you did before going to bed. 

Someone was breaking into the house. 

The killer was coming for you. 

“Spencer!” You said his name with more urgency now as his head whipped up from the crook of your neck, looking around for the danger, not yet moving from between your legs as he assessed the situation. 

There was a crash from your office as something was knocked over. The sound of someone stumbling as they climbed in through the broken window. 

He grabbed one of the nearby kitchen knives from the block, quickly realizing that his gun was his bag by the front door - too far to run for. 

“Go upstairs, get Sebastian, take him in your room and lock the door.” He told you, his voice as authoritative as you had ever heard it. He took his cellphone from his pocket and thrust it into your shaking hand. “Call JJ or any contact in this phone labeled BAU. Call until they pick up and tell them that we need back up here. No matter what happens or what you hear, do not open the door for anybody. Got it?”

...

Keep reading here: Chapter Six - That's What You Get (Finale)

[sutexiqicik]

rotocol instructions EMDR R-TEP is a comprehensive current trauma focused protocol for EEI that.

English Manual. The EMDR Kit is meant as a tool for trained EMDR therapists. Visit our website for frequently asked questions and the.

</p><br>, , , , .

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

~~Sigh~~ This is a prime example of the subtle difference between "Ableism" and "Disablism"

"Ableism" (chiefly American [?]and I think Canadian[?]) is the assumption of an able-bodied/able-minded "norm" that erases disabled people from the concept of "the public" (not always consciously). "Disablism" (chiefly British) is the active and hostile discrimination against disabled people.

So this morning, I was listening to "With Good Reason," a radio show/podcast aired on my local Public Radio station. Today's episode was all about the social and philosophical implications of living with a disability. Each of the four interviews with professors at colleges and universities in Virginia (all of whom were disabled in some way) were respectful and non-sensationalized. Not Disablist.

But when I went looking for a link to the show online, I was dismayed to discover that every episode (current and archived) is audio only, with only a brief description of each segment, and no written transcript... even though one of the guests is Deaf, and another has sensory processing disorders. ~~Sigh~~ Very Ableist.

Anyway, here's the link, if you can listen to it, and/or want to share it with normate family and friends:

[creekfiend]

Alfie just linked me to this review of the DSM IV that is written as if it is a dystopian novel and it is the best thing I've ever read in my life

Excerpt: 'This mad project is clearly something that its authors are fixated on to a somewhat unreasonable extent. In a retrospectively predictable ironic twist, this precise tendency is outlined in the book itself. The entry for obsessive-compulsive disorder with poor insight describes this taxonomical obsession in deadpan tones: “repetitive behavior, the goal of which is […] to prevent some dreaded event or situation." Our narrator seems to believe that by compiling an exhaustive list of everything that might go askew in the human mind, this wrong state might somehow be overcome or averted. [...] A mad person is like a faulty machine. The pseudo-objective gaze only sees what they do, rather than what they think or how they feel. A person who shits on the kitchen floor because it gives them erotic pleasure and a person who shits on the kitchen floor to ward off the demons living in the cupboard are both shunted into the diagnostic category of encopresis. It’s not just that their thought-process don’t matter, it’s as if they don’t exist. The human being is a web of flesh spun over a void."

GET THEIR (THE AMERICAN PYSCHIATRIC ASSOCIATION'S) ASS!!!!!!!!

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hi everyone,

I found this interesting article about screen time and its connection to Autism and ADHD. Here’s an excerpt:

A recent study from Drexel University reveals alarming new insights into the effects of screen time on toddlers.

The research suggests that babies and toddlers exposed to television or video viewing may exhibit atypical sensory behaviors and have difficulty processing the world around them.

Atypical sensory behaviors include being disengaged, seeking more intense stimulation, or being overwhelmed by sensory inputs such as loud sounds or bright lights.

The full article will be below in case any one else wants to read it.

[syndxlla]

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward, and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. Takes place between BOTW and TOTK.

Heavily inspired by my Zelink thoughts

I wanted to dig into the dirty, grimly reality of being the saviors of the world and not knowing how to be the savior of yourself. But you can find that safety in another person.

Fan fiction warnings: Canon-typical violence, eventual smut (in later chapters, characters are consenting adults), references to self-harm, eating-disorders, and a lot of angst. Each chapter will have chapter-specific warnings.

Chapter one: I used to tie your shoes

Song: We’ll never have sex by Leith Ross

Summary: Fresh off Hyrule Field, Link and Zelda have to face life after the Calamity, and come to terms with the long road to physical, emotional, and mental recovery.

Warnings: Vomiting, trauma, canon-typical violence, eating-sensitivity

Word count: 3.7k words

Author’s Note: I am so excited to share this. Please share and support this in anyway. I drew this art for the cover :) chapter begins after the page break. I love you guys. Also, these chapters won’t be heavily edited. Ignore any grammatical/spelling errors pls

Time. We never seem to have enough time. Green grass burns soft red embers into the field, a horse’s mane is rebraided at the nearest stable, and the stars shine as if nothing changed. Because it hadn’t, not really. The sun will still rise in the east and set in the west. The birds will still sing their songs at daybreak and the fireflies will still flicker at dusk. Nothing changed, but everything did. The air feels lighter, the sun feels warmer and yet Zelda’s fingers still shake as if she was in the snowy Hebra peaks.

The Princess by nature, is very gentle. She’s soft and patient at heart, but was placed under such strenuous situations all through her youth that caused her to often snap or lash out. But not now. Currently she is silent, stone-cold and confused. She was in shock. And Link could tell.

“Here.” He pulls out a baked apple from his pack, handing it to her. He has to get her attention twice before she finally takes it, their hands brushing for a moment. Her awareness returns to her gaze then, her bright-green eyes meeting his.

“I-I’m so sorry.” She sighs, her voice weak. “I’m just… so tired.” Link tries not to show his distress, but she notices his demeanor change as well. “How much further?” She says, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Probably another hour and a half. It’s just through those mountains.” He points.

“Dueling peaks. I remember.” She nods. “I remember everything.”

“Everything?” He asks as he starts to dig around a pack on the rear end of Epona, searching for his rito attire. It was starting to get dark, and she hadn’t stopped shaking since they left Castle Town almost three hours ago.

Zelda nods once.

Her silence speaks volumes.

He yanks out his snowquill armor, finally. “Do you remember anything from the last hundred years?” She doesn’t answer right away, she instead takes a smaller than small bite out of the apple. “Zel? Can I put this on you? You’re still shivering.” He asks, looking at her blank, traumatized stare. “It’s from the Rito, it’s soft as a cloud and will keep you warm for the rest of the way.”

“The Rito.” She sighs. “Revali…”

Link realizes that she hasn’t had any time to process what she just went through. She had spent the last one hundred years deeply focused, probably in a trance-like state. He places a hand on her cheek. “Look at me.” His voice is gentle and welcoming, not forcing her at all. She looks at him, their eyes locking. “Breathe with me.”

They take two deep, heavy breaths. They sync their inhales, exhaling together.

“It’s over. It’s all over, okay?” He reassures her. “It’s not coming back. It’s just us now, alright?”

She swallows, still emotionless. “You’ve changed.” She says.

“So have you.” Link smiles in an attempt to comfort her. “Can I put this shirt on you?” He asks again. She answers faster than she usually had, nodding twice this time. Link bunches up the excess fabric before pulling the head-opening over her hair. He then guides each one of her hands through the arm-holes. Link takes a moment to adjust the garb around her torso until it was probably positioned around her shaking body. She immediately sighs in relief.

“You talk more.” She mumbles, looking at him as he gently wraps his fingers around her long, golden hair and softly pulls it out of the shirt, knowing how much it irritates him when his hair is loose underneath a shirt.

He smiles again, “I do. Some people say I don’t shut up.” He tries to lighten the mood.

“Like who?”

“Impa.” He sighs.

Zelda’s eyes light up with that name. “Impa?”

He hums and nods. “We can go visit her when you’re feeling stronger, okay?”

“Okay…” Zelda looked down into her lap, the skirt of her goddess dress was barely white anymore. “I am going to get stronger, right?” She asks, her voice tender and broken.

Link’s heart sinks. Not because he’s worried she won’t, but rather because he feels responsible for putting her in this state.

“Of course.” He reassures. He believed it. He wanted to believe it.

“I’m… just so tired.” She repeats herself.

“I know, come on, let's get you a bed.” He then picks her up bridal style from the ground. They had stopped in the first place to get that rito armor for her. She rests her head against his chest as he lifts her onto Epona. She smells like burnt oil and exhaustion. He probably isn’t smelling any better.

They wouldn’t get to Hateno until noon at the earliest tomorrow, and traveling wasn’t doing anything for her recovery. He gets on Epona behind her, letting her weak body rest against his chest as they make their way to Dueling Peaks Stable. The road is quiet, so much quieter than it ever has been. The pair of lizalfos always swimming in the river aren’t there, and even the crickets suppress their chirps.

It’s post-apocalyptic. Literally. Link isn’t sure how to feel.

She throws up a few hundred feet from the stable. She gags and lurches over the side of the horse, somehow managing to keep it off of anyone. Not much comes out, she hasn’t eaten in over a century, but Link frowns when he realizes the apple probably triggered it. He silently curses himself out for causing her any form of distress. She dry heaves violently, and Link tries to hold her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. When she finishes, she holds her breath.

She can’t decide if she feels like she lost a bit of dignity or not. She holds back the tears that well in her eyes. Link breathes in to say something, but she raises her hand in protest. She would rather they act like it never happened. Neither of them say anything from there on, they just keep riding the final minute of the journey.

Everyone at the stable was asleep except for an attendant… who was also treading precariously between consciousness and a deep rest behind the counter.

“Excuse me?” Link asks to wake him up, hopping off of Epona after making sure Zelda would still be comfortable in his absence. She would never admit she wasn’t.

The man stirs awake with a jolt. He yawns, slightly startled, “So sorry, young man.” Link wouldn’t necessarily call himself young. He smirks softly.

“I’d like to board this horse till the morning, and we’d like one soft bed, please.” Link nods before setting down the required rupees. The man squints his eyes, taking the money in hand.

“Ah! It’s you! Link, was it?” He asks when Link turns his back to help Zelda down from the horse. “Jeez, you haven’t passed through here in at least six months! We were holding onto that old mare for you!” He gestures to their stables where a small gray spotted horse sleeps. Link’s first horse since he woke up from his century-long slumber. He only rode her in the beginning, when he was doing chores between Hateno, Kakariko and one time a longer trip to Zora’s Domain. But she’s old and weak, which is why she was easy to catch when Link was still regaining his strength. He stopped taking her out when he found Epona in the western part of Central Hyrule.

“Yeah… you guys can let her free.” He says as he sets Zelda down on the ground. She holds her cold hands together.

“Well uhh.. we tried. You see, after four months at a stable we let go of any forgotten pony’s, but she kept coming back.” He chuckled, his voice exhibiting a distinctive nasality.

“Here,” Link hands him a red rupee, not wanting to discuss an old horse any longer when he literally has the closest thing to a God in this world resting her head on his back. “Keep her for another month, I’ll come take care of her then. Okay?” Link asks. “Can I get that bed now?” Not impolite or forceful, he never was. He’s assertive but has a comforting cadence to his tone. For being such a talented swordsman, guard and easily the most deadly hylian in the entire kingdom, he was never rude or condescending. He was welcoming, and little kids often looked up at him with intimidation when they first met him, but it didn’t ever take long until they were chasing him with tree-branches while he fled and begged for mercy, letting them take him down with ease. The kids at the stables loved him, knew him by name, and would play as him in their silly pretend games.

The stable-man replies, “Of course! But you only asked for one bed, it’s not big enough to fit both of you.”

“I know, it’s for her not me.” Link then starts to guide her into the stable, where it’s much warmer and safer. Just because it’s quiet doesn’t mean it's safe. Hyrule is a dangerous place by nature, especially if you’re two century-old Gods being hunted for sport with the faces of children.

“You won’t sleep?” Zelda asks quietly behind him.

He doesn’t directly answer, and instead guides her to the bed. She’s weary, and he’s terrified of her not waking up. He wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he wanted to. He helps the Princess sit in the bed, and kneels before her to untie her sandals. When he touches the leather, he immediately gets transported into another memory.

It rips through him, just like the memories he had images of. Suddenly, he’s kneeling in the same position, but instead he was outside of the spring of courage. He looks up to see the clear sky, it’s sunset, and then his eyes meet Zeldas. Her face is rosy, and her eyes don’t have the blank stare they possess in the current time. He looks down at his fingers, tying the straps around her ankle.

“Really, you don’t have to do that.” She hums. He doesn’t respond. He never did back then. He finishes wrapping the leather around itself and then stands up. His face is emotionless. She looks at him, they’re about the same height. “I won’t be long this time.” She says. “I’m not expecting much anyways.” She sighs and then walks past him, but before she can get very far, he gently grabs onto her arm, holding her back. He doesn’t say anything but she can read his expression. He’s trying to tell her to have faith this time, just one more time.

Surely the Goddess would commune with her.

She shakes her head, and wades into the warm waters of the spring. Link turns to watch her, how her hair cascaded down her back, how her hands balled into fists. She turns around to look at him, their eyes meet. She smiles.

He comes back as fast as the scene played in his memory. He blinks a few times, and looks up at her. She doesn’t look any different, very little—if any—time seemed to pass. He doesn’t usually experience memories with someone, he wonders if she realized anything happened. Link didn’t even consider the fact he would keep receiving memories after the fact. His stomach turns, he feels like he’s lived two completely different lives and is forced to remember things from one that he doesn’t even relate to anymore. He doesn’t feel like the same person, the boy he was a hundred years ago is a complete stranger to him.

Link much preferred this life.

And that scares Zelda.

“I just remembered something.” He says. Zelda hums in response, a light-hearted noise that implies an inquiry. He elaborates, “I used to tie your sandals for you at the springs, didn’t I?” He asks.

Zelda smiles for the first time since they defeated Ganon. It’s a small pull of her lips, not showing any teeth but her eyes finally light back up. After she had asked if he remembered her on the field, she collapsed, not even aware of her own exhaustion until that moment. He ran to her aid, and ever since then she felt woozy, it only got worse the further from the castle they got.

“You did, yes.” She says. “I never asked you to, but since I was in the dress, you insisted.” She sighs. Link grunts in response. “It was very chivalrous.” Zelda adds.

They look at each other for a minute. Not saying anything. It was late, and two beds down there was a set of kid brothers sleeping. Link remembered them from their last visit. One of them wanted nothing to do with him, trying to act mature and ‘cool’. Link eventually won him over, though. They don’t speak out of fear of waking anyone. Zelda’s smile slowly fades away, and Link swallows thickly. They will never be the same.

He pulls her sandals off, her feet are filthy with century-old mud. He silently smiles about that. The closest thing to a Goddess in the entire world has dirty feet. How human of her.

Then, after pulling down the heavy rito-down blanket so she can slide in, he helps Zelda swing her legs into the bed. He pulls the blanket up to her neck, she lays on her side facing him. Her hands find their way up to her face, resting her cheek against them. Link pulls a short stool over to the bed, sitting on it and looking at her, bending at the waist.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” She asks in a timid, sleepy voice.

Link’s heart just about breaks when she asks. “Never.” He shakes his head. He takes his gloved hand and tucks a piece of her loose hair behind her pointed-ears. He lets his fingers linger a little bit longer than they should. “I will never ever leave you again.”

“Promise?” She asks, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Promise.” He whispers, “Just as long as you promise to never leave me, okay?” He asks, ignoring the lump in this throat.

“Promise.” She says, taking her pinky finger and sticking it out for him. He wraps his finger with hers, which is far daintier and softer than he's ever been. She is a Princess, after all.

“Wake up in the morning, okay?” He whispers.

“Mhm.” She hums as her eyes slowly close. He tries to disconnect their pinky fingers, but she holds onto his. He leaves his hand in that position, letting her hold it until she falls fast asleep.

Link doesn’t move his hand until he’s certain it won’t wake her up from her much needed rest. He looks at her gentle, soft face. No one even understands what she just went through, no one ever will. He’s worried sick that she won’t make it through the night, and he keeps leaning his head down to listen to her breathing, or places a few fingers against her forehead to check her temperature.

He does his best to stay vigilant the entire night, not once even looking away from her. But just before the sun rises, his body suddenly catches up with his mind. He also just had the most demanding battle of his life. His muscles started to ache, and he developed a headache. He was just a boy, after all. More than anything, his sword arm was weak, and fire-hot pain shot up and down through it. He probably overused it fightin the calamity.

He keeps telling himself that he’s fine. He has to be fine, for Zelda. His arm isn’t that bad, what really hurts was his heart. Usually he’d just down a fairy tonic and maybe go to the hot springs if he was in the area but this pain was different. A twisting and contracting ache in his chest pulled and tugged on his lungs and pulse. It’s the same pain he felt when he remembered Mipha, and more specifically, the pain he felt when he dreamed about his family before the resurrection.

The dream that gave him the memories of a little sister with blonde hair like his collecting fireflies in her pockets. Her laugh echoing, the call of an older man, the image of a royal guards sword leaned up against the dinner table. The touch of his father’s hand as he rubs Link’s back to sleep.

Link’s first sword.

He wakes up like a fire, standing up and almost toppling over. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep. He could hear the soft tune of the penny whistle playing the standard stable theme, and the two little brothers played tag outside. He curses and looks down at Zelda.

Her bed is empty, and his heart completely stops. He starts breathing hard and heavy, his entire nervous system feels as though it’s pulled into stasis. How could he make such a foolish mistake? He swings his sword over his back, strapping his shield to his leathers and turns around in a wild-hunt to see the Princess sitting at the round stable table, drinking out of a mug and speaking gently with an older man.

Link takes a breath of relief, and approaches the two.

“Good Morning.” She smiles up at him. Her voice sounded much better, and her eyes finally had life back into them, but she still wasn’t herself. Her skin still looked sickly, her face hollowed out and eyes droopy. Any progress is good progress, Link decides then and there.

“I… didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Link sighs. “I’m so sorry. When did you wake up?”

“Oh not long ago, maybe twenty minutes? I didn’t want to disturb you-”

“You should have.” He interrupts her and her words get swallowed out of surprise. Link realizes that he snapped at her a little, and immediately becomes apologetic. “I’m sorry, again. I just…”

“You’re worried about me. I understand.” She takes his hand, her bones frail. In many ways, she physically looked worse today than last night. But at least she could hold a conversation. He nods. Zelda notices the tension, and changes the subject, “This kind gentleman was telling me about when you saved the stable from a horde of lizalfos about a year ago.”

Link looks over at the man, Giahzo. “Oh that was nothing, it was just two green lizalfos and a blue one who wandered too close to the stable.” Link hums. Their hands were still held together by Zelda.

“Don’t be so modest!” The old man chuckled, “Without you, it would have been a disaster! The number of monsters means nothing, especially when you don’t know how to fight!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Link smiles and then realizes he and Zeldas hands, he’s the one to pull it away. “What are you drinking?”

“I’m not sure…” Zelda begins and Link immediately snatches the mug from her hand. “Hey!”

“You can’t just drink something mysterious.” Link scolds.

“Oh it’s just a bit of Hateno Milk.” The man assures. Link looks at him, then Zelda, and then into the mug to see the creamy liquid. He brings it to his nose and smells it, and then takes a sip of it. Sure enough, it was just milk.

“I’m sorry, Giahzo.” He apologizes and places the mug back down. “I’m just on high alert.”

“Do not apologize to me, apologize to this lovely young lady you’ve graced us with.” The elderly man smiles with a chuckle, his eyes wrinkling up with his age. Zelda smiles, blushing a little, “Tell me, dear, where are you from? We don’t get many new faces at this stable these days.”

Zelda looks at him, her eyes sad. A hundred years ago every person in Hyrule knew her face. She looks at Link, unsure how to answer.

“She’s from the Outskirts stable.” Link covers for her. “Her family used to reside in Central Hyrule before the Calamity.”

“Yes.” Zelda immediately chirps, “We’re headed to Hateno for…”

“A honeymoon!?” Giahzo smiles brightly. Both Link and Zelda freeze in their tracks, and Link hopes he doesn’t look as embarrassed as he feels. “Hateno is a great Honeymoon destination! Although I’ve heard Lureline is even more splendid!” He clasps his hands together.

“Research.” Zelda clarifies, “so sorry to disappoint.” She chuckles politely, making a conscious effort not to look at Link. “I’m researching… population dynamics in Hyrule.” She makes something up that sounds completely believable.

“Of course.” Link then says, “I’m just escorting her there, we are total strangers.”

That breaks Zelda’s heart.

She knows he’s just trying to be extra careful, pushing her anonymity as much as possible. And in a way, it wasn’t a total lie. But it cut her like a knife.

“I see…” Giahzo doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to stop by. Hopefully the monsters will start to die down.” He smiles and stands up, moving outside.

Zelda is still afraid to look at Link, and he’s a little bit shaken up by the entire interaction. He knows the Yiga are still out there, he knows that there are people who will try to take advantage of her for power or money. He has no reason to suspect anything from the old man, but he can’t help himself from being deliberate. He senses her tension and walks back to the bed to gather their things.

“You should have woken me up.” Link says as he picks up a satchel full of food and readjusts his gloves.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was timid and tired. He turns around to see her, her green eyes looking up at him apologetically. “I didn’t know it would worry you so.” He approaches her.

“Of course it worries me.” He sighs. “I spent three years trying to get you out of that castle, I’m not gonna lose you on the first night.” He holds his hand out for her to trade, helping her up. She must not have rested as well as he thought, because as soon as she gets on her feet, she almost topples right over him. He catches her, holding her up before she collapses. “Woah there.” He mutters. “You alright?”

She nods, “Let’s just get to that house you told me about.”

—

chapter two

[inknopewetrust]

Oh, Baby, it’s Monday.

Summary: You and Eddie raise a baby… only you aren’t a couple and the baby isn’t real–but now it's the first week and things evolve. Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader [WC: 8k] Warnings: Idiots in love, language, Billy Hargrove and Carol Perkins are assholes, only getting a part 3 aka “Halloween” if people want it (comments and reblogs help!) Quick Links: Masterlist | Part One

Mr. Allen's classroom was a sound box of squabbles and chaos when you walked through the doorway Monday morning.

Tommy Hagen was throwing his doll across the room to Billy Hargrove in the far left corner as girls giggled in gaggles at their desks and Steve was trying to plead with the teacher at his desk.

It was like walking into an inferno without any water.

Bilbo was clutched into your chest; falsely protected by the notebook and pencil case you carried. The doll was swaddled the best you could manage that morning and surprisingly, quiet for the last few hours.

"Would everyone please take a seat!" Mr. Allen called from behind his desk but Steve did not leave and the disorder did not quell.

As you dodged the flying baby, you walked down the aisle of desks and attempted to find yours except it was already occupied. Carol Perkins was sitting in it; her doll placed on top with a stain of spaghetti sauce in the middle of its onesie.

"You're in my seat," you told her, raising your eyebrows as she popped her gum loudly with arms crossed. She peered over to you with flippant eyes, cocking her head to the side, and sticking her neck further out. Carol was no better than Billy, Tommy, or the rest of them.

"What?" She ran her tongue teasingly over her lips and jostled her shoulder with a wink. "Don't wanna sit by daddy?"

They had all heard Eddie's joke in the cafeteria last week. Mama. It was harmless in Eddie's eyes compared to their own. Their minds were far from it—dangerous and begging for a way to make their tiny hearts feel better by putting others in situations they'd never want to see themselves in. No one called people ‘daddy’ unless they were quite literally five and talking to their father, so the sentiment behind it was crude and unwelcome.

You sighed, motioning to your desk, "Can I sit down? This is my desk."

"Sorry," She pursed her face with a comedic frown and the girls sitting around her laughed. Their high-pitched chuckles made your skin crawl. "See these," she waved her hand at the surrounding desks, "are for people who aren't freaks… you know which corner they sit in."

You stared at her, mouth slightly agape and processing what she had said. The problem with girls–high school girls–was that the image of who you grew to be mattered most to them.

"What are you talking about?" You scoffed, furrowing your brows at her. "This is literally my seat, Carol. You can't just kick me out of my seat–" you turned toward Mr. Allen, not wanting to be the person who tattles about menial things, but you didn't want to get in trouble for not sitting in the one assigned to you at the beginning of the year.

"You gonna tattle on me, little miss perfect? No wonder you and Nance are such good friends," Carol fluffed her voluminous red hair, "It doesn't surprise me that you get on well with Munson after she became friends with Byers… maybe you can go on double dates to the cemetery and listen to his pathetic band play at a run-down bar."

"You're such a b-"

You couldn't get the words out to defend Nancy, Jonathan, Eddie, or yourself because Eddie had walked into the classroom as she fluffed her hair. Before you could spit out the insult, he put a hand on your lower back and pushed you forward. The feel of his hand sent a jolt through your spine, your head turning to look over your shoulder only to find him shaking his head with pleading eyes.

"Don't play into that," he said as he sat down at the desk in the right corner. Eddie hooked his foot around the one beside him and positioned it next to his–out of order with the rest of them five rows forward. "Believe me," he rose his eyebrows knowingly, "they just want to get a rise out of you."

You slid into the seat next to him and laid Bilbo between the crease that connected the desks.

"They're assholes. All of them," you mumbled to which he responded with a nod, crossing his arms across his chest and observed the room before him. Mr. Allen looked like he wanted to pull, what little hair he had left, out of his head as Steve tried to persuade him to cut the assignment short. The baby flinging between Tommy and Billy looked ready to lose an arm.

Glancing over at him, Eddie had a cigarette tucked behind his ear that pushed his hair back. He was wearing a black leather jacket and an inconspicuous red t-shirt underneath. The same ornate jewelry he adorned every day littered his figure–a black hair tie on his right wrist. You were reminded of your father's comments from Saturday, looking away and focusing your attention elsewhere.

"I think I cracked it, the code on how to care for Bilbo," you said quietly. Eddie looked at the doll all swaddled in its yellow blanket and recognized it had been washed. The fabric was fluffy and begging to be touched.

"Yeah?"

"The swaddle helps, sure, but it's like… it can sense stress or something. We just have to be gentle and the tantrums won't last as long. The way you touch it has to be gentle."

"That's it?" Eddie appeared unconvinced but the conversation died when Mr. Allen got up from his chair, slammed the door closed, and told everyone to sit next to their partners. You met Eddie's eyes with the question lingering between you–how did he know you'd have to sit by one another?

Eddie leaned over, unintentionally making goosebumps erupt on your skin. You were thankful the weather was changing and you could wear long sleeves.

"Katie Yang has Allen before us. Told me that everyone complained and he makes everyone talk," he whispered.

Katie Yang was a savior. Katie Yang made Eddie's impulsive escape plan valid without reason. The senior Hellfire member had never even spoken to you before, but she had your back and didn't even know it.

"We will have to give them all our secrets?" You smiled and he caught himself glancing down at your lips as they grinned. "I'd rather they all have to walk through Mordor than come home to the Shire."

Oh, Eddie was fucked. Royally and utterly fucked.

"So," Mr. Allen clapped his hands together eagerly. He was excited to hear the tales of the weekend because for once, each one was connected to his assignment.

He gazed around at the pairs and saw the life draining from many of the eyes. Steve was still angered at his refusal to cut the project short, a couple of the girls were picking at the doll clothes, and the many of the guys kept to themselves.

"Who wants to share first?"

Allen paced at the front of the room. He knowingly prepared to choose the first set of eyes that diverted from his and those eyes were Tina Nicholls'.

"Tina!" He exclaimed happily and everyone looked toward her. "How was the first few days of parenthood?"

"Horrible, like everyone else says," she began twirling her hair like something out of a mean girl flick. Tina was too busy planning her Halloween party to care about the project.

"And Peter is your partner?" he pointed to the football player next to her and she nodded.

"Do you think it's horrible, Peter?"

"I mean," he sounded like he was strung out on cocaine, "it's fine, I guess."

"Any tips you'd like to share? How are you able to care for the baby if feeding and hygiene aren't options?"

Steve turned his entire body to face them. He was so far lost that he had no clear plan. For once, the entire room was void of wailing or gurgling or giggles and it was peaceful.

"We just kind of let it cry," Peter admitted, not sure if there was any other answer to the question.

Eddie tipped his head toward yours and you could feel the ends of his hair brush your shoulder.

"Bad parents," he scolded and you bit your lip to prevent the smile that was threating to overtake your face. It was so easy to smile at everything he said.

"Do you think letting it cry it out every time is a good strategy?" Mr. Allen asked in response and the two shrugged their shoulders.

"We're not parents, how would we know?" Tina retorted.

"First time parents don't know what they're walking into either. But, in the end, they make it work," he narrowed his eyes, "sometimes."

"But this baby is fake and only half the work of a real baby," Peter added and Allen nodded.

"Exactly, Peter. If you think this is hard–with a doll that's unpredictable–then imagine being real parents at your age. Many of you are adults or going to be adults within the year and just because you are eighteen, it doesn't mean you're ready to be parents."

Carol laughed from your former seat. "Could you imagine any of us as parents?" She garnered a few chuckles from the ones that follow her around school. Billy Hargrove in the other corner smiled at her when she turned around to look around the room.

"No, I can't," Mr. Allen shook his head at her, preparing to ask another group their experience.

"I mean," she shifted her body to swivel in the chair in your direction, "I don't want to be a mother because it would mess up my body," a whistle left Billy's lips and it perturbed you.

“Think of Hargrove as a dad!” She cackled and Billy let her joke. “That kid would be as buff as Arnold by the time he’s two!”

The way she looked in your direction made Eddie tense up beside you.

"Could you imagine miss perfect and the freak having a baby?"

It wasn't even two days ago that you realized you were attracted to Eddie in a romantic way and here the popular kids were, drawing attention to nothing more than an assigned partnership like it was a choice. You couldn't help the way your face fell. The laughter from the peers you had known since kindergarten invading every sense and it was new.

For Eddie, it wasn't. Hell, he had been crushing on the girl with her nose stuck in a book since the fifth grade and if he was going to let a group of nasty bullies prevent his dreams of sweeping you, that girl, off her feet he’d never forgive himself.

"You know, Carol," He steeled his face as he looked at her, feeling your eyes watch his every movement, "you've been fuckin' Tommy since the seventh grade. I'm surprised an 'accident' hasn't happened."

There was a brief second in time where Mr. Allen's classroom had become a vacuum in space. A pin could be heard dropping in the three seconds of silence that followed Eddie's words and the teacher himself was stunned into a wordlessness despair.

"Holy shit," Billy erupted in laughter and set the whole room off.

"Mr. Munson, Mr. Munson," Mr. Allen breathed in heavily but Eddie wasn't paying attention to him.

Eddie met your eyes and saw the twinkle return in them. He smiled not at his words that defend you from her attack, but at the way you looked at him. He prayed to those metal Gods that what he saw in them wasn't a fallacy; that maybe, somewhere in the glint, there was the spark that illuminated his fire.

"Mr. Munson, please don't use that language in class." Mr. Allen scolded him, looking away from the now red-in-the-face Carol as Tommy high fived the guys around him.

"Sorry," Eddie replied to him half-heartedly because he was still looking at you.

That response was the talk of Hawkins High for an entire week.

Eddie took Bilbo Monday night and returned him Tuesday morning, departing from you with a small 'good luck tonight' leaving your lips as he debated skipping science.

That brief, four-minute conversation centered around Bilbo and his gig at the Hideout lingered within him for the entire day. As he drove home, when he left in his van, as he drove up to the bar, and when he sat tuning his guitar with a stupid, lovesick smile plastered on his face—all of his thoughts were consumed by you. Little parasite.

"What's wrong with him?" Jeff asked Gareth as the other guitarist sat beside the curly-haired boy fiddling with the symbols of his set. Gareth glanced at Eddie with the answer to the master’s knowing grin.

"You ever been in love, Jeff?" Gareth questioned quietly and Jeff choked on air.

"Love? Eddie's in love? With who?" Jeff openly gawked with surprise finding its way onto his face. The junior had seen Eddie flirt with girls, even go on a few dates but never, in his life, had he seen Eddie Munson be a man consumed by love.

"Y/n L/n," Gareth snickered at Jeff's face.

"They're partners for that baby project! He's not in love."

"He scared the shit out of me on Saturday where he admitted it to my face. Spent the whole day with her and you notice him at lunch?" Gareth challenged Jeff. Eddie had been himself for the most part, however, as Jeff reflects, his attention was always being pulled away. Eyes diverted, head turned toward another table, not fully engaged beyond talk of D&D and the new Maiden album Aces High.

"He's half there and half in la la land."

Jeff wanted to play into it. "Hey, Eddie!"

Eddie stopped tuning, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall above the door before looking at his friends.

"What?"

"How's the baby project? Make you wanna be a dad?"

"No," Eddie cackled, "but it's fine. A lot better than last week."

"And Y/n?"

"What about her?" Eddie's eyes left Jeff’s for a split second to see Gareth smiling beside him and the secret, his secret, was out in the open. He should have never said anything. Eddie had just panicked in the moment that evening. "Seriously, man?"

"Sorry!" Gareth giggled holding his hands up in defense, "you were smiling like an idiot and he asked!"

"You gonna ask her out or just watch her every day at lunch?" Jeff joked and Eddie felt the guitar pick between his fingers become a bullet. He tossed the pick harshly in Jeff's direction but the boy dodged it.

"I don't watch her at lunch."

"Yes, you do," Gareth backed Jeff up. He got up from his stool and picked the pick off the floor. "You've been staring at her since Friday and yeah, you talk at school and spent one afternoon together but that's not gonna help you sway her interest. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure you’ve stared at her table the entire time I’ve know you!”

"Who said I was trying to sway her interest?" Eddie questioned, narrowing his eyes and leaning his head forward as he gripped the neck of his guitar. "What if I just want to be friends?"

"I'm sorry," Jeff stood up, shaking his head, "you blasted Carol Perkins in Allen's class for what? We get shit on all the time and you don't defend us like that! You did, however, defend her and if you wanted to be 'just friends' you would have laughed it off like it was nothing."

"I was being nice!"

"Yeah, nice to get in her pants!"

"Hey!" Eddie defended again, not realizing Gareth and Jeff were pulling the admissions out of him like stealing candy from a baby. "Don't say that!"

"It's true, though. Isn't it? She's a pretty nice girl… you know what they say about the quiet ones…" Gareth looked at Jeff conspiratorially.

Eddie bolted from the chair he had been sitting in and got in Gareth's face. His face angered and serious, the two knew Eddie played into the palm of their hand. Eddie teetered the line between social strata and confrontation—working for no physical confrontations so long as his jesting was allowed. He had been socked one to many times to know that a concussion would put him out of commission from doing what he enjoyed most.

"Don't fucking say that shit ever again."

"You love her, man," Jeff put his hand on Eddie's shoulder, drawing him back from Gareth, "or at least like her a lot."

Gareth provided a tight, hopeful expression in support. Eddie looked at both of them before turning around and pacing the small room.

"I doubt she would even say yes if I asked. Why would she go out with me? People at school are making fun of her because of this goddamn project so can you imagine if I somehow managed to date her? She'd be a social… pariah!"

"Oh, big words," Jeff mumbled.

"I can't put her through that! What kind of person would I be if I caused her to lose friends or have girls write rumors about her in the bathroom stalls?"

"If she lost friends by going out with you, those people weren't really friends," Gareth concluded.

"You see what's happening to Nancy Wheeler because she's hangin' around Jonathan Byers?"

"He’s zombie kids brother?"

"Zombie kid? Yeah, but that's not the point!" Eddie swiveled back to face them. "Wheeler has like three friends and ever since Barb Holland died it's like the world has gone crazy! If I asked Y/n on date, the world would simply implode."

"Then don't ask her on a date," Jeff sufficed. "Just use the guise of the project as a way to hang out. You did it on Saturday when you went to her house and now do it again but go somewhere else. Take her to the diner, or… or to the park or something!"

Eddie thought on it for a minute. It wasn't a bad plan, per se, but he didn't want his motivations to seem fake. He wanted to spend time with you, get to know you, and if you'd let him, wine and dine you until you realized he was a good guy and you'd give him a chance. Tomorrow was Wednesday and Tina had asked him in the hall that afternoon if he could supply her party on Saturday.

So, he had tomorrow after school; Thursday after school; and Saturday before time with you would run out.

He couldn't guarantee that you'd ever be partners again or that, depending on the grade, you'd be inclined to speak to him after project parenthood was over.

Eddie had to take the chance.

Eddie never showed at your locker Wednesday morning to collect Bilbo from you.

In Allen’s class, you had to discuss alone how the last day and a half had been by yourself because he missed third period, and by the time lunch rolled around, he wasn’t at Hellfire’s table. Every time you glanced at the table out of curiosity as to why, five heads whipped in the opposite direction.

They had been staring. Their gazes fixed upon you like a brilliant gem—the golden statue at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

“Why do you keep looking over there?” Nancy broke the silence that settled between the two of you as lunch took hold. She had that same lunch as before, picking off your tray when she got bored of her own food.

“Eddie’s not here,” you shot a look at her then the baby doll beside you. “He was supposed to take Bilbo.”

“Jesus,” she mumbled, “you sound like a real parent, you know that?”

“Well, Barb did always call me the mom of the group.”

Just the mentioned of her name was saddening.

That’s what brought the lull in the first place. Nancy mentioned that she and Steve visited the Holland’s last Friday and, conveniently, forgot to mention it. There was something in her eyes—guilt or sorrow—that existed ever since that night.

Everything felt like one big secret lately.

“Yeah, she did.”

“But I’m kind of pissed about it,” you glanced back at the table and this time, met Gareth’s eyes before he could turn away. “And they keep staring at me too. Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” Nancy snorted a laugh, “maybe they’re concerned about having your attention.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” you scrunched your face in thought as you turned back to her. Nancy had a little smirk playing on her face.

“What?”

She didn’t say anything. Nancy just sat there, smirking into her food like a mad woman.

“What Nance?” You chuckled from pure nervousness. That feeling had been bouncing around inside of you for the last few days and the thought of its reasoning was excitable fear. You couldn’t stop looking for him when he wasn’t here.

“Nothin’…” she trailed off as she tilted her head onto her shoulder. Her big, stormy blues looking at yours with mischief. “There a reason you keep looking over there, though? Never did it before.”

“I told you,” you tried to keep your face as flat and firm as possible, “he’s not here. I have to spend extra time with Bilbo without prior notice and if he had any sense in him, he would have at least called and said he wouldn’t make it in today. I don’t think it’s fair, to be frank, that I have to allocate more of my time with—“

God. You were rambling.

“—Bilbo because that means he isn’t doing the same share of work.”

“And you’re sure it isn’t because you have a huge, fat crush on Eddie Munson?”

Nancy was far from quiet and the girls at the end of the table perked their heads up. Your heart skipped in little beats like a jumping horse.

“I-I don’t like Eddie in that way. He’s my partner,” you defended.

“Mhm,” she hummed, turning her own head to look at the Hellfire table and her investigative instincts told her she was right the moment she caught them all in the act. “The more you tell yourself that, it makes it more true. You’re just denying facts.”

“Nance! It’s not!” You cried, flashing your eyes at the girls at the end as if trying to convince them you weren’t hopelessly in love with the metal head. It made no sense for you to be the one defending your feelings to a girl torn between two very different boys and who also happens to be a year under you.

Why did she get to wear the big girl pants when you squandered in a rain puddle?

“Did something happen? Is that why they’re staring?” She questioned. Nancy was enjoying the way you squirmed because it reminded her of the gossip sessions Barb, you, and herself would have at sleepovers.

“No!” Your eyes blew wide, “nothing happened! I swear—Christ! What is wrong with everyone this week? First, Carol was a straight bitch in health, no one will stop talking to me about what he said to her, and two, you! Why do I have to be in love with someone to care about where they are?”

“So, you are in love with him? Who knew…”

And like fate, you were saved by the bell.

“I’ll take you home, alright?” Nancy stood, zipping up her lunch bag as everyone began to prepare for their afternoon classes. You still sat down, hands gripping the table to the point where your fingertips hurt.

Why was the admission that you found Eddie to be the perfect mix of charming and attractive so difficult?

“But we have to wait for the boys because I have to take them all home too.”

“What? Jonathan can’t?”

“Sick today. But you would have noticed that if you paid attention. Too bad,” Nancy smiled, “Eddie Munson is corrupting your mind.”

“Seems like Steve’s really blowing you off.”

Nancy’s car was actually her mothers. Borrowed for the week because Steve was entirely too consumed with Tammy Thompson, Nancy hadn’t even appeared jostled any time they were seen together. Sure, Steve still snuck up on her in the hallway and planted kisses on her rosy cheeks when he had a second, but the hair had stressed himself out to the point where he and Tammy were tied at the hip.

It did not help the situation to know that Tammy Thompson had heart eyes for the brown-haired beauty.

“He’s just busy,” Nancy leaned against the car with her arms folded across her chest as the two of you stared at the middle school.

Classes for the day had just been let out which meant within fifteen minutes, the smattering of little middle school boys would come bolting out of the school with backpacks barely zipped up and start a fight over who got the window seats. Bilbo was shut inside the car in the passenger seat. Just the sight of the doll made your mind filter back to the fact that Eddie never showed and you were stuck with the doll.

You didn’t want to believe that he had left you scorned when he promised to make this project as equal as possible. But the world wasn’t perfect and pretending that Eddie Munson wouldn’t flake on you halfway through the assignment appeared to be wishful, premature thinking on your part.

“Doesn’t it bother you that he’s spending all his time with Tammy? It’s bullshit if you ask me.”

“It’s for the project,” she bore her eyes into yours, “what’s the difference between Steve and Tammy and you and Eddie?”

“Steve’s your boyfriend, Nance, not Tammy’s.”

“Thank you for that reminder,” Nancy deadpanned, “I didn’t know I had a boyfriend.”

“I’m just saying,” you looked back to the middle school and no kids were coming down the walkway yet.

Maybe it wasn’t your business, but Nancy was your friend. Steve was a halfway decent guy most of the time and while you thought she could do better; it was her decision in the end. You hadn’t meant to put doubt in her mind, yet she gnawed on her bottom lip anxiously in the minutes that passed.

“Do you really think it’s bullshit?” She asked quietly as two sophomore girls passed the bumper of Karen Wheeler’s car. A bell sounded in the distance signaling the end of another day.

“Nance,” you sighed, putting an arm on the top of the car and letting your head fall into the hand that prepared to rest at the top of your head. “I didn’t mean anything by it… I just thought it was rude of him. It’s like you’re not a priority.”

“It’s been like that a lot lately,” she admitted to the ground; eyes downcast to her shoes. “He’s so,” Nancy let out a frustrated groan, “caught up in all of that,” she waved her hand in a circle at the high school building.

“That’s kind of the point of senior year, I suppose,” you shrugged, “but I know you, Nance, and I don’t think you’re happy. I know with everything that happened with Will and Barb and what not screwed a lot of things up…”

“I know, I know.”

“Don’t dwell on it, alright?” You felt guilt wash over you. Nancy’s face was drawn and sad when the thought of the weekend almost there and Halloween just on the other side of Friday should be exciting. “You still going as Joel and Lana?”

Risky Business. Her favorite movie.

Nancy nodded her head and gazed off into the distance. Little ant like shapes began to descend the walkway from the middle school. “Yeah and that reminds me,” she opened the driver's side door and fumbled in her bag for a second before pulling an orange slip from it.

“Tina was handing these out after class. Not sure if you got one,” she handed it to you and you read over the information quickly. “You should come. I know Halloween isn’t like, your favorite, but it could be fun. And if Steve’s an asshole I’ll be happy to have you there.”

“Oh?” You quirked a brow at her, “You want me to be a third wheel to the Stancy show?”

She laughed, a small smile threatening on her face. “No… it would be good for you.”

“To get plastered and smoke a little weed? My dad would lock me in my room if I came home smelling like that.”

“You can stay at my house,” she offered. Mike Wheeler’s loud yelling could be heard twenty feet away.

“What in the world would I go as? It’s a little late to be thinking of a costume now.”

“I don’t know…” she pondered and saw the group of kids barreling toward the car. “Maybe you could go as Sandy, you know, from Grease.”

“Yes,” you rolled your eyes at her as Lucas Sinclair’s feet came thudding toward the two of you and he tapped the trunk of the car first. “Because I look exactly like Olivia Newton-John…” you joked.

“Halloween doesn’t mean you look like them. You just have to embody the character. Get some leather pants… maybe a jacket too and I can get a red ascot for you.”

“Nance,” you complained but Dustin, Mike, and Will quickly followed and slapped their hands on the trunk behind you.

“What are you talking about,” Mike asked out of breath, hands clutching the straps of his backpack.

“Halloween but that’s none of your business,” Nancy told him and tipped her head toward the car, “get in. I have homework.”

You opened the car door for the boys because you had been leaning on it. A scramble of thank you’s, you forgot Bilbo was tucked in the front seat.

“Shit!” Mike laughed loudly and Nancy rolled her eyes, “Whose baby?”

“Y/n’s baby,” Nancy winked at you before slipping into the car and shutting the door; the conversation inside went silent for you. As you shut the door for the boys and walked around the side of the trunk, an eruption of metal music began to invade the parking lot of Hawkins High.

Eddie. Eight hours late to first period.

Groups of kids rapidly moved out of the way as the van sped into the lot. It nearly tipped on itself when the wheel hit the edge of a low concrete planter in its first turn. The sight of it peeved you. The entire day you spent hanging onto Bilbo when it wasn’t your job. Eddie left you hanging onto hope and didn’t help with the climb.

You opened the passenger door the second he pulled into the spot erratically next to you. His window rolled down, the music ceased with a press of a button.

“Don’t leave! Please, don’t leave!” Eddie begged but didn’t get out of his van. You folded your arm over the top of the car door and looked at him. You were still holding the orange invitation to Tina’s party. He had slight bags under his eyes like he didn’t sleep; his hair was barely brushed [per usual], but he had his entire body turned toward the window as he leaned out of it.

“Why shouldn’t I? You said you would take this seriously and it didn’t even take a week before you flaked!”

“I didn’t mean to!” He defended himself, voice a higher pitch than he would have liked. “I was hungover and there was no way I was going to stay awake the entire day so I stayed home. I meant to call but by the time I got up it was already eleven.”

“Who’s that?” You heard Lucas ask Mike as Lucas was the lucky one to get the window seat behind the passenger side.

“I don’t know. Maybe Y/n’s got a boyfriend now.”

“He’s like… dirty,” Lucas cringed and Dustin slapped the back of his head.

“I think he looks cool!”

“You got drunk on a Tuesday night?” You asked him, baffled he had the audacity to do such a thing but he had come to school stoned before—it really wasn’t out of the realm of ‘Eddie.’

“We had a few drinks after the show last night and it got away from me.”

“Well,” you grumbled, “it sounds like you have a problem there, Eddie.”

“I don’t have a problem! It was an accident, I’m sorry!” Never, in his eighteen years on the planet, had Eddie ever apologized to one of his peers. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I promise it wasn’t intentional. I know this project is important.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing that,” Eddie hated the attitude that slipped out with every word. It made the plan he spent all night mulling over feel less and less plausible.

“How’d you even know I’d still be here?”

“Lucky guess. If you weren’t I would have checked your house and if you weren’t there, I’d check Wheeler’s.”

You pursed your lips. “And you know where she lives because...?”

“Well,” Eddie snickered, “someone has to t-pee the rich kids every Halloween.”

Nancy’s head perked up at that.

“Let me make it up to you?” He looked hopeful and that bit away at your anger. The way his eyes pleaded, the frantic way in which he tried to show you that it truly was just an accident and he meant for none of it to happen.

“Maybe it is her boyfriend,” Mike said to Lucas who smiled cheekily.

“He looks so cool…” Dustin followed the comment as Will hummed in agreement. Through the windows of Karen’s car, Eddie could see Nancy Wheeler eavesdropping and a bunch of middle schoolers staring back at him.

“Those kids,” he pointed at them and they all looked away as if he hadn’t just made eye contact with each and every one of them, “they’re the ones in your locker.”

“What?” That hadn’t come out exactly right.

“The picture, in your locker,” Eddie clarified, “the Star Wars kids.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah I babysit some of them.”

“We’re not babies!” Mike yelled at you from the back and Eddie laughed, his smile shooting an arrow through your heart. You hadn’t even noticed he saw the picture in your locker, let alone remembered it.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “You free right now?”

“I have homework… you know, from school today.”

“Then let’s do homework,” Eddie opened his door, hopped out of his car and extended his arm toward the front bench like a prince opening the carriage door for a princess.

“See! Look at him! Freaking wicked!” Dustin laughed and while you weren’t looking at him, you bet that toothless grin was adorable. Nancy shushed them but it didn’t stop Lucas from peering again.

“Is he new like MadMax?”

“No, I’ve seen that van before,” Will commented quietly. Nevertheless, you could still hear them. “I think he’s a drug dealer.”

Will wasn’t wrong—in the slightest—but before the boys could get any more curious about Eddie, you grabbed Bilbo off the seat and slung your bag over your shoulder while looking at Nancy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, keeping her lips together knowingly, “don’t do drugs.”

“See!” Will said and Dustin leaned back in his seat. You looked back at them and they went silent. Through the passenger window, Eddie was hanging onto the door with one hand and the other tucked itself into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“He your boyfriend, Y/n?” Mike questioned, “Nancy said you’ve been acting weird.”

“Oh my God,” you looked at Nancy again and she shook her head.

“I never said that.”

“Keep your noses out of my business, ‘Kay, twerps?” You scolded them to which they nodded, but Dustin’s devious smile meant it would never end. You shut the door as Eddie extended his arm again.

“After you, mama.”

For the first few minutes, Eddie didn’t even turn his radio back on. It was quiet—like the lingering silence that had fallen between you and Nancy not twenty minutes before. The only difference now was that it was just you and Eddie.

Just you and Eddie.

It wasn’t as though the silence was completely silent; the kind that made your ears ring and made you feel like you were underwater. The van itself was loud, in need of a tune or two, and his fingers tapped on the steering wheel and open window too. Bilbo laid between you on the van’s fuzzy seats. It smelt like cigarettes and weed, but the little tree that hung from the rear view mirror smelt like pine.

“So,” you watched the forests beside the school pass by quickly, “where are you taking me?”

He looked over, the hand that was resting out the open window came back in and ran over his chin. “You really wanna know?”

Pondering for a second, you decided that a surprise wouldn’t be so bad. Eddie was harmless—as harmless as a doe-eyed drug dealer could be—and never struck you as a guy that would intentionally put you in any danger. He was apologetic and soft spoken when he most needed to be.

“No. It’s fine.”

“You and Wheeler babysit those kids after school or something?” He asked to keep the conversation alive. He didn’t want the ride to the destination to be silent. Eddie wanted to know everything about you and silence defeated that purpose. “I see them ride their bikes to school sometimes.”

“Two of them I do,” you responded, watching as he nodded his head slowly and took in every piece of information you gave. “Nancy has a little brother, Mike, and the other one is Will Byers.”

“Right,” He felt a little embarrassed by the fact he had referred to the kid as ‘Zombie Kid’ to Gareth and Jeff even if you would never know of it.

“They’re good kids. They’re the ones who play D&D,” Eddie recalled your dad mentioning that, “Mike’s the DM.”

“You know more about D&D than you let on there, mama?” He smirked, stopping at the stop light like he was supposed to.

“They try to teach me every time but I can’t grasp it. I’m more of a monopoly kind of girl.”

“Monopoly girl…” he ticked.

“I think Bilbo has taken after me that way,” you joked and smiled. He loved the sight. “Pretty sure he’ll be a monopoly kid.”

“Over my dead body,” Eddie mumbled quietly, “I thought you said he wouldn’t grow old? Would never have memories?”

“Changed my mind…” you diverted your eyes to the front and watched the light. “You really were hungover?”

“As much as the kids at school like to brag about theirs, I wouldn’t openly admit that I was… still am a little bit,” Eddie laughed but knew the lingering effects of his overconsumption were long gone. “I didn’t mean to leave you high and dry there.”

The sincerity in his voice was hard to escape from. Like before, as he half hung out the window to convince you he was truly sorry, Eddie wasn’t wearing a mask. He wasn’t pretending to gloat about getting drunk after one of his shows and being a show-off by not coming to school the next day. It was a tone you had been catching often in his voice when he spoke to you. The same could not be said for the way he interacted with Hellfire or the rest of the lot at school… it was nice and non-combative against the world shaming him for being who he was.

“I believe you,” you told him as the light turned green, “Sorry for being a bitch about it.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Eddie scoffed in a second of disbelief, “you should be mad. I broke a promise that I made to you and being upset about it isn’t wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you had a drinking problem or anything…”

“Hey,” you looked over at him. Eddie shook his head, eyes telling you it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s fine.”

You still felt bad about it because the comment wasn’t something you meant. People upset by things beyond their control often say things they don’t mean and the last thing you wanted Eddie to think about you was that you thought he was a burnout—one of those stoner drunks who would never graduate high school.

“Well, I still didn’t mean it.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. In his mind, he wondered if he should admit why he had even taken up the night that way. Gareth and Jeff had gone to school perfectly fine yet there he was, blocking out the sunlight with his sheets as it burned his eyes. The thoughts that ran through his mind pounded harder than the alcohol he gladly chugged.

But by some unimaginable force, you mentioned the two first.

“At lunch today, your Hellfire table kept looking at me.”

“O-oh?” He stuttered knowing the reason they were looking. In his drunken stupor, Eddie had engaged in some… flower-y language to describe his feelings about you.

“Do you know why?” A part of you wanted to think he did. That maybe he talked about you to them and what you saw in your mind wasn’t an illusion of your own making.

“Why they were looking at you?” Eddie stalled. He focused on the road ahead of him and was very thankful that the park Jeff had suggested wasn’t farther away. You nodded and gave a gentle hum.

“No, not really… maybe they thought you’d be mad I wasn’t there.”

“That doesn’t constitute staring at me for a half hour.”

“I’ll tell ‘em to knock it off tomorrow. You don’t have to worry about Gareth’s eyes drilling a hole through the back of your pretty little head anymore.”

Pretty.

It was passive but it was there.

You settled with his answer but a pit grew. There was no longer a part of you that wanted him to admit that he talked about you and their curiosity was what caused them to keep looking. All you wanted was that. Not a little, not some, but all of you. The rest of the ride was quiet and when he pulled into the small parking lot beside Hawkins Memorial Park, he grabbed Bilbo and opened his door.

“We have arrived,” he lowered his voice dramatically.

“The park?”

“No, it’s the Shire.”

“Funny,” you panned, grabbing your bag and getting out of the van where fresh, unpolluted air filled your senses. Eddie walked ahead of you and while your mind traveled to the idea that everything was awkward now, Eddie was thinking of how he was going to slap the shit out of Gareth when he dropped you off later. He stopped at a picnic table in the middle of the park beside a giant tree and set Bilbo down on the top.

“Tell me,” he said as he sat down, “How was the dear little Bilbo for you? He say he miss his dad because I missed him.”

He was trying to break that tension again. By doing so, it only made your heart feel more giddy. The effort; Eddie was trying.

“He talked a lot about you,” You followed his movement and sat across from him while unzipping your bag and taking out your calculus homework. “In the last twenty-four hours, he learned how to speak and sign at the same time so, we’ve got a pretty brilliant little guy right there.”

We’ve.

“And what homework did Clay assign?” He picked up the sheet as soon as you set it down. You didn’t complain when he took it.

Eddie technically had already taken the class. It was one of the only subjects he considered himself to be a true fan of—and it was probable that D&D played a large part in that. All the calculations and fanfare that surrounded it… it made classes like math easier.

“Chain Rule…” he trailed off, brain racking itself to remember what it was. He was rather good at math and English—it was science and history that always caught him in a fix.

“I’m lost in there,” you laughed, embarrassed that calculus was beyond your skill set, “I can’t tell which lines are which or where the graphs are supposed to go… it’s like the numbers flip the minute I see them.”

“Do you need help? I think I can manage this?” Eddie returned the sheet and touched the textbook that didn’t set aflame the moment his fingers skimmed the cover. His ring clad hand searched for the pages on the unit and he let out a “voilà” when he found it.

“Have you taken this?”

“A year ago but I’m not as bad at math as everyone thinks.”

“I never said I thought you were bad at math.”

Eddie glanced up from the book. The wind was blowing slightly, the leaves changing their colors around the two of you and it was picture perfect; straight out of a movie. John Hughes should have teleported there because you’d look amazing as the subject of his next film—not that Eddie would ever admit he had seen a Hughes film before. Only Rocky Horror and Evil Dead for him.

“Actually,” Eddie swallowed hard and you could see the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, “I had the privilege of sitting next to Harrington for that class.”

Steve too was good at math. He had taken it a whole year before you did. You remember him complaining about Clay when he asked to see your schedule in September.

“He hasn’t changed a bit.”

“No,” you shook your head, “still the same old hair. But not the best hair.”

“Don’t let Steve hear you say that,” Eddie laughed, two little dimples on the sides of his smile forming. “Who is it then? Who has the best hair?”

“You,” the moment it left your lips you couldn’t regret it. It was the truth. Eddie Munson had the best hair and it drove you insane. All you wanted to do was run your fingers through it and brush it carefully away from his eyes. “You have the best hair.”

He hoped you did not see the way his cheeks went red. Eddie never blushed, he was never flattered but it worked on him. Instead of letting it simmer inside of him, he dramatically tossed one side of his hair over his shoulder.

“Me? You’re just sayin’ that so I do your homework,” words that he had never said before.

“No,” you chuckled and the sound opened his heart. Cracked it right open. “It’s true! You do have very… nice hair for a guy.”

“For a guy…” he whispered and looked at you again.

“Yes, for a guy. Obviously dear little Bilbo has the best hair,” Bilbo left the spot on the table as you picked him up; jokingly caressing the plastic black hairs on its plastic head. Eddie rolled his eyes and tapped the textbook.

“Yeah, Yeah,” he said, “You wanna finish your homework by the time the sun sets or what?”

He didn’t want the sun to set and neither did you. When daylight ran out, it meant the day was over and even if you had only a few hours together because he missed the day, it would never be enough for what you both wanted.

It would simply have to do for now.

The clunky van parked in your driveway long after the sun had set. Eddie promised he’d take Bilbo for the night and the rest of tomorrow before leaving you with him tomorrow night. The doll hadn’t made a noise all afternoon and it turned out to be a miracle.

“Thanks for the ride,” you smiled gently at him as the only light that trickled into the van was that of the two sconces that sat on either side of your garage door. “And for the homework help.”

“Never thought I’d hear anyone say that,” he leaned his head back against the headrest and you gripped the door handle but didn’t pull.

“And thanks for sticking up for me the other day in class… I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he said quietly. Eddie didn’t know what washed over him. He had slept all day and wasn’t overly tired, yet he could just close his eyes there, knowing you were next to him and not afraid of his presence. Even with the knowledge that your parents were just beyond the walls of the house was comforting. He was content. Maybe for the first time ever.

“But I do…” you murmured. His eyes scanned over you, your bag. He saw the little orange slip that you had been holding when he rolled up to Hawkins High earlier. Eddie knew it was the invitation to Tina’s party because she had handed one to him yesterday with the promise about dealing. No one talked to him outside of his circle unless they needed something. He only agreed because he needed the money, but now an idea sparked in his mind.

“You going to Tina’s party on Saturday?”

He saw your eyes flash surprise, “Nancy’s making me go. Third wheel to her and Steve.”

“And you’re going as…?” He wondered and you looked at your house as if you didn’t want to tell him.

“It’s stupid,” you said.

“I’m sure it’s not stupid.”

“Nancy picked it out.”

“Well,” he squeaked, “maybe it is stupid then but I won’t know unless you tell me.”

“Sandy, from Grease. It was her idea and I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m not even Sandy material.”

Eddie scoffed, head lolling forward in the direction of the house before turning back in you. His head was still flush against the headrest. “You are the epitome of Sandy, mama. Girl next door…”

“That’s Nancy,” you breathed out, “I think I’m a Frenchie who wants to be a Rizzo. Are you going?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, nodding his head in a defined manner, “Don’t know what I’ll go as.”

“Think about it, let me know. We can laugh at ourselves before anyone else can.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied with the reminder you claimed to be a ‘third wheel’ at the front of his mind. “You don’t have to be a third wheel though.”

“No?” You rested the top of your head on your backpack as your arms wrapped around it. You could sit here for hours just looking at him like this. “You know something I don’t?”

“I’ll be there so you can hang out with me.”

“Ah,” you let out a light gasp, “no more third-wheeling?”

“Nope.”

“Is that your way of asking me to go with you without wearing matching costumes?”

You don’t know where that question came from. It weaseled its way from the back of your brain and straight out of your mouth. But like he did with Jeff’s suggestion, Eddie took that question and ran with it.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “I’ll be going with Nance and Steve but you can take me home so long as you don’t get too high or get too drunk.”

He would go sober if it meant having you by his side for a second longer.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, mama.”

Nearly a week after Gareth was scared shitless by Eddie Munson knocking on his window at an ungodly hour, he kept the blinds closed to relieve himself of the embarrassment that it may happen again. Eight-thirty on a Thursday evening, he was reading his English book when three knocks sounded on his window and made him jump out of his skin.

He lifted those blinds with a fury and scowled at Eddie who was outside of his window once again.

“What the hell do you want this time?” Gareth screeched in a whisper at him.

“You’ll never fuckin’ believe it, man,” Eddie laughed as he gripped the windowsill with antsy fingers. “I think I’ve got my shot.”

“What? She actually agreed to go on a date with you?”

“Kind of, yes!” Eddie couldn’t really believe it. Neither could Gareth.

“You’re shitting me. No way did she say yes to you. She looked like she wanted to bolt from the lunchroom every time I looked over there.”

Eddie shook his head at Gareth, not caring if the kid believed him or not. “Oh, yeah, about that?” He rose an eyebrow and grew serious quickly. Gareth’s face fell.

“Don’t do it again, yeah? She caught on and thinks you guys are creepy. Don’t stare.”

“If she thinks we’re creepy, then why in the world did she agree to do anything with you?”

“I’m not the creepy one, Gareth the Great,” Eddie bounded off the window and spun around like a love sick fool with unsteady legs. “But I’ve almost got the girl and on Halloween, I’m gonna ask her on a real date. Like all that fancy shit and stuff… a real date.”

Part Three Here

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[justanothersyscourse]

Hi! On anon for my safety, but I saw the ISSTD tweeted smth on the etiology of DID and I wanted to know your thoughts on it? Mostly for processing’s sake as well, as I can struggle with understanding studies now and then

The link to the paper! http://ow.ly/r40x30mZF79

The paper is Revisiting the etiological aspects of dissociative identity disorder: a biopsychosocial perspective. A very good one that I recommend to anyone interested in the causation of DID! I don't think I can do it justice if I tried to summarize the entire thing, so I'll just write down some bullet points of things I found interesting:

What is DID?: 

DID is a complex, posttraumatic, developmental disorder that is caused by trauma in childhood (usually very early childhood).

What causes DID?:

DID arises when a child’s ability to develop an ordinary sense of self in relation to others is impeded by unintegrated trauma.

Emotional neglect by parents and/or siblings is the strongest predictor of DID (and any other dissociative disorder).

More covert trauma such as dysfunctional communication in families or subtle emotional neglect can lead to milder presentations DID.

DID VS PTSD:

Switching between alters is considered to be a more elaborated version of PTSD intrusions & avoidance.

People with PTSD & DID generally experience the same amount of feeling shame, betrayal, self-blame, anger and fear.

People with DID tend to experience more feelings of alienation, loneliness, and disconnection than people with PTSD.

DID VS normal experiences:

The human mind is naturally made up of multiple interconnected “modes” that make up their whole self.

Trauma & dissociation causes modes to become decoupled and start existing in smaller, isolated pockets.

In DID, the modes have become so disconnected that individual modes start functioning as if they, independently from each other, are the whole self.

In a non-DID brain, new modes are always being created and old modes are always being updated.

In DID, this process is impaired. New modes are created in a disjointed way, and old modes don't get updated correctly if at all.