#there’s enough context clues to get an idea of what’s sitting underneath the surface

[fellhellion]

as a Rebecca enjoyer I would really like to see some options in book 4 digging into how little has changed if your detective is seeking or ambivalent to reconciliation, or the absence of apologies. As well as detectives who aren’t seeking/rejecting reconciliation but Rebecca cannot let go of anyways. Especially since we’ve now had one of the few times, according to the detective’s memory, Rebecca explicitly expressing regret for her actions.

[drowningbydegrees]

This started as a pwp praise kink idea. The praise stayed, but the pwp did not. Perhaps I will give it another go, but in the meantime, have 4,000 words of emotional hurt/comfort instead I guess. 😅

Read on AO3

Geralt is what Jaskier cheerfully describes as "forever years old" when he discovers that okay, maybe he is just the littlest bit affected by… actually he’s not sure what one would call this. He’s not even sure if it’s specifically what was said or just the act of being spoken to like a person in a vulnerable moment. Either way, it’s more than a little unexpected, but that’s not actually the problem. After all, everyone finds themselves unraveled by something a little unorthodox now and again, and in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t really all that weird.

No. The problem is that he learns it at exactly the same time Jaskier does, and it would be embarrassing enough if the bard were just some accidental bystander. But no, Geralt couldn’t get that lucky either. It’s very definitely in response to Jaskier and that is nothing short of mortifying. Whatever longing Geralt might privately harbor, Jaskier has never given any indication that it might be a mutual feeling, and so their companionship is very definitely not Like That.

It's a perfect storm that leads to this discovery.

The contract is a disaster in every sense of the word. Somehow, after all these years, there’s still some tiny part of him that allows for optimism, that remembers a time when he thought he could be a hero. There’s no room to be an idealist in his line of work, but the opportunity was right there. The monster was just an unfortunate curse to break. There were people who might be still alive to save. Stupidly, he let himself believe that this is the kind of contract he always hopes for, where just this once no one has to die.

But of course, that isn’t how it goes. The creature is worse for his meddling, leaving the man underneath tortured by a few seconds of horrified lucidity before the curse consumes him again. The creature dies by Geralt’s sword and as its blood drips from the blade, the witcher takes in his surroundings. It’s dark, but Geralt does not need to see to recognize a graveyard made up of all the people he failed.

Even Jaskier is subdued, largely silent on the walk back to the village. He’d had the good sense to stay out of the cave, or else maybe it was just too dark. Whatever the reason, if Geralt is granted any small mercy in this whole debacle, it’s that Jaskier is not in there among the dead, that he did not become another life the witcher couldn’t preserve.

The villagers are understandably as dismayed as Geralt is, and he makes for an easy target. He tolerates the shouting and cruel accusations. He stays Jaskier’s hand when the bard tries to come to his defense. They’re grieving people, desperate to shed the weight of their loss, and he can bear it.

The innkeeper does not turn him away at least, though Geralt suspects it has something to do with the very pointed look Jaskier is giving the man. It matters little if it means he can bathe in peace and fall into a miserable sleep and just… start over again tomorrow.

Death clings to Geralt like a film he can never quite wash from his skin, but oh how he tries. There’s an echo of blood and ichor that he just can’t shake, and by the time Jaskier comes to bring him clean clothes, he’s rubbed his forearms red.

Whatever scene he’s expecting, whatever reproach he anticipates, it never comes. He’s too strung out to put up much of a fight when Jaskier eases the washrag from his clenched fist. Jaskier gives him an uncomfortable smile that would be hilarious in some other context, waving awkwardly at Geralt’s head. “I’m just going to, ehm, your hair is sort of-”

“Covered in blood. I know,” Geralt fills in the gap in that sentence tersely. It’s not pity, not from Jaskier, but it drifts too close for comfort and the witcher doesn’t know what else to do but lash out. That’s not fair either though, and once Geralt has taken a breath he relents. “Get on with it.”

Jaskier does. Quietly even, which would seem suspicious or worrisome under normal circumstances. Geralt just happens to be too worn down to do anything but count his blessings and appreciate the silence as Jaskier works the tangles (and who knows what else) from his hair. He tries to close his eyes, but every time he does, it plays out behind his eyelids, forcing him to wrench them back open again.

“It’s not your fault. You do know that, right?” Jaskier’s voice is soft, and really, Geralt must look truly miserable for him to forgo their usual playfully scathing banter. “You did everything they asked of you and then some. There was nothing else left.”

Geralt doesn’t reply because what can he say? What could possibly wipe the memory of this colossal failure from his mind? It’s a gift of some sort that Jaskier doesn’t press Geralt to respond. He just hums a quiet tune while he painstakingly washes the mess out of the witcher’s hair.

“It wasn’t enough,” Geralt says very softly when he dredges up the will to speak. Jaskier’s thumbs rub down the nape of his neck, and he bows his head to it in silent surrender. The comfort is unearned, but he’s blank enough to crave it anyway.

“That’s not on you, Geralt. It’s like you genuinely don’t have a clue how... good you are. I mean, you’re a grumpy pain in the ass for sure, but still. You were good to the villagers even if they didn’t do a damned thing to earn it. You’re sweet to children and pets and...to me.” Jaskier suddenly seems very close, so near that when he speaks, his warm breath flits along the shell of Geralt’s ear. “I know I get on your every last nerve, and you haven’t turned me away. You might do it with a lot of scowling and insults, but you… are still very good to me.”

Geralt’s breath catches on what is definitely not a whimper, but what he’d probably classify as one if literally anyone else had made that sound. He’s been brought so low and Jaskier sounds so honest. He could have maybe gotten by without notice, but in the bath with Jaskier's hands in his hair and on his skin, there’s really no passing off the sound he makes as anything other than the desperate, needy thing it is.

“I punched you the first time we met,” Geralt points out, because he’s right on the precipice of something and urgently needs to back away from the edge. He tries glowering at Jaskier over his shoulder, but it turns out to be a grave mistake. Geralt is used to weariness and disappointment in the muted way he feels them. But this is a fragility he doesn’t know how to contend with, the brittle surface cracking when Jaskier gazes back at him like he’s anything other than a monster.

“I… probably had that coming,” Jaskier mumbles. Though Geralt has stopped looking, he can feel the shift in Jaskier’s posture suggesting that he’s sheepishly ducking his head. It’s an out of the ordinary thing, Jaskier owning his foibles, but Geralt doesn’t even get the opportunity to wrap his head around that before the bard swings a hammer at whatever defenses the witcher has left. “You’re good to me when it counts.”

Geralt doesn’t believe a word of it, but here and now he wishes quite desperately that he could. He longs to trust the warmth that slides like honey down his spine and settles at the base of it. He wants so badly to be what Jaskier names him as.

In retrospect, it’d probably be less humiliating if it were a sex thing. Jaskier has a penchant for oversharing and probably wouldn’t bat an eye. But it’s not as straightforward as that, even if the praise Jaskier wraps Geralt up in leaves him wanting. This is more, a bone deep sort of yearning that sits like a brick behind his breastbone, heavy and terribly misplaced.

The notion sneaks in that Jaskier just might see through him. He might recognize that despite the veneer of indifference Geralt puts out into the world, tonight the witcher is one stray thought away from a breakdown. He protects himself the only way he knows how, shrugging out from under where Jaskier’s hands have come to rest on his shoulders. “I don’t need help. Get out.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s brows furrow with concern. Frustratingly, the bard’s hand smooths over Geralt’s hair. Even more frustratingly, it’s a fight not to lean into the touch despite everything.

He snarls because it’s safer than the shaky thing in his chest, the thing that clings to the idea that there’s a version of the world where he is worthwhile. “Get. Out.”

Jaskier holds his hands up in surrender, but he doesn’t even have the decency to look surprised and that’s all the more maddening.

Jaskier gives him space, to bathe in peace and then to irritably crawl into bed. It’s only when Jaskier must think he’s fallen asleep that the bard curls up around his back, nose pressed to the nape of his neck. He hasn’t earned the comfort he’s being offered, but cannot help himself taking it anyway.

They do not speak of that night again.

*****

They do not speak of it, but Jaskier thinks about it an amount that is probably just a bit inappropriate. He recounts the punched out sound Geralt made at something so simple as a little well deserved absolution. He commits the little shudder of Geralt’s shoulders under his hands to memory. But most of all, Jaskier aches at the way Geralt had snarled about it, so convinced of his own unworthiness. This bridge isn’t Jaskier’s to cross though, so he secrets away the desire to do so and satisfies himself with whatever small kindnesses Geralt will tolerate.

But tragedy is rarely a one time occurence, even in an easy life. And Geralt’s life is anything but easy. It’s only a matter of time before everything comes down around his ears again.

It’s not even a hunt this time, not a monster but a mage. It’s just a spell gone wrong, and there was nothing Geralt could’ve done to contain it. They were too close, and Jaskier is pretty sure the only reason he even made it out in one piece was that Geralt shielded him with some sign that protected him from the worst of the blast.

Now, spotting Geralt’s still form among the rubble, it’s clear to Jaskier what his safety cost the witcher. He picks his way across the rubble as quickly as he dares, fighting to keep the fear from his voice. “Geralt?”

“Ngh.” It’s a reply, if not much of one, but it’s only Geralt when blinks blearily at him a couple of times and scowls that the terror Jaskier feels begins to settle.

He doesn’t know what to say. Jaskier is tempted to crack a joke and make light of the situation. It’s how he copes. It’s just that, they weren’t alone in this building, and judging from the quietly defeated look on Geralt’s face, the witcher is already thinking about that.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal.” Jaskier holds out a hand to Geralt, but he ignores it as he staggers to his feet. “But it’s not all hopeless. Because of you, they can’t ever harm anyone else again.”

“Shut up, Jaskier.” Geralt’s expression shutters, but Jaskier doesn’t need to be able to read the witcher’s emotions to know he’s thinking about all the people that outcome isn’t good enough for. As hyper sensitive as Geralt’s senses are, Jaskier can’t help but suspect that the rocks aren’t enough to hide what’s buried within the ruins, so he tries to steer Geralt back towards their camp. There’s nothing else they can do in this place but mourn.

“Are you okay to walk?” Jaskier doesn’t like the idea of leaving Geralt here to get help, but he also doesn’t want to inadvertently make things worse.

“I’m fine.” Geralt takes a step and then another. They’re wobbly, but he does manage to stay upright.

“You sure? A building exploded with you, you know, in it.” Jaskier is sort of sorry for pressing even before Geralt glowers at him.

“I said I’m fine.” Geralt repeats himself, and there’s no progress to be made pressing any further about it.

Jaskier knows better than to offer his support despite the fact that Geralt is limping at his side. If the witcher is not actively falling over, his attempts to help are likely to be ill received. He tries very hard to ignore it, even if it makes his heart twist up in his chest, but that all flies out the window when they finally come to a stop at camp, where the ground beneath them is dry dirt rather than grass and leaves, and there’s no missing the blood sluggishly pooling at Geralt’s feet.

“Geralt. For the love of- You’re bleeding. Sit down.” Jaskier grouses, more irritated at himself for not noticing than anything else.

To his shock, Geralt sits without complaint, though Jaskier suspects that is more out of exhaustion than any sudden desire to be cooperative. With a pained hiss, Geralt works to rid himself of his armor while Jaskier gathers supplies, so maybe he means to cooperate after all. That’s either very good or very bad.

Very bad, Jaskier decides, grimacing at the deep gash in Geralt’s side beneath where his rib cage ends. It’s not a clean cut the way a claw or a blade might be, probably a product of part of a building dropping on him.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes out, kneeling to try and staunch the bleeding enough to properly stitch it back up.

“I’m okay Jaskier,” Geralt insists. That he’s gritting his teeth on a low moan when Jaskier presses on his wounded flank is… not really helping his case.

“Great. You can continue to be okay while you sit there and let me stitch this up.” It comes out a little more tartly than Jaskier had meant, but Geralt doesn’t even seem to notice.

He does, however, sit still. That Geralt is quiet while Jaskier threads a needle isn’t out of the ordinary. But Jaskier looks at the witcher’s face and finds a great deal more than weariness there.

Jaskier lets it go at first, the task at hand more pressing. It’s only when he’s on his third stitch and Geralt is still staring miserably out towards the trees that he gently chastises the witcher. The expression isn’t an unfamiliar one, and Jaskier hates it every time. “Stop it.”

Geralt’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t look at Jaskier. “Stop what?”

“Insisting on taking on burdens that aren’t yours to carry.” There’s a needle in one hand and blood on both of them, so the tactile methods he’d usually use to soothe are no good. Jaskier tries words instead, already knowing they’ll be rejected. “It wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was a great deal less awful than it might have been because of you.”

On the bright side, Geralt doesn’t immediately snap at him. It might have something to do with the fact that he’s actively stitching the witcher up. Geralt doesn’t even look at Jaskier, but his expression is stormy and tense. Jaskier bites his tongue for another couple of stitches before he decides this is a sort of misery he can’t leave alone. So, he tries again. “When we first met, you really didn’t like me. And I know you’re making a face. Stop it. Just because I ignored the fact that you found me aggravating doesn’t mean I didn’t recognize it.”

“I’m making a face because you said that all past tense.” There’s a note of what might be humor there, and Jaskier doesn’t even care if the joke is at his expense under the circumstances.

Jaskier huffs out a fondly exasperated breath. “That’s very rude, but I’m going to let it go this time because you’re bleeding all over my hands. My point is that you gave me - someone you actively disliked - coin you didn’t have to spare.”

Geralt is quiet for so long that Jaskier thinks he might actually be listening. He probably is even, but his reply is too close to their usual banter, like he can’t stomach the idea of having a conversation that matters. “With songs like that, it seemed like you could use all the help you could get.”

“Oh, haha. Very funny. I realize it wasn’t my best work.” He’s trying, really, and it’s hard not to deflate in the face of Geralt’s resistance. Jaskier stares down at his current task and that could be the end of it. But the last time they went down this road still haunts him, and Jaskier is determined to try again, hopefully without being run off this time around. “Okay, if you’re going to be like that. In the last village, you let a little girl hire you to check her closet for monsters.”

There’s a clear sense of suspicion in the way Geralt narrows his eyes at Jaskier, but all the witcher says is, “Why would I turn down a paying contract?”

“Geralt.” Despite everything, Jaskier is pretty certain he’s never loved anyone in his life as much as he does Geralt right now. “She paid you in rocks.”

“They had value to her.” It’s endearingly defensive, but Geralt is justifying himself rather than running Jaskier off, so the bard counts it as an improvement.

Regardless, it’s not the message Jaskier is trying to get across. “I know. But you can’t exactly get provisions or a room at an inn with a pocketful of pebbles. And then there was Goose Hollow. You snuck that woman’s payment back into her kitchen.”

The witcher’s nose crinkles in distaste. Jaskier knows why he did it, but Geralt seems to feel the need to remind him anyway. “She’d just lost her husband to that kikimore and she had a baby on the way. I could make do without. Not sure she could’ve.”

“Right. You’re absolutely right, and that’s what I’m getting at,” Jaskier says, giving up on the idea that Geralt might have at least enough sense of self worth to reach this conclusion on his own. That’s clearly not the case, so Jaskier opts to connect the dots. “These are things you acknowledge, things you act on, because you are kind.”

Annnnnnnd there it is, the point at which Geralt can’t pretend he doesn’t understand what Jaskier is trying to communicate. He growls, shifting like he means to get up. “Fuck off.”

Jaskier pinches Geralt’s hip, well below where the bruising from the wound stops. “Do. Not. I have a needle literally stuck through you. You’re a good person whether you acknowledge it or not, so stop being dramatic and trying to flounce off just because someone said something that clashes with your self loathing.”

The scowl doesn’t leave Geralt’s face, but by some miracle, he does settle. “Oh, I’m dramatic?”

Bowing his head to hide a smile, Jaskier goes back to work. He wishes he could stay made for even a moment, but there’s just nothing for it. “What with the growling and glaring and stalking needlessly off into the trees or whatever nonsense you were planning? As someone who is personally very well versed in dramatics, yes.”

There’s no scathing or witty retort so it would be easy to assume Geralt is ignoring him when Jaskier is met with silence, but the bard knows better. It’s subtle things, an evening out of Geralt’s breathing, a shift in his posture, and though the seconds drag out, stretched like taffy, he’s not surprised when the witcher says very softly. “I didn’t know you’d noticed.”

And oh, that hurts. Not for the sake of Jaskier’s own feelings, but for the fact that Geralt could share shitty tavern food and too small inn beds and miles of open road for so long and still not recognize that he matters. “Of course I noticed. I always notice you.”

“I don’t think the rocks are going to make for a very interesting song,” Geralt says, and while his tone is clearly meant to convey sarcasm, his gaze is soft and searching, and oh to hell with it all.

“For fuck’s sake. It’s not for a song. I notice because I love you, you absolute twit.” There’s that strange, wounded sound again. The one that makes Jaskier want to wind his arms around Geralt’s shoulders and draw him close. Last time, that had been the preface to Geralt shutting him out entirely, but it doesn’t happen this time. Geralt hardly seems to notice when Jaskier rises after tying off the thread. His whole body goes stiff when Jaskier succumbs to the urge to embrace him, but somehow this time Geralt doesn’t immediately pull away.

With bated breath, Jaskier waits for the awkward stiffness to become a full blown retreat, because surely Geralt does not want his feelings, but the demand to be let go of never comes. Surrender is a quieter, subtler thing than any resistance Geralt put up. It’s a gradual release of the tension holding him bow string taut in Jaskier’s arms, a furtive embrace as Geralt’s hands find their way to curl loosely in the back of Jaskier’s chemise. With a sigh Geralt’s head drops to rest against Jaskier’s shoulder.

Jaskier is prepared, he thinks, for that to be the end of it. There are no strings attached, no conditions riding the tails of his affection. That Geralt didn’t immediately turn him away, that the witcher relents enough to let Jaskier be a source of comfort is enough. Geralt sags a little bit against him and Jaskier commits the feeling to memory, idly smoothing his hand over Geralt’s hair.

It’s still there when Geralt pulls back to look at him, eyes wide with something Jaskier might describe as wonderment.

“What?” Jaskier doesn’t give himself permission to hope because that’s not what this is about, but his heart takes off anyway, hammering away in his chest.

“You weren’t afraid of me, even though the only point of reference you had was the stories.” There’s a question in the quiet words Geralt speaks. And Jaskier does know what he means. Rumors of the Butcher of Blaviken were far reaching, and Jaskier had no way of knowing the accuracy of them. So why?

“Well, you’re not nearly as scary as you think you are,” Jaskier says lightly, and then, because the question is there, but Geralt looks afraid of the answer, he adds with a sheepish smile. “Also, you were the one person not throwing food at me, so that was a point in your favor automatically.”

Geralt says nothing at first, but his mouth turns unhappily downward. Jaskier expects annoyance or anger, is used to those things, but this is more akin to grief and he doesn’t know what to do with it. In the wake of it, Jaskier is almost relieved when Geralt speaks again.

“You learned how to do this because we travel together.” Geralt gingerly pries one of Jaskier’s hands from his back, laying it delicately over his wounded side, and no. No, that last point was definitely easier to address. They should go back to things he can make jokes about.

“So what?” Jaskier says, though it comes out more like a croak. And his chest might as well be split open on the faint smile that coaxes from Geralt.

Curious. Jaskier can feel Geralt’s thumb sweep back and forth across his chemise, almost like the witcher is nervous. “You hate blood.”

He’s already said the most terrifying part, and he doesn’t know what Geralt thinks, but the witcher hasn’t left. So really, Jaskier wonders, what is there to be frightened of? “It would be very unfortunate for the both of us if something happened to you.”

“That’s not… I don’t think you’re hearing me,” Geralt mutters, mouth slanted off to the side.

It won’t do. Jaskier has no wish to be a source of frustration when he’s trying to be a comfort, so he lets himself smile and brushes Geralt’s cheek with his knuckles. “I’m sorry. Would you tell me again?”

Jaskier barely gets the words out before Geralt’s lips are brushing, feather light, against his. It’s over as abruptly as it started though Geralt lingers with his forehead pressed to Jaskier’s and his hand cradling the bard’s cheek. “I notice you, too.”

He could live in this moment, Jaskier thinks, just sat here knowing he’s not alone in the things he wants. The circle of Geralt’s arms is a lovely place to linger, so Jaskier lets himself have it even as he says, “In case you missed it, I’m done if you’re still feeling the need to go stomping off in the woods to fume.”

Geralt rarely laughs at anything, but the amused snort Jaskier gets for his trouble is close enough. Even better is the kiss that follows, slow and sweet and full of promise. “Well, someone very obnoxious and very... dear told me it was dramatic, so I thought I’d maybe stay here with you instead.”

You can find the rest of my Witcher fanworks here. <3

[loverlele]

Coming Out

Bi!Spencer Reid x Bi!Female Reader

A/N: Hey guys! I wasn't planning on writing something this closely to posting Oblivious, however the wonderful @thatsonezesty13​ commented “could Spencer possibly be bi also bc like he was supposed to be but the network said no” and it sparked an idea in my brain. They also helped me out on a couple other details in this, so big thank you to you!! So here we are! Fun fact! I am currently listening to Bye Bye Bye by *NSYNC as I write this so that's fun! Anyways there will be some more pride related content coming soon, as well as other things! Send any requests you have my way and I'll get to it. Enjoy :)

Word count: 2095

The month of June rolled round far too quickly. It had hit half way through the year and I’d had 4 days off work, possibly 5, since Christmas. I guess that's a bad part of doing this job, not having much (or any for that matter) downtime in between jobs. It was exhausting at times, but I wouldn't change what I did for anything. One things June meant was 2 guaranteed days off. Not for the whole office, but I put in that request years ago. Nobody could say no once I told them what I would be spending those 2 days doing. 

San Diego pride was a 2-day event I spent 363 days (or 364 days on a leap year, can't forget about them years) a year counting down to. It was the 2 days a year that I was able to be truly myself. I love my team and I don't think anyone would ever care if I was to reveal the one secret I had been hiding since I became part of the team. the only one who knew was Hotch, but that was only because I had to tell him in order to get those 2 days off a year. 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I think they will react badly. I mean, everyone knows about Emily and nobody took that badly. I think its more of that I like having a part of my life that's just for me. I mean when you take a job like this, any secret you ever had comes to light. Whether you like it or not, every member of your team will know every detail there is to know about your private life. Other times, I wish we had more privacy. But other times, the lack of privacy comes in handy. Like today, for example.

The moment Spencer Reid took a step into the office I knew something was off. And the minute he made eye contact with me, he knew that I knew somethings off. I’d never be one to push. “Hey Spencie” I said as he sat down in the cubicle next to me. He looked up at me with a slightly confused face. “I know you might not want to talk about what's bothering you, but know if you do you can always speak to me. I won't judge you on anything. You have a safe place with me, please know that” I say in a slightly hushed voice, sending him a reassuring smile before getting on with the pile of neglected paperwork on my desk. If he wanted to talk about it, he could come to me. I had a feeling this was something that you couldn't be able to push out of a person.

-

Later that afternoon I was making coffee in the conference room. For some reason the coffee from the conference room tasted a million times better than the one in the kitchen. I had no clue why though because they seemed to be the exact same machine. All I know if the coffee in here is a heck of a lot better than near my desk, so it was worth the extra walking to get it. I didn't seem to be the only one who thought that though as shortly after I start making a pot Spencer walks in. I spin slightly, smiling at him. He still seemed troubled, almost like he was having an internal debate with himself. 

“You okay there Spencie?” I ask pouring the coffee into the pot, spinning round to put the pot of freshly brewed goodness on the table. He seemed to still be at war with himself, but the whiff of coffee soon knocked him out of his mind and back into reality. I hold my hand out to fill up his cup, something he happily accepts. 

“I- um” he starts, trying to choose his next words wisely, “have you ever had something you've wanted to scream out for the longest time, but you've never been able to?”

“Of course, I could things of a couple things on the spot. I’m sure if I sat and thought about it for a minute or two I’d be able to think of more. Why, what's going on in that cute head of yours?” We both seemed to gravitate to sitting next to each other, bodies pointed at one another. 

Spencer sits in silent for a minute or two before asking timidly, “C-can I trust you?” 

“I’d hope you can trust me, if you can't then I've done something wrong without knowing it” I say, not quite sure where he was going with this one. It’s not often Spencer says things that leave me confused. I mean I don't have an IQ of 197, I can’t read 20,000 words a minute and my memory is anything but eidetic - BUT you give us a bunch of facts to sort out and a case to solve, we become the perfect team.

“Promise you won't judge me?” he says, a bit apprehensive. With that, I grab his hand from under the table and hold it gently in my hands, rubbing it gently to help soothe him.

“Hey, look at me” I say, “have I ever judged you? The first time I met you was just after you’d been held hostage and were addicted to Dilaudid. For two weeks I bared the brunt of your come down because I knew there was a sweet, kind man underneath. When Gideon told you how you'd treated me when you came clean about what happened, you apologised multiple times a day for months until I snapped at you. Remember what I said to you? ‘You have nothing to apologise for-’”

“’that was the drug talking, not you” he finishes sighing softly. “I’m really sorry about that you know” he says, smiling softly at me. I gave him a look, making him laugh softly. “Right sorry.”

“Spencer!”

“Sorr-”

“Nope, that words banned.”

“You can't ban a word Y/N!”

“Watch me!” I say, half joking (but he didn't need to know that), “So what's wrong?”

He sighs, looking up. As we make eye contact I can see the clogs spinning at 100mph in his head. “Take as much time as you need Spencie, I’ll be here.”

“Um, I haven't told anyone this before. Not because I’m afraid of how they’ll take it because I know they aren't small-minded people like that. I think its because if I say it out loud, if I admit what I am out loud, it’ll be real.”

“Spencie, you've lost me sweeties.”

“I guess what I'm trying to say is... okay so remember when we went to Miami for that case last year?”

“The one where the unsub was confused about his identity so he took it out on his victims?” I ask, my mind racing through every detail on that case.

“Yeah that one. So you know we all stayed an extra night, went to that club and I disappeared half way through the night?” I nod my head, still confused as to where this was going, “well that night I met someone. They were gorgeous and one things lead to another, and we went back to their place, and y’know.”

I squint my eyes slightly, confused as to what he was implying, “they?”

He scratches his head, eyes wandering to the door to make sure we were alone.

“See, the person I left with was a guy...”

“You hooked up with a guy?” I ask, the pieces slowly starting to click together in my head.

“Y-yeah I did. I didn't plan it, it just kinda happened. After that, it sent me crazy trying to piece together who I was. I knew I couldn't be gay because... okay since we’re getting everything out in the open.. because I've always had somewhat of a crush on you.”

“Wait, on me?” He nods, eyes flitting between mine, trying to figure out my response. “So, do you think you’re bi?”

“I’m like 99% sure I’m bi” he replies, chuckling to himself.

“I’m proud of you Spencie, I know it’s not easy coming out to people. Especially people who mean a lot to you. I promise you I am always going to be in your life, one way or another. And I also promise you that no matter what happens, will support you and I will fight in your corner” I say, grabbing his hand slightly tighter, “no matter what!!”

He smiles, relaxing slightly. For a moment, everything was peaceful. Spencer was so proud of himself for coming out, and the internal battle had moved from Spencer’s brain to yours truly. 

“Hey Spence?”

“Hmm”

“Since we are being completely open here, I have something to tell you.”

“What? What is it?” he asks, worried for his friend.

“So you know how I take 2 days off every year?” I start.

“Yeah, why is that?”

“I take 2 days off to march in the San Diego pride march. I’ve done it every year for the past 13 years, and I knew it was something I had to do every year. When Hotch interview me for this job and he asked if I had any commitments I needed time off for, I said I needed 2 days off every July. Hotch being Hotch asked why, and when I told him I was marching for those who couldn't do it themselves, for whatever reason, he quickly agreed.”

“Okay, I'm still confused. Are you marching for someone other than the people unable to do it themselves? 13 years is a long time to be doing something, especially something for other people.”

“No, I do it for myself too.”

“I’m, um, still confused Y/N” Spencer says, half annoyed with myself for not being able to connect the dots that are right in front of himself.

“No, it’s okay I wasn't clear. Me and you are a lot more similar under the surface than you think Spencie” I say, not putting my sexuality into words because I can never find the right words to use to say it, without blurting it out with no context.

“I still don't get it Y/N!” he half shouts, ripping his hand out of mine and tugging at his hair. Almost as if someone flips a switch in his brain, Spencer shoots his head up. Bingo! I tell myself.

“You-you’re bi?”

“I sure am Spencie. I have been since the minute I was born.”

“Why didn't you say nothing earlier? All those years I've asked what you do on the same 2 days a year, year in and year our.”

“I didn't say anything to anyone, bar Hotch, because I wanted something that’s just for me. Call me selfish, but I’d rather not give Morgan even more of an excuse to try and set me up with someone when we all go for a drink. he’s bad enough already” I explain, trying to make the situation a bit lighter by joking with him. He goes along with the joke, jokingly pulling a mortified face.

“That’s very true, we don't need to give Derek anymore ammunition than he already has.”

“My point exactly!” I say, laughing and pulling him in for a hug. The hug quickly gets interrupted by a pair of clicking heels approaching the conference room.

“Hey cuties, head’s up everyone's on their way here. We got called in on a job” Penelope says, smiling gently to herself.

“God where would we be without you Penny?” I ask, beaming up at her.

“Oh angel cakes, you’d probably be very stuck” she replies, turning on her heels and walking off. 

As she leaves the voices of our other colleagues float into the room, alerting us of their incoming presence. Spencer pulls at my arm slightly, turning me to face him.

“Hey, do you think I’d be able to join you next month?”

“You sure Spencie? You don't have to feel obliged to.”

“No, I want to.”

“I’ll speak to Hotch later and see if he's okay with it. I wouldn't see why not. You deserve a break” I reply with a smiling face, giving his arm a quick squeeze.

“Hey there you are!” Emily says, “we’ve been looking all over for you two!”

“Sorry, we didn't realise how much time had passed.”

“Is everything okay?” Hotch asks.

“We’re all good” I say, not being able to contain the smile on my face anymore.

“If you say so Y/N” Hotch says back, “okay JJ, what have we got?”

[thelittlehansy]

How many signs of Narcissistic abuse can we catch in a the book "A Frozen Heart" ?

i took a article from psychology today : here the point of view is of course not partner but hans/ his narcissist father and worst bro.

I hope my reasoning are gonna fit and unfortunaly i m gonna used quote from À Frozen Heart several time for Hans family appeared only at the start of the book.

What is Narcissistic Abuse : Abuse may be emotional, mental, physical, financial, spiritual, or sexual. Here are a few examples of abuse you may not have identified:

Verbal abuse includes belittling, bullying, accusing, blaming, shaming, demanding, ordering, threatening, criticizing, sarcasm, raging, opposing, undermining, interrupting, blocking, and name-calling. Note that many people occasionally make demands, use sarcasm, interrupt, oppose, criticize, blame, or block you. Consider the context, malice, and frequency of the behavior before labeling it narcissistic abuse.

Hans on his everyday life At the start of the book :

Belittling( undermining i think also)  : "you should apologize to your mother she is after all the only one who would have ever noticed you were missing"

Bullying : "like sharks smelling blood in the water a few more of the brothers began to join in the "teasing" "

Accusing : "did you not think your mother birthday is worthy of your presence?"

Blaming : " Westergaard are lion not mice hans you should listen to your brother maybe you could learn a thing of two from them if you stopped acting like you were better than them"

Shaming : Rudy and Runo : "whats thats ? We cant hear you really should learn how to speak up father abhors mice"

Demanding : "dont disappoint me...again !" 

ordering : "his father had requested his presence and when the king made a request you did whatever was asked"

threatening : i think “dont disappoint me...again” can work also because Hans knew that what kind of treatment he receive if he dont follow his father belief thats the reasons his brothers bully him. So there is an idea of punishement if he dissapoint his father i think.

Criticizing : as you might imagine i dont have time to listen to you whine about your brothers being bullies again 

interrupting : “the king did not waste time to the point Hans , always just get to the point he would say whenever he deemed Hans had stay too long in his presence” i thought i will find nothing for this one but guess i was wrong 😅

Raging : " he didn't care if his father would be mad later it wasnt worth the torment to sit through of this assault" later

Fighting Marsmahllow : " thats all you got ? You big snowy beast ? Hans thought as he pulled out his sword and began to swing it skillfully. Compared to my father when he is angry you seem like a cuddy bunny"

Sarcasm : not any quote but very much possible with that environment !

Manipulation: Generally, manipulation is indirect influence on someone to behave in a way that furthers the goals of the manipulator. Often, it expresses covert aggression. Think of a “wolf in sheep’s clothing.” On the surface, the words seem harmless – even complimentary; but underneath you feel demeaned or sense a hostile intent. If you experienced manipulation growing up, you may not recognize it as such. See my blog on spotting manipulation.   

“Dont disappoint me...again " i think works too for this one ! This is what hans father told him after he ask if he can help him and before he go help him with a citizens that criticize him.

it has an effect on Hans who is upset and therefore wants to please and prove himself to his father even more.

the effect are there and the goal of course of the king was only for his own interest. Stopping his people To criticize him by emotionally manipulating Hans to be effective.

Emotional blackmail: Emotional blackmail may include threats, anger, warnings, intimidation, or punishment. It’s a form of manipulation that provokes doubt in you. You feel fear, obligation, and or guilt, sometimes referred to as “FOG”

one example i think : " his father had requested his presence and when the king made a request you did whatever was asked" Hans end up having a sense of obligation to come at a place where he know his brothers are gonna bully him. After when he decide to leave he talk about his father anger implying he is gonna be mad and punished him. so that an example i think we can spot also ! 

Competition: Competing and one-upping to always be on top, sometimes through unethical means. E.g. cheating in a game.

"You know you fit quit well in the southern isles everything is a competition back home " Hans to Anna during the coronation party big clue !

Negative contrasting: Unnecessarily making comparisons to negatively contrast you with the narcissist or other people.

" you should listen to your brothers you could learn a thing or two if you stop acting as if you were better that them "🤔

Exploitation and objectification: Using or taking advantage of you for personal ends without regard for your feelings or needs.

After hans works during 3 years for his father as his gofer on his way to arendelle " getting to this point had not be easy. It had taken nearly three years to convince the king that he was responsible enough.(..) all the begging, pleading and generally making himself a lapdog to his father To procure a spot as the representative would pay off"

= indication the king exploit Hans during 3 years and what is sad is that he still dont trust him at the end. So yeah deftntly take advantages of hans to me.

Sabotage: Disruptive interference with your endeavors or relationships for the purpose of revenge or personal advantage.

The princes : “after each well placed jab they would look to their father to gain his approval even at the expense of their youngest brother”

i think that quote can reflect this one because there we see the reasons why Hans relationship with his brothers is broken and the reasons is because they all want to have their father attention/approval. that’s a situation the king voluntary let happen between his son for personal advantages.( boots his ego i beleive) the king defitnly sabotage Hans relationship with his brothers and even i would say all the relationship between his sons.

Neglect: Ignoring the needs of a child for whom the abuser is responsible. Includes child endangerment; i.e., placing or leaving a child in a dangerous situation.

“it wasnt as thought he had woken up that morning to found out he was the youngest of thirtheen son with a distant and careless father that had been his ife always and that would be his life forever” this is what hans say about his life at 17 years old 20 years old with his true age.

Character assassination or slander: Spreading malicious gossip or lies about you to other people.

“ So ? any new of when i might  become an uncle again ? i m hoping your child might like me at least ?”  Hans to Lars

So here thats interpretation ! i could be wrong but to me its kind of imply the niece and nephew he got so far do not like him a lot. so now the question is how little kids may end up disliking their uncle ? unpleasant gossip from their fathers or even grandfather about their uncle !

Violence:This includes blocking your movement, pulling hair, throwing things, or destroying your property

“at least they had thrown bread this time not glassware” 

Isolation: Isolating you from friends, family, or access to outside services and support through control, manipulation, verbal abuse, character assassination, or other means of abuse.

 "For him the southern isles and it castle was a prison and his father the jailer"🤔

Withholding: Withholding such things as money, sex, communication or affection from you.!

Hans dad is volountary distant and cold with him and show less affection to him in order "to toughten him up "

Gaslighting: Intentionally making you distrust your perceptions of reality or believe that you’re mentally incompetent.

to be honest i didn't catch exactly what is gaslighting i have understand the definition but each time i see someone used the word i m confuse because cannot connect it with the definition.

so here no sign of gaslighting ( distrust perception) i don't know if this one works for "make believe you are mentally incompent"

"hans could hear the voice of his brothers (..) you dont have the guts to do anything. Princess elsa what she want is a man not  a boy. What about we go find her and you stay here where you belong."

3 are no present on the book with the last one very much possible because the king of the southern isles abuse financially his poeple :

-Lying: Persistent deception to avoid responsibility or to achieve the narcissist’s own ends.

-Privacy invasion: Ignoring your boundaries by looking through your things, phone, mail; denying your physical privacy or stalking or following you; ignoring privacy you’ve requested.

-Financial abuse: Financial abuse might include controlling you through economic domination or draining your finances through extortion, theft, manipulation, or gambling, or by accruing debt in your name or selling your personal property.

I think lying and privacy invasion can both be things Hans and even his brothers are submit since little by their father.

[rudra-writes]

Pallas and Telurin - Barfight with Barnaby, Return to Karabor (Part 7)

Part of a roleplay story with Telurin’s player. Pallas and Telurin reach Karabor. Before returning to the temple, they stop at an inn, where they meet Vindicator Barnaby. Barnaby flirts with Pallas inappropriately, which starts a fight. Pallas consoles Telurin afterwards, then Telurin escorts Pallas to the Karabor temple the next day. As a death knight, Telurin is unable to remain at the temple, and the pair are temporarily parted. (Advisory for some erotic content.)

Pallas steps over to his carefully folded robe, which he had left on a chair. He puts a hand into a pocket, then looks at Telurin. "Let me know when you're ready for more." He tries to sound innocent enough about it.

Telurin raises a brow at Pallas's tone. Still, he's eager enough when he answers with "Of course, Pallas. Untie me and I'll be sure to return the favor." His tone is smug and easy, he's missed several of the context clues in this conversation, but he hasn't realized it yet.

Pallas withdraws the oil vial from his robe, then steps back over to the bound death knight. He grins impishly, then climbs back up onto the bed, smoothing a hand over Telurin's great thigh a few times before crawling up the other man's body to kiss him on the mouth. He makes no move to release the magical bonds, however.

Telurin rumbles in pleasure at the small hand on his thigh, and returns Pallas's kiss with eagerness, though he frowns into the kiss when he's not able to bring his hands down to run them through Pallas's hair. Once again his tail curls around the little Anchorite on top of him. Though Telurin is starting to look frustrated at his inability to return Pallas's touches, he doesn't make a mention of it other than to chuckle and say, "Still having fun, are we?"

Pallas nods, gazing into Telurin's eyes. Although the lichfire blue is unnatural and unholy, he is learning to find beauty in the eyes of his lover. His expression returns to something more cautious, more like his usual self, and he places both of his hands on the sides of the other draenei's head. "May I touch your mind?" he murmurs.

The Anchorite has never attempted this before with Telurin. This is evidently an important moment to him, judging by his intent expression.

Telurin manages to school his features into something more serious as well when he looks into Pallas's eyes and sees how serious the Anchorite is. He swallows compulsively, and nods. "If you wish it."

Telurin appears to be cautiously accepting of the idea. Pallas lowers his head and his eyelids into a sleepy expression, and concentrates.

Telurin may feel something like a light brush against his mental acuity. If he allows the touch, he would begin to start feeling the physical and emotional sensations of the Anchorite sitting just on top of him: The feel of his own cooler skin against Pallas's warm flesh. The shape of the sides of his own head in Pallas's slight hands. The priest's erection, tingling with impatient ache and need, and his feelings of lust and adoration and attachment towards Telurin. The remaining taste of his own semen in Pallas's mouth.

Through the mental link, Pallas would also feel Telurin's sensations and surface emotions as well.

Telurin's mind gives way under even that light brush against his mind, accepting and receptive. Since the link goes both ways, Pallas will feel the death knight startle under him as he feels the same sensations as his lover, before his mind settles out and gets used to the new sensation of receiving input from more than one body at once.

As for what Pallas is receiving from Telurin, a sleepy heaviness in his limbs from his previous orgasm, burning away in the face of this new experience, a pleasant steady burn from where the cuffs come in contact with his skin, and desire to touch Pallas and give him the same level of pleasure he's just received at the Anchorite's hand. Beneath that lust is a deep affection and a desire to protect Pallas from all that would harm him.

He tilts his head and rolls up against Pallas's erection, just to feel the response from the other man directly.

Pallas experiences the death knight's sensations and feelings interestedly, taking his time to explore and savor each one. When Telurin rolls his hips up, he certainly feels the sensitive brush of the other man's cock against his own skin. The priest eeps softly, then sighs. It's tempting to abandon his own self-control and let Telurin take control back, and through their link, Telurin is now aware of this as well. All Pallas has to do is release the Light bonds.

The priest bites his bottom lip in his teeth. 'Telurin,' his thoughts come directly through to the death knight, appearing in the other man's mind without actual sound. 'I want...'

He shows the other man his wish in a nonverbal way, as if showing a picture or a memory: He wants to take Telurin while the other man is still in bonds. Asking this question makes him anxious, for he does not know if this is beyond Telurin's comfort zone.

'Is this something you would want too?' His Anchorite is nervous, and blushing, and Telurin can actually feel his face get hot directly now through their bond, but he must want this enough that he's willing to risk asking.

Telurin's quick to respond, with the curl of a smirk on his lip and a quickening of his desire. Agreement, amusement and arousal return to Pallas through the link from Telurin. Agreement because while it's rare, the death knight is not a stranger to taking a more submissive role and finds pleasure in it, amusement because he didn't need to be chained for Pallas to ask and get a positive response, though it certainly does pleasant things for the death knight to be tied, and arousal because Telurin is rapidly recovering from his first orgasm and wants Pallas - in every iteration.

He forms his thoughts into words carefully, and sends them back to Pallas. 'If you *say* it.....' the words coming along with the feeling of how Pallas's spoken voice, especially when he's talking dirty, affects the death knight. Outwardly, he just smirks and stretches out underneath Pallas and says, "It's not like I have much choice in the matter...." But through the link Pallas will feel the undertone of those words, that he likes to be tied and at the Anchorite's mercy.

Pallas blinks and wets his lips, gathering up his courage at Telurin's positive response. Affection and gratefulness course through him. He sits up over the death knight's body and then speaks aloud in the most confident voice he can muster. "I'm going to fuck you, my dear, beloved Knight. And you are going to enjoy every moment of it."

Then he makes a wry face despite himself. Did that sound silly? Maybe it did sound silly. He's trying! The priest laughs awkwardly, "You're so beautiful, Telurin, I cannot stop looking at you. I don't often, er, want to fuck, but I want you in this way so badly, I feel like it links us..." The Anchorite's cheeks darken. "I want to take you, and I want you to belong to me." Even if only for a night.

Pallas definitely doesn't sound silly to Telurin, who's currently mustering up the fortitude to get it up again at his Anchorite's words. He preens, visibly and mentally at the words, and there's nothing but lust and desire in his mind at the thought of being taken by Pallas.

He does, however, catch that mental tremor at the end of Pallas's speech, and his left hand automatically reaches out to stroke Pallas's face, but is stopped short from the shackles. The sentiment still comes across the link in wordless reassurance - Telurin may be absent more after this night but he's not going to disappear.

"Yes.. I will *certainly* enjoy it."  His smirk turns to a leer, and his eyes are hooded when he replies. "And I already belong to you, Pallas."