#my attitude is if this book ever did get anywhere serious then some actual language professional would be forced to help me

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 5

Part 4

After collecting their bags from the library lockers Jazz led him down the hallway until she found a small, unlocked, empty classroom. The room was barren except for desks and a whiteboard. I guess they don’t bother locking it if there’s nothing worth stealing.

Jazz sat her messenger bag down on the teacher’s desk and pulled a whiteboard marker out of a side pocket.

“Right,” Jazz began, “I don’t know how much you know about ecto-entities and since, as you said, the reports on them tend to be pretty biased, I’m just going to start from scratch. Sounds good?” she rambled.

Tim hopped up onto the front row desk and tried his best to look like an attentive teacher’s pet.

“Yes, Ms Fenton,” he said cheekily.

Jazz gave him an amused look.

“Careful Mr Taylor, or you’ll end up in detention,” she said lightly. She turned to the whiteboard and gathered her thoughts for a moment, then wrote ECTO-ENTITIES in large block letters, “Many people refer to all ecto-entities as ghosts, but this is actually a misnomer. Ghosts as most people think of them, i.e. the restless spirits of the dead, are only a small subset of the ectoplasmic population. There’s plenty of them that were never human to begin with,” higher up on the board, she wrote INFINITE REALMS, “Ecto-entities originate from a parallel dimension to ours, which is called the Infinite Realms by its inhabitants. Though my parents refer to it as the Ghost Zone, that name is woefully inadequate.” Jazz paused and glanced at him.

“Kinda like foreigners renaming places instead of using the one in the native language, gotcha,” Tim nodded. They had dealt with alternate realities before, so this wasn’t completely out of left field. He would go along with it for now. Jazz gave him a small smile.

“That’s right!” she said and tapped the whiteboard, “Now, the Infinite Realms and our dimension are closely interconnected, like two sides of the same coin. Large scale damage to one would cause similar devastation on the opposite side and vice versa,” she gave him a serious look.

“Which makes the hostile attitude of the paranormal research community rather worrying,” Tim mused, “If someone did something stupid the blowback would hit us too,” If he wasn’t trained to read people he would have missed the slight tightening around Jazz’s eyes.

“That’s the theory anyway. And it’s not like the US government ever dropped bombs on people just to see what would happen,” she chirped with false cheeriness.

There’s a story there, Tim thought, and not the kind you would find in a history book. What the hell has been going on?

“I’m guessing getting access to the Infinite Realms isn’t as easy as calling an Uber though,” he joked.

“You’d be surprised,” Jazz said wryly, receiving a raised eyebrow in response, “there are places where the barrier between worlds is naturally thin, allowing temporary rifts to form more easily, but they can pop up pretty much anywhere in the world. It’s what allows ecto-entities to enter our dimension. It’s also not unheard of for humans to stumble into the Realms either, though they’re lucky to return at all,” she twirled the marker between her fingers, “Time doesn’t seem to work the same way in the Realms as it does here. Just in case you ever come across one, make sure to leave through the same portal you entered. Otherwise you might find yourself stranded in the Middle Ages, or far in the future with everyone you know and love long dead.”

Tim had to fight to keep down a wince. The whole Bruce Lost In Time Debacle was still an emotional scar for the family, they really didn’t need a repeat performance.

“Duly noted.”

“Some entities are able to open and close rifts at will,” Jazz continued, unfazed by Tim’s dry tone, ”though that ability seems to be pretty rare. It probably requires an unusual level of power or incursions would be much more common.”

“That would explain the little disappearing trick Damian’s delivery guy pulled,” Jason murmured through Tim’s earpiece, “But does that mean we’re dealing with a fucking super ghost?”

Tim gave a thoughtful hum and drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk.

“Do you think humans could open a portal to the Realms?”

Jazz gave him a wry smile.

“You just summed up the bulk of my parents’ research over the last two decades. They managed to build a functioning portal about two years ago.”

Tim choked. Jason swore.

“What?! But that’s-! How is that not all over the news?!” Tim sputtered. Jazz just sighed.

“My parents have been ranting about ghosts since they were in college,” she said wearily, ”Most of the scientific community had written them off as crackpots years ago. It doesn’t help that large concentrations of ectoplasm generate some kind of interference that messes with recording equipment. Short of kidnapping the naysayers and shoving them bodily through the Fenton Ghost Portal it’s hard to prove anything. And thankfully even my parents aren’t that crazy,” she finished with an eye roll.

Tim buried his face in his hands. An interdimensional portal. What the fuck. He thought back on everything Jazz had told him so far.

“What’s ectoplasm?”

“You’ve been paying attention!” she smiled and added some notes to the whiteboard, “Ectoplasm is the basic building block of everything in the Infinite Realms, and by extension ecto-entities. Hence the name. It’s the equivalent of matter in our dimension; atoms, protons, quarks, etcetera. I’m not a physicist, so I can’t tell you exactly how it works, but that’s why ecto-entities are able to interact with our physical world in such fascinating ways. Flight, intangibility and invisibility are all common abilities for them.”

“Wow, what a fucking security nightmare. B is gonna freak,” Jason groused. Tim tuned him out to focus on Jazz’s continued explanation.

“My parents have been experimenting with using ectoplasm for power generation, but it’s proven extremely volatile. It seems like it’s affected by things like belief and emotion which is absolutely fascinating,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “not to mention its effects on organic tissue. Have you ever had your dinner come to life and try to eat you?”

Tim had a sudden, horrible suspicion.

“Can’t say that I have,” he managed to squeeze out past the lump in his throat, “Um… Jazz, what does ectoplasm look like?”

“Well that depends on what it’s been affected and shaped by but in its raw form it looks like a bright green, glowing liquid,” she tilted her head, “Why do you ask?”

Over the comms, Jason made a sound like someone had kicked him in the crotch.

“Lazarus water?! Is she talking about the fucking pits?!” he choked out.

Tim made a valiant effort to keep his own reaction in check.

“Oh, just wondering how I’ll recognize a ghost- er, ecto-entity when I see one,” he lied with fake casualness, “You mentioned something about powers?”

“Yes! All the entities we’ve encountered so far have exhibited powers which are common to their species, as well as additional powers that seem to depend on the individual core. I’ve theorized that powers develop as a response to stress related to either their Obsession or death trauma…” Jazz trailed off, “aaaaaand I’ve lost you.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, I know I have a tendency to ramble,” she said sheepishly and considered the bullet points she had written so far, “Let me backtrack a bit. Not all ecto-entities are ghosts. There’s personifications of concepts, which I theorize are formed through the collective consciousness of living beings. They are entities which represent Hope or Justice or-”

“Time?” Tim interjected. Jazz gave him a calculating look.

“...sure. They are among the most powerful entities and have powers related to what they represent. I suspect they may have even been worshipped as gods at some point. You definitely wouldn’t want to mess with them,” at Tim’s nod, she continued, “There’s also the Neverborn, which are formed when ecto-entities choose to reproduce. They are entirely of the Infinite Realms, and thus were never ‘born’ into our world.”

“Ghosts can have children?” he said, surprised.

“Yes, although I’ve never been able to get the details on how it works. They don’t like to discuss it with outsiders. And considering they can look like dragons or disembodied floating eyeballs I’m not sure I’d want to know the exact mechanics,” she joked.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who’d disagree with you on that,” Tim muttered, then paused. “Wait, dragons?”

Jazz waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. The point is that there’s way more to the other side than most people realize. There’s probably lots of things I’ve never even heard of. It’s quite exciting, really!”

Tim worried about it. A lot. Jason had also gone suspiciously quiet.

“So, ghosts are just the tip of the iceberg?” Tim hedged.

“Exactly. What sets them apart from other ecto-entities is that they are usually created upon the death of someone or something from our dimension, which gives them motivation to come back here,” Jazz added more notes and arrows to the whiteboard. “All entities have something they call a core; think of it as their central organ or brain. It houses their consciousness, and its nature affects what powers they get. There’s all kinds of elemental cores like fire and water, but also more esoteric ones like shadow or technology. An ecto-entity’s body is composed of ectoplasm and moulded by their core. Their physical form is malleable and heavily based on their self-perception. With experience they can change shape to suit their needs.”

Tim mentally added shapeshifting to the growing list of powers to worry about. So far it sounded a lot like a Martian’s.

“So can ecto-entities grow and age?”

“It depends. The Neverborn usually do, but a lot of ghosts have a bit of a Peter Pan thing going on where they don’t want to. They are often ‘stuck’ at the age they were when they died, physically and mentally. Though there’s always exceptions.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully. Something had been bothering him since ghosts had first entered the equation.

“Jazz, if ghosts don’t age or die, why aren’t they all over the place? Even if rifts are rare, shouldn’t there be hundreds of thousands of years worth of dead folks wandering the Earth?”

She gave him a sad smile.

“I never said ghosts couldn’t die, Adam,” she said carefully, ”And not everyone who dies comes back as a ghost. The ones who do typically have some unfinished business holding them back. Like an obsession they never got to fulfill, or a loved one they are watching over. Once they are done, they are free to move on to whatever Afterlife awaits them,” she sighed and crossed her arms, “It also takes a lot of energy for a ghost to do anything in our world. I think a majority of them never hit that level, or can’t keep it up for any significant amount of time. It’s also part of the reason my parents are so biased against them.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Think about it. Most ecto-entities are just like regular people, going about their business and keeping their heads down. The ones who are both motivated to cross into our world, powerful enough to manifest and tend to make themselves known are the troublemakers. It would be like an alien looking at the population of Belle Reve and concluding that the majority of humans must be super villains! It’s sample bias.”

Tim bit his lip. This all sounded worryingly plausible, which would mean a literal world of trouble about to come down on their heads. Fuck, just what we needed.

“You mentioned that ghosts can die. I assume you don’t mean from old age, right?” he queried. Jazz looked at him wearily.

“You’d be right. If an ecto-entity’s core is too badly damaged, they will cease to exist,” she said cautiously, “It doesn’t help that ghosts tend to maintain a strength based social hierarchy and are fiercely protective of their territory. Ecto-entities usually have a lair within the Infinite Realms, and those who cross over to our dimension often establish a haunt to call their own. Any intruders would be met with violence,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead, “My parents have also been developing weapons to fight ghosts with… varying degrees of success. A lot of their tech runs on ectoplasm which makes it pretty temperamental.”

Seeing Jazz’s obvious discomfort with the topic, Tim decided to switch tracks.

“Is there any way to tell for sure if my brother came back as a ghost?”

Relieved at the change, Jazz made a see-sawing motion with her hand.

“Kind of? My parents tried for ages to build a ghost detector but they never got it to work quite right. Too much ambient ectoplasm in Amity I guess,” she shrugged as if that statement wasn’t extremely worrying. “You could always grab a ouija board or something and try asking. Just… don’t ask a ghost about their death. It’s a major trauma for most of them and there’s no better way to send them into a frothing rage. If they volunteer the information that’s one thing, but to ask about it is like the social faux pas among ecto-entities.”

Tim nodded and made a mental note to get his hands on some Fenton tech. He had a feeling it was going to be a long week for him.

Jason and Tim didn’t speak until they were safely back in the car. Tim was mentally composing the report they would have to make to Bruce. He was not looking forward to his reaction.

“So,” Jason began with fake casualness, “an interdimensional portal in Illinois.”

“Yep.”

“Creatures made of fucking Lazarus Water.”

“Sounds like it.”

“And we still don’t know if our mystery meta is Bruce’s dead kid or not.”

Tim groaned.

“It all adds up though, doesn’t it? The camera glitching, the powers, the portal…”

“And that damned prophecy. The personification of Time, huh?”

Tim pinched his nose to stave off the growing headache. They contemplated the fucked up situation they had stumbled into in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jason sighed and started up the engine.

“Rock-paper-scissors for who has to tell B?”

Part 6

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #batfamily #jazz fenton #tim drake #red robin #jason todd #red hood #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right) #no beta we die like danny #jazz gets to infodump and worldbuild whoo

[crazycat-88]

Male Tiefling Diedrick x Female Reader (NSFW)

Set in modern times but no connection to any of my other stories.

Content: Strong language and Adult themes throughout. Mistaken Identity troupe. Hope you enjoy!

Words: 3,789

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

To say you were upset would be an understatement. You were in fact annoyed, frustrated, disgusted and mad as hell. And it was entirely all your boyfriend Brian’s fault. Technically now your ex boyfriend, for better or worse. Definitely for the better you decide with an affirmative nod as you pace the floor of your hotel room.

How the hell did you get here you wonder for the third time that night, tears of frustration yet again trailing down your cheeks. You’d booked a hotel in one of the most romantic cities in the world hoping to spice up your failing relationship and what happened. It ended your relationship, that’s what happened. You should of known when Brian asked that you get connecting rooms rather than share one, but he claimed he needed his own space. The jackass.

Three years. Three years down the drain just like that. The ironic thing was, you weren’t even upset that the relationship had ended, you were upset at the how. The relationship had been failing for months, you had been expecting this, and this vacation was the make it or break it decision. Thinking back on the days events only made you want to cry but you couldn’t help running it through in your head again, trying to think of there had been any signs of this imminent break up.

You had arrived at the hotel in the morning and had spent a brief time unpacking for the expected long weekend. Then you and Brian had gone to an art gallery, after which you went for a walk through the park and fed the ducks. Upon returning to the hotel, you had a mouthwatering meal in the hotels restaurant and enjoyed a pleasant conversation. Brian had invited you back into his hotel room afterwards and with your mind and body prepared to finally break the dry spell of no sex in months, you had gladly accepted.

You’d gone down on the jackass, gone to town and put in your best effort. He’d gotten off and that’s when it all went wrong. You’d been expected him to reciprocate but no, claimed he was too tired and you lost your rag, justifiably so. Then he got mean, saying he wasn’t attracted to you anymore, you’d put on weight and he wasn’t ‘into it’. Then he’d gone on to say that it would be for the best if the relationship ended now rather than later. Prick. Sure you’d put on a few pounds in the last year, but you were loving your new curvy figure.

Shocked at his nasty attitude, you’d walked out and went for a stroll around the city, returning a couple of hours later where you’d ended up at the hotel bar for a drink, or three. Now you were back in your room, pacing the floor debating whether or not to go back to Brian’s room and give him a piece of your mind. How dare he break up with you while on vacation. The walk hadn’t calmed you down at all, if anything the time reflecting had only gotten you more worked up.

Before you could stop yourself you travel the length of the room and violently shove open the connecting door to Brian’s room. Finding it empty but hearing the shower running, you knew exactly where to find him and stomped into the bathroom. He had the curtain pulled shut but you could see his faint outline and by the way he had stilled he knew you were there too.

‘‘We need to talk!’’ You start, using the opening line no man liked to hear. ‘‘You are such a prick, do you know that? You use me to get off and then call me fat. Fat! Have you looked in a mirror recently, cause you ain’t a prize either!’’ On a roll now, you continue, ‘‘You want to know something else? You suck in bed! You wouldn’t know where to find a clit even if it hit you in the face, you ass. I can’t believe I wasted all this time on you, did you ever care for me at all?’’ Out of breath, you wait for a response, any response and your temper rises when he remains silent. ‘‘Brian! Are you even listening to me?’’

You hear him turn off the shower and then he pulls back the curtain, revealing a figure that’s definitely not Brians. Your jaw drops as your gaze travels over his black hooves, blue masculine looking legs, a very impressive sizeable cock, one pointed tail, a muscular abdomen and chest before eventually moving up to his face. He’s got black horns which curl around the back of his pointy ears, long hair which is a darker shade of blue than his skin and striking golden eyes. He is a wet and very naked tiefling.

‘‘You… you're not Brian,’’ you say, picking your jaw up from the floor.

‘‘Nope,’’ he says smirking, his voice rich and smooth like honey. He grabs a towel and starts drying himself off, not even bothering to hide his cock from your gaze. ‘‘The names Diedrick.’’

‘‘Oh my god. I am so sorry,’’ you say mortified. Where the hell was Brian… ‘‘I’m going to go now,’’ you add, stumbling to hurry from the room.

‘‘It was nice to meet you,’’ he calls chuckling, as you reach the threshold of your two rooms. Closing the door behind you, you flop down onto the bed. ‘Oh god’ you groan mortified. You can’t believe you just went off on one to a complete stranger and the things you had told him. When you got your hands on Brian, you were going to kill him.

Phoning reception you learn that Brian had checked out just over an hour ago. The nerve of that man, he’s such a coward running away like this. You can’t believe he’s just left you here without saying anything. Though you suppose, what was left to say. It’s painfully obvious the relationship is over. Nevermind. You would enjoy this weekend here without him regardless. You hadn’t been anywhere in years and you had been really looking forward to a vacation. You weren’t going to let him spoil it.

Settling back in bed, your thoughts drift back to the tiefling in the next room. Now that was one fine specimen of a man. He looked nothing like Brian, and that cock. Fuck! You wouldn’t need a clit to get off on that. And the way the water dripped down is finely sculpted abs made you want to lick him all over. Wondering if he’s single you tell yourself to forget it, even on the off chance he’d be interested in you, he certainly wouldn’t be after berated him for being a prick and shit in bed. Not that you’d been talking about him of course.

You’re actually rather stunned when you realise he never once tried to stop you and wonder what the deal with that is. If some random stranger had barged in on your shower, you’re pretty sure you’d be screaming blue murder.

You make your way down to breakfast the next morning feeling far more in control of your emotions. You’d given yourself a pep talk that morning, swearing you would enjoy this weekend, come what may. Filling up your plate with the wide selection of food on offer, you make your way to one of the window seats, sitting down to enjoy the view. It really was a beautiful city and you enjoy the view while you eat.

A flash of blue captures your attention just as you’re finished eating and you groan when you see it’s Diedrick entering the dining room. Keeping your head down, you pray he doesn’t notice you, subtly watching him as he fills up his plate. He looks good today, wearing fitted black jeans and a black shirt, and his tail curled around one ankle. You find yourself out of luck when he comes over to your table, puts his plate down and sits opposite you.

‘‘Morning... Did you find Brian?’’ He asks, looking at you curiously.

‘‘No. Apparently he’d already checked out,’’ you say, meeting his eyes reluctantly.

‘‘Hmm, sounds like you’re better off without him anyway.’’

‘‘Damn right I am,’’ you say nodding, before looking at him curiously. ‘‘Why didn’t you interrupt me last night when I came into the bathroom?’’

‘‘I was taught that you should never get in the way of a woman on a mission,’’ he says grinning, showing a mouth full of white sharp teeth. ‘‘Also you sounded if you needed to get something off your chest, and don’t you feel better for it now?’’

‘‘Sort off I guess,’’ you say, frowning at him. ‘‘Though I’d feel better if I berated the right person.’’

‘‘Maybe, but it’s done now,’’ he says, before taking a bite of his breakfast. He chews for a moment before swallowing and then looks back up at you to see you still frowning. ‘‘Look on the bright side, you’ll never have to see the idiot again.’’

‘‘Why do you think he’s an idiot?’’ You ask. You think so to obviously but wonder why he does.

‘‘You said he called you fat,’’ he says with a frown. Then he snorts, ‘‘You're a beautiful, curvaceous woman, clearly Brian’s an idiot.’’

‘‘Thanks,’’ you say with a small smile, looking down at your empty plate.

‘‘Also only an idiot doesn’t know where the clit is,’’ he says. He takes a long drink before grinning cheekily, ‘‘Something I’ve never had a problem with just so you know.’’

You chuckle. ‘‘So you say.’’

‘‘I could prove it if you’d like,’’ he says, still grinning. He leans back in his chair with a twinkle in his eye. You’re not sure if he’s actually serious but you are tempted to take him up on his offer, instead you shake your head with a chuckle.

‘‘Maybe another time,’’ you say.

‘‘Of course, I should wine and dine you first shouldn’t I?’’

‘‘It would certainly help,’’ you say, smiling coyly.

‘‘So… what’s your name, where do you come from and why are you here?’’ He asks.

Chuckling you introduce yourself and tell him where you’re from. Going on to say that you came here for a much needed vacation and that it was a last attempt to fix your failing relationship. You also tell him that you’re planning to enjoy this time regardless of what happened, and you plan to see as much of the city as possible in the short time that you are here.

Diedrick listens attentively as you ramble on, leaning forward in his chair, chin balanced in one clawed hand. He nods and shakes his head in the appropriate places. You’re not used to such avid attention and when you finish speaking, you look at him in surprise and he blinks and smiles.

‘‘Well it will take more than one weekend to see everything the city has to offer but I can show you some of the best places if you like?’’ He asks.

‘‘Oh, have you been here often?’’ You ask curiously.

‘‘Actually I’ve lived here for years,’’ he says laughing. ‘‘So I’ll be an excellent guide.’’

‘‘Wait. If you live here why did you book into a hotel?’’

‘‘I’m in hiding,’’ he says, leaning forward and whispering conspicuously. When you frown in confusion he sits back laughing and shaking his head. ‘‘I’m an author and my deadlines almost up for my next book, so my publicist is on my ass about it and I’m hiding from him.’’

‘‘Ah,’’ you say, smiling and nodding understandingly. ‘‘Have you written anything I might of read?’’

‘‘Maybe, depends if you like crime novels?’’

‘‘I’ve read a few,’’ you say nodding. ‘‘Tell me about what you’ve written and I’ll tell you if I’ve read them.’’

‘‘Sure, but first let’s get out of here. I can tell you about what I’ve written as I show you round the city,’’ he says grinning and standing up.

You get up to follow agreeing and he takes your arm as he escorts you out of the hotel. You weren't planning on having a guide but Diedricks interesting and he seems nice. As you make your way to the first destination, Diedrick tells you all about his first couple of books. They were best sellers but you can’t recall reading them, so you make a mental note to do so when you get home.

He takes you to the botanical gardens to start, where you stroll around leisurely admiring the many gardens of flowers and greenhouses. He surprises you with his knowledge of the different types of flowers but then explains he had to do research on them for a book. When you come to a maze in the gardens, he challenges you to race to the centre and when you win he complains dramatically, demanding how as he’s done it several times before which causes a lot of laughter.

After lunch, which you have in a small cosy cafe, he takes you to the museum and then onto an art gallery he claims is better than the one you had gone to the day before. For dinner he takes you to his second favourite restaurant in the city, not wanting to go to his first incase his publicist finds him. Then you move on to an observatory where you can view the stars. He holds your hand as he points out the different constellations naming each one he knows. If he doesn’t know the name he makes it up, often giving them silly names that get you laughing.

You don’t want the day to end but you eventually return to the hotel, where you pause outside your door. Your incredibly tempted to invite him in but for a number of reasons decide that it probably isn’t wise.

‘‘Thank you for today, I had fun,’’ you say, smiling.

‘‘You’re welcome. I had a great time too,’’ he says with a wide smile. ‘‘Tomorrow I’ll show you round the shops and maybe we can go to the beach?’’

‘‘Haven’t you got a book to write? You don’t have to spend all your time with me.’’

‘‘I can write any day of the week, you're only here for a short time and I’d really like to spend more time with you,’’ he says, his hand squeezing your own.

‘‘Alright. I’d like that,’’ you say smiling. ‘‘See you in the morning then?’’

He nods and then raises your hand to his lips, lays a kiss on the back of it before saying goodnight and turning to go to his room, his tail lazily wagging in the air. You call goodnight behind him before going into your room and closing your door. You sigh and tell yourself all the reasons it’s a bad idea to get further involved with Diedrick before going to bed.

The following day passes similarly, with the same amount of laughter and silliness. You stroll around the shops first, picking up a couple of souvenirs to take home with you. Then you move on to the beach, where you struggle to keep your eyes of Diedrick once he strips down to his swimming trunks. Fortunately Diedrick seems to have the same problem as you as he eyes you in your swimsuit. His golden eyes lingering on your breasts.

After sunbathing for awhile, you both go for a swim in the water which turns into a water fight. Splashing water at each other soon turns into a wrestling match where you both struggle to dunk the other in the water. Calling a truce, you both struggle to regain your breath whilst holding onto each other. He smiles when you catch his eye and strokes his hand over your face, pushing your hair back over your ear. That it turn leads to you leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips.

One kiss leads to another and then another until eventually you both agree to get out of the water. You know you are in trouble when kissing Diedrick leads to your heart skipping a beat and having to return home is a depressing thought. Pushing those thoughts aside, you head back to the hotel to shower before going to dinner.

Over dinner Diedrick tells you that he grew up in a small town, where his parents still reside. He also tells you that he has a younger brother that moved to a different city and how he doesn’t get to see him as often as he would like. The more you learn about him, the more you really like him and you call yourself all kinds of stupid for getting so attached after such a small amount of time. After dinner you go with him up to the rooftop bar where you spend the evening dancing. Diedrick’s tail curls around your waist while you dance and he uses it to push and pull you away, creating your own unique kind of dance moves.

You kiss again before deciding it’s time to retire for the evening. By the time you reach the elevator, you could break the sexual tension with a knife and finding yourselves alone he picks you up only to back you against the wall, where he then proceeds to kiss you senseless. As the door opens on your floor, you stumble to your hotel door and fall into the room when you open it.

‘‘This is a bad idea,’’ you say, as you strip of his shirt.

‘‘Why?’’ He asks gasping, as you run your hands down his chest before unbuttoning his trousers.

‘‘I have to return home tomorrow,’’ you explain, removing the rest of his clothes before pushing him back on the bed.

‘‘Yeah… I still want you though, even if I only get one night,’’ he says, watching as you pull of your own clothes, stroking his hand over his hard cock. His golden eyes roam over your body appreciatively as you move towards him, now completely naked.

Straddling his thighs you lean in to kiss him again while you rub yourself over his cock and he wraps his arms around your waist. You gasp when his cock catches your clit and he uses the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue. Pulling back gasping for breath, you tip your head back allowing him to kiss down your neck.

‘‘Condom?’’ You ask almost desperately, wanting him inside you.

‘‘Wallet,’’ he says, before turning you to lie on your back and getting up to get it. With a condom in hand he turns back to see you laying back on the bed with your knees raised. ‘‘Fuck! You really are beautiful,’’ he gasps, his tail wagging excitedly behind him.

You take the condom out of his hand as he joins you on the bed and after ripping it open, slowly roll it down his cock hearing him groan as you do so. He makes you wait before entering you, taking his time while sucking and nibbling on your breasts. While it feels good, it is not enough and clutching at his broad shoulders you beg.

‘‘Please Diedrick, I want you inside.’’

He pulls back from your breasts grinning and positioning himself, enters you frustratingly slowly. Grabbing his muscular ass you pull him into you as you roll your hips up, taking him balls deep with a moan as his cock stretches you.

‘‘Fuck!’’ He swears stilling. ‘‘You’re so tight.’’

Clenching his teeth he starts moving in and out and you meet him, finding a rhythm that you both enjoy. Leaning down he brushes his lips across yours before pulling back to stare into your eyes. It feels like more than just sex and feeling tears in your eyes you have to look away from his intense gaze. Lickinb and sucking at his throat, you move down to nibble on his collar bone. Clearly he enjoys that as he picks up the pace, pounding into you harder and faster and you struggle to meet his thrusts.

‘‘Please, oh- I need,’’ you whimper, feeling close.

‘‘I know,’’ he says, then reaches down to play with your clit.

That does it and with your back arching off the bed, you come, mouth open in a silent scream. As you clench around his cock, it sends Diedrick over the edge and he comes with silent snarl, teeth clenched before slumping over you and breathing heavily as his muscles relax.

‘‘That was… wow,’’ you say, as he moves to lie beside you.

He nods. ‘‘Wow is one word… I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.’’

Smiling you turn and give him a kiss. ‘‘Think you could that again?’’

‘‘Definitely. Just give me a minute,’’ he says chuckling.

You don’t get much sleep that night, making love another two more times before the sun rises. As it does Diedrick turns to you and tells you that your time together doesn’t have to end just because you are returning home.

‘‘Are you talking about a long distance relationship, because those never work,’’ you say, frowning sadly.

‘‘Sure they do and I could visit you every weekend,’’ he says, stroking your hair. ‘‘Don’t forget that I work from home and if things work out like I think they will, I can always move.’’

‘‘You would do that?’’ You ask, your heart pounding.

‘‘Yeah I would,’’ he says, before kissing you.

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

6 Months Later

‘‘Is that the last of your things?’’ You ask Diedrick as he comes through the door with a large box.

‘‘Yep the vans all empty,’’ he says.

‘‘Thank God. I didn’t realise you had so many things,’’ you say looking around at all the boxes that have been unloaded in your apartment.

After six months together and making a relationship work long distance, you had finally made the offer of him coming to live with you permanently. Honestly it made sense, he was almost practically living with you already, spending more time at your place than at his own.

‘‘I know, it’s a problem,’’ he says agreeing. Then he grins, ‘‘Maybe we should look into buying something bigger.’’

‘‘Yeah maybe…’’ you say, still looking around, wondering where everything is going to go.

‘‘We should buy somewhere with lots of bedrooms for all the children we’re going to have,’’ he says, grinning widely and moving to wrap his arms around your waist.

‘‘You can just slow your blue ass down,’’ you say admonishing him. ‘‘I want you all to myself for awhile before we talk about children.’’

Laughing he picks you up, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. ‘‘We can practice in the meantime though right?’’ He asks.

‘‘Definitely,’’ you say, before kissing him.

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

Thanks for reading! if you liked it please reblog it. Comments/Likes are also very much appreciated.

My Masterlist.

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #tiefling #male monster #male/female #tiefling/reader #monster/human #my writing #my characters

[casualpaladin31]

Second Chance (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Requested: No 

Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence and mild language. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Beginning(n): late 12c., "time when something begins;" c. 1200, "initial stage or first part," verbal noun from begin. Meaning "act of starting something" is from early 13c. 

Beginning. From where I stand right now, the beginning seems so much more tame than what I know now. Spencer would usually tell me some sort of fact associated with the ‘beginning of the world’ if he were here right now. But he’s not. If only foresight were real. And I had it’s full power of never saying what I did. Never pushing him away. But I guess hindsight isn’t 20-20. And words can’t be taken back.  

~~~

April 12. Seems like a regular day to anybody. But not to me. Not to Spencer. He and I have been in what feels like an endless storm of arguments since Christmas. He and I had always been each other’s rock. Our anchor with how stressful our jobs are. I was there for him when the cases got rough and he was my shoulder when a case got way too personal. We just fit. That is, if you didn’t count the small little quirks in our relationship. One of which being my tendency to be like Morgan and jump into situations without too much thinking.  

I won’t lie; he absolutely hates it. Case in point: 

“Spence, come on, I can walk on my own now. The swelling’s gone down.” I complained, groaning at my tall and lanky boyfriend who was currently forbidding me from standing up from bed. So, maybe I might have gotten my ankles fractured and twisted by an unsub when I had tackled him prematurely and he and I went tumbling into traffic. No biggie. Other than the fact that one of the BAU’s SUVs ran over my ankles. Hotch didn’t see me. I don’t blame him. 

Spencer rolled his eyes as he pushed me back into bed as I tried for the fifth time that morning to get up to go to the damn kitchen and eat something. “The doctor said you need three weeks of bed rest. It hasn’t even been two yet.” Spencer reasoned, tucking me into the covers of our shared bed before I could protest. 

“Spence, I’ll be fine going to the kitchen. It’s not that far away.” I tried again, sitting up from the bed and pulling covers off of my body. “I promise I’m fine.” 

Spencer shook his head and gripped my hands, trying to lay me back down. “Actually there is plenty of space between here and the kitchen, Y/N. The inflammation and swelling process is to remove the damaged tissue from your fractures. Your ankles can’t heal until you let the swelling complete its course. This wouldn’t have happened if you had just waited for me.” Spencer sighed again, the end of his words having a bit of a jabbing tone that sparked a sharp ache in my chest. 

“What?” I asked, with half a laugh and half disbelief. “Are you serious right now? After all the things you’ve done without orders? Don’t make me list them, Spencer.” I hissed, half pissed that Spencer would even bring this part up. Sure, Hotch had given me a few weeks off due to my injuries, and I had gotten a case of major cabin fever since that included bed rest from the doctor. But that seemed to be forgiven by everyone. I still got calls from Penelope every few days to check on me for the rest of the team. But I guess this was still an issue. Even after we already had this argument. 

Spencer grunted as he stood up straight again, seemingly towering over me in all of his 6’1 glory. He may be making me mad right now, but he was still my tree. And I his squirrel. If that makes any sense. 

“Don’t start this please, I don’t want to argue with you on this.” Spencer tries, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

I gritted my teeth and scoffed. “Then why bring it up? Especially the way you did? Why, Spencer? Why? Cause I’m itching to know.” I instigate. Not the best move on my part. As Spencer’s eyes flickered with anger. It was clear he really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. But he should’ve thought about that. 

“Y/N do you really have to do this? Can’t we have one day without an argument?” Spencer huffed, running a tired hand through his hair. I roll my eyes in anger and I plant my feet against the hardwood. 

“You started this Spencer, not me. I just want to know what the hell you meant by what you said.” I retort, trying to reel back my anger. This argument wasn’t going anywhere. We hadn’t been communicating. It didn’t take a profiler to see that. And it seemed all that miscommunication was coming back to bite us in the ass. 

“You want to know what I meant? I’m tired of you throwing yourself into danger like that. Morgan does it, yes, but that does not mean that you should follow in his footsteps, Y/N.” Spencer says in a half accusatory tone and half calm. How the hell does he stay so calm when we argue? Even when I know he’s angry? 

“Oh, so Morgan does it better than me or something? If it’s so bad, Spencer, then go scold Morgan too why don’t you? Maybe you’ll actually get somewhere with him.” I jab at Spencer, instantly regretting my comment. 

Spencer is grunting with anger as he tries to formulate a response. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Y/N! All these arguments? They never end well for either of us! If you hadn’t been so reckless maybe we wouldn’t have to be having this argument!” Spencer finally quips back at me. I widen my eyes and I furrow my eyebrows after a few moments. I open my mouth to respond before Spencer leaves the room, shutting the door a bit harshly as he does. 

I scowl and scoff as I unwillingly roll back over into bed. I was so done with this constant arguing. What had happened to that spark we used to have? That perfect routine where everything just fit? 

After a few minutes of sulking in my own anger I sigh. This was ridiculous wasn’t it? Sure. But I wasn’t ready to apologize yet. At least Spencer has another day or so before he’s gotta get back to the BAU. I can apologize to him before bed tonight. Can’t go to bed angry. 

I couldn’t help but remember a poem that Spencer had read to me previously. It was on the tip of my tongue. I remember he had a collection of them that he liked to leave for me whenever he got home before me. Or if I left before him and I was expected to come home early. Especially when he had to work and I didn’t. It was just something we enjoyed. Well… used to anyway. 

The poem was Love’s Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelly, I think. Yeah. That was it. I can only remember part of it though. 

The fountains mingle with the river

   And the rivers with the ocean,

The winds of heaven mix for ever

   With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

   All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

   Why not I with thine?

What happened between us? What did we do to get this far away from our paradise that we had made together? 

I sighed as I recalled the poem, shifting through my nightstand and finding the small notebook paper that he had left for me on my pillow months prior. Was this relationship even salvageable? Would we ever get back to this point of love between us? Or would this rift grow ever larger, and keep us apart? 

I let out a tired exhale and began to slowly get up from my prison. I hissed as my ankles began to wobble from the sudden weight. I gripped the nightstand for dear-life before I found my balance, and I started to wander into the apartment I’d been kept from for the past week and a half. 

I wobble my wounded and swollen feet into the living room, gripping onto everything that I could to get there safely and without a fall. Knowing Spencer’s state of mind it would probably feed into another argument. But though all odds were against me, I made it to the couch. I plopped down and picked up a forgotten book that laid next to me. La Divina Commedia. Why am I not surprised Spencer’s been reading that? 

Before I could pick the book up and even attempt to read it in it’s natural text, I hear the plop of a ready back by the front door. I sigh. Of course there’s a case. A case while I’m down for the count. My fault, I guess. 

I sigh and put the book down. “So you’re leaving?” I question, trying to sound at least remotely sincere. 

Spencer doesn’t even acknowledge that I’d even spoken, too busy with his bag. At least he had the manners to respond. “Yes, I am. Three women were abducted in Oklahoma. It will probably take a few days.” He says, his usual tone of sorrow for having to leave absent from his voice. Almost like he was thankful for this break from me. 

I bite my lip nervously and fight the urge to sigh yet again. “Well… Tell the team I said good luck.” I say as audibly as I can without giving away the hurt pounding in my chest. 

Spencer at least nods before he grabs his now full bag and exits the apartment. Not even looking at me once. 

Kidnapping case, huh? 

~~~ 

Spencer’s POV 

Spencer can’t help but notice the seething anger he was emitting as he walked into the bullpen to set his stuff down before the case briefing. Morgan and Prentiss both gave him looks as he set his bag down and tried to gather what he would need for the case at hand.  

“Hey kid, something… going on at home? I can feel your anger from over there.” Morgan prompts, pulling Spencer into a half head lock with his arm. Spencer sighed and pulled away from Morgan’s attempt at communicating. 

“It’s fine, Morgan. Really. Did you know that couples find themselves fighting about household issues about seven times each month? A survey of 2,000 Americans, commissioned by a furniture company, found couples wind up averaging about 72 spats each year over home improvement particulars.” Spencer starts to ramble, unable to hold back his concern for the topic. At least his attitude and overall tone wasn’t deteriorating from where it had been before he left. 

Morgan nodded, suddenly understanding where the conversation was leading. “Ah, so you and Y/N having some trouble in paradise? She getting cabin fever yet?” Morgan teased, poking Spencer in the shoulder. 

“I don’t believe there’s ever really paradise in a relationship. A study proposed by the company Eharmony suggested that although 64% of couples are happy in their relationships, that other 36% isn’t. But that number continuously changes. And relationships end everyday over small things.” Spencer rambled again, his hands being shoved into his pockets as Morgan began leading him into their meeting room. 

Morgan shook his head. “Man you got it bad. Just try to make it up for her when you get home, alright? You don’t wanna go to bed angry, you know what I’m saying?” Morgan suggests. Spencer sighed and went silent as they pushed through the glass doors and took their seats at the round table to let JJ announce their newest case. 

"We've got three missing women in Oklahoma city, all from low socioeconomic classes. Danielle Jones, Katie Hurtz, and Cassidy Weirton  were all last seen by their boyfriends at a party they all attended yesterday. Their cars were found dumped into the nearby river with signs of chains digging into the paint. Almost as if they were pulled into the river." JJ explains, turning to face the team. 

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "Don't they all look a little like Y/N? You know, h/c, e/c, s/c?" She brings up, slightly catching Spencer’s attention. Spencer looks up and looks at the photos currently on the screen. Emily was right. They did all look like her. 

Morgan nods in agreement. "Yeah, they kinda do. I'm kinda glad you ran over her ankle, Hotch. She might've had to deal with Mr. overprotective here if you didn't." He teased, gesturing his thumb to Spencer. 

Spencer raises an eyebrow and looks at Morgan in a bit of shock. "I don't follow." He asks. Prentiss shook her head and gave Spencer a knowing look. 

"Come on, Spencer. We all heard it from Y/N herself when Garcia called her. You're giving her cabin fever by keeping her in one room all day long." Emily points out, teasing him a bit along with Morgan.  

"Why is this important? She needs approximately 3 weeks of bedrest as determined by her doctor. I'm just trying to make sure she heals right." Spencer expressed in annoyance. Although Prentiss was definitely right. Y/N had been showing him signs of just wanting to move from the bed to the couch so that she wasn't bored from her surroundings. But she still shouldn't be moved all that much. Especially since she didn't have any sort of cast or boot to help with the healing. Only a brace. 

"She isn't coming with us on this case, so there isn't any reason I need to worry, is there?" Spencer reasoned, growing tired of the teasing. 

Morgan raised his hands up from where they had been resting on the table. "I guess not. But kid, seriously. Take it from a man who knows: don't fight her on this." Morgan encourages. 

Maybe he was right, Spencer thought. 

~~~ 

Three days had passed since Spencer had gone on the new case. I was absolutely and completely, lonely. And it was almost suffocating. 

Thankfully Spencer had left me an apartment full of food, so I needn't worry about having to cook or, god forbid, have to go grocery shopping in my condition.

But I was tired of the four bare walls of the main area of my and Spencer’s apartment. I could only bear them for so much longer before I completely combusted from boredom and fourth stage cabin fever. So… I went out to go get a few books. What? We had crutches from the hospital. And taxis exist. So I was fine.

Besides, I knew Spencer hadn't read books from this author yet. And I was partially hoping that he would take them as mostly an apology gift and the rest just a gift. I wanted to try and get back into the swing of our relationship. Try and just maybe get back into a somewhat normal routine. Even if I was incapacitated. 

I clobbered around the bookstore, my more injured foot swinging as I used the lesser to get around. There were so many books I just didn't know which ones to get for Spencer and just how many I wanted to get for myself. 

One I picked up reminded me of a case that had come across my desk. The case was actually in Quantico. An unsub was kidnapping women around the ages of 20 to 35 and the bodies were found dumped into the river, raped and mutilated. But there were only two victims at the moment, and the period between them was months, so it hadn't seemed like one to worry about. I heard the unsub left a letter to each of the families of the victims. Almost taunting them. Weird how you can make connections like that in real life compared to your second one. 

But eventually I hobbled again over ro the counter and heaved about 5 books up into the clerk's view. The clerk looked me up and down and smirked. 

"Rough day?" He asked, beginning to scan the books into the system. I groaned and chuckled slightly. 

"More like rough life." I reply, heaving myself back onto the harsh arm rests of the crutches. The man nods in understanding.  

"Very true. But hey, I'm sure you'll get off of those soon and get back to your normal routine." He says, telling me my cost. 

I fumble through my wallet and pull out my credit card. I hand it to the clerk. The clerk then takes it and swipes it for me. 

"Do you want to sign up for our rewards program? You get a book free with every purchase." The clerk prompted. I raised an eyebrow at the sudden offer. I'd never gotten this offer when I'd gone here before. Was it new? 

"Not today, sorry." I begin, taking my credit card back from the clerk and beginning to put it back into my wallet. 

"It's something new we're trying. Get more customers interested in reading and stuff. And… I kinda promised my boss I'd get at least one my next shift. I'd really appreciate it." The clerk prompts again. I sigh. Would it really be that bad? Spencer might appreciate it. Getting more books for only a quarter of the price? He'd like that. Hell, I'd enjoy that. Why not? 

I shrug and I nod. "Alright, alright. You need my number and stuff?" I ask. The clerk nods. 

"Uh huh. Just name, number and address." The clerk says, beginning to type into the computer at the counter. 

"Y/N L/N, 555-555-5555, (insert random Quantico apartment address here)." I list, piling the books up and putting them into a bag the clerk handed me. 

As the clerk finished up I smiled at him. "Have a good day sir." I say as I begin my hobble back towards the door. 

"You too." 

~~~ 

I wobble on the crutches as I clop back to Spencer and I's shared apartment. I sigh as I begin to fumble with my keys. My phone drops out of my pocket as I do. 

I grumble and lean over to grab it. I turn it on out of curiosity. No new messages. Nothing. Not a single 'How are you?' text. Kinda pissed me off a bit. 

But instead I sigh and just type a quick, and small text. 

Y/N - Hey, can we talk when you get home? I wanna make it up to you. Please.  

I sigh and shove it back into my pocket. I'll deal with it later, I think. 

I finally unlock my door and shove it open. When I do though, I find a letter shoved under the door. Couldn't they have put it in the mailbox? 

I pick it up and shut the door behind me. I hobbled over to the dining room table and put the bag of books down, along with the crutches as I began to investigate the letter. 

I don't even get the chance to fully open the letter before I'm grabbed from behind and a cloth is shoved into my mouth. Chloroform. 

I try instantly to cough and spit the rag out, but by the time I do, I've already begun to breathe the gas in, and my vision began to grow cloudy and spotty. 

The only thing I hear as the lights begin to fade and my capture begins to drag me away is "Good… go to sleep now." 

~~~ 

Spencer sighed as he sat on the plane in mid thought. They thankfully were able to capture the unsub and bring him to justice before he could kill any of the girls. But something had struck him as they had finished up the case. Y/N had texted him, wanting to talk. He'd tried to reach her that night by calling her cell, but it went straight to voicemail. He didn't think much of it. She was probably sleeping. As she should be. 

But still. She was right. They both needed to resolve this. Nothing was going to improve if they didn't try. 

"Hey kid, whatcha thinking?" Morgan asks, taking a seat next to Spencer as the plane got ready to land. 

"I think I'm going to talk with her tonight. See if we can come to an understanding. A compromise maybe." He sighed, fumbling with his fingers. 

Derek grinned. "Alright, Spencer, my man!" He exclaims, lightly hitting his shoulder. "Good. I'm proud of you, kid." He says, prompting Spencer to smile. 

"Thank you Morgan. I just think we'll find a better normal is all." He agrees, unable to focus on the current case report he'd just written. 

Prentiss wanders over and takes a seat next to Spencer as well. "I'm glad you've decided to tame the beast, Spencer." She teases. 

Rossi's ears perk up at the conversation. "Are we talking about Y/N here? Cause she's untameable." He expresses, pulling a smile onto Spencer’s face. 

She really was untameable, Spencer thought. Maybe that was a good thing. 

~~~ 

Spencer stretched his arms as he walked to his apartment. After the long and hard case they had, he just wanted to hold you and pull you close. Those girls looking so similar to you had messed with his head. 

Spencer exited the elevator, ready bag in hand as he turned to head down the hallway with his and Y/N's shared apartment. When he finally stopped, he noticed the door was ajar. Weird. Y/N always had a quirk about insisting he close the door behind him whenever he entered or exited a room. So why would she leave the door open? 

Spencer cautiously entered the room and saw the lights all completely turned off. Maybe she was in bed, he thought. 

He flicked on the lights and noticed a bag of books on the table, and a half opened envelope laying there as well next to forgotten crutches. Spencer rolled his eyes as he noticed the books were newly bought, guess Y/N couldn't stay in bed while he was gone. 

That's when he noticed the letter again. He opened it up and began to read the complete horror that met his eyes. 

Hello. 

I'm glad we share an interest in books. I've always liked reading. Did you know that? I've also loved (h/c) haired girls. All my life. When your (e/c) eyes met mine, I knew you had to be mine. So, please don't fight this. All I want is for us to be together. Forever. 

I promise I’m not like him. Your boyfriend. I won't leave you alone on weekends with fractured feet. 

Just obey me, and you'll be happy. I promise. 

Love, Z.H.E  

Spencer felt tears building up in his eyes. This man, this--this Z.H.E had taken Y/N. Taken his girlfriend at her weakest. And he wasn't here to protect her. 

Spencer thrust the letter onto the table and dropped to his knees. You were gone. Out of his reach. And there was no telling how long you'd been gone. How long you've been in this unsub's hands. So there was no way to know if you had any chance. 

Spencer clutched at his shirt and tie as he began to quicken his breathing and his heart began to pound faster. He had to do something. Anything. 

Then he felt his phone vibrate. That was it. He had proof. This wasn't Y/N's handwriting. They had a case. They just had to get permission. 

Spencer shook his head. Fuck the permission. He was going to find Y/N and put the bastard who took her in prison. They didn't have much time, but he was going to find her. Dead or alive. 

Spencer pulled his phone out and immediately began dialing Morgan’s number, tears still streaming down his cheek. 

He was going to find you. He had to. 

After a few rings, Morgan finally answered the phone. "Reid? Kid it's like 11 o'clock at night. What's wro-" Morgan groans. 

Spencer immediately cut him off. "Morgan, Y/N's not here. Some-someone took her. Th-they left a-a note and u-uh… they signed it Z...Z.H.E." Spencer rambled and stuttered, his voice almost inaudible from his tears and his voice growing faster with his nerves. 

Morgan’s response was to be expected. "Wait, what? You serious kid? Hold on, I'll call Hotch. Bring anything Y/N might've had with her the day she got taken with you back to the BAU. We'll meet you there." Derek ushered, the sound of a TV being shut off in the background. 

Spencer tried to calm his breathing, but it only got faster and harder to control. "O-okay… got it." Was his only response as he hung up the phone and pulled out a pair of gloves from his pocket and began searching the apartment for any sort of sealing bag he could put the letter in for evidence. If the bastard wasn't wearing gloves, they needed to be able to find fingerprints. Not just his own. 

Once he found something, he slid the envelope and the letter into the bag and sealed it shut. Once he had it, he grabbed the bag and the bag of books and began to carry them out the door. 

~~~ 

I groaned as I lifted my head up from where it had hung for I didn't know how long. My neck ached from the change in position, and I heard a few painful pops as I moved it. I felt my head pounding. Seems like that head wound is finally giving me trouble. 

I tugged at my arms, feeling rope dig back into my skin in retaliation. I gritted my teeth and began to try and use my fingers to attempt any sort of chance this asshole decided to leave the knot in close range of my hands. But alas, he didn't.  

My legs were tied to the chair as well, almost tighter than my arms were. I sighed. It had been 4 days since this asshole had taken me. And it wasn't pretty. I had a large gash on my cheek, and bruises that scattered my torso and thighs. This guy wasn't subtle in his obsession with me. He needed to see me multiple times a day. And if I didn't do what he asked, he whipped me. And the guy got off from it. 

I sighed, at least he decided to move me from the dangling chain prison he'd had me in the first three days. The first one he just needed to see all of me. I was just unlucky enough to wake up prematurely. 

I'm glad I wasn't awake for most of it. It still hurts. Every time I close my eyes I try and focus on Spencer. His hazel eyes looking down at me with love in them, telling me it'll be okay. 

But when I open my eyes again, I'm back in my own personal hell. 

I sigh and look around, hoping the blood that was pooling above my eye didn't drip down into my eye where I couldn't see. I'd already viewed this whole room dozens of times. But it was something to do while this asshole lived upstairs with his wife and their young daughter. And they do nothing about it. 

My eyes find the only window in this hell of a basement and I see that the light is brighter than usual. Must be noon. I can't tell. That can only mean he's going to be here soon. Gonna take another piece of me that I'll never get back. 

"S-spencer…" I whimper quietly, squeezing my eyes shut as a tear builds up in my eye. If I hadn't gone out like he told me this wouldn't have happened. I'd still be in our apartment and I would've been there to welcome him home. Not here. Not with death looming over my head. 

"Oh, poor baby. You seriously want him? When you have me? You've got all you could ever want and you never accept me. Why?" The most disgusting and smoke-induced sounding voice echoed into the basement. 

I turn my head and glare at my capture, my right eye squinting as the blood from my forehead began to drip over it. I don't answer him, afraid he'll just beat me again for my answer. He'll beat me anyway. 

He growled and pulled my face towards his, holding it harshly as he spat into my face. "Answer me, bitch! That's all you are!" He yelled, pushing the chair against a beam. I cough as my head collides with the wood. 

I shake as my head slowly lifts to look at him again. "I… I don't want you… I w-want to g-go home…" I stutter. He wants an answer. But I don't want to play into his game. I feel disgusting. 

He then launches a punch to my gut, causing me to cough up a spat of blood and begin to groan from my bruises. Add another bruise to the pile. 

"WHY?! I am a better man! THE better man! You are mine! Accept it!" He spat, tossing the chair aside along with me. "It's like you don't even like me!" The man growled. 

I groaned and began to shrink as much as I could into the chair. Why? Why me? He had a wife and a kid upstairs. A perfect normal life. Why couldn't he just settle? 

The man shook his head and growled. "No. No we're gonna show this 'boyfriend' of yours just how good I am to you." He insists before he fishes through the clothes that he had torn off of me and pulled out my phone. I could only hope that Garcia could track its location fast enough. 

~~~ 

Spencer gripped his hair tightly as everyone was scrambling to try and find some way, some connection to bring them close enough to be able to find Y/N. But they had nothing.  

So far, they hadn't found any fingerprints on the letter that Spencer or Y/N hadn't left themselves. And the bag was obviously only carried by Y/N. So they were stuck until they could get another piece of information.  

Morgan sighed as he watched Spencer go over the letter for what he knew was about the twelve hundredth time that night. He really didn't deserve this. 

Morgan took a seat and tried to get Spencer’s attention by lightly grabbing his wrist. Spencer jumped from the sudden contact, sighing slightly. 

"Nothing… After 5 hours of searching we have found nothing. All we have is a reminder of how terrible I was to her." Spencer sighed, his esteem having grown drastically low in the time that he had spent reading the letter over and over again. 

Morgan sighed. "Kid, you were not terrible to her. Come on. She loves you, man. Seriously, I can see love. And she's got it for you." Morgan insists, nudging Spencer’s shoulder. Reid sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. 

"Still, the last thing I did with her was argue over her being reckless. That might be the last thing she ever hears from me." Spencer expressed, clutching harshly at his chest. 

Derek sighed again and nudged Spencer once more. "Come on, kid. We'll find her. That won't be the last thing you say. The last words you ever say to her will be on your shared deathbed kid." Morgan teased. "Come on, the girl got you five books when she was supposed to be resting. If anything that tells me she loves you more than the pain she feels." Morgan chuckles, gesturing towards the bag of books on the evidence table. 

Reid shrugs and looks down for a moment before it hits him. He stands up suddenly and starts shifting through the plastic bag for the receipt.  

"Woah, kid. Did I say something to set you off or-?" Morgan asks suddenly, confused by Spencer’s sudden movement. 

"The books! She-she would've taken the b-books out if she had been home l-long enough to put them away-" he rambled, searching and flipping through each of the books, desperately trying to find the receipt and to find some sort of indication as to when she was taken. 

"Right, but Reid I don't-" Morgan starts again. 

Spencer shook his head. "Just-!" He exclaims almost exasperatedly. Then he finds it. Deeply nestled into a copy of Edgar Allen Poe's greatest poems, was a receipt for four days ago at a bookstore a few miles away from their apartment.  

"Found it." He whispers, smiling happily. Maybe he had a chance of finding Y/N after all. 

Morgan widened his eyes. "Does it got a date on it, Reid?" He asked, getting up from his chair in a quick haste to know if they had a new clue. 

Reid nodded, a few tears building in his eyes. "Four days ago. She's been with the unsub for...for four days…" Spencer sputtered, forcefully putting the small receipt down so he didn't crumple it more.

Morgan gave Spencer a sympathetic look and opened his mouth to speak. 

"You're gonna wanna see this, Reid." Garcia came onto the screen, pulling Spencer’s attention to it.

"Hold on baby girl," Derek says before he rushes to the glass door that connected the council room to the rest of the bullpen. He opened the door and called in Hotch, JJ, and Rossi. Prentiss came in as she was coming down the hall.  

"What is it Garcia?" Hotch asked as he came in, settling into the room and looking at the screen she currently showed her face on. 

"Okay, but this is kind of… gore-y. You might not want to see this Reid-" she began, trying to warn Spencer of the video's contents. 

Spencer shook his head. "Show the video." He insists. Garcia sighed, but clicked play. 

On the screen showed a much less clothed Y/N and a hooded figure in the room. A single light bulb was hanging from the ceiling. 

"Since princess here can't accept me, let me just show you what I've done to your precious girl." A distorted voice echoed through the video speakers. 

Spencer’s eyes were wide as he was forced to watch the screen for more information on where his (nickname) was. 

The hooded figure then pulled out a knife and advanced towards Y/N. Y/N herself bit back a quiver and a whimper. Spencer knew it by her bitten lip. 

The figure then used the knife to cut a long gash along Y/N's left arm, before grabbing the right and cutting his initials into the soft skin that was there. 

"You're mine, now. What boyfriend would want you now with another man's claim on you?" The figure growled at Y/N. 

Y/N took in a shaky breath and looked into the camera. "I-I can take it. I-i p-promise. S-spencer,"  mouthing one word before the figure slapped her across the face for doing so. 

"You bitch‐!" The figure growled. Spencer shut his eyes tightly and looked away from the screen. He could barely make out what she mouthed. Basement. 

Hotch looked to Reid, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Did you catch it? The word she gave?" He asked calmly, understanding Reid's need to look away from what this man was doing to the love of his life. 

Spencer shook in terror for a few speechless moments before he was finally able to lift his head back up.  

"She… s-she said basement, Hotch. She's in a basement." He announces, keeping his eyes away from the screen. 

"Meaning this guy could have a complete other life. And that nobody knows what he's doing downstairs." Morgan infers, Prentiss nodding towards him in agreement. 

JJ speaks up next. "Sorry to burst the bubble here, but I think I found the case this unsub is connected to." She says, dropping a very thin case file onto the table. 

"Two women, between the ages of 20 to 35 were taken from their homes in the mid afternoon. Yet no one saw or heard. At each of the scenes, a letter is found that is similar to the one we found at your apartment, Spence." JJ informs, sighing. "Each of the women were found two weeks after their capture dumped into the river and stripped of their belongings. With sighs of rape and mutilation." JJ says sorrowfully. Spencer’s fist tightens at his side, his eyes squeezing shut again. 

He could've been there for you if he hadn't taken that case in the heat of his anger. He would've kept you from going out and attracting the attention of this unsub. But he was more focused on his anger. 

"Reid, do you have anything new?" Hotch asks, jotting down a few notes to be able to refer to later. Spencer sighed and nodded. 

"Y-yeah. I found the receipt from the bookstore she went to. Four days ago. It's called Zander's Stories." He says, looking up to face Hotch for a moment. 

"Good. We'll head there and talk with the owner, see if we can find any employees with our profile. And if they have cameras we'll check to see who checked Y/N out." Hotch informed. The rest of the team nodded and began to get back to work. 

Spencer stood up and stopped Hotch for a moment. "H-hotch, what is the profile? If you don't mind my asking." He asked shakily, his hand grasped at his sleeves nervously. He had been so focused on the letter and understanding the handwriting that he only had a portion.  

Hotch sighed. "Reid. We're looking for a man most likely in his thirties or forties. Has a history of being flirtatious, almost creepily so with customers. Most likely has a wife, maybe a child as well. But never wears his wedding ring. Almost wanting to lure women closer to him. He probably talks mostly of himself and his own accomplishments than those of his coworkers. Takes every conversation as a chance to turn it about himself." He answered, giving Spencer a sympathetic look. They all wanted to find her. But they had to be careful. 

Spencer nodded as he took the profile in, taking a mental note to think of any people he might know. Anyone who might've been watching them before now. But he found nothing. 

"The handwriting seems to be gleeful almost in tone. A-almost as if he'd finally gotten what he wanted. Like a child sending a thank you letter to Santa for the presents they got for christmas." Spencer expressed, picking up the letter to point out the darkened graphite marks on the letter page. 

"Interesting. He might've been watching her before. Have you and her been out before this? Perhaps gone to this bookstore before Christmas?" Hotch asked, gathering together the papers he had written on. 

Spencer searched his mind for a moment, trying to reach as far back as his photographic memory would go to help him remember if he'd ever encountered a man that matched the profile. 

"For Christmas she did get me a-a new poem book. A-and a book on philosophy. She might've visited the store then." Spencer informed, his hands gripping tightly and his knuckles turning white. 

"That's it. He watches them for months in advance. He seems very organized. He kidnapped her without much fight. Even with her being injured she would've been able to fight him off if he simply grabbed her. He planned this." Hotch then grabbed his things and rushed out the door to join the others. 

Spencer felt his body still as he tried to figure out what he could do. What he could say to help find another clue as to where you were. All he could think of was to try and come up with a geographical location from the different victims and the profile. 

He just hoped they wouldn't be too late. 

~~~ 

Again I opened my eyes exhaustedly. It seemed I'd been here ages. I didn't know the times between when I'd wake and when I'd pass out. But those times between when I'd wake and after I'd fallen asleep were the best. I got to see Spencer. In all his gentle and warm light. 

"S-spencer… I'm scared…" I whispered, not hearing any echos of breath in the tiny basement this man was keeping me in other than my own. 

I almost imagine him replying; Why? I'm here.  

I choke back a tired sob. "I-i'm afraid… a-afraid I'll never s-see you again…" I whisper in a reply so hoarse and tiresome. 

Again I can imagine his response, almost hear it. Don't give up. I'll see you soon, sweetheart. 

I swallow a choked sob and close my eyes once more. My hope was almost gone. I'd been here so long. I knew it was at least 4 days. Maybe 5 at the most. I don't know how much I can handle his beatings. Or his possession. 

I sniffle and clear my throat as I hear footsteps above me. He's coming again. 

The door to the basement slams open and I jump from the sudden noise. His feet pound against the wooden stairs as he rushed down the stairs. I squeezed my eyes shut as he came into the light, unable to face him. 

"You didn't tell me you were fuckin' FBI!" The man yelled, slapping me for good measure. I bite my lip and hold onto my whimper. I swallow harshly, not replying to his obvious question. 

The man snarls, raising his hand to slap me once again before he stops himself. I almost let myself think that maybe by some miracle he'd grown some sort of conscience. That maybe he'd show me a little mercy. But of course, I was wrong. 

The man pulls out his knife and cuts my bindings, pulling me off of the chair abruptly. He grips my wrists so tightly I was sure he'd break them if he squeezed any tighter. 

He stayed silent as he dragged me across the floor, digging his nails into my wrists. He hoisted my body up like a ragdoll and enclosed my damaged and rope-burned wrists into chains, allowing me to hang there limp and tired. 

"See this, this is what happens when you lie to me, bitch!" He yelled, picking up a long piece of wood he kept in the basement and thrusting it against my stomach. I sputter and cry out before I could even attempt to silence myself. I could feel my insides aching and throbbing. And the nailheads sticking out of the wood bruised my skin, almost breaking it from the force. 

The man pulled the wood back and thrust it against my legs, making me whimper from the pain. The nails dug into my calves and my thighs, drawing blood from the wound. I was losing my resolve to fight and to push through the pain. 

The man then brought it back to my torso, and thrusted it against me. I felt my ribs cracking and popping. Pain throbbed from my chest, and it grew stronger with each thrust I endured. 

Again and again he beat me, the wood and nails digging into my skin and bruising it well. Moments later I found my eyes slowly falling closed as each thrust collided with my body. 

Before my eyes could close completely I felt the wood thrust against my back, causing tremendous pain to my spine. If I had the ability I would have crumbled to the ground. 

"You're gonna pay for this. You were supposed to be mine. You are not his. Mine, and mine alone!" The man growled, pointing a finger at me. I look away, only for him to force my face towards him. 

"I think it's time you went to sleep, sweetheart~" he purred just as he thrusted the butt of his knife against my head, sending me back to my dreamscape.

~~~ 

Spencer found his phone once he heard it begin to ring. He'd been eyeing it since he'd finished the geographical map. He could only hope and pray that whoever called him would have some sort of good news. She had been missing for four days. Five now. And they weren't any closer to finding her. 

JJ had gone on TV for a press conference. Try and bring the unsub out since most like to inject themselves into the investigation. Spencer had been against it. He'd seen time and time again what happened to the agents that unsubs found out what they were. Prentiss had gotten a beating for it while Reid had to stand back. 

But this was the best course of action, according to Hotch. And Spencer had no choice but to agree with him for now. 

When his phone began to ring, Spencer jumped in his seat and immediately answered, having seen it was Hotch. 

"H-hotch, tell me you've got something." Spencer begs, not even trying to hide his worry anymore. 

"Zander Harrison Edison. He's the owner of the bookstore. The employees all agreed to him fitting the profile. He has a wife and a daughter. And has been reported to flirt with a majority of the female customers." Hotch reads off. "I got Garcia working on an address now. But we need you down here. Just for when we have one." Hotch informs, his speech a little quicker than normal. He was probably hurrying out of the book store to get to the SUV. 

Spencer let out an audible sigh of relief and his hand finally loosened it's tight and tense grip. "Yes, o-of course Hotch. I got a geographical pinpoint I can send her before I head out." Spencer offered as he began to gather his things in a haste to get to Y/N as quickly as possible. 

"Reid, calm down. She's going to be alright. And sure. That'll help her get the address narrowed down for us. Just hurry, we don't have much time to lose." Hotch agreed with Spencer, the sound of a car beginning to start sounding in the background. 

Spencer took a shallow breath and nodded. "R-right...r-right I just gotta… j-just gotta calm d-down…" he says with uncertainty. He hangs up the phone and immediately begins to head towards Garcia's office with the geographical pinpoint he had narrowed. 

Spencer's feet couldn't carry him any faster than they did as he hurried towards the technical analyst's cave. Spencer hastily knocked and pounded on the wooden door much harder than he intended to, bringing an impatient Garcia from her office. 

"In case you haven't heard, we're a little busy right now with a kidnapped-" Garcia began to scold before he noticed Spencer’s hurried and worried expression. "Oh, Reid. Sorry you don't...don't usually knock that hard. I'm finding the address as we speak-" she starts. 

"I-i've got the geographical location, Garcia. It-" he sighed, messing with his tie nervously. "It'll help." He says, as his eyes wandered around anxiously. 

Garcia nods and gestures for Spencer to go ahead. "Alright then, lay it on me my love." She prompts, turning her chair around and swerving into her desk. 

Spencer nodded hesitantly and then began to detail the geographical pinpoint. "Try around the downtown Quantico area. Specifically the more suburban areas. This guy has a basement he's keeping her in." He lists off, pulling back his fingers from his fists as if counting each detail. 

Garcia smiles slightly as she types. "Perfect, just imput the owner and/or the renter of the home and-" Garcia trails for a moment. "There, (Random Quantico suburban address here). Go get your Princess, Reid." Garcia insists, handing him a sticky note with the address. 

Spencer took the note with no hesitation and spun on his heels towards the exit of the building. "Will do." He replies as his paces grow wider and he finds himself run-walking down the stairs instead of the elevator. 

He was going to find you. You were going to be okay. 

~~~ 

I was unlucky enough to wake up only an hour later. Thankfully, he was gone. And I was alone. I hung from the ceiling like a pig in a slaughterhouse. It certainly felt that way too. 

My ankles were thankfully not chained. The cold metal digging into my wrists was enough. 

I squeezed my eyes shut again, and tried to imagine Spencer once more. Maybe fall asleep again. Seeing him again seemed like a lost cause now. Maybe he'll find someone who doesn't jump into situations without thinking like Morgan. Maybe she'll bring him more happiness than I ever did. And maybe she'll get along with everybody better than I did. Maybe he'll want to marry her too- 

Before I knew it tears were cascading down my cheeks. No. No, I couldn't give up yet. We've found people who've been missing for weeks. Though of course that's a rarity. But it still happens. 

I'm still alive. As long as that's true, there's hope for me yet. 

I heaved as air desperately tried to enter my lungs from this position. Everytime I tried to pull up enough to breathe, the harsh and rusted metal cuffs dug farther into my skin.  

I hissed as the cuffs felt sharper around my wrists. I recalled the pictures of the other two victims. They too had deep abrasions on their wrists. Guess they got this treatment too. 

I gripped the chains loosely, trying to give my wrists a break from the harsh edge of the cuffs. I dreaded his return. Knowing it was just going to be more torture. He'd gotten his taste of me. Now he just wanted to see me bleed. 

Suddenly, I heard footsteps above me. I swallowed nervously, bracing myself for whatever he had planned for me next. But that's when I heard the thud of a door being kicked in. My heart skipped a beat as I heard it, hoping for the love of God it was who I thought it was. 

Then the footsteps got quicker and they pounded against the floor above me. I heard a hurried turning of the knob to the door of the basement, before another thud was heard and a plethora of curses followed it. 

My chest got painfully tighter with the hopefulness that I was saved. That maybe… maybe he'd come for me. But the pain was worth it. 

The knob was turned hastily and the door opened. I still couldn't help but lose my breath for a moment. This could all be a misunderstanding. He could be coming down here to kill me. 

But then I saw the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes turn the corner and break at the sight of me hanging from the ceiling. 

"She's down here! I need a medic!" Spencer called back up the stairs. He then raced to my side, trying desperately to undo the cuffs. 

"Y/N… Y-Y/N s-sweetheart…" he whispered, looking at me heartbroken. I swallowed hard and gestured towards the desk in the corner of the tiny basement. 

"O-over th-there. T-the keys…" I whisper hoarsely. My voice must've died on me from all the screaming. Spencer nodded and quickly spun around and grabbed the keys from the cluttered desk of weapons the man used on me. 

Spencer swallowed harshly as he took in the tools that lay against the wood of the desk. Many of them still had blood on them, previously used. It ached deep in his heart. He turned his head away from them and focused on her. On the only one who mattered right now. 

Spencer brought the keys back towards me and quickly unlocked the cuffs. I fall into his arms and he wraps them around me tenderly. "Y/N...t-thank God…" he whispered. His large hand raised up and cradled my head. "I-i'm sorry… s-so..so sorry…" he whispered into my ear, crying as he held me.  

I, although exhausted, found a smile pulling at my lips. "F-for what? F-finding me?" I teased, trying and failing to put my feet on the ground. 

Spencer slightly chuckled and pulled me up farther into his arms. "N-no… not that…" he sighed, pulling me as close as his arms and my body would allow. "Don't put your feet down. Your ankles are still fractured sweetheart." He slightly teases back. I let out a small, tired laugh. 

"S-spence…" I whisper. "P-please… did-" I begin to ask hesitantly. He nods. "He's been taken care of, Y/N. He's in our custody now. I promise." He says, gently caressing my cheek. 

I lean into his touch and sigh in relief. Soon after, Morgan comes down into the basement and almost scares the shit out of me. 

"Thank God…" Morgan sighed in relief upon seeing me. He then turned to Spencer. "Reid, help me carry her up to the paramedics." He insisted. Spencer nodded and began to hoist one of my arms over Morgan’s shoulder to help carry me. "I got you, baby girl. You're safe now." He assured me. I nodded weakly as my eyelids began to fall from exhaustion. 

They carried me up the stairs and helped to lay me onto the stretcher that was brought into the house. The paramedics then brought me out to the ambulance. Spencer was by my side the entire time. 

The paramedics hoisted me into the ambulance and began to work on me and my injuries. It was by around now that I began to really fall asleep. Finally able to sleep without the fear of waking up to a beating. 

One of the paramedics looked to Spencer as he watched Y/N as they began to prepare to head to the ER. "You coming?" He asked. "We don't have long for her." 

Reid looked to Hotch, hoping to be given leave enough to be with Y/N in the ambulance. Hotch nodded. "Go on, Reid. We'll take care of it from here." He assures. 

Spencer smiled at Hotch without another word. He turned around again and entered the ambulance, sitting beside Y/N as the engine started up and they began to drive away. 

Spencer leaned farther and closer towards Y/N, feelings of both relief and sorrow washing over him. He had her back. She was safe. She wasn't dead. She was very much alive. 

~~~ 

Hours later Spencer sat in the waiting room for an update on Y/N. He had been separated from her immediately once they arrived, having no news of her afterwards. Anxiety was all he knew as he dreaded what the doctors were going to say about her injuries. Just how much pain Zavier had caused her. What he did to her. 

JJ, Prentiss, and Morgan all flowed into the waiting room, smiling as they found Spencer bent over with his face deep in his hands. 

"Hey Reid. So… any updates?" Morgan asks, trying to give his friend some space. Spencer rubbed his face tiredly and shook his head. 

"Nothing. Not since we got here." He says with a hard sigh. Emily frowned and caressed his shoulder. 

"She'll be alright. We'll get the evidence we need and she'll only have some scars. I'm sure." Emily assures, giving Spencer a gentle look. 

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose but nodded. They were probably right. "Probably…" he says softly, looking around once more in hopes that the doctor would come through the door. 

Each opening of the door into the actual ER got Spencer worked up. He kept thinking it was the doctor or a nurse calling him back to see her. To see Y/N. But alas, it was not. Time and time again, each and every turn of the knob wasn't for him. 

JJ sighed. "I should've taken this case more seriously when it came across my desk, Reid. Especially when the girls looked like Y/N…" she apologizes, looking down at her feet in shame. 

Spencer looked up and shook his head. "There was nothing you could've done that would have kept him away from her, JJ. Or prevented him seeing her. He'd already had his eye on her and-" Spencer took a deep breath. "My point being that it isn't your fault. Alright?" He promises, looking up at JJ from where he sat. 

JJ sighed and crossed her arms, holding her sides uncomfortably. "I still don't like this. He literally kept her down there and his wife did nothing. This is reminding me of Janice and Cameron Hooker all over again." She groaned, looking towards the hospital entrance as Hotch and Rossi entered. 

"How is she?" Hotch asks, standing next to JJ and next to where Morgan sat. 

Morgan answered for Spencer in a matter of seconds. "No news yet. They still got her back in intensive care. They'll let us know when she's stable, I guess." He shrugged. 

Spencer sighed again and ran another hand through his hair. Hotch noticed this and spoke up. 

"How are you handling this, Reid? I can give you a few days off with her after she's out to get settled. If that'll be alright." Hotch suggested. Spencer felt unease begin to grow in his belly. He almost spoke up on it until Hotch finished his portion of the conversation. "Afterwards I plan to arrange for her to work at her desk and help Garcia. To put both of your minds at ease." Hotch assured. "We cannot have either of you constantly worrying about the other's well-being while on the job for the next few weeks." 

Spencer’s uneasiness immediately faded and was replaced with a feeling of relief once more. He let a small smile find its way onto his face and nodded to Hotch's suggestion. 

"Y-yeah… I think I'd like that." He says softly. 

Not a moment later the door opens and a nurse begins calling for Reid. "Is there a Dr. Spencer Reid here?" The nurse calls. 

Spencer rose to his feet in an instant, biting his lip anxiously. "T-that's me." He answered.

The nurse nodded. "Alright, well we just finished her surgery. She's got a few cracked ribs and one fractured one. She also has some minor damage to her spine. But other than that, just a medium concussion. She's asking for you, by the way." The nurse announces, smiling gently. 

Spencer again couldn't help the smile that teased at his lips when he heard Y/N was asking for him. He followed the nurse back into the ER and towards the recovery room. His heart slightly pounded as he wandered closer and closer to Y/N. 

Then, he saw her. 

Laying in a hospital bed angled slightly up to support her spine, laid Y/N. She looked up at Spencer with tired eyes, smiling at him instantly. 

"Spence…" she called. Spencer was glad to answer to it. He found himself placed at her side immediately, pulling her gently close so as to not damage what the doctors had fixed. 

"Y/N… sweetheart…" he called in a soft whisper, kissing the nape of her neck gently. She hummed softly and held her arms limply around his neck. 

"Spencer… I-I'm sorry… f-for the a-arguing. I j-just-" she began, pulling slightly away from him, although she could not find anything else she feared more. 

Spencer shook his head and pulled her into a full kiss, cupping her bandaged and bruised cheeks. His thumbs gently wiped away her incoming tears and caressed her cheek lovingly. She pressed her lips against his moreso, relief flooding her senses. 

She let herself collapse into his embrace and his kiss, ignoring the pain that came with moving too far forward. Spencer laid her back against the bed to prevent any more injury before he continued to kiss her gently. He'd wanted this for a week. And now he had it.  

After a long moment, Y/N reluctantly pulled away from the long-overdo kiss. She let Spencer’s touch remain on her cheek as he continued to hold her. "Sweetheart, none of that matters to me anymore. You're alive. You're breathing. That's all I need right now." He says sweetly, kissing her forehead as tenderly and as gently as he could. 

Y/N let out a soft giggle and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Dr. Reid." She teased. Spencer chuckled softly in return. 

"I love you too, Y/N." 

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #kidnapping

[artificialqueens]

You’re A Kite, Dancing In A Hurricane

Hi guys. This is my first fic so any feedback would be much appreciated. This is also just the first chapter.

AU of Hurricane Bianca. Where Roy is a struggling science teacher who moves to a small town in Texas and Danny is a troubled student who performs at a local gay bar at the weekends. Its virtually inevitable that their relationship will be anything other than ordinary. Danny is 18 in this fic.

Roy stared at the contents of the back of his car, otherwise known as all his worldly possessions, as he got ready to leave and start a new chapter of his life in Texas. A few suitcases, a goldfish, and some nicknacks he’d picked up along the way was all Roy had to show for 37 years on this earth. Not that he cared much. He just hoped that in this next adventure hew would find something more meaningful. And hopefully more permanent. Roy had moved around a lot throughout his adult life, between being a substitute teacher for various schools, moving in and out of shitty apartments and having different groups of friends he had never stayed anywhere long enough to call it home. The closest he had to this was his two best friends D.J and Willam, who were waiting anxiously by his car. But he was getting to old for his life to focus around parties and drinking, hence him taking up the teaching job in a Milford, Texas. He hugged his two best friend and set off on the road. Next stop- new beginning.

—

As soon as Roy arrived the new town he realised how foolish he had been. It was shit. His house was tiny, and next door to the most bigoted prick he had ever met. The town looked as though it had been left abandoned for years. Hopefully the school would surprise him, he thought as he approached the front steps. He eventually found his way to the Vice Principals office where a student with a black eye was in the process of being scolded.

“It’s time for you to leave kid, you’ve been cluttering up my office for half the day.” The small woman behind the desk, who Roy presumed to be the Vice Principal, shooed the boy away.

“The nurse said that I need to sta-“ The boy protested. Roy looked the boy up and down. He was tall with beautiful black collar length hair and one hell of an “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. If it weren’t for the black nail polish and distressed tee, Roy would’ve presumed the kid to be quite the chick magnet. Although he was guessing that he has his mind set elsewhere.

“I don’t care what the nurse said you’ve gotta go.” The kid was holding an ice pack to his bruised and swollen cheek. He clearly wasn’t fit to go back to class, and any sane teacher would be in the process of hunting down whoever did this to such a sweet angel. Wow. Calm down Roy.

“I hope you don’t mind me interjecting”, Roy took the gap in the conversation as an opportunity to begin speaking. “But I really don’t think this kid should be going anywhere”. The boy smiled bashfully and looked at his feet.

“Actually, Sir, I do mind.” Said the woman behind the desk. “This particular kid has been a problem for the school for some time, and I’d like him to leave my office now.” The boys face snapped up and into a frown.

“Problem? Fuck that, I just mind my own damn business and keep to myself but somehow still managed to get beat up left right and centre. I never ask for it. You can fuck all the way off if you think I’m the problem here.”

Yes! Kids got some balls! Roy was trying to suppress a smile at not only the kids outburst but his language. He also felt kinda sad that the kid clearly needed help and vowed to do whatever he could to help him out of whatever mess he was in.

“Okay, that’s it. Detention after school for one hour every night this week, starting tonight.” The kids eyes started to well up with tears and Roy just wanted to hug him. He watched as the kid picked up his raggedy, punk rock looking satchel off the floor and stomped away, muttering an array of colourful language under his breath. What a lovely introduction to the school.

“So what can I do for you, as you can see I’m a very busy woman so keep it quick.” The woman behind the desk looked at him and began tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. Rude.

“Hi. You must be Debbie Ward! Im Roy Haylock the new science teacher.” Roy tried to suppress his anger towards the woman and held out his hand for her to shake. She ignored the offer and immediately began speaking.

“Well then Mr Hoyle, here’s your lesson plan,” She said, thrusting him a copy of ‘Creationism’ which looked as though it was from the 1950’s. “Your class is in room 115.”

“Thank you!” Roy plastered on the fakest, biggest smile he could muster and turned to leave.”

“Oh and one more thing. Since you seemed to care so much, you can be on detention duty with the problem child.” She added, looking pleased with herself. Brilliant, an extra hour of work every day. Nice going Roy. At least this would be his chance to figure out a way to help this kid.

—

Roy waited anxiously for his new class to sit down as he stood in front of the beautifully written “Mr Haylock” on the chalkboard. Two girls in cheer costumes were the first to actually acknowledge his presence. One of the girls handed him a box of chocolate and sat back down. Roy began to think this school might not be as bad as he had first thought. Until he went to take a bite and noticed the girls giggling. He knew girls like this from his own time being relentlessly bullied in high school. He decided, much to the girls disappointment that he would leave the chocolates for later.

“Good morning class. As some of you have very kindly noticed” he said, giving side eye to the two cheerleaders on the front row,”I am new here. Now, I moved here from New York City, so some of the shit you may have gotten away with with your previous teachers ain’t gonna fly with me.” The students giggled at his abrupt and sweary manner and Roy smiled to let them know he was at least in part joking. “Okay so before we start I’ll be giving you a quick rundown of what we’ll be doing for the rest of the year-“ Roy was interrupted by the sound of the door. As he turned round ready to berate the offender, he stopped when he realised it was the kid he’d seen in the office this morning.

“Sorry I’m late.” The kid shuffled to his seat at the back of the room.

Roy was torn between wanting to show the class he didn’t take any bullshit but also not wanting to go to hard on the kid after the shit he’d been through already today. “Luckily for you, I hadn’t started anything important. Don’t let it happen again.” Roy ended with a light smile.

“Whatever.” The boy drawled, turning to stare out of the window. He barely moved from that position for the rest of class. Roy was nervous about what tonight’s detention would bring.

—

Roy sat in his classroom at the end of the day anticipating the arrival of the boy, whose name he had not yet learned. He decided to make that a top priority. The boy eventually arrived, 15 minutes late and reeking of weed. “Do plan on arriving late for everything?” Roy asked as he walked to his usual seat at the back of the room.

“Ya probably.” The kid shrugged and took out a notebook. Hey, at least he was honest. The boy began writing in his notebook and Roy sat awkwardly neatening everything on his already impeccable desk. After a few minutes of awkward silence Roy attempted to start a conversation.

“So kid what’s your name?”

“Danny.” He said, not looking up from his book. After a couple of minutes the kid spoke up again. “What’s yours?”

“Roy.” This time, Danny looked up from his book, looking confused. “Shit you meant my teacher name didn’t you?”

“Um. Yeah.” Danny smirked.

“Mr Haylock.” Roys face blushed red with embarrassment. He would have to get used to this teaching adult aged kids thing. Danny continued writing in his book, after a few minutes he looked up again.

“Can I call you Roy?” Danny asked with a grin.

“No way.” Roy laughed at the cheek of him. He was starting to like this kid.

“Pretty please.” Danny batted his long eyelashes and gave Roy the biggest puppy dog eyes he could manage. Roy laughed.

“Do you want more detentions kid?” Roy laughed some more.

“Only if they’re with you.” Roy spluttered slightly. Hold on was this kid flirting with him now? Roy went bright red with embarrassment for the second time in the past five minutes.

“Sure thing kid.” Roy hesitantly replied, whilst Danny laughed some more. Did that count as flirting? Had Roy just flirted with a student? The laughter eventually settled into comfortable silence and Danny continued to scribble away in his notebook.

“I’m not a kid you know”. Roy rolled his eyes and smiled. “No I’m serious, I’m 18 I got held back a year when my dad died.” Danny said nonchalantly, in a way that broke Roy’s heart.

“I’m sorry to hear that Danny.” Roy said in a more serious tone. The fact that the student he’d been flirting with was actually a legal adult was brushed to the back of Roy’s mind as he remembered that the kid was most likely desperately in need of some help.  He decided to try and approach the subject as gently as he could.

“So what’s this book you’re writing in. Seems to me like you’ve written more in it than you wrote in my class all day.” Roy began whilst walking to the desk in front of Danny and turning round the chair to face him.

“Nothing.” Danny said quickly and snapped the book shut. Roy felt bad for the kid. Clearly this was some sort of diary and he was worried that he’d crossed a line by bringing it up. Roy tried a different approach.

“So how’d you wind up here today?”

“Mouthing off to Debbie. You were there.” Danny smirked at the memory.

“I mean before that.” Roy smiled softly.

“You mean how did I get myself beat up? Oh just by being super cool, having loads of friends and being queer.” Danny laughed. Roy didn’t. “Two of those were a lie by the way.” Danny laughed again.

“You know you can talk to people-“

“Hold on let me tell you how this next part of the conversations going to go. You’re going to tell me that her are people here to help me and I’m going to tell you that that’s a big crock of shit and you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Danny said in a more serious tone. Roy looked stumped.

“Maybe there’s something I can do.” Roy tried again.

“Look I know you’re new here but you need to learn that nobody here actually cares about helping m- anyone but themselves. Okay. This town is shit. Nothing will change. Get over it.” Danny said raising his voice slightly. Roy took a moment to process Danny’s outburst.

“I’m sorry that that’s how you feel, but I genuinely do want to help you. And I’m not going to sit here and watch while any student of mine is getting treated like this.” Roy spoke softly and attempted to look Danny in the eye. The younger boy was looking out of the window, looking as though he was on the brink of tears. The two sat in silence for a minute longer. Roy glanced at his watch and noticed that they had another 25 minutes of detention left.

“Do you want to leave early, Danny?”

“Yes please.” Danny whispered, his voice breaking slightly at the end. Danny picked up his notebook and his bag and walked quickly out of the room. Roy remained looking at the space where Danny had been just moments ago, thinking about the events of the past half an hour.

—

When Roy got home he called his best friends from New York to talk to them about his confusing first day. The pair squealed with excitement when he answered call connected.

“Ahhhhhhhh girl we missed you. This bitch has been driving me crazy.” D.J laughed and nudged Willam. “So tell us everything. What’s your house like? What’s the town like? Have you got grindr yet? Have you met anyone yet?”

“Have you fucked anyone yet?” Willam added. Roy laughed at his two best friends. He missed them so much and was definitely starting to think that he’d made a mistake in coming to this hell hole.

“Which one of those would you like me to answer first?” Roy cackled and waited for his friends stop giggling before speaking again. “Okay. House is shitty. Town is awful. No grindr. No friends. I want to come home. So how are you guys then?”

“Wait you didn’t answer the last question. Who you fucking girl?” D.J squealed as Roy went bright red.

“Nobody.” He laughed trying to hide the embarrassment on his face.

“Roy-Lady, you’re gonna tell us eventually girl so you might as well just spill.” Willam insisted.

“I met him at work” Roy admitted.  The boys on the other end of the phone squealed.

“Ooooo a teacher. Is he hot? Is he good in bed?” His friends took turns at over excitedly asking him questions.

“He’s not a teacher. And I haven’t slept with him. I’m not into him, at least I don’t think I am. I can’t be anyways! He’s just… interesting.” Roy fumbled over his words. He’d only known Danny for a day and he was already managing to get inside his head. Roy was in trouble.

“Girl, interesting is just your smart ass way of saying you want to fuck him. So what does he teach?” DJ asked. “Biology” He suggested, and wiggled his eyebrows.

“I told you he’s not a teacher.” Roy mumbled the rest of the sentence under his breath.

“Speak up bitch.” His friends shouted down the phone.

“He’s a student.” Roy admitted.

“Nuh-huh honey that’s wrong. You can’t be messing with them kiddies up in that backwards little down you done found yourself in.” D.J scolded him and Roy went bright red once more.

“He’s not a child! He’s about to turn 19! And nothing has even happened. God am I an awful person.” Roy rambled.

“Oh girl if he’s 19 that shits fair game. You shoulda said baby.” Willam reassured him.

“I didn’t get a chance to before you guys jumped on my ass. Nothing’s going to happen anyways, I’m still his teacher regardless of how old he is.” Roy said in a serious tone.

“Girl it sounds like you need to get yourself a drink and loosen up.” Willam said, feeling bad for his friend. After saying their goodbyes and Roy promising he would stop being so melodramatic, Roy hung up and decided he would actually go out and get that drink he apparently so desperately needed. After arriving at what appeared to be the only bar in town Roy learnt that they did not serve any alcohol he drove disappointedly home and sulked for the rest of the evening.

__

Ashamedly, Roy spent all of Tuesday waiting for his detention with Danny to come around. He taught his lessons and insulted his students half-heartedly, all while wondering what tonight’s detention would bring. When detention finally did roll around Roy sat behind his desk and began to grade some assignments, as he expected Danny would be fifteen minutes late. As though on cue, Danny arrived late and reeking of weed once more.  Danny took his usual seat at the back of the room and started tossing a ball back and forth in his hands.

“Sorry I was a dick yesterday,” Danny drawled. Roy laughed and gave a fake disapproving look at Danny’s language.

“Really Danny, with the language again?” Roy laughed and started walking towards his seat across from Danny’s desk. Danny laughed and Roy thought it just might have been the sweetest sound he had ever heard.  Roy noticed the small plastic ball that Danny was tossing between his hands and decided to try and start a light conversation.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Roy asked.

“It’s s stress ball. You know like for stress and stuff.” Danny answered and tossed Roy the ball. Roy turned the red foam ball over in his hand and noticed small marks in the shape of fingernails, presumedly from repeated and forceful pressure. Roy was saddened at the thought of Danny being so upset and angry at the world that he could cause this damage. He wished there was something he could do.

“So you wanna talk about anything?” Roy asked and tossed the ball back to Danny.

“Where are you from?” Danny asked and tossed the ball back again.

“I meant anything serious” Roy laughed and smiled at Danny.

“Nope.” Danny laughed, holding out his hand for the ball. Roy tossed it to him and he continued. “So come on Mi Amo we don’t have all day. Where are you from?” Danny grinned as Roy blushed.

“New Orleans, originally. I moved to New York after Hurricane Katrina and have lived there ever since. Well until I moved here.” Roy explained as Danny tossed the ball back to him.

“New York. Party.” Danny beamed. “What’s it like-” Danny started, before Roy cut him off.

“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question. Have you lived in Milford all your life?” Roy asked, punctuated by throwing the ball back to Danny.

“No I’m from Azusa. I’ll stab a bitch.” Danny answered, followed by a delicate giggle which indicated it was very likely that he could not stab a bitch. “We moved here after my dad died cause my mum met some new guy.” Danny said, looking slightly sad. “Do you have any siblings?” Danny asked, throwing the ball back to Roy and continuing the game of questions/ catch that they had begun.

“I do. I’m one of five. What do you want to do when you graduate?”

“Get the fuck out of here.” Danny laughed and Roy smirked at his answer.  “What’s your favourite food?”

“My favourite what? Is this some kind of slumber party now?” Roy teased Danny about his childlike question choice.

“It can be.” Danny said flirtily. Roy didn’t know how to respond so he just continued as though it hadn’t happened, whilst trying to suppress a blush.

“I don’t have a favourite food. What’s yours?” Danny laughed at Roy’s discomfort.

“Pizza.” Danny grinned. Roy couldn’t think of any more questions so the pair settled into a comfortable silence tossing the ball back and forth. After a couple of minutes he decided to check in on Danny’s injuries from yesterday.

“How’s your head?” Roy asked cautiously.

“Haven’t had any complaints.” Danny laughed at his own joke and Roy cursed himself for setting it up for him.

“I mean your injury.” Roy stammered, trying to move past Danny’s blatant flirting.

“It’s fine.” Danny answered, brushing the question off. After that the pair settled into the steady questioning for the rest of the detention. It was twenty minutes after Danny was due to leave before they realised the time. Slightly embarrassed that he had let himself become so distracted, Roy quickly said his goodbyes to Danny and they went their separate ways.

#biadore #romance/angst #hurt/comfort #tw swearing #bianca del rio #adore delano #rpdr fanfiction #yakdiah #student/teacher #high school au #queen au #hurricane bianca au #m/m au #kite

[lubbuthedigitalnomad]

THE PROCESS

Howdy from Kathmandu! I hope you are happy and healthy. Is life going well where you are? If you have time and inclination, please answer.

Schools here are open again. The children and teachers all wear masks. Restrictions have loosened a bit to allow just a few more tourists into Nepal. This minimal increase in traffic is not enough to fix all the serious economic problems, but it is a bit of an improvement for many of the local businesses.

This week’s 1000 words are from the book Fearless Puppy On American Road. They are ostensibly about the process of hitchhiking. I have hitchhiked so much that it has become my metaphor for life. I hope you enjoy the metaphor.

A human mind works best when trained to be coherent, clear-sighted, and capable of self-organization while also being creatively free range. It is a very serious advantage to have a cohesive partnership going on between intelligent thought, creative process, and productive action. Otherwise, your thoughts and life can end up like so many positively inspired political and environmental efforts do — nobly motivated, fueled with great dedication, and a joy to be involved with — but not altogether coherently coordinated enough to reach the great level of success that such noble motivations deserve. It seems that great intentions and strong effort can’t get the job done themselves. A successful process has to be mastered and implemented.

Please be well and stay well. Love, Tenzin

p.s. If you find the reading at all enjoyable, please — it literally takes only seconds — click one or more or all of the highlighted backlinks following this paragraph. This simple process is completely without risk, cost, or difficulty. All it does is bring you to the site that is highlighted. Each click is a big help in pushing Fearless Puppy up in the Google rankings. Whether you browse the sites or close the windows immediately, your help has been delivered. Thank you!

FEARLESS PUPPY WEBSITE BLOG

FEARLESS PUPPY ON AMERICAN ROAD/AMAZON PAGE

REINCARNATION THROUGH COMMON SENSE/AMAZON PAGE

FEARLESS WEBSITE

THE PROCESS

There is a process to hitchhiking. Much of what holds true for the hitchhiking process often holds true for other parts of life as well.

First, you’ve got to decide that you want to get somewhere other than where you are. Then you have to raise the energy and determination to actually leave your present location. All trips start with a determination that’s serious enough to get you off your butt and moving. You might have a very specific destination in mind or it could just be a direction. Regardless of the destination, you will probably have to overcome some stagnation, lethargy, patterned behavior, and also risk some stability, in order to get anywhere.

“Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.” Frank Zappa

After that, you have to pack what you’ll need. It’s always best to reach a balance in packing. Obvious essentials such as flashlight, towel, toothbrush, toothpaste, emergency food and water need to be included. But you may have to walk miles in rough weather from a place you get stuck in. The difference between a thirty-pound pack and an eighty-pound pack could end up being the difference between comfort or exhaustion/heat stroke/frostbite and even death. But then again, so could a half-pound sweater that you thought unnecessary and left behind. Pack wisely.

You’ll also want a map. Other folks have been to the places you want to get to and have traveled in the directions you want to go. Maps exist for nearly every piece of road in the world. They all use universal symbols. No matter where you are from or what language you speak, everyone knows that a bigger dot means a bigger city and that a thicker line connotes a major highway. You can journey uninformed in unfamiliar territory, if you like. You can even make your own trail or road through wilderness. Folks used to do it all the time in the olden days. Folks used to suffer much greater hardships and die younger back then too. Luckily, many of those people made maps of the roads they built or discovered. Reading those maps can save us modern folk a lot of time, energy, and disaster. A map can help you to live longer and more comfortably than people did in the olden days.

It is best to start a long hitchhiking trip from the on-ramp of a highway. Don’t stand right out on the highway itself. There are good reasons why this is illegal. It is not only dangerous for the hitchhiker, but also for the highway traffic. The chance of getting crushed into eternity by a seventy mile per hour vehicle paying strict attention to its own process is a lot greater on the highway itself than on the entrance ramp. Any driver entering a ramp at twenty-five miles per hour is going to be immediately aware that you are on the shoulder looking for a ride. That driver will have a greater ability to pull over without killing you, his or her own passengers, or the folks in other vehicles than a seventy mile per hour highway car would.

Get to the highway or main road as quickly and easily as possible. Standing on a barely traveled road in a rural area where the drivers are unfamiliar with you might last long enough for you to become vulture food. Hitching on a main city street is usually unproductive and can be dangerous as well. The highway or main road is probably close enough to where you wake up so that you can get a ride from a friend, take a local bus, or even walk to it.

Once you are wisely packed and on an entrance ramp to a main road, you’re going to need patience. You can be properly packed and intelligently discriminating about which cars you get into. That’s brilliant. But it does not change the fact that on some days you will get passed by hundreds of cars and have to wait several hours before anyone stops to pick you up. And it doesn’t change the fact that a driver who initially seems like fun may turn into a downer, or danger, after a half hour’s acquaintance.

Most of the time good luck will favor you. It will most often be a good person that will bother to pull their car over to help a stranger. You still have to be vigilant, discriminating, and patient — full time. That way you’re prepared for anything.

Prepared does not mean paranoid or even afraid. It means aware. Have fun! Traveling should be a joyful process. If you think every car pulling over for you will have an axe-murderer driving it, you should take the bus. (Unfortunately, your odds of meeting that axe-murderer won’t drop much on the bus.)

If you live through many years of hitchhiking, you will eventually get what is called “a feel for the road.” You’ll have better instincts for the best times to be on which roads, what sort of equipment to carry, whose car to not get into, and so on. Rides will seem to come more easily. This is still no time to let your humbly positive attitude or awareness fall asleep.

Whether you are novice or adept at all this, neither human driver nor divine force owes you a ride — nor are either under your control. Be pleasant and grateful to the person that finally does stop for you. It is not your benevolent host’s fault if you have been standing in freezing rain for two hours.

At its best, hitchhiking is a joint venture where you and your hosts benefit each other. In such instances, taking the ride can be a joy. If you’re not grateful, if you are arrogant, or if you are not aware of each situation you get into — any ride can certainly be otherwise.

I hope it is obvious to you that these procedures can apply to any number of life’s processes besides hitchhiking.

Pick a place you want to get to.

Prepare wisely and diligently.

Read a map.

Hit the road comfortably, but with your eyes open.

Have fun. If you aren’t having fun, you may be doing something wrong. Stop. Figure out what it is. Fix it. Get back on the road.

p.s. No matter how far you have gone down the wrong road, turn back.

About the Author

Doug “Ten” Rose may be the biggest smartass as well as one of the most entertaining survivors of the hitchhiking adventurers that used to cover America’s highways. He is the author of the books Fearless Puppy on American Road and Reincarnation Through Common Sense, has survived heroin addiction and death, and is a graduate of over a hundred thousand miles of travel without ever driving a car, owning a phone, or having a bank account.

Ten Rose and his work are a vibrant part of the present and future as well as an essential remnant of a vanishing breed.

Follow him on Facebook, Doug Ten Rose

Travel Adventure Books can be an excellent gift to your friends and family, buy from Amazon.com

Many thanks to our wonderful friends at the Pema Boutique Hotel for their help and support.

The books Fearless Puppy On American Road and Reincarnation Through Common Sense by this same author are also available through Amazon or the Fearless Puppy website, where there are sample chapters from those books. Entertaining TV/radio interviews with and newspaper articles about the author are also available there. There is no charge for anything but the complete books! All author profits from book sales will be donated to help sponsor an increase in the number of wisdom professionals on Earth, beginning with but certainly not limited to Buddhist monks and nuns.

If you missed the Introduction to the new book that will be titled Temple Dog Soldier, or would like to see several chapters of it that are available for free online, go to the Puppy website Blog section. This is a book in progress. You will be reading it as it is being created! Just like you, I don’t know what the next chapter is going to be about until it is written. As the Intro will tell you, this is a totally true story — and probably the only book ever written by and about a corpse journeying completely around the world!

#adventure books #travel adventure books #travel adventure book #fearless puppy on american road #reading #Travel Books #Reincarnation Through Common Sense #amazon kindle #amazon.com #buy books online #buddhism books #buddhism #buddhism book

[jaketapper]

Dartmouth Commencement 2017

President Hanlon, Board of Trustees, distinguished faculty, fellow honorees; Magnificent alumni including and especially my dad, Class of 1961; My wife, Jennifer ... and with her in mind ... Members of the admissions committee for the Dartmouth Classes of 2029 and 2032, who are right now for the first time hearing the names Alice Tapper, age 9, and Jack Tapper, age 7; Friends of mine from the Class of 1991—Hillman, Scully, Haber, Kessler, Miller, Groq, Barts, Edison—most of whom I met 30 years ago this fall in the Choates, which I’m still not convinced is not a psychological experiment by Dartmouth Housing. They are here today, because if you want it to happen, friendships formed here can last for the rest of your lives; Rejoicing families; And most importantly, you—glorious, brilliant, ambitious, determined members of the Dartmouth College Class of 2017. A proud member of the class of 1925 once wrote: “The more that you read The more things you will know The more that you learn The more places you’ll go.” This is from a book that probably all of you have received as a gift this week. And it’s true that the more that you read and the more that you learn, the more places you may very well go. But while I revere Dr. Seuss, by necessity he left a few things out. He didn’t tell you that there are a lot of unread and uninquisitive – but well-connected – heathen going very far and doing very well. In the real world, not only is the Lorax still battling the Once-ler—he also has to deal with the Once-ler's Super PAC. And his nasty, nasty tweets. Dr. Seuss often depicted the world as he wished it, with endings that were just and lessons that were learned. But that is not the world you are about to enter. The world outside of Hanover can be cold. Not “walking from the River Cluster to Dartmouth Hall in February to make a 7:45 a.m. language drill” cold, but cold. It has been said, “He who stays the longest learns the most.” Actually, that wasn’t actually said by anyone; it was once carved on the wall in the basement bathroom of Alpha Chi. But it is true! Though no doubt some of you after all are way smarter than I am – many of you, probably – especially you with the glasses in the third row—I have picked up a few things along the way. “He who stays the longest learns the most.” Wise words from someone who probably had his pants down. I wonder if whoever took that little knife and carved that into the Alpha Chi basement bathroom wall ever imagined that one day it would be invoked in a commencement address? Whatever the case, it has truth. It speaks to the wisdom one accrues merely by continuing to exist and paying a modicum of attention. So, what tangible advice do I have to share, having departed from this campus 26 years ago? First, let me offer the quick and easy stuff. OK? Always write thank-you notes. Be a big tipper. Always split Aces and Eights. Floss. Call your folks. Invest in a good mattress. Shine your shoes. Don’t tweet, post, Instagram, or email anything you wouldn’t feel comfortable seeing on the front page of The New York Times. Be nice to seniors. Be nice to children. Remember birthdays. Never miss an opportunity to charge an electronic device. Use two-step verification. Shake it off. Shake it off. Stretch before exercising. Stretch after exercising. Exercise. Never play keno. Never drink airplane coffee. Never pay $200 for a pair of jeans. Never wear jean shorts; and No one has ever had fun on a paddleboat. You can get that from YouTube later. Those are the easy ones. But there are a few harder-fought lessons into which I would like to delve a bit further. The first one is about you, right now. For you, my dearest Class of 2017. Even if you have jobs or grad school lined up, you are no doubt stressing a bit about the question: What are you going to do with the rest of your life? And my first serious bit of advice to you is: Do not worry if you do not know what you want to do with the rest of your life; it is OK if you take years to figure it out. Wall Street, Silicon Valley, law school—they ain’t going anywhere. I did not become a full-time journalist until I was almost 29. It took me a little time to figure out where my particular qualities of annoying persistence, uncomfortable observations, and curiously rooted self-regard might best be suited. Now, our society worships the prodigies. The Mozarts. To paraphrase Tom Lehrer, it is a sobering thought to consider that when Mozart was my age he had been dead for twelve years. But to measure success by how old you are when you achieve it is silly. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer wasn’t published until Mark Twain was 41. Do not stress if you have no idea what you want to do with the rest of your life. View these years, where your responsibilities are relatively few, as a journey, as an adventure. Adventures are not seamless trips from point A to point B; they have ups and downs and obstacles. And every crappy internship, every rude boss, every remedial chore that makes you wonder, “Why did I bother working so hard to get into Dartmouth and graduate from Dartmouth?”—it is all part of this voyage. Every step of my trip to this stage today taught me something and guided me to here. The fall after graduation, I went to film school. I could not have been more unhappy. Flash forward a few years, more misery in Washington, DC, as the worst public relations flunky in the history of relating to the public. These were periods of ennui, angst, sturm undt drang, and many other words only the Europeans could have come up with. I felt like a complete and utter failure. All part of the adventure. Do not take these moments that you will someday soon experience as failings or even as wrong turns. Public relations and my ineptitude in it steered me away from the world of spin, but it also showed me how PR executives spin, which gave me insight into how to cut through it. And, more importantly, it was while supporting myself as a PR flunky that I began writing freelance newspaper stories. And that led me to my first full-time job as a reporter at Washington City Paper, a tiny free weekly newspaper, with an editor who was like a one-man journalism school, who saw in me a young man who did not take mistakes and errors seriously enough and browbeat that attitude out of me. If I had not worked under that man at that free weekly newspaper, I would not be on this stage right now. At the risk of sounding like Oprah, embrace this adventure. Throw yourself into it. Now. How to get started? You know how your parents used say when you were younger that the world doesn’t revolve around you? You’re about to find out what they meant. Because, believe it or not, until now, crudely speaking, the academic worlds in which you’ve been safely ensconced have been all about you—your teachers and your coaches, professors and advisers, from UGAs to President Hanlon—they have been focused on not only your education but your experience and your personal growth. You are about to leave a warm and nutritious womb. Freshman trips, freshman groups, sophomore summer, tea at Sanborn, the Phys Ed requirement, all the rest... this incredible support system, these teams of people whose job it has been to turn you into an adult with skills and smarts and tools – caring about your mixers, about your happiness, about your comfort, about your birth control needs, about whether or not you drink responsibly, whether you’re doing okay, making sure you go to the dentist. I'm sorry to say, that ends tomorrow. You now have to do that for yourselves, and for each other. Now, my little baby birds, you are expected to fly. Coach. Last row, middle seat. There will be no UGA down the hall in your first apartment, and if there is one, that's not really a UGA; that's just a creepy dude trying to get on your Wi-Fi. Now I’m not saying you should be scared about what tomorrow might bring. The real world's a cool place. There are plenty of nice and kind people. There's live music, fresh juices, hotels that don’t charge for the minibar. But the real world, unlike what you've experienced here, is a place of transaction. What does that mean? Practically speaking, it means you can no longer rely on people in positions of power to do things for you because they care about you. The people you’re going to meet whom you need to help you get a job, or an apartment, or a loan, or advice—the people to whom later you will point to and say, “Hey, she gave me my first break!”—those people are looking for something in return. What is that something? It can be tricky to figure out. It might be your loyalty, your respectability, that you have a diploma from Dartmouth, your brains, your cleverness, or your politeness. Different people are going to want you for different reasons, but your first boss and every boss you ever will have will want something very simple: your hard work and your good attitude. Now, the transactional nature of the world might sound harsh but it isn’t necessarily. Put it this way: A screenwriter sells her idea to a studio. The studio wants to make her movie. They start conducting screen tests. In this parable you're, say, Vin Diesel. You audition. You have to. No one is going to give you that job out of the kindness of their hearts. They need to have confidence that you will be Fast and Furious. So they can sell $380 million worth of movie tickets. But here is the exquisite bit of good news, for those of you paying attention: Now you know this; now you know that it all comes down to you figuring out what you can offer them. It's a lesson it took me several years to learn—maybe even more than that, maybe a decade or two—but once I did it was invaluable. I joined ABC News in 2003. In the 2004 presidential race, I was not assigned a candidate to cover. I can still list the reporters who were, by the way. I remember every one of them. I got nothing. So I did the only thing I could do. Complain? No. I worked so hard in those intervening years to establish myself as a good and tireless political reporter, so hard they HAD to assign me a candidate in 2008, for their own good. It worked, and in 2008 I was finally assigned a candidate. My goal then became to be the White House correspondent. And I knew, again, there was only one way I would get that job. I had to be so skilled and tough and industrious and vigilant that, if my bosses at ABC News made anyone else the White House correspondent, they would look like idiots. I had to force them to give it to me out of their own best interests. Now, I've come up with a lot of bad strategies and made a lot of bad decisions in my life. I’ve made enough bad decisions to fill five other commencement addresses. But this was a good one. Have something that they want. And show it to them—over and over, every day. Make them need you. Work twice as hard as the job requires. Make sure they know that you will show up and act like a professional, that you don't feel entitled to anything. Make them hire you for their own good, not yours. Now, a word on the inevitable rejections that may soon shower upon you like a monsoon. Dr. Seuss’s first book, And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, was rejected 27 times before he found a publisher. As a young man, Robert Frost, class of 1896, received a rejection letter from the poetry editor of the Atlantic Monthly with the note: “Our magazine has no room for your vigorous verse.” In other words: Not every expert is expert. Quite a few of them are going to be wrong about you. Some of them will be downright idiots. When my classmate Shonda Rhimes first pitched Grey’s Anatomy to a room full of older men, they told her that nobody was going to watch a show about a woman who has casual sex and threw a guy out the night before her first day of work—that that was completely unrealistic and that nobody wanted to know that woman. Shonda sat in that pitch meeting and thought, “Wow they don’t know anything about what’s going on in the world right now.” Forgetting the critical, financial, and popular success of the show for a moment, Shonda can't even keep track of how many young women have told her that they were inspired to become doctors because of Grey’s Anatomy. Keep going. There might be a lot of rejection. Most of it you should not take personally. People making decisions are often wrong. Even the faculty of Dartmouth can get it wrong! Connie Britton, Class of ‘89, perhaps the best known and most critically acclaimed actress to have ever graduated from Dartmouth College, was not able to convince the Drama Department here to sponsor her to send to the League Auditions. David Benioff, Class of ‘92, acclaimed novelist and screenwriter and co-creator of HBO’s Game of Thrones, he didn't get into English 80—three times. But some of the rejection you should take personally. Some of it will be because of things you could be doing better. Try to figure out what those things are. Because you always can be doing something better. To be honest, this never ends. The best and most successful people are constantly striving to be better. If you think that at 48 I think I’ve got it all figured out, kindly allow me to disabuse you of that notion. And I can provide multiple sources for that scoop. And I can do that because I know it's important to surround yourself with people who love you and respect you enough to tell you the truth. And it is important to listen to them. Many people you will see rise to a level of success on which it becomes difficult to find people to challenge them and their ideas. And whether politicians or generals, news anchors, or CEOs, that inevitably leads to their downfall. Look at what's going on in Washington, DC, right now. Tell me there aren’t people you can think of whose own careers would not be improved if they heeded the suggestions of a tough but loving staff of critics willing to share hard truths. At my job at CNN, I am lucky enough to be surrounded by people who challenge me every day. From the top, to the side, to the bottom of the ladder. They make me better by sanding away my worst impulses. Class of 2017, get people like that around you. No matter how high you rise, do not get rid of them. You're going to have friends who are willing to criticize you, and maybe you don’t want to hear it, and your impulse may be to show them the door; but if you spend the rest of your twenties amidst only the sycophantic and the shallow, you will wake up at 30 with a friendship hangover worse than a month of Jägermeister shots. You know, it’s funny what sticks to your brain. I haven’t looked at the autographs in my high school yearbook since they were written in 1987, but I know that there’s one in there from a girl named Kate. She praised me for my cutting wit, but she also cautioned me to be careful about how I wielded that particular blade. And though I spent much of the next 20 years ignoring that lesson, much to my own detriment, I still remember that advice 30 years later because she was right. Advice can sting. Ted Koppel once pulled me into his office after seeing an embarrassing TV pilot I was part of and told me that it was OK to tell my bosses “No.” Charlie Gibson once told me to stop sending such pointed emails, that I would get a lot farther if I didn’t share every critical thought I had every moment I had it. These were not easy criticisms to hear. But they were right. These were important people investing their time to try to make me better. These kinds of lessons aren’t fun. No one enjoys hearing about how much of a jerk they are. So let me also say while I prepare you for those moments: Absorb the lessons. Adapt accordingly. But do not be too hard on yourself. And listen to yourself, follow the better angel we all have in us steering us toward ways to be our best selves. On October 3, 2009, I was sitting in my wife’s recovery room at a hospital in Washington, DC, holding our newborn son. On TV I saw a news story: That day, an outpost containing just fifty-odd US troops had been attacked by up to 400 insurgents. Combat Outpost Keating was built at the bottom of three steep mountains, the reporter said, in a particularly rough corner of Afghanistan just 14 miles from the Pakistan border. It was an ugly and brutal battle. The deadliest for the US that year. Eight American soldiers were killed. And as I sat in the room that day holding my son, hearing about these eight other sons taken from their parents, from their wives, I wanted to know why. Why would anyone put an outpost in a such a dangerous place? And more importantly, who were these people that were risking so much and sacrificing everything – people to whom I really didn't pay all that much attention, to be honest. Sure, I covered debates over troop levels—ten thousand, forty thousand—but those were statistics; those weren't people. So, against the advice of a lot of people I knew, I decided to write a book about the men who fought and suffered and prevailed and died in that battle, about Combat Outpost Keating. Writing that book was a long slog. Many doubters; many skeptics. And yet I felt compelled to tell the story of these troops and their families, people part of a world unfamiliar to me at the time, the world of the US military, of duty and sacrifice. In some cases, the ultimate sacrifice. Hearing the stories firsthand of these men and women made me realize how little I had accomplished in the service of anyone other than myself. “My God,” I told my wife one afternoon after I had been visiting with two Cavalry officers, Dave and Alex. “My God, these guys are amazing, and I am nothing. I have risked nothing and sacrificed nothing compared with these men.” “But honey,” she said, “you can tell their stories. You can tell their stories.” The book I wrote, The Outpost, remains the professional work I am proudest of. It is not what has resulted in the most Twitter memes, but it is the most meaningful. It was the one least about me; and it may be one professional achievement, maybe, perhaps, that has a chance of outlasting me. That which you end up doing in the service of something greater than you – even if it means that you feel lesser, humbler, even worthless by comparison – by honoring the humanity of others, that will allow you to get in closer touch with your own. And this is the most important thing I can tell you today, Class of 2017. Don’t just work hard at your job; work hard at everything. Work hard at being a friend. Work hard at being a partner, at being a son or a daughter, at being a grandchild, at being a steward in your community, at caring about people who have never had a day like the one you’re having today. At being the best YOU that you can be, Class of 2017, all of you, A to Z, from the best Alexander Abate to the best Jonathan Zuttah. There are going to be moments like this one – a celebration of hard work well done, surrounded by family and friends. And then there are going to be moments when you feel alone and adrift, misunderstood, and hopeless. Maybe right now it looks to you like someone like me effortlessly went from your seat to this stage. Let me assure you, there was effort. There was effort and there was pain and embarrassment and rejection and humiliation. False starts and false turns and mistake after mistake after mistake. But that's OK. That's all part of the adventure, and yours starts now. Members of the Dartmouth College class of 2017 – you are already great. Now it’s up to you to become even greater. Be bold. Be smart. Be brave. Be true. Go forth and rock. God bless you; God bless your families; God bless Dartmouth College of Hanover, New Hampshire; God bless the memory of EBA’s; and God bless the United States of America. Thank you for the honor of a lifetime.