#I think it's only a problem when you believe that it's canon or try to shove your own interpretation of a character or AUs onto everybody

[fall0utmind]

my only thought about Alex was that Marс (probably as always) downplays the scale of his problems after their divorce and Alex can only believe him. Although it's unlikely, he knows Marс like hell, so it's possible they don't live together for some reason. Which adds to Mark's loneliness and his pain, because even Alex can't be around and feels like that, because I don't believe Alex would be cut off from this situation, they love each other too much. As for the "He passes out very publically after a race" , well, that should be a big boom. Perhaps Valentino (as I understand you stick to the canon version until 2018) will be shocked. Yeah! It wasn't all a hoax, and Marc really loved him all the time. Mental crisis and horror, grandpa is almost going crazy (this time for real). And it's probably during this period that Marc feels so bad that only Valentino can help him (the effects of pills and lack of heat can probably be so bad that he ends up in the hospital). Well, shaky attempts at a truce will begin. Alex and his family will probably fight with Vale (metaphorically, although a real fight would be funny, for example, if Vale didn't come out as a winner, because he feels guilty anyway) You didn't mention Luka, but maybe he and Peссo will even try to do something before the big bang happens, but Marс probably won't believe them and won't listen to them. So then they will have a very strong influence on Valentino in his search for redemption, including from the position that you are our alpha and you have failed us.

Hello, what a bunch of fab ideas. Where do I even start!!

Okay, yes, I love the idea with Alex. I think it's also super important that Alex is a beta. It means he doesn't understand the draw to Vale or the need to do xyz. Alex kinda just assumes that he just doesn't understand. And yes, potentially, in this universe, they don't live together. I can imagine marc being very reluctant for help and playing down his issues. So he wouldn't want Alex there all the time, seeing his pain and discomfort. Obviously, that means he's more separated from Alex, which inevitably makes it WORSE. OUCH. So marc hasn't cut Alex out in the same way as everyobe else cause hes still pack, but there's more distance.

Okay I have so many ideas about the passing out post race.

2025 championship, marc is racing pecco for the title. I can't decide whether I want it to be set in Valencia, last race vibes, or if I just want Marc to clean sweep it and wrap up the championship earlier than that?

Either way, marc crosses the line, and his body just gives up. The whole race has been hell. He's overheating, sweating buckets, and there's blood dripping down his chin. He thinks it's from his nose. He's dizzy. He might throw up.

The bike feels wild underneath him, the engine hot. The world is beginning to feel fuzzy around the edges. He tires to act normal, to celebrate, but he's so, so tired.

He tries to pull the bike to a stop to celebrate with the fans. His muscles are weak, and they slide. He just about control it, laughing it off. When marc eventually stops, his legs are shaking, and he goes to stand, but he can't weigh barely. The whole world is spinning now, nausea churning in his gut. He needs to take his helmet off, gasping for air, hands scrabbling for the clips. His hands are shaking too much. Probably for the best, people would freak out about the blood.

Hes on the floor now, how did he end up on the floor. People are shouting, screaming for medical - cheers of celebration turned to horror. Marc thinks it might be a dream. The officials stand over him, he can see their mouths moving but can't discern the words.

Alex's gead comes into view, and marc tries to reach out, but his hands feel like lead. He just wants to sleep. He's safe now. Alex is here, so he lets go.

**

In the garage, people are watching on in horror. Valentino looks like his world has just been turned upside down. Imagine the carnage. Alex pulls up by where Marc collapsed, then pecco.

Alex is shouting, concern on his face. Pecco is similarly tense, freezing when he sees Marc motionless. It's horrifying.

They pull marcs helmet off, and there's blood. Why is there blood. Cue very dramatic vale. He's having a breakdown. He's an idiot. The guilt is incredible. He did this double points because not only is there the human guikt but also, he hurt an omega!!! His omega!!! And he caused all the pain! When he should have been protecting marc.

Anyways, they take him to the hospital like you said, because it's bad. It's really bad. It's defo a case of only vale can help. He needs a pack. Hence, I get an opportunity to write more vr46 x marc bonding scenes. Which is my fave. I might talk about the dynamics there in another post, if people want??

Marcs family are madddd! Remember, marc has been completely rejecting his omega. He goes home for xmas (pre reconcilliation) and refuses to nest. Only sits on the edge of his mother's. Won't scent with anyone, has practically forgotten how to. Can you imagine the pain. The horror. (They don't know about the things Vale said. Just assumes it's marc isolating himself or getting upset - genders dysphoria). So when they find out that Marc had been kicked out of the pack... well, they aren't happy.

Omg yes, luca and pecco. They are incredibly suspicious of what's happening with marc. Especially when pecco and marc become teammates. And Marc never being in the pack room. But marc is avoiding them like no tomorrow, because it hurts!!! So yes I think they're mad at vale too.

I also, as a side note, think the whole grid and vr46 pack would love having a marc pack. And older pack omega? Someone to guide and provide love and calm and balance to the pack??? Absolutely amazing.

Thank you for this ask!!!!

[b00m-b0mb]

Something really funny that's occurred to me is the way Joe talks about Maccie is like she's some catastrophic event that happened to their family "I can't believe she's been here that long." / "Everything's been different since she was born" / "Everything changed." / "She changed everything."

And it's just rlly funny to me. I want to up the dramaticness of his words at some point. And anyway, he's talking to the Samurai/Ronin for the first time and I'm wondering the impression he's getting lmao

Joe is certainly expressive to me, but only when he's given the chance. And I think w Ronin, he just started letting a lot of stuff out bc thus guy is gonna go on his way anyways.. but then he's like wait!!! Actually let me go?? For a little? (Platonic yearning so bad)

Ronin like 》^. "I suppose.. Alright, curious karate man, I'll accompany you a little longer."

Or something I'm messing around UGH

[tasmanianstripes]

Maybe it's the result of my main fandom for the majority of my life being one where canon just genuinely doesn't exist, where there are so many different canons and literally any sort of interpretation of a single character is correct and can range from a moronic maniac with a chainsaw to a depressed old asshole boss, but

Literally who gives a fuck about canon?

Especially when the character is practically a blank slate or if it's an AU

Like, I'm sorry, but if you're butthurt about a mischaracterisation of a fictional character in an Alternative Universe then I don't think you understand what an AU is

[dirt-str1der]

That post is still pretty active so i have to scroll past that guys bloated festering corpse every time i want to see someones new reply

[tenok]

.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

I hate the viper as the black divine btw I hate it I hate it I hate it

And no, it's not because it's a bad idea.

It's because it's an EXCELLENT idea, and the idea that they intended it to be canon (or planned for it to be) is quite frankly an insult to such a complex idea. Especially in the game series that used to explore religion quite seriously and which has decided, in the game about Gods and potentially disproving faith, it no longer actually cares about faith (the MAIN THEME OF THE PREVIOUS GAME).

Like. Firstly narratively the Black Divine being Viper could have had such an impact because you could have built to it. You meet Viper, get to know him... simultaneously you're meeting various imperial chantry officials. Maybe these chantry officials are even aligned with Venatori. They keep alluding to the Black Divine but you never meet him until ACT 3 when it turns out...the black divine was the viper all along.

And one assumes the black divine would turn to a life like the Vipers because they don't think their office is doing any real good. That's!!! Really interesting!!! Someone decked in glory and power realises their own office is a sham that is doing no good not stopping slavery or Venatori and so works to do it from the shadows...that's interesting!!! And has something to say about systematic power structures and how changing a system from the inside can be damn near impossible.

Or maybe he does this because he DOESNT want to risk his seat as the black divine but feels immense guilt about how he's not actually helping the faithful poor in his city. He wants to cling to his power because he believes he can nudge history in the right direction if he does, but simultaneously knows that by not speaking out publiclly on slavery or poverty he's potentially dooming people to death and so needs to sooth his guilt by going vigilanty. Maybe there's an interesting question in there somewhere about living in two worlds and trying to maintain the status quo in one and destroy it in the other.

Also it DIRECTLY parrellels previous characters like Cassandra and Leliana and is a continuation of inquisitions themes surrounding what good can faith ACTUALLY accomplish for people (this even goes back to da2 and Anders)? When does faith break/why? What

Also because it's not explained, it's just kinda stupid. Does Bioware think that high ranking religious officials do nothing all day? They're not billionaires sat in a mansion popping into occasional meetings, they're public figures and political leaders of giant organisations who regularly have to be on show to the masses and to their own advisors. I won't believe that they not only a) have time to be batman AND b) they also have time to just...sit around in some room in the middle of nowhere to be a performative faction leader to the protagonist of a video game they don't know they're in.

Also. Are you telling me. The venatori were going to execute the FANTASY POPE??? And nobody cared??? They were going to publiclly execute the FANTASY POPE and the viper wasn't going to reveal himself and he wasn't going to be recognised and that wasn't going to cause problems? Are you kidding me?

Tblr; the idea that the viper is the black divine is such a good idea it makes me so angry they seemingly couldn't be bothered to actually put the time into it to make it interesting

[foone]

Look if there's one thing, just one thing, that I wish everyone understood about archiving, it's this:

We can always decide later that we don't need something we archived.

Like, if we archive a website that's full of THE WORST STUFF, like it turns out it's borderline illegal bot-made spam art, we can delete it. Gone.

We can also chose not to curate. You can make a list of the 100 Best Fanfic and just quietly not link to or mention the 20,000 RPFs of bigoted youtubers eating each other. No problem!

We can also make things not publicly available. This happens surprisingly often: like, sometimes there'll be a YouTube channel of alt-right bigotry that gets taken down by YouTube, but someone gives a copy to the internet archive, and they don't make it publicly available. Because it might be useful for researchers, and eventually historians, it's kept. But putting it online for everyone to see? That's just be propaganda for their bigotry. So it's hidden, for now. You can ask to see it, but you need a reason.

And we can say all these things, we can chose to delete it later, we can not curate it, we can hide it from public view... But we only have these options BECAUSE we archived it.

If we didn't archive it, we have no options. It is gone. I'm focusing on the negative here, but think about the positive side:

What if it turns out something we thought was junk turns out to be amazing new art?

What if something we thought of as pointless and not worth curating turns out to be influential?

What if something turns out to be of vital historical importance, the key that is used to solve a great mystery, the Rosetta stone for an era?

All of those things are great... If we archived it when we could.

Because this is an asymmetric problem:

If we archived it and it turns out it's not useful, we can delete.

If we didn't archive it and it turns out it is useful, OOPS!

You can't unlose something that's been lost. It's gone. This is a one way trip, it's already fallen off the cliff. Your only hope is that you're wrong about it being lost, and there is actually still a copy somewhere. If it's truly lost, your only option is to build a time machine.

And this has happened! There are things lost, so many of them that we know of, and many more we don't know of. There are BOOKS OF THE BIBLE referenced in the canon that simply do not exist anymore. Like, Paul says to go read his letter to the Laodiceans, and what did that letter say? We don't know. It's gone.

The most celebrated playwright in the English tradition has plays that are just gone. You want to perform or watch Love's Labours Won? TOO FUCKING BAD.

Want to watch Lon Cheyney's London After Midnight, a mystery-horror silent film from 1927? TOO BAD. The MGM vault burnt down in 1965 and the last known copy went up in smoke.

If something still exists, if it still is kept somewhere, there is always an opportunity to decide if it's worthy of being remembered. It can still be recognized for its merits, for its impact, for its importance, or just what it says about the time and culture and people who made it, and what they believed and thought and did. It can still be a useful part of history, even if we decide it's a horrible thing, a bigoted mess, a terrible piece of art. We have the opportunity to do all that.

If it's lost... We are out of options. All we can do is research it from how it affected other things. There's a lot of great books and plays and films and shows that we only know of because other contemporary sources talked about them so much. We're trying to figure out what it was and what it did, from tracing the shadow it cast on the rest of culture.

This is why archivists get anxious whenever people say "this thing is bad and should not be preserved". Because, yeah, maybe they're right. Maybe we'll look back and decide "yeah, that is worthless and we shouldn't waste the hard drive or warehouse space on it".

But if they're wrong, and we listen to them, and don't archive... We don't get a second chance at this. And archivists have been bitten too many times by talk of "we don't need copies, the original studio has the masters!" (it burnt down), or "this isn't worth preserving, it's just some damn silly fad" (the fad turned out to be the first steps of a cultural revolution), or "this media is degenerate/illegal/immoral" (it turns out those saying that were bigots and history doesn't agree with their assessment).

So we archive what we can. We can always decide later if it doesn't need preserving. And being a responsible archivist often means preserving things but not making them publicly available, or being selective in what you archive (I back up a lot of old computer hard drives. Often they have personal photos and emails and banking information! That doesn't get saved).

But it's not really a good idea to be making quality or moral judgements of what you archive. Because maybe you're right, maybe a decade or two later you'll decide this didn't need to be saved. And you'll have the freedom to make that choice. But if you didn't archive it, and decide a decade later you were wrong... It's just gone now. You failed.

Because at the end of the day I'd rather look at an archive and see it includes 10,000 things I think are worthless trash, than look at an archive of on the "best things" and know that there are some things that simply cannot be included. Maybe they were better, but can't be considered as one of the best... Because they're just gone. No one has read them, no one has been able to read them.

We have a long history of losing things. The least we can do going forward is to try and avoid losing more. And leave it up to history to decide if what we saved was worth it.

My dream is for a future where critics can look at stuff made in the present and go "all of this was shit. Useless, badly made, bigoted, horrible. Don't waste your time on it!"

Because that's infinitely better than the future where all they can do is go "we don't know of this was any good... It was probably important? We just don't know. It's gone. And it's never coming back"

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 2

Part 1 2 3

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, smut (piv, loss of virginity, fingering, semi-public sex, Daemon talking you through it), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation/murder, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i am surprised I got as many comments as I did on chapter 1 🥺🫶 it's not that I think my writing is bad... Well... Idk it felt aimless when I started so I am grateful for the positive reinforcement. 👉👈 I am once again asking for more pls comment n reblog I would love u forever if u did | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

Daemon heads to your chambers, eager to shake you awake and ruin your morning once more. When he arrives to the room, he stops in his tracks, disappointed to see you were risen. That is, until he realizes the state you were in.

You roused long before the sun had and could not find sleep no matter how badly you searched. You decided to draw yourself a warm bath in hopes of finding sleep in the tub; you only find more restlessness and simply accept your fate.

You hear Daemon's entrance and turn to him from the vanity you were wallowing. You were half dressed. Your corset was undone and you had given up on braiding the sides of your head. You smile weakly at him, "good morrow."

Nothing about your tired, sullen eyes agreed with that, and it irritates him to know that you're one of those people. Pretenders.

"Well, finish up then," Daemon furrows his brows, "get dressed. We have yet to accomplish our task."

You mimic his expression, brushing your dark hair back, "task?"

He rolls his eyes, "I do not believe yesterday counts as an introduction."

Upon realizing he meant the introduction to Caraxes, your body tenses. You look sick. You stand to try and convince him out of it, but Daemon reaches you before you can get on your feet. He places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Your heart thunders when he brushes your hair to one shoulder. He secures your dress from behind, and your breath grows heavy as you watch him from the mirror.

"It is not so bad, riding a dragon," the prince says to plant a false sense of trust in you, "who knows? You might enjoy it."

There is an unnatural warmth that spills across your form when your husband then completes your braids. He weaves in a manner far gentler than Gwayne ever has. It makes your lips part.

He brings you to your feet. Daemon takes in your expression, lips curling slightly, "there you are, wife."

Your brows knit.

He knew his artificial gentleness has you off-guard. There is no better moment to have you do his bidding than now.

One might be surprised to know that Caraxes actually enjoyed having you on his back, as did Daemon, not because they suddenly liked you— gods no, but because the sound of your screams were oh-so satisfying.

You could do little else but release cries of terror as you clung to your husband from behind. Daemon made it a point to do flips and all sorts of unnecessarily moves whilst flying, hoping your hold would falter. The time you spent in the air felt like eternity. It seemed your husband was set on touring the entire 7 realms.

You never thought you would be so ever happy to see the pit. The pit could not say the same about you however. You spill your guts out to the floor exactly like the first time you were here.

Daemon makes a face. He turns to the keepers and orders them to clean your mess up, lest it get on Caraxes' claw.

Woe is you who is forced to repeat the exact thing the next morning. You could not even plead your case, for your throat was sore. The sound of your screams this time were not as entertaining to Daemon, as your voice is hoarse. At some point, the terror is too great, you cannot scream. Because of this, he cuts the flight short in boredom, excited instead at the promise of watching you suffer through another retch. But, oh, by the gods, were you an inconveniencing woman.

Instead of remaining consistent, you just had to make a show and faint into him, did you?

He could not care less for you, which is why he chucks you off into the arms of a dragon keeper, but the damned old man could no longer carry such a weight, and so he was begrudgingly forced to throw you over his shoulder and bring you to a maester himself.

In truth, he'd all forgotten about his wife fainting until the next morning, when he came to the maester's quarters to ask for something to soothe his hammering head from his heavy drinking the night before. He was, in fact, offended, when the maester insinuated that he had come to check up on his bride.

Before he could give the greying maester a piece of his mind, he hears a terrible voice barking from the ward. Its grating timbre made it clear to Daemon that Lord Hand Cunttower was off on a yapping session again.

He walks deeper into the room. Weeping sounds become audible.

"—no, you do not understand," Otto snaps, hunched over at the side of your bed.

Ah, twas you who was being terrorized.

You dare not turn to your father, for you knew your throat would only tighten more that it already has. You force yourself to take deep breaths, but it's easier said than done. You remain still on the bed you laid on.

"You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die," the man says.

But you were dying anyway.

"The process will not be pleasant."

Nothing is pleasant.

"It will hurt-"

Everything hurts.

"-but it is a better fate than-"

"Enough!" you snap, glaring at him with angry, red eyes. You repeat, though your voice is weaker, "enough, enough, eno-"

Otto gravely speaks your name. Your body recognized the danger, but having realized upon waking up to the face of a maester, it mattered little where or who it came from, you were destined to hurt- to die.

"Do not fall complacent be-"

"You are no longer my lord," you quip. Sweat forms on your nape. This is the first time you've ever interrupted your father.

He is gobsmacked. He is bewildered. His back straightens, "what?"

You feel yourself descend into heavy fraught. Your saliva tries to choke you.

"What," he presses, "did you say, girl?"

"You are my father," your voice falters, "but not my lord."

Otto's face warps.

Your breath grows shorter and shorter, "my liege lord is my-" pant "-husband, and what he-" pant "-desires, I will-" pant "-do."

Daemon's ears and brows perk at your misplaced loyalty. Part of him wants to laugh out loud and make himself known, but then he sees, even from where he stood, how it got Otto twisted. He chuckles to himself instead.

Your father enunciates as though he means to stab you with them, "you stupid fucking whore."

You crumble like chalk. You fall into another round of body arresting tremors. Your chest is tight and you screw your eyes painfully shut. It becomes apparent to Daemon, as it would anyone who'd witness, where your condition sourced. Otto grabs your shoulders, "you know nothing of-" but then recoils.

Daemon shoves him away, glaring as he says, "unhand her."

Otto manages to balance himself, but he looks as though the veins on his temples were about to pop. He clenches his jaw, "I am speaking to my daughter."

"You mean at her," his silver hair slips over his shoulder as he turns to you, "she does not look like she can hold conversation."

"This is personal matter," Otto steps forward.

"Mmm," Daemon turns back to him, "I do say, I am glad to have interrupted," he shifts on his leg, linking his fingers together, "a dutiful husband should know all personal matters of his wife. Don't you agree?"

Though you were still wrestling with yourself, you heard every word. You knew if you did not interject, they will fight each other for your carcass. You feel lightheaded, but you force yourself to open your eyes and speak.

Of course, the only sound you manage to make is a strangled and pained one.

Otto averts his attention to you, and tries to come to your side.

Daemon steps in front of him and tilts his head back, "oh... I would adore it if you give me a reason to kill you."

You choke out, "Daemon."

Your father stiffens as he looks past the said man to inspect you, missing the way the said man smirks. Otto turns back to Daemon, feeling bile spread in his mouth as the prince says, "see. She does not want you."

Otto's lips curl and his hands ball into fists.

Your husband waves a hand, "go away. You're clearly upsetting her."

Otto does the most to remain calm, "she is my da-"

"She is my wife," Daemon snaps, imposing upon him.

You gulp with difficulty as you catch the way your father's jaw clenches. You force yourself to sit up and open your mouth to speak, but everyone's attention is averted to the Kingsguard that walks into the room.

Daemon's forehead curls at the Cargyll knight, "my prince. Lord Hand."

"Which one are you?" asks the prince.

"Arryk, my prince."

"State your business, Arryk."

"I-"

"I requested a ward for the princess," Lord Hand answers instead.

Daemon makes a face at him and chuckles dryly under his breath.

Arryk looks between the two again then slowly continues, "I and my brother have been awarded the honor of serving ward to the Princess of Dragonstone. I take first watch today."

Daemon chuckles again, "a bit late, aren't you?"

The white cloak stiffens then bows, "I was just given word this hour."

"Hmm. Well, Arryk," he motions, "why don't you go escort the Lord Hand out of the room before someone dies."

He stiffens again, but turns to the said man nonetheless. He does not question it and merely does what was instructed.

Or at least tries to.

"I do not trust you with my daughter's well-being," Otto steps forward, pointing a finger to the ground, "you are the very reason she is in that bed."

Daemon gasps dramatically. At this point, you finally had enough wits about you to speak, "please-" but your voice is easily drowned out however.

"Do you not remember thanking my brother for the, what was it," the prince pretends to think, "joyous union? Or would you like to watch me stake my claim upon he—"

Otto's face twists in horror and repulsion, but that is not why Daemon's words are cut short. It is because of the cold, clammy, trembling hand that takes his own that he looks down. He watches as you sigh out, "leave us, father."

The said man turns to you in grave offence. In your fear, you do not notice the betrayal that is mixed with it. His anger flares and he scoffs. He gives you one last look, and you knew exactly it was just that. This would be last time he would ever look upon you. When he storms away, you feel it in your chest: this is the last time you will ever call him father. You were forsaken, truly forsaken.

Otto is seen out by Arryk.

Your hand slips from Daemon's, as you no longer had the strength. You muster all your remaining energy to reach the drink propped on your bedside table. It was a futile attempt though, as instead of grasping it, you knock it over, which only leads you into another fit of tears.

Daemon curses and shakes his foot that's gotten soaked. He did mean to snap at you for it, but you were already clearly suffering. Your breathing is short and it seemed like you were mumbling something.

He hunches over in an attempt to hear you, "what?"

It takes a myriad of repetitions for him to realize you were apologizing.

His face contorts, "gods," what pathetic creature had he been given to?

Daemon's upper lip curls and he can no longer bear the sound of your whining any further. He calls for the maester, asking for another cup of water because you had knocked over your own. Just as the maester goes off to get you another drink, he remembers he came here for his own affliction because his head begins to hammer again. He rubs his temples and sits on the vacant bed besides yours.

"Here, my prince," the maester says upon arrival, "milk of the poppy enough for the both of you."

Daemon squints as the man places a tray on your bedside table. Daemon is handed a cup first, but does not drink it until after he watches you be helped to drink your own fill. After, the maester promptly leaves with a curt nod. The drink does not take effect on you until after Daemon finishes his own

Your voice shakes, "t-thank you."

Daemon puts his cup down.

"You did not have to come," you say softly.

"Do not flatter yourself," he scoffs, "I did not come for you. I came for my headache."

"Yet it remains," you turn to him, face tight and gleaming from all the tears you've shed, "you did not have to come."

He stares at you for a moment. You looked so frail, so devoid of hope. Truly, death would be mercy to you at this point.

Just then, ser Arryk returns. He finally sees you and gives you a deep bow, "princess."

Being addressed as such makes you feel sad... and lonely.

"I am ser Arryk Cargyll. I will be your ward, along with my twin brother, Erryk, who you will meet after my shift." The kingsguard straightens up, "I will do all that I can to ensure your health does not falter and that you are always seen to."

You think of your own twin as you take in the man's features. The idea that your father purposefully chose twin brothers as your ward made you feel sad and sick, but it was hardly Arryk's fault Otto liked mocking you, so you smile at him, "I have a twin."

The man nods, offering you a smile far more genuine than yours, "aye. Ser Gwayne Hightower. He is deft with the short sword."

You turn to your hands, recalling just a few days ago when you had watched him train. Your lips curl upwards, "though, not as good as I."

Daemon pulls his head back, face contorting. He is taken aback when Arryk's sniggers. The latter nods, "perhaps you will show me your tricks, my lady."

There is a twinkle in your eye as you turn back to him, "perhaps."

Daemon raises a brow at the interaction and decides to stand, "come," he reaches a hand to you, "some fresh air would do you good."

Fresh air? Your jaw slacks and you turn to Daemon with a fallen expression. Be as it was, you were no fool. You did not believe your husband had your best interest in mind, and yet, it was not like you had much of a choice. Against yourself, you to take his hand.

He pulls you up and Arryk comes to your side to assist you. He helps you to your feet, hand on your arm and shoulder.

Daemon is annoyed by his fussing. "Yes. Very good, Cargyll. I can manage to bring her to the dragon pit myself."

You close your eyes and sigh. Just as you dreaded.

"Dragon pit?" Arryk repeats.

"Yes. She needs fresh air." The prince narrows his eyes, "do you contest me?"

Arryk releases you and shakes his head, "I would not."

"Good," he motions with nod, "out of the way then."

You see, after being scorched by the fire of your maker— your father, the sight of Caraxes emerging from the depths did not strike as much fear into you as it did before. In fact, the promise of malice from the beast felt... cathartic, and for once, you welcomed Daemon's insistence on being brought to its maw.

You stumbled against Caraxes' scaly cheek. Having done nothing but lay in the maester's chambers, your hair was not tied or braided in any way. As the wind blew, it tickled against the dragon's face. Caraxes did not seem to enjoy the sensation, and so he growled and snapped his teeth.

Daemon was quick to chastise his mount, and for that, he did not realize your lack of self-preservation. Oh, but Caraxes did; he even growled again, only to be met once more by your unflinching demeanor.

Daemon would only realize your change after taking flight and landing on a beach. Upon dismounting, Caraxes takes it upon himself to screech as you hover. The prince doesn't know who is more bewildered, him or his dragon, when you screech back.

Your neck veins pop and spit comes out of your mouth at the intensity of it all. A harsh wind blows your hair and your skirt. You heave after releasing such a harsh noise.

In truth, perhaps Caraxes is more perturbed as, unlike Daemon's who presses forward, the beast pulls back and shakes his head. He bleats as he watches his rider grab your arm.

The prince means to berate you for your insanity, but then, gods, you rather conveniently succumb to another arrest to your heart and lungs. He does not know why he catches you when your legs give in but he knows exactly why he suggests: "get in the water."

You look up at him, your glassy eyes meeting his violet ones.

He lets you crumble to the ground and bends down to undo your dress, "a swim would do you wonders."

"N-no- you will regret-" you sputter.

But Daemon ignores you, not that it took much effort, for you were incoherent soon enough.

He pulls you out of your dress until you're in nothing but your slip. You sob, and he hushes you, assuring he will be by your side. He removes his tunic. Soon, he is dragging you down deeper and deeper, and you are choking and spitting saltwater.

Daemon decides to simply release you and wait until your body floats lifeless. With how you were gasping, it would not take long. He turns his head when his face is splashed by your flailing arms. When he looks back, the water is calm and your body is nowhere to be seen.

... well, that was rather quick.

He waits for a moment, watching bubbles float up. After a while, he purses his lips and decides to go back ashore. He should have done this sooner.

He freezes when you emerge in front of him, pushing your brown hair off your face. He is perturbed by the serenity across your features; it was as though you were reborn.

You sigh, "I told you you would regret it."

Daemon blankly stares at you.

"There is a great river in Oldtown," you wade around, "the water there is not nearly as pleasant or warm as this, but still... swimming was one of the only ways I could calm myself."

His jaw clenches. He does not even try to hide his disappointment.

You lick your lips at it and turn to Caraxes, who was happily soaking in the sun from the sandy shore, "take heart. Your dragon might entertain himself by eating me yet," you turn to him, "or perhaps my Lord Hand will kill me himself."

His face twists, "what?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

He pulls his head back, offended and confused by your sudden nerve.

You allow your body to float up in the water, "you need not pretend. I know you long to kill me."

Daemon is insulted by your brashness. He grabs your floating hip and pushes you down until you're once again face to face. Not a semblance of fear is on your features. It only angers him further.

He snaps, "I could have your tongue for that."

He cannot deny the way his stomach rolls when you place your hands by the base of his neck. The complete change in your temperament puts him on edge. Have you been playing him all along?

"Would it not be simpler to have my head?" you speak plainly, as though you were genuinely curious of his response.

His nostrils flare.

Before he can act, you are swimming off. You emerge from the water, dripping wet. Your clothing is sheer and hugs every part of your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could not help but look, but then he was sorely insulted all over when you pet Caraxes head and he lets you.

It was a twisted hallucination. He is suddenly reminded of the milk of the poppy he'd drank; you've probably poisoned him and planned all of this with your cunt father like the conniving whore you really were.

You do not hear him emerge, but only know he did because he is upon you. He forces you around through a severe squeeze on your arms, "what is your game, Hightower cunt?!"

Your body seizes, but you do not succumb to the thundering of your heart, as you had just been relaxed.

He shakes you, making you gasp, "SPEAK!"

"There is no game!" you whimper.

He chuckles dryly, shaking you harshly once more "perhaps it should be said that I need no assistance from my dragon to kill you."

A shiver runs down your spine, "please-"

"Then tell me th-"

"-just do it."

The sound of Caraxes huffing brings Daemon back to reality. And yet it takes you speaking, "just kill me," for him to realize you meant exactly what he thought.

He stills where you descend into further torment. He knows then that it is true. There was no plot, or at least not one where this creature of agony could ever oversee. You were calmed by the water, but not cured. Very truly, he thinks again death would be mercy, convenient for him as well. Yet, in his nature, Daemon does opposite of what he is told and pries his hands off. He mutters under his breath, "ao mūdas run," you terrible thing.

You sob, as if you understood him.

You shed tears unlike the others he's witnessed; there is no panic or fear, only pain.

"Surely you agree it is better than living this way."

The clarity of your voice takes him aback. He turns away, uncomfortable of your sudden agency.

"I have been this way since I can remember," you confess, "and they've all have counted my days for just as long."

"Why must I bloody my hands for you?" he squints, "if you despise living so much, do it yourself."

Your laugh is haunting. You shake your head and wipe your face, "I am not as brave as you. I could not even kill the fishes Gwayne caught for me, though I ate them."

Daemon is unmoved, twice so at the mention of your brother.

"And Gwayne..." you sigh, "he would blame himself." You turn to your feet, warmed by the sand beneath it, "I would not do that to him." You shake your head again, "but again, take heart," you smile, "it will happen soon enough."

His forehead curls.

"I can feel it in my gut," you rub your belly, "it is putrid and festering... whatever it is."

He tilts his head, "then do me a favor and wallow in silence—" he walks off, sparing one last glance, "and try scheming with your cunt father somewhere you will not be caught."

You manically laugh and rip at your hair, "he is my illness, if it is not plain to you."

He stops and turns back to you.

"I am the way that I am because I-" you poke your chest, "am he, had he been born a woman." You rub your sternum, "he loathes me because he is I. I am his hair, his nose, his temper, his... weakness, only amplified because I did not inherit his cock.

"When I pray..." you sniffle, "sometimes I think the gods keep me alive for I am his reckoning— that I must torment him for all the years he has tormented others... tormented me."

Daemon watches the salt from your eyes join the salt on your slip. He stares at your pert nipples then watches you chew your lower lip. He licks his own, "did you mean what you told him?"

You watch as he inches closer, "what?"

"That he is no longer your liege lord," he reaches for your arm, "that I am."

"I-"

Daemon pushes the shoulder of your slip dress down.

Your hand darts to his chest, "i-it is the truth."

He hums and tilts his head. You gasp when he kisses your neck. He licks the saltwater off your skin, enjoying the sound you make when his teeth graze you, "very well then."

Goosebumps form when he pulls your skirt up your thighs.

"It would be beneath a prince to withhold aid for such a tormented spirit."

You do not speak for soon his mouth is claiming yours. It is not as horrid as you imagined it would be. You did not think someone who's shown nothing but aggression could behold you so tenderly. You shiver when he continues to rid you of your sopping clothes. When you break away for air, you manage to mutter, "someone c-could see."

Daemon's expression is changed as stares at you and pushes you to the ground. You gasp as you find yourself atop the garbs he already managed to remove. He undoes his breeches, "who? My dragon?"

You do not know if he means Caraxes.

"You are my wife," he drops to his knees, grabbing yours, "the sin lies with the looker," he pushes your legs apart, "not us."

You bite your lips, feeling the the need to repel him, but decide against it. You simply close your eyes and dig your fingers into the sand.

His loins burn at the sound of your sigh. He sinks into you and relishes your submission. He wraps your legs around him and rocks his hips into yours. You mewl and dig into his back. He bites your lobe before whispering, "you belong to me."

You scratch your nails up his back as his rocking hips send bolts of pleasure in your body.

"Say it."

"I-I-" you heave, "belong to you."

He squeezes your thighs, "you are to do what I so desire."

You gasp softly when he grabs your jaw, making you turn to him.

"-especially if it is against your father, yes?"

You gulp, unable to speak. You simply nod.

Daemon's eyes become hooded. He releases your jaw, claiming your thigh again, "good."

You both remain this way, kissing and rubbing, but then you begin to grow impatient. You bring your mouth to his to catch his attention but do not kiss him. He is taken aback by your unintentional tease and digs his fingers into your flesh. This is why you whimper as you speak, "you- can... enter."

He is broken from his trance, "what?"

"I," you scratch his skin gently, as if to encourage him, "know you are ready. You do not have to hold back. I am accustomed to pain."

He knits his brows, then tilts his head, "how could a virgin know such things?"

He watches bashfulness claim you. You shake your head, "I read it."

"Did your book not tell you it need not be painful?"

"I-" you let out a loud noise when you feel his fingers touch your womanhood, "Daemon-"

He purrs at the sound of his name, "I will show you how good it can feel so that you can tell your father all about it."

The horrifying thought does not even register as he makes you feel things you did not know possible. You begin to shiver and whine, but it is entirely opposite to what your body is accustomed to. Your breath begins to shorten and you instinctively begin to panic, but Daemon's voice keeps you grounded.

"Breathe," he licks your pulse, "it feels good, does it not? Breathe and think of how good I'm making you feel."

You are entirely subservient to him, to his baritone, to his fingers, to his hips. There is nothing but sand and Daemon. You whine when you feel a hard intrusion. The sensation is foreign, and it causes your belly to tense.

He kisses the line that forms between your brows, "relax, my wife. Now is not the time for pain," he hooks his hands behind your knees, "it's a time for pleasure."

It's all a blurry haze after this. Daemon moves into you in a way that makes you wonder how this could ever hurt. Every thrust sends ripples of bliss down your spine. Every hit draws out the lewdest of sounds from your throat. You understand then why they call it love making; you love every moment of it. Your bliss is heightened when he touches something inside you, and again, and again-

For once in your life, as your breath grows heavy, you do not feel like you're about to die.

Daemon alternates tempos, but ultimately resigns to fast and hard. He does not cease until your rigid body goes limp beneath him. The pressure in your stomach breaks into a million burning pieces, and just as it becomes all too much, he pulls out, propping himself up on one arm. You gasp at the heat thats spills on your thigh as he strokes himself. Soon, his arm gives out and he collapses beside you.

You behold the mess of red and white between your legs, but find no shame, only arousal, which you did not expect. You turn to your husband, watching his chest heave, his temples sweat, and his tongue lick his lips.

He's... he's beautiful.

[tarysande]

There are a couple more Garrus-Vakarian-related hills I'm willing to die on.

Maybe this particular bit of fanon has faded over the years, but there used to be a lot of insistence that Garrus is young and somehow inexperienced when he meets Shepard. Canon doesn't really support this. Turians start their mandatory service at 15. Garrus has at least a decade of experience. Even if he's 2-4 of years younger than Shepard (according to Patrick Weekes), he's got at least as much field experience as she does by dint of the difference in turian and human "enlistment" ages.

Garrus is really damn good at his job at C-Sec. You don't give the Case of Investigating the Rogue Spectre to a greenhorn. You give it to your best, most tenacious agent. Pallin may not always approve of Garrus's actions, but that doesn't actually stop him from putting Garrus on the tough case. Also, we don't know much about how C-Sec works but we do know a bit about how the turian hierarchy works, and we know C-Sec was essentially a turian initiative. That means it's a meritocracy where failure reflects on the superior, not the one who failed. So, in roughly a decade (Shepard's 29 in ME1; I always think of Garrus as about 27), Garrus has not only done shipboard military service, but he's also risen to be one of C-Sec's top investigators; Pallin wouldn't risk having Garrus's "failure" reflect poorly on HIM otherwise. I'd say that actually makes Garrus as remarkable in civilian law enforcement terms as Shepard is considered to be within the ranks of the Alliance military.

Of course Garrus was scouted by the Spectre program. And honestly, if his dad hadn't stepped in, I think Garrus would have become a Spectre, no problem. Especially for a turian, he's cut from precisely the cloth the Spectres would be looking for: extremely skilled, extremely capable, and--most importantly--he's a turian not just able but willing to work outside the chains of command that turians are taught from birth to revere and be loyal to above all else. This is the reason Pallin is leery about Spectres: he's a good turian. Good turians follow straight lines; they don't carve out their own paths.

Garrus's dad's not dumb, and he's not cruel, and he, too, rose to the top of the C-Sec hierarchy. He took one look at his kid, I think, and said, "I love my child, but I'd say it's a 50-50 chance he ends up a shooting-first-asking-questions-later Spectre like Saren Arterius, and I don't want to see that happen." Yeah, he uses his parental influence to try and jam square-peg-Garrus into round-hole-C-Sec and Garrus resents him for it, but there's no way he did it just to stop his son from getting his way or because he doesn't like Spectres. I expect Vakarian Sr. had to clean up more post-Spectre-interference messes than we can possibly imagine. But we also know he and Alec Ryder were pals later.

So the importance of what Garrus learns from a Paragon Spectre Shepard is this: You can't just do what you want and claim the ends always justify the means. That's what Saren does. Over and over again. Garrus's code and his idealism and his sense of justice and his ability to work alone should make him a great Spectre, actually, but he needs Paragon Spectre Shepard's actions to show him the lesson he tells her he's learned during ME1: "If the people I'm sworn to protect can't trust me... well, then I don't deserve to be the one protecting them." (And the seed of Archangel was planted.) I think for the first time he realizes that even though he believes his sense of justice to be correct, it doesn't matter for shit if he can't show others why that's so. And that's where the trust comes in. (Also, ow, the extra level of importance this gives their exchange where she tells him she trusts him and he tells her she's about the only friend he has left is... a lot. Cool, cool. I'm totally fine. Nothing to see here.)

When Shepard asks him what happened on Omega, he replies, "My feelings got in the way of my better judgement." Something tells me that this never happens to "good" turians, which just makes the line so much more devastating. And although the lesson some might take away from this is "feelings bad; no feelings ever," the "grey" that Garrus has to learn to deal with is precisely the grey of recognizing feelings, validating them even, but not acting on them until they've been examined. (Which is why my Shepard stands between him and Sidonis; she doesn't give a shit about Sidonis. But Garrus has refused to process his own feelings of failure and self-loathing, so they have to take the therapy session to the Citadel and deal with it there.)

Ahh yes. The mountain range of character analysis.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Thinking about my desire for a mistaken identity time travel fic where Obito and Sasuke get tossed into the warring states, but bc Sasuke looks like an Izuna clone and Obito for some reason gets the wild hair look back, they keep being mistaken for Madara and Izuna.

Notably, they keep being mistaken for Madara and Izuna as they are in the middle of attempting to beat the ever-loving shit out of eachother.

And because Obito likes causing problems for Madara and Sasuke shrimply does not give a fuck and might even appreciate the fake identity alibi, they do nothing to actually deny the mistaken identity. Obito actually encourages it, usually by loudly agreeing with whoever shouts "omg its Uchiha Madara" as he lights shit on fire.

Anything to cause the real Madara more problem, right? Karma, bitch aa

He actually wants to cut his hair short again but the temptation of getting to continue to ruin Madara's reputation is too good, so he doesnt

ANYWAYS. Thinking about all of the above again w the context of my "Kakashi is related to and bears a resemblance to Tobirama" agenda thats been steadily growing in like. Actually, I think almost every Kakashi fic Ive written so far (oops)

Maybe I want Kakashi in this now. Maybe I'm also thinking about Tenzo, who got the same "oh for some strange reason my hair is longer now" treatment as Obito and with the Mokuton, can now be mistake as Hashirama by those who have never seen him. Or even people who have seen him but logically assume he's wearing a henge.

There's only one known man with the power of Mokuton-- why would the ever believe it wasn't Hashirama (unless they were close enough to the man to truly doubt it on a personal level)

I have no real ideas for an overarching plot, but like. Obito, Sasuke, Kakashi and Tenzo mistaken identity time travel my beloved,,

Kakashi and Tenzo traveled + landed together and Obito and Sasuke did the same so neither group is aware of the other

(Kakashi and Obito eventually figure it out bc of the shared eye connection I think)

But in the mean time they actually keep managing to avoid each other bc they'll hear rumors ab "Uchiha Madara" being spotted in the town over (Obito continues to be very loud about it very on purpose) and then avoid going there, while Sasuke hears the same, figures its Obito, and sprints over to try and bash his face in

Obito finally eventually gets cornered by Kakashi, Tenzo, and Sasuke and gets his shit rocked fr fr send tweet

Sasuke and Kakashi bonding moment(s) where we tackle the uhh. Everything. Of canon. And Sasuke gives Kakashi a crumb of respect back or smthn

Idk but I just want to see Sasuke call him sensei, don't ask me how we'd get there

Meanwhile when they're finally like, exposed or whatever there's just SUCH a mess there to be had

I'm choosing Uchiha Hikaku as my first contact bc I love him dearly and think he serves as good middleground between ranks of importance and relevance

So like. Picture this.

You are Hikaku. You're sent out to investigate some rumors about Madara and Izuna fucking shit up and causing a general mess some ways away. A henge, a slander campaign, the real Madara-sama is sure.

You get there and find 3 people fighting.

(Obito, Kakashi and Tenzo's first interaction. It's tense. They may all come from the final battle, after Obito changed his mind, but there were a lot of things left unsaid and also they all probably just wanna beat the shit out of eachother anyways. Things happen, things are said, a fight is had)

Two of them bear a passing resemblance to Madara and Tobirama respectively, and the 3rd has the look of a Senju to him.

Ok. So, Senju slander campaign? Gone... wrong, he'd assume by the fact that they were all fighting.

You then recognize that the fake Madara has mismatched eyes (!!!! What the fuck !!! Culturally significant thing there !! Was he born like that? Was it a transplant?)

And the fake Tobirama(?) has a whole stolen sharingan he seems to be ACTIVLEY using (WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!! SOUND THE ALARMS!!!!! BLOODLINE THIEF ALERT !!!!!!!!)

You debate between just watching or entering the fight, but then the fake Tobirama makes some sort of reference to his sharingan eye belonging to the fake Madara's.

All thoughts come to a screeching halt.

Ok. So. Gonna get involved now.

There's a clear side here (Uchiha vs potential Senju) Hikaku can not leave his clanmate to die, and he doesn't yet know how he might have been involved in the slander campaign so it's honestly best to put this guy in his pocket and bring him back to Madara anyways

So Hikaku enters the battle, everyone makes appropriate shocked pikachu faces bc no one noticed him and aw shit it's gonna get more complicated, cool, awesome, great

(Also note; Hikaku became the eventual Uchiha head after Madara's defection so there's also a "oh shit no way" reaction from Obito specifically who knows this information. And also maybe Kakashi who I imagine knows a lot of Konoha's history and politics)

Battle continues, Tenzo uses Mokuton, Hikaku gets appropriately freaked the FUCK out at the idea of another mokuton user

Then Sasuke comes crashing out of nowhere , yay !!!

(Kakashi and Tenzo, who did not know Sasuke was here yet and are only seeing him for the first time, make more surprised pikachu faces)

Sasuke, who... possibly knew Kakashi and Tenzo were around and may have been avoiding them, wanting to signal that for now at least they were all on the same side (against Obito) nods to Kakashi specifically and gives a tense and sort of stilted, "sensei."

SO. HIKAKU IS KIND OF GOING THROUGH IT OVER HERE NOW.

Sasuke is a dead fucking wringer for Izuna in the way that only a direct relation can be. I'm talking they could absoloutley pass for twins kind of relation. Worst of all, they look around the same age (Sasuke is only a few years younger)

Hikaku is no longer fighting with a strange Uchiha against Senju agents he's now fighting with an Uchiha against another Uchiha (who's a dead wringer for his clan heir !!!!) He does not know who to believe or what side to exist on.

(Had this false Izuna called the fake Tobirama sensei? Oh god—)

Things happen, whether they lose or escape I don't know but it ends with an incredibly confused and concerned Hikaku returning to the Uchiha clan compound with tales of bloodline theft, another mokuton user, and horrifically— A possible sibling, lost and raised by the senju in secret.

Yeah. So. Madara won't react well to that. Madara won't react well to that at all.

(Izuna won't either, in the slightest. Does... does he have a twin...? Did he have a twin once, lost too early for their parents to bear to tell them...?)

It's incredibly hard for the Senju to deny any involvement when Hikaku has sharingan perfect memories to share of the fake-Izuna (Sasuke, they had called him Sasuke) standing side by side with a man who resembles Tobirama and another who is very fucking clearly using Mokuton. And that's "very fucking clearly using mokuton" seen by someone who has SEEN mokuton used in battle. Multiple times. He will not mistake it for anything else.

Anyways oops sorry for creating a horrible political scandal and also probably making the Uchiha/Senju wore like 10 times more charged teehee </3

(Obito doesn't give a shit. Sasuke swings violently between caring both too little and too much depending on the hour of the day and how the issue is framed. Kakashi and Tenzo are.... distracted. And undecided. And care about this issue from an "aw shit but Konoha wait no—" view point)

Ummmmm anyways endgame Konoha is made early (but possibly with a bit more blood involved) and Hikaku is made Hokage bc I fucking love Hikaku, yay the end !!!

[lustlovehart]

This is like my first ask ever so I'm a bit nervous, but I've been thinking abt monter!twst nonstop so I just had to make an ask. What would the boys do (including Rollo) if mh!reader was on a mission and got put under a sleeping curse?

I'd imagine it'd be pretty distressing, imaging Rollo trying to keep the monsters away while looking for a cure for reader.

Love the au also! Keep up the good work!

- milk 🥛 anon

A/n: Ahhhh!!! Hi 🥛 anon!!! Don’t ever be nervous putting stuff in my inbox <33 I’ve said this before but I love reading everyone’s ideas!! Even if i don’t get to writing them </3

Featuring: [Monster!Twst] Heartslaybul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasmonia, Rollo, Neige, Fellow, Skully, Chenya x Reader

Cw: Head canon format ( So no individual scenarios unfortunately), Obsession, Possessiveness, Kissing, Insecurity, No proofreading

Unfortunately, Poor Rollo has to deal with BOTH swatting them away like flies, and checking up to make sure you’re not suffering in your time of rest with nightmares 😔 (a wanting to be married to you single mom who works 2 jobs).

I like to imagine fairytales still exist within the universe, but they don’t reach their ears in the wild. It’s only Heartslaybul, Leona, Kalim, and Epel who have any idea of the “Kiss of true love”, and then words spreads around of these human stories and suddenly it’s less about getting your body back and more about being the one who wakes you up…

Why would he wanna kiss you? That’s stupid nothing’s gonna happen… Maybe one—?

- Ace, Jamil, Epel, Sebek

- Depending on his personality, he’s either going “Ew gross i’m not kissing a human” or “Those humans tales are foolish, why would i believe them?”. But either view end them in the same boat, standing over your slumbering form and hesitantly leaning into your face. Maybe he isn’t fast with it either, taking his time to look at the details in your mortal face, pores, eyelashes, everything really. It’s stupid, so stupid he shouldn’t believe any of this really, it’s vulnerable, emotional, unnecessary; yet, he can’t seem to stop himself from placing his monstrous mouth on yours, hoping something will happen.

Wants to kiss you, but feels a sense of insecurity that holds him back

- Riddle, Deuce, Cater, Ruggie, Jack, Azul, Idia, Silver

- Similar to the previous category, but slightly different. They don’t oppose the idea of a kiss at all, what really has them fearing their lips on yours, is both the vulnerability, and the event of it not working. What then? He puts himself out there for you and it’s pointless? It’s cruel, a further reminder of just how different you both are. He will look at you with pain in his eyes, wondering what he should do. Ghastly hands taking your own as he lifts them to his mouth. He might not be able to bring himself to your lips, but he’s willing to settle on your skin. He just… can’t bear the thought that he wasn’t made for you.

He’ll try, it sounds fun! When, not if, you wake up, he’ll make sure to tell you about everyone’s current violence problem.

- Trey, Floyd, Jade, Rook, Lilia, Fellow, Chenya

- Practically jumping at the chance to place his mouth on you. Of course he’ll wake you up! You’re a lot more fun when you up and about trying to hunt him down! The thought of it not working does cross his mind, but is he truly an all famed beast if he can’t take risks? He lucked out on Rollo being gone, he’s essentially a human version of a brick wall. He’ll go out all out for you, snaking his arm around your waist and lifting you out the glass coffin liking a loving husband. He’ll swirl you around with care, before dipping you down like a ballroom dance, and then wake you up. He can’t wait to show off to everyone else, because you will open your eyes.

He’ll do it. if his try doesn’t work though… He’ll make sure no one eleses does either. Your sleeping body will forever be held with him until you wake up.

- Leona, Kalim, Vil, Malleus, Neige, Skully

- He’s already sat by your side, his hand tracing patterns into your collarbone while he whispers. Will you wake up for him? You will won’t you? You must. Silent affirmations only he and he only will know, unless you wake up of course. His finger will trace down your chest, tapping the place your heart would be, each touch in sync with the beat of your heart. It’s gentle, yet somehow possessive in some right. With the final beat of his index, he’ll finally lean down, his face feeling your breathes on his fiendish skin. You’ll wake up, not because he believes in the tale, but because you must let him be the one who does something so intimate to you. If it doesn’t work, he’ll put you in prettier clothes, a prettier coffin, a prettier home, because he won’t let anyone else have the blessing of tasting your lips, only him.

The one who places your body in the pretty glass coffin, putting you in the prettiest of wear and scenery during his attempt; all while warding off the wretched creatures.

- Rollo

- Practically spends every waking and sleeping moment in your presence, only leaving for at most 5 minutes. Unfortunately for him, 5 minutes is enough time for anything to happen to you. He’ll hold your hands, fix your clothes, place new flowers and ribbons on your coffin, anything for you; except be the one who kisses you. The urge to consumes his entire being, eating at him like a sinful leech who wont let go. Sometimes whenever he’s by you, his eyes can’t help but trace back to your lips, a temptation too good for any man or beast to resist, but he does, because he can’t bear the thought of stripping you’re purity, directly at least. Whenever the urge becomes much too strong, he’ll lean down, placing a kiss on your knuckle, on your wrist, on your forehead, on your cheek, on your collarbone, on your neck, on your chest, even on the corner of your mouth, until the only place he hasn’t placed his mouth on is your lips. An indulgence he won’t take no matter how much he wishes to. Because…

You don’t deserve a monsters love, not matter how much he wishes to be yours and yours alone.

You are the sole blessing he has left, he won’t taint you, no matter how much he wishes too. But… he won’t let anyone else take you either.

A/n: For Floyd, Jade, and Sebek I realized half way that these guys wouldn’t be able to reach you on land if that’s where you were laid to rest, a perfect scenario for Rollo really. Imagine his surprise when he opens your room and sees tiny imps dragging your coffin out and into the river, where a horrific marine monster takes hold of you… Truly, how desperate for you are they?!? (Rollo has no room to judge considering he’s just as obsessed)

This honestly makes Floyd and Jade scenario so pretty <3 being in pretty clothes while he ball dances with you in the water, dipping you down while clear water envelops your upper half, leaving only your pretty face <33 do you guys see the vision?!?

And trey? He doesn’t seem like the type to be in that category, but hear me out, he does it low-key. He doesn’t go all out like the others guys so it’s not as cocky, yet there’s the underlying feeling of bragging that they can get mad and but can’t outright criticize him for. Same goes for kalim, he doesn’t seem like the type to do such a thing, but in this case, he can’t help but feel a little jealous if it isn’t him who wakes you up.

[azen13]

Since Dan Heng is getting a rerun right now, do you have any yan thoughts about him?? He’s so silly…

CW: Yandere Themes

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He is so silly...I do love Dan Heng, he was actually my first main in HSR! I don't think I've posted much of him here though because I have literally no idea about any of the Xianzhou lore sldkjsdgsdg so bear with me lol.

I'm going to make a distinction between Dan Heng and Dan Feng here, as I think the two would have vastly different approaches to how they interact with a love interest. If we're talking about straight canon, the only thing that's changed is that Dan Heng is a yandere, then I think he's extremely subtle about it. First, because that's just his personality. Dan Heng isn't prone to histrionics; he's more practical. Second, because if he isn't, Himeko or Welt could notice, and then who knows what would happen. They might take you away from him, and he can't have that.

So he has to play it cool, keep his obsession undetectable. It shows up in small ways: how he always makes sure to be by your side during missions, even when the Trailblazer and March run off; how he lets you stay in his room whenever you'd like, even if it's just to hang out; how he holds your hand tightly whenever danger approaches, to the point where by now, your palm must be molded to the shape of his fingers. In a similar vein, he works to slowly mold your mind, doing his best to convince you that you can come to him with any problems or worries and he'll help you.

He starts making entries for you in the databank, chock full of your likes and dislikes, your habits, your routine, everything and anything. It's a strange hobby he almost seems to take pleasure in, compiling everything he knows about you. Anytime he learns something new, best believe he'll be heading off to his room to write it down and save it for later. Eventually, he starts using all of that information to his advantage: you like a certain scent? Soon enough, Dan Heng vaguely smells like it. You enjoy hugs? Dan Heng will awkwardly try to fold his arms around you back. You have a favorite food? Dan Heng makes it for you almost daily, until he's mastered it.

I will say he definitely struggles to fight against the draconic urge to hoard you away in his room. To try to tamp down that need, he develops a bad habit of stealing your belongings. Nothing big, just things you might not notice if they go missing. A piece of paper you scribble on, a pen cap that you chew on, a sock forgotten in the recesses of a dryer. He stows it away safely, somewhere nobody will ever find.

One day, he'll do the same with you. Only you'll come alone willingly.

[fazedlight]

Shadow (post-canon fluff)

“So what can we expect from tomorrow’s gala?” the newscaster asked.

Lena smiled, stopping herself from shifting nervously in the bright lights above her, glancing instead to the news studio’s camera as she spoke. “The gala is a black-tie fundraiser event for the Lena Luthor Foundation’s first project - an outreach program aimed at teaching STEM concepts to inner city children.”

“Fascinating,” the newscaster said, “And how will this education program work?”

“The children will be taught basic computer science concepts, and also have access to learn to code robots to compete in an obstacle course competition,” Lena said, eyes shifting back to the newscaster as she spoke, attempting to look as conversational and relaxed as possible. God, it’s been a while since I’ve done this, she thought to herself. “By giving the children real-world instruction, we hope they will be excited to see what one can really do with engineering and science.”

“And will your new girlfriend be attending the gala?”

As much as Lena had no problem staying composed, she could never quite master keeping the blush out of her cheeks. Not when it came to Kara. “She will be attending as well,” Lena confirmed, “Kara is a strong believer in a science education, having grown up with a strong tradition of scientific exploration on Krypton.”

“I imagine she’s an exception to the black tie rules,” the newscaster said.

“Of course,” Lena grinned, “We think the city is ready to know the real Supergirl.”

“Do you think your brother would be proud?”

The smile stuck to Lena’s face - no one but her closest friends would know that anything was amiss from her expression. But the question was certainly charged. While Earth Prime Lex had been known as a philanthropist, his quest for power had come out during the trial - somehow lauded by the public - only for him to attack the world and disappear into the phantom zone, leaving a confused public behind.

I guess I’ll never really escape him, Lena thought tiredly. In Stryker’s or dead or stuck in the phantom zone - none of it mattered. It seemed that Lex would always linger over her. “My brother’s legacy is complex,” Lena said, somewhat frustrated that she couldn’t be more direct on Earth Prime about who her brother really was. “I hope to honor the Luthor name, whatever that would’ve meant to him.” “Well, some very lucky children are about to have a fantastic summer,” the newscaster said back. “Thank you for joining us today, Lena.” “It was a pleasure,” Lena said.

---

Lying in the cool darkness of her bedroom - the setting sun hardly penetrating the windows anymore - Lena dozed quietly, relieved that the day was done.

Light footsteps padded down the hallway, causing a warm feeling in Lena’s chest. Kara’s home, she thought, and she was greeted only moments later by the kryptonian slipping into bed beside her, hugging around her back. “There’s Belly Burger in the kitchen,” Kara murmured, nuzzling softly into Lena’s hair. 

“Thank you,” Lena said back, “I needed that.”

“Rough day?”

“Not particularly. Just… him.”

Lena could feel Kara’s head on the pillow behind her, the kryptonian holding her quietly, giving Lena the space to think. “I think it’s more exhausting here,” Lena said eventually, “Lex, on this Earth.”

“Because they think he was a hero?”

“They don’t understand how someone who could work so closely with you,” Lena said, slowly rolling over on the bed to look at Kara directly, “Could turn around and try to kill you. At least on Earth 38, his first response to Superman was to build a kryptonite suit. People knew where things stood. I didn’t have to dance around.”

Kara hugged Lena more tightly. “I’m sorry, Lena,” she said.

Lena sighed, planting a small kiss on Kara’s lips. “I’ll be fine. I just wish I could get away from it sometimes.”

Kara’s brow furrowed thoughtfully, as she reached up to caress Lena’s face. Lena could almost see the thoughts dance behind her eyes, before she smiled softly. “What is it?” Lena asked.

“I…” Kara trailed off for a moment. “I was wondering, if you would like to visit Argo soon? Maybe after the gala? They’ve barely heard of Lex up there.”

Lena’s eyes shifted between Kara’s, small relief flowing through her body. “That sounds perfect.”

---

“Why do you think your brother started hating aliens?”

“Ms. Danv- er, Supergirl- what does Cat Grant think of ethics in journalism?”

“Your brother was a great man - what do you think caused him to snap?”

Lena sighed in relief as the dancing began, happy to have an excuse to lead Kara to the dance floor instead of continuing conversation with the various donors and reporters roaming about. At least the flashing cameras were less intrusive.

Kara, for her part, seemed almost curious at the extra attention. “This’ll take some getting used to,” she murmured playfully, lightly twirling Lena in her arms and setting off another flurry of photo flashes.

“They’ll calm down eventually,” Lena said, “There are only so many Super and a Luthor headlines that people will read.”

“Ready for our trip tomorrow?” Kara asked.

“More than ready.”

---

Alura hugged her warmly when they arrived. “It’s nice to get away,” Lena said, following Alura and Kara from J’onn’s ship to the El home.

She was somewhat disbelieving that she was really sitting in a kryptonian kitchen, on the remnants of an alien planet. With Zor-El off on an overnight deployment to oversee routine maintenance to Argo’s shield, the three of them spent Lena’s first night on Argo sipping on hot chocolate that Kara had brought from Earth. 

Lena found Alura was easy to open up to. “It’s just tiring, being in Lex’s shadow,” Lena said. “For once I wish I could be seen on my own terms.”

Lena thought she noticed Alura glance to Kara, but the thought didn’t linger as Alura looked back to Lena again. “Kara and Kal have told me of the feud,” she said sympathetically.

“It’ll be nice getting away from his name for a while,” Lena confessed. “I can just be Lena, instead of Lex’s little sister.”

“We’ll be going to the markets tomorrow,” Kara said, glancing from Lena to Alura. “I want to show Lena the town square.”

“I’m sure she’ll like it,” Alura said, exchanging what Lena was certain was a look with Kara. What’s that about?, she wondered, but Alura quickly moved on. “Is it strange not being a super here?” Alura asked Kara.

Kara smiled. “I’m home again.”

Lena took in Kara’s expression, the ease in her body. They talked about it from time to time - what it meant for Kara to have powers she constantly needed to control. Though she didn’t need to balance two identities anymore, there would always be the physical fatigue of controlling her powers on Earth.

Lena smiled. At least they’d have Argo as a refuge - where Lena wasn’t defined as Lex’s little sister, and Kara wasn’t defined by being a super.

---

Kara seemed oddly nervous that morning as they dressed. Lena was excited - to understand a little more of Kara’s home, to see a new culture - but she couldn’t quite understand her girlfriend’s nerves. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it,” Lena said curiously. “You don’t need to worry.”

Kara smiled back, reaching out to take Lena’s hand as they exited her parents’ home. The markets took place twice a week, in the large central park that now served as Argo’s main gathering place. But it seemed Kara wasn’t going directly to the center of the large field, instead detouring to the east. “Where are we going?” Lena asked.

“I want to show you Argo’s heroes first.”

Lena tilted her head curiously, following the kryptonian. The expanse around the city was laid out in a series of ringed parks, and they rotated clockwise along the various paths, Kara pointing out different statues that honored the important historical figures of Krypton.

As they passed a playground, heading beyond the fourth ring of trees, Lena found herself looking at another statue ahead, with another bright and cheery view of the city’s skyscrapers in the background.

But what caught Lena’s eye this time as they approached the statue wasn’t the beautiful sights, but instead the familiar face staring back at her - proud and noble, holding glowing purple stone. What is this?, Lena thought.

They approached the statue - a small smile crossing Kara’s lips - and Lena’s eyes darted around it, eventually reading the plaque spelling her own name, with a string of kryptonian beneath. Lena could feel the blush crawling up her cheeks at her own confusion, her heart racing in disbelief. “Me?” Lena said softly. “They think I’m a hero?”

“You gave Argo the harun-el,” Kara said. “Every year, the Luthor Festival celebrates the day my mother returned with the recipe.”

The Luthor festival is about me, Lena thought, placing a hand at the base of the statue, realizing that tears were starting to threaten her vision. But she didn’t care. This… this is about me. What I did.

Kara smiled, squeezing Lena’s other hand, seeming to read her thoughts. “You saved all of them, Lena,” Kara said, as Lena’s heart raced, “To my people, the Luthor name is defined by you.”

Lena smiled widely, tears still threatening to spill as she turned into a waiting Kara’s arms, who squeezed her tightly. Lena’s arms wrapped around Kara in return, as she let out a choked laugh, placing her head on Kara’s shoulder as she melted into her. “Thank you for showing me this,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

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

This headcanon was first mentioned in Echoes of the Forest, but I felt I wanted to write a ficlet for it. Please also check out this beautiful art I commissioned from @heeeygracie!

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

Fic things I will never have enough of/get over:

“Oh no, they’re hot.”

“Great, now there’s two of them.”

See above but with more swearing and feelings of dread and impending doom

BAMFs with swords

Old wise person causing 90% of the chaos

“They’ve never met in canon.” “Actually, they’re dating.”

“They’re mortal enemies.” “Actually, they’re married.”

The keeper of the braincell

Sharing one braincell but they lost it

The cinnamon roll goes feral

Tiny feral child and their supportive, enabling, non-parental background adults

“I’m your problem now”

“Welp, guess I’m a parent now”

Accidental world domination

Competence

Competence kink

Calmly sipping tea while everything behind them is on fire

Trying to be a good, supportive adult but you have no point of reference so you end up giving a sword to a ten-year-old

Time travel

Person A and person B start dating and when they tell everyone persons C-Q are confused because haven’t they been dating for like three years now and persons R-Z thought they were already married

*does something previously thought to be impossible* “What, like it’s hard?”

Platonic besties that will help hide the bodies

Fake dating

Accidental baby acquisition

Accidental baby acquisition but they’re a middle-aged to senior adult with like five thirty-something-year-olds that are now their children

Crossovers that shouldn’t work but do

“I need help” “I’ll grab the shovel” “Not that kind of help”

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Well-written non-canon pairings for characters that have other firmly established canon pairings. Like, fully alters the entire story line non-canon pairings. But done in a way that feels like a reasonable possible outcome.

A protagonist with a million problems to solve still taking the time to be kind

Forehead kisses

Time traveller going apeshit and fixing everything preferably in as Mary-Sue a way as possible

OP character who is oblivious to the fact that they are indeed OP

Character who spouts off increasingly concerning details of their life while not realizing everyone else’s growing concern or the fact that they’re probably about to be mother-henned for the next decade

Character who chooses a parental figure and informs said parental figure of this new development with little to no forewarning

Strong, stoic character is actually the most chaotic one there

Everything in the chaotic portion of the alignment chart

Getting back at a bad guy in as petty a way as possible

Time travel with two or more time travellers who don’t realize they’re not the only time traveller

The guy everyone thinks is going to beat up all the bad guys sitting back and watching the person previously believed to be as strong as an uncooked noodle absolutely demolish them

Any situation where characters play hot potato with a position of great power. “Congrats, you’re king now.” “Not if you can’t catch me, I’m not.”

Unexpected language skills

Unexpected skills in general, particularly if they’re as niche as hell

Two extremely competent individuals who lose all brain cells when within a close proximity of each other

Fixing problems on accident

Fixing problems on accident while actively trying to cause problems on purpose

Surviving primarily due to spite

[tallykale]

episode 19

as you can probably tell, i've thought a lot about what post-canon one would look like in my vision... i've said before that i have issues with straightforward fix-its, and i do genuinely love the tragic open-ended conclusion that the series has, but i... am not immune to playing with characters like dolls LOL

here's some writeups about where everyone is at mentally in these pictures. please please please PLEEEASE feel free to ask me more about this cuz i love talking about my beautiful mind palace

charlotte: somehow the most optimistic person in here, mostly out of necessity. when she died, she saw parker leading her out of a cave as her waiting room and was about to take his hand when airy respawned her, so she has a brief moment of bonding with bryce when he talks about the waiting room and seeing stella. with the knowledge that there is potentially a way to get out (bryce and liam being the proof) and the fear of rotting away again she is by far the most actively motivated to help liam figure out the computer. a lot of her days are spent talking to liam over the mic and writing out the code in the dirt so she can try to understand it. she still has to push against her natural misanthropy (and often shouts at liam or bryce for being fucking stupid and useless) but both working on the code and helping amelia give her something concrete to focus on outside herself. she wants to get home so she can make amends with her friends. charlotte is scared of dying! she's really genuinely horribly scared of dying and has awful vivid nightmares about rotting away. she often pushes amelia into talking about her life which causes some tension, but it's because she really hates seeing amelia lose herself like that - a metaphorical rotting away of the self.

subway seat & atom: not on the same level of pure existential depression as the batch 1 contestants, but they both feel the hopeless mood pretty harshly regardless. subway feels very lonely as the only hidden object still 'awake', and likes to carry whippy creamy around rather than just leave him sitting on the ground constantly. tray is too big and unwieldy for him to do that with, but he 'hangs out' with her anyway, talking to her and whippy creamy in the hopes that it'll get them to want to wake up again. atom doesn't talk much, but he still carries his piece of grass. he's definitely the person who's the least affected by the prospect of being stuck on the plane forever, since he… doesn't really perceive existence in the same way as everyone else? he's an atom. but his time in the competition definitely made him view everyone else as friends, and he feels even more powerless than usual in the face of this incomprehensibly difficult problem.

amelia: falls into total hopelessness when bryce rejoins, basically seeing it as the final sign that they're never going home. still calls everyone their competition names (she actually gets into a big fight with bryce about it lol). she gets really clingy and dependent on bryce when he first comes back but it crashes and burns pretty quickly when, during an argument, bryce tells her how much he wishes he could just go back and never have let liam in and forgot about everything… which really sucks for amelia to hear, given that she's part of that everything. after that, with bryce isolating himself, she's kind of reliant on charlotte to keep her going. she blames liam for airy dying and secretly kind of thinks he killed him but just isn't telling them… she also doesn't really believe there's any way of getting out and is just kind of waiting around to die of, like, old age i guess. after how long she's been here, amelia is convinced that she has nothing to even go back to and frequently forgets details about her life. regularly cries and hates being alone. the shift markings on the side of the water tub have changed from being a way to keep track of time and stay sane to a horrible reminder of how long they've been here and how much longer of an eternity they have before them.

bryce: hates himself and liam and airy and the plane and his entire stupid fucking life. bryce is really, really fucking pissed off at liam for losing the notes and letting texty die and every other mistake he's made, and isn't shy about telling him that. as well as being angry, he's also incredibly miserable, because he was finally starting to turn his life around (he quit drinking after the plane) and now it's all for nothing - and even worse, those 7 months he spent getting better were 7 months he did nothing to help the rest of them, especially amelia. he's horribly guilty about that, and that he didn't tell amelia about the fake votes before he was eliminated… but finds it easier to just let liam take the heat for that one at first. after he fights with amelia about it he becomes a bit of a hermit, hanging out by himself next to the plug, and never responds when liam tries to talk. contemplates suicide regularly but pretty much the only option is drowning himself, and the idea of that still scares him more than staying like this forever. would kill for a beer.

liam: tortured by horrible guilt every day over a million different things. these include getting bryce pulled back into this (plus delayed guilt over getting him for real killed), letting texty die and not saying anything about the charger, not telling amelia that everything was fake, knowing that charlotte is going to die if he doesn't get really smart really fast… he's frequently gripped by fits of rage where he almost smashes the computer and has to hobble around outside with the axe for a while to blow off steam. he has really bad nightmares and dissociative episodes, made worse by the isolation and spending hours in a dark cave. liam really wants to fix things with everyone but genuinely has no idea how to start that conversation. he assumes airy killed himself (and views it as an unforgiveably cowardly move) and directs a lot of resentment towards him. he has a lot of things he wants to say, especially to bryce, but the fact that he cant talk to anybody one on one makes things difficult. spends a lot of time just reading through the code, too afraid to actually make any changes in case everyone explodes, but talking it through with charlotte at least makes him feel like he's doing something. more than he would like to admit, liam catches himself staring at the plane as if it's a simulation or a livestream.

[pathologicalreid]

occupational hazard | S.R.

You and Spencer have a discussion about the dangers of his job.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: plot discussions from 9x23 (angels) and 9x24 (demons), canon compliant injuries, crying, established relationship word count: 1.23k a/n: thought of this while i couldn't sleep after watching the season 9 finale. also its me. I'm the crier.

Your mother always said you had a problem with staring. In the grocery store as a kid, she would pull you to the side and tell you that you were being rude. It always confused you because you didn’t think it was possible to be rude without speaking.

Spencer never seemed to mind your staring, he’d ask if everything was alright, but he never really asked you to stop or told you off.

So, while he was over at your apartment, sitting on the couch grading papers, you just stared at him. You studied how his hair fell in front of his face as he scrawled on the printed paper, and how he set his jaw when he noticed a mistake. Your brows furrowed when you noticed a small scar on the side of his neck, a confused noise escaped your throat.

That got his attention, “What’s wrong?” He asked, matching your furrowed brows before setting his pen down.

Cocking your head curiously, you leaned forward to try to look at his neck, “What is that?” You whispered. It was an old scar, so you could only really notice it when the light hit it just right.

“What is what?” He asked, looking behind him and on his shirt like he was looking for a spill.

Gently, you reached out your hand and touched the scar with your fingertips. “Where did you get this scar?” You couldn’t believe you had never noticed it before – the two of you had been dating for more than half a year.

He reached up his hand and met yours, intertwining your hands together, “On a case in Texas.”

Your lips parted slightly as you looked at the scar again. “How did you get that scar on a case in Texas?” You asked, even though you were fairly certain you knew the answer.

Turning, Spencer set all of the papers on the side table before he turned back to face you. “I was shot in the neck,” he answered almost a little too calmly. As if it was just another day in the office, and maybe it was to him.

It certainly wasn’t to you. “What do you mean you got shot in the neck?” You asked, your voice was high and reedy with panic. Fear settled in your chest on behalf of a version of your boyfriend you didn’t even know.

“Hey, hey,” he said in an attempt to calm you down. “I’m okay, this happened almost five years ago, love. I’m fine,” he said, cupping your cheeks with both of his hands.

Your eyes were still wide, like deer in the headlights wide, and you nodded despite yourself. “That’s so scary, Spence,” you whispered as emotion burned in your throat. You knew he worked for the FBI and had for a long time. You knew he had been in love with a girl who was killed in front of him – that’s why he was so protective sometimes. You knew he had been in prison for three months for a crime he didn’t commit – that’s why he taught classes for thirty days. This was the first thing you had figured out – you had told him to tell you everything in his own time.

For a moment, he watched you like he had something he wanted to say but wasn’t sure where to start.

You sat on your heels and retracted your hands from his neck, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry I just… I saw the scar.” Awkwardly settling your hands in your lap, you sighed. “You’re right, it was a long time ago.”

“Wait, what just happened?” He asked dumbfoundedly.

Shrugging, you settled into the couch cushions. “I just saw the scar and I was curious,” you whispered as your eyes burned. “I didn’t… I just mean you don’t owe me an explanation.”

Reaching into your lap, Spencer took one of your hands in his, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “You can always ask, it’s a fact that my job is dangerous,” he told you softly. “Getting hurt is an occupational hazard. It was never my intention to make you feel like you can’t ask me questions about… Why are you crying?”

You wiped furiously under your eyes at the tears that had flooded your eyes, “because you got shot.”

“You’re crying because I was shot five years ago?” He asked in bewilderment, his tone wasn’t belittling, he was genuinely surprised at your reasoning.

Nodding, you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes in an attempt to stop your tears. “I am a crier; I cry at everything. Please don’t read into this,” you pleaded, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

Gently, Spencer pried your hands away from your face, “Please don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry, and I don’t know what to do.”

You shook your head, and your bleary eyes met his, “Really, Spence, I’m fine. I’m just a crier, okay? Sad, happy, mad, I cry.” You looked up at the ceiling light and sniffled, fanning your face in an attempt to dry it off.

He was staring at you, “You are quite possibly the sweetest human being I have ever met.” Spencer reached out and pulled you to him, “Look at me.”

Begrudgingly, you looked at him. “How many times have you been shot?”

“I’m not answering that until you stop crying,” he said, sweeping your hair behind your ears.

That answer did absolutely nothing to comfort you. Huffing, you pressed your lips into a thin white line, “I’m fine,” you whispered, “I’m just crying.”

Spencer smiled at you, “That is an oxymoron, and you know it.” His smile faded, “I’ve been shot three times.”

“Oh my god, Spencer,” you said, dropping your head to his shoulder.

He hummed softly, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple, “Once in the knee, once in the arm, and once in the neck. Please don’t cry.”

You nodded into him, “Yeah, you’re… you’re okay now, right?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?” He asked softly, running his hands along your back.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, “I love you,” you whispered.

His movements falter for just a moment, “I love you too.”

Pulling away and wiping your eyes, “You should finish grading those papers,” you whispered to him, moving away.

Instead of letting you go, Spencer pulled you closer, “I’ll finish tomorrow. I want to be here with you now,” he responded softly. “Are we okay?”

“Your job scares me,” you answered candidly, “but we’re good. We’re great.”

He nodded self-assuredly, “I can’t change the job, but you could meet my team if you wanted to. Maybe meeting them would make you more comfortable with me going out into the field,” he offered. “And maybe I could…” his voice trailed off as he mumbled something else.

Tilting your head curiously, you hummed in an attempt to prod at him, “Maybe you could what?”

“I could make you my emergency contact. If that’s something you’re comfortable with,” he said. “I’ve never really had anyone to add, but I’m sure Emily wouldn’t mind.”

You smiled softly at him, grateful for every bit he let you in, “I would be honored. Just don’t have any emergencies.”

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