#IT ALL MADE SENSE I WAS PUTTING PIECES TOGETHER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

poguehearted77 · 2 days ago

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Between The Lines

Summary-> It's the little things that go on behind the scenes between you and Drew that makes your chemistry electric.

Belongs to my: OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

"Park place." Maddison narrates where Drew lands his dog piece across the monopoly board. "I'll buy it." He says but your hand is in his face, "Not so fast. I'm sure you would love to buy it if I didn't already have a hotel on it. You owe me $1500. Pay up." You show him your open palm, ready for lots and lots of cash.

"He's so cooked. Look at that pathetic stack of cash Drew has. I've got piggy banks with more than that." Jonathan's comments send the four of you erupting into a fit of laughter which eventually dies down to a patient silence. "Sometime today would be great." Madison clears her throat.

"Josh is coming!" Drew points, appealing to our gullibility and youall fell for it. By the time you realized he was bluffing, the board was tossed and the pieces were all out of place. He gets up and runs off as if he already knew you'd be hot on his heels.

Your outburts left JD and Madison alone to pick up the pieces, but not without an interesting conversation. "50 bucks they're together by the time we finish the season." Madison says it so casually as she reaches underneath the couch for the pieces.

"So I'm not crazy? You see it too?" He looks almost relieved. "Trust me, I've got a knack for these things." JD seems skeptical about the timeline of the bet. "I dunno, we finish filming in four months. That might be too soon, I say by the premiere."

The both of them look up so Carlacia who seemed to have been streaming live on her istagram. She enters the room mumbling something about getting winded by you and Drew sprinting past her.

Madison scoffs, "That's like nine months from now. They could get together and break up by then, but you know what-- If that's what you wanna bet, then be my guest." She holds out her hand and JD shakes on it. "You're on."

"We're ready for you guys." One of the assistants notifys them that it was time to head to the screening room where the weekly table reads were held.

Today would be your first look at the script for the second episode, and to say you were shocked was an understatement.

Script Summary:

Eventually the pogues put their trust in Piper and she gives them a fair exchange of some arms that they can handle, while she opts for her weapon of choice, a steel pipe.

"How do you think I got the name and the scar?" She says and it puts an odd sense of comfort among the group, minus a skeptical Rafe, to know you were confident enough in your skills that you didn't need a gun.

They beleived they were in good hands, until they realized they weren't. There was movement coming from the bushes and it made the pogues stand on guard, beckoning them to come out. Soon, the figures finally revealed themsleves. More mercenaries.

"Nicely, done Piper. It seems you can still make yourself useful after all." The red-headed woman speaks up, tossing you a pouch of money that you caught with one hand effortlessly.

"Never doubt my capabilities, it's insulting." You warn, tucking the pouch into the bag strapped across your back. The british woman continues, "Y'know, Mr. Finch could use your talents again. Once we're done tying up loose ends, we're headed back to home base in Lisbon."

Rafe is livid. He knew he couldn't trust you. It couldn't be by pure coincidence that the mercenaries popped up in the middle of this oasis when you were leading. "Lisbon? You told us Finch was here-" Kiara exclaims and Rafe interrupts.

"It was all a lie, from the very beginning. Mr. Alami, the merchant from Agapenta, he was working with you, wasn't he? You knew he'd send us to you, and now you got your sad little payout from these dipshits for bringing us to them." Rafe seethes.

"I'll neither confirm nor deny that claim, love the enthusiasm though." Your attitude remains unbothered throughout the ordeal until Pope demands, "What do you want from us? We don't have the crown! Groff took it." The red head shrugs casually, sharpening her blades as she approaches the group.

"Don't you worry, Groff will get what's coming to him. For now, it's time to repay the debt that is owed. You get blood on your hands, I get blood on mine." Your eyes bulge, "Hang on, you never said you wanted to kill them." You step in and the woman pays you no mind.

"Perhaps because It's none of your concern. You've got your cut, now's a good time as ever to leave. It's about to get messy." She retracts her hand, about to plunge the blade into Pope when she's knocked out cold by a flying piece of steel.

The group looks over to you in shock, fear, and a hint of gratitude, but there's no time to gush about it when there's suddenly a brawl that breaks out between the mercenaries and the pogues.

You all hardly take them out before escaping.

"Piper, what the hell?!" John B yells and his anger is heavily agreed on in the group, you take it on the chin before offering the most sincere apology you could come up with. They're unconvinced. "I deserve that. Everything you heard back there is true. Finch's Fortress is in Lisbon. If you find him, you'll find Groff," You trail off, reaching into your bag, handing Cleo the pouch of money you'd just gotten.

"Take this. It's more than enough to get you a boat big enough to get across the atlantic and even have some leftover for food for a few days. When you arrive on the coast of Cascais, you'll need to head north in-land."

There's silence.

A long silence, nervous glances between the pogues and Rafe's eyes roll. "You guys cannot seriously be considering trusting her. She almost had us killed! Am I the only one who cares about making it back home?"

"Just shut up, Rafe!" John B silences him, and Pope speaks up. "Listen, I don't know about you guys but Piper just saved my life when she didn't have to. We've already lost someone. Going after Groff could be a suicide missison for all we know. But we all know this isn't about our safety, it's about revenge. For JJ." His speech is moving, the expressions agree.

"For JJ." They all agree.

"To Lisbon we go." Cleo chimes, and the group moves on.

End of Script*

You had just finished reading the script and you were blown away. The cast never knows what to expect whenevfer a new script is dropped in front of them.

"Wait a minute... If the pogues are going to Lisbon in the next episode then," Madison trails off and the director ties in, "So are we. Pack your bags, flights are booked for Saturday morning at 5am, please do not miss these flights, we're not opposed to writing you out!" Josh jokes and there's excited and shock all around the table.

You knew that the last season of the show had implied that the pogues would be on their way to Lisbon but it never dawned on you that it would be so soon, even though it made sense.

"You ever been to Portugal?" Drew leans in, a soft whisper in your ear tickled your skin and made the hairs on the back of your neck at attention. "Never, have you?" He thinks about it, "If a layover counts then yes, yes I have." You're not sure if the joke was funny or if it just left the mouth of an incredibly attractive man, nonetheless, it made you giggle.

Madison kicks JD from under the table, jutting her chin towards the two of you giggling in secret and he rolls his eyes. "Patience." He says it calmly, but Madison is impatient, she knows she'll reign triumphant by the end of it all.

It’s a Friday night—or, more accurately, the early hours of Saturday morning. The world outside your accommodations complex is still cloaked in sleep, and you should be too. But no. The responsibility of making your flight in two hours has ripped you from the warmth of your bed. Groggy but determined, you scrambled to gather your belongings, knowing you wouldn’t be back.

After a last sweep of the room, you opened the door with a flicker of confidence—only to jump at the sight of a six-foot-two figure standing in your doorway.

“Drew! Oh my god, you scared me.” Your hand flew to your chest in a theatrical gesture, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

A small smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you were actually up. Everyone else already left. There’s one driver still waiting downstairs.” His voice was smooth, annoyingly easy to listen to this early in the morning. Too easy.

“You sound oddly refreshed for 3 a.m.,” you quipped, your own voice still husky from sleep as you grabbed your suitcase.

“That’s the beauty of insomnia.” He shrugged, gesturing to his temples with a finger like it was some kind of genius life hack. “You can’t wake up tired if you never really sleep.”

The elevator dinged open, and the two of you stepped inside. The silence that settled was heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define. It hung there until you both spoke at once:

“So where are you—” “How did you—”

You broke into quiet laughter, and Drew’s mouth twitched with amusement. “You first,” he said, giving you a slight nod.

“How did you know I hadn’t already left with the others?” you asked, tilting your head curiously. For a moment, something flickered across his face—an emotion too quick to name—before a light blush dusted his cheeks. He masked it with an easy tone.

“I did some askin' around,” he replied, the answer short and almost vague. It was just enough to spark your teasing instincts.

“Ah,” you said with a smirk, “so you missed me?”

Instant regret settled within you. The elevator seemed too small, too still as Drew turned to look at you, his gaze steady and disarming. For a heartbeat, he didn’t respond, and your cheeks grew warm under his stare.

“You could say that,” he finally said, the ghost of a smirk curling the corner of his lips. His attention shifted to the elevator doors as they slid open, leaving you to wonder if you’d imagined the whole thing.

The ride to the airport was longer than expected thanks to roadwork that forced a detour. You should've been annoyed, but at some point, your head found its way to Drew’s shoulder, and your eyes fluttered shut. The fabric of his hoodie was soft against your temple, and his warmth lulled you into a half-dream state.

Drew didn’t dare move. The weight of your head against him was almost too perfect, and he fought the sudden urge to reach for your hand resting on your lap. Instead, he focused on the ticking clock in the back of his mind and the quiet hum of the car.

When you arrived, he sprang into action. “C’mon, we don’t have time to waste,” he murmured, grabbing your suitcase and his carry-on in one hand while ushering you toward the terminal with the other.

You barely had to lift a finger. Drew handled everything—tickets, baggage check, even navigating customs—with practiced efficiency, his jaw set and his movements quick. He wasn’t just organized; he was determined.

“Do you always walk as fast as a drill sergeant?” you teased as you reached the gate, breathing a little easier now.

He shot you a look, his lips twitching. “I'm not a huge fan of being late,” was all he said. But the way his eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary told you there was more to it than that.

Finally, you made it to your seats in first class. You settled across the aisle from Madelyn, who flashed you a bright smile.

“I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it,” she teased, leaning toward you with a glint in her eye. There was an underlying subtext to her words but you were too tired to decipher it.

“Drew made sure that didn’t happen,” you replied with a soft laugh. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth you couldn’t quite suppress.

From behind your seat, Drew caught the sound of his name on your lips--and god did he love the way it sounds. He didn’t know what you’d said, but it didn’t matter. The fact that you were talking about him stirred something in his chest.

As the flight began, you glanced back once, meeting his gaze. He held it for a fraction of a moment before looking away, his expression unreadable.

And yet, for the rest of the flight, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t stop replaying the memory of the weight of your head on his shoulder—or wondering what it might feel like to hold your hand in his.

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,

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m00nl1ghts1vt · 2 days ago

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Scavenger Hunts & Cinnamon Rolls - Chris Sturniolo

Babydaddy Chris - Positive - Mama - Changed Woman Pairings - Babydaddy!Chris x Fem!Reader Summary - You and Chris put a last minute scavenger hunt together for the boys as a way to reveal your pregnancy. Warnings - Strong language, pregnancy announcement, lil fluffy, Word Count - 2419 Authors Note - Looking for a new label for the reader!! 🤔 give me suggestions! At first I had Changed Woman and Scavenger Hunts & Cinnamon Rolls as once big ass post but I broke them up lol. I hope everyone like it! I had a lot of fun putting the little notes together. Masterlist Current Series - City of Love Check out my dividers!

“They’re pulling up,” Chris beams from the living room, rushing to the kitchen island where you were sitting. He had been running around like a jittery school kid all day. Finally deciding it was time to tell Nick and Matt, you two pulled together a last-minute scavenger hunt in hopes it’d make the news a little less intense. Chris had no clue how they’d react, telling them they’re going to uncles for the first time was going to be shocking news, but he knew it had to be done. Both of you were tired of making up excuses when Matt would complain about you in the bathroom almost all day, every day. Or when Nick asked why you were wearing Chris's wardrobe and taking a hiatus on drinking.

Everything was prepared. All the envelopes were placed in their designated spots around the house, sealed with a piece of scotch tape, and marked with either your neat handwriting or your boyfriends sloppy handwriting, each one leading to the next. Chris sent his brothers on a few errands after breakfast which made sense because they had a few errands of their own. The three being so close, they took notice of Chris moping around the house, attempting to get it out of him but he suppressed his true feelings every time, refusing to confess the secret he had been holding in the last few weeks. Needless to say, when Chris asked them to pick up a few things for him, they didn’t object. He made sure to give them a long list, keeping them out for a few hours so the two of you could get everything ready. Chris taped the first envelope on the front door just minutes before they arrived, your neat handwriting scribbled across it - “let the games begin. The first clue is where you store your shoes. Good luck twin!”

A mixture of anticipation and nervousness boiled deep down in your gut. At least that's what you thought it was since the feeling was quite different from your constant state of nausea you had been in the last few weeks. You hear the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut, “is this for a video?” Nick asks, poking his head around the corner, “I need to change first if it is.”

“No. No video,” Chris stutters, breaking eye contact to look at you. His face said he was second guessing it all, so you put on your best reassuring smile and nodded him on, trying to give him as much encouragement as you could without physically saying it. Matt takes notice pretty quickly, “what’s wrong with you, kid? You look sick,” his voice laced with concern and his eyebrows scrunched together. Chris swallows the lump in his throat, shaking his head, “got a big surprise for you guys. C’mon, find the next clue,” he eggs them on while wrapping an arm around you, desperately trying to wipe the ghost-like expression off of his face.

You and Chris walk into the living room, watching as his brothers absolutely destroy the organized shoe rack. It was nearly impossible to find the next note, you had stuffed it in a pair of Nick's shoes that he barely ever wore. Matt jumps in excitement as he pulls the crunched up sticky note out of a pair of old, dusty sneakers. You laugh as he thrusts it in the air and shouts, “got it!”

He brings the note back down to eye level, clearing his throat, “‘now that you found the second clue, go to the fridge and crack open a Mountain Dew,’” he reads off the words you pieced together. You weren’t much of a rhymer, Chris told you what to say on most of them because he knew it would’ve taken you all night. The scavenger hunt being a spontaneous whim of his, you didn’t argue when he sprung the idea on you, you were just happy he was ready to tell them. “Who drinks Mountain Dew?” Nick snorts, knowing it was only in the fridge for company that came over.

“It rhymed,” you retorted back to him, shrugging your shoulders, “and we have Mountain Dew in the fridge.” Nick and Matt were too excited over the silly scavenger hunt, and they were really letting their competitive sides show. They resembled little kids running around the playground at recess as they raced each other to the fridge, earning laughs from you and Chris as they pushed one another out of the way. Nick gets there first, swinging the fridge door open, “my hand is literally on the door!” You let out a laugh as he argues with Matt, making him pout and cross his arms over his chest, “it’s okay, buddy. You’ll get the next one,” Chris tells him in a playful tone before rubbing a hand down his back. Matt quickly shrugs it off as Nick begins to read the third clue aloud, “clue three will keep you on your toes, check where Matt keeps his clothes.”

Before you or Chris can say anything, Matt turns on his heels and foots it to his bedroom, “this one's mine!” You erupt in laughter, Chris following quickly behind as you watch Nick chase after Matt. It was funny how competitive they were, not even knowing the prize would be finding out they were becoming uncles. Just as you’re about to walk up the steps you hear Matt yell at Nick, “back door! It says ‘wanting more? Check by the back door,’ hurry up!”

Before you have the chance to get out of the way, Nick is barrelling towards you, jumping down the last few steps to get a head start. Chris snakes a hand around your waist, swiftly yanking you out of his way, “watch the fuck out! It’s not that serious!” he calls after his brother who dismisses his words by waving a hand over his shoulder. Chris looks at you, “you okay?” You force a smile, nodding to him, “I’m fine. Let them be excited.”

Matt stomps down the stairs, calling out to Nick, “did you get it?!” Nick shouts from the back of the house, “‘no bitchin’, take that ass to the kitchen!”

Matt picks up his pace, quickly making his way to the kitchen. You and Chris follow behind him silently, refusing to give out any hints. The boys had one more clue until they revealed the big secret. So many thoughts run through your head as Matt inspects the kitchen - what were their reactions going to be? Were they going to hate you? - you felt like you were telling Chris all over again, like you were telling your overprotective older brothers, and that felt even worse. Matt puts his feet in action, moving across the kitchen in long strides. You watch as he picks up the white envelope you had taped to the cookie jar. Before he tears into it, you open your mouth to stop him, “read that last one together, Matt.”

He looks up at you, nodding as he clenches the note to his chest as if he didn’t trust himself. A few moments later, Nick appears around the corner, giving Matt all the initiative he needed to tear open the envelope. He holds it out, “‘hopefully this isn’t too heartbreaking, check the oven to see what’s baking,’” he reads loud enough for the room to hear. His face crunching in confusion, “heartbreaking?”

You had a feeling Nick could care less about what the notes said, it was obvious his competitive side had taken over. He rushes to the oven and swings it open, revealing a leftover cinnamon roll from breakfast. Chris put it in there hours ago after he realized buns were the only thing you didn’t have. You watch as Nick doubles over to pick the rock hard cinnamon roll up, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, “a cinnamon roll? Why would a cinnamon roll be heartbreaking?” He looks between you and Chris, “they were pretty good at breakfast, probably stale now.”

“Well,” Chris chokes out in a nervous manner, “we didn’t have any buns.” You let your eyes bounce around the room - Chris scratching the back of his neck like the nervous mess he truly was. Matt rereads the last note over and over again, trying to put two and two together while Nick was looking at the stale dessert dumbfounded. As much as you wanted to scream out your confession, you decided to let Chris do all the talking. Besides, telling his family was something you wanted to leave to him, after all it was his family. Telling your own family was something you were dreading.

“What the fuck?!” Matt spits out, making you and Chris look at him. The color flushes out of his face like he’s the one who just found out he was about to be a father. Nick was still staring at the cinnamon roll, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, “I don’t get it.”

“Y/n’s pregnant, dumbfuck!” he chews out. You couldn’t tell if he was pissed or just taken back, and by the look on Chris’s face, he wasn’t sure either. Nick drops the roll, letting it bounce off the tiled floor before he slaps a hand over his mouth, “what?!”

A strong silence casts upon the kitchen. The familiar feeling of anticipation is no longer in your gut as the four of you eyeball each other, struck for words. You didn’t know what to say or do, but the need to break the tension was weighing down on you like a thousand bricks placed on your back. Deciding to break the awkward silence, you force a toothless smile, letting your small voice croak out, “surprise!”

“You’re fucking joking! Where’s the cameras?” Nick pushes out a shocked laugh, looking around the room to see if he could spot any hidden cameras. Chris clears his throat, “we’re not joking,” running a hand through his hair. His serious demeanor made his brothers come to a realization; this silly scavenger hunt wasn’t a prank, and you were for sure pregnant. He was the most unserious out of the three, his goofy personality is what attracted you to him the most. He was a major goofball and if you were being truthful, this did seem like a prank he’d put together for the hell of it. Except, it wasn’t a prank at all - it was the real deal.

You let your worries get the best of you. Feeling hot tears brim the waterline of your eyes, you quickly blink them away before looking down at your hidden bump. Chris’s hoodies did a fantastic job at hiding your baby bump these last couple weeks. You panicked when you started showing, even though your bump was barely noticeable, you didn’t want anyone to catch on before your announcement. The only indication you were pregnant was the constant puking in the hall bathroom Matt and Chris shared and you wanted to keep it that way until you were ready to confess. All eyes were on you as you smooth a hand over your bump, making the hoodie hug at your waist, showing your small. You could easily say you were bloated and get away with it. Nick and Matt gasp in harmony as you lift the hoodie up to expose your growing bump. It wasn’t much, but it was still proof of your baby's existence, proof that your baby was growing. Nick peels his hand from his mouth to speak, “you’re already showing?!” He makes his way to your belly, holding out a hand like he’s asking if he can touch. You nod him on, “yup, it’s real,” he says out loud, making you snort. Nick was really trying to convince himself this was reality. The last few weeks, you felt the same, so you couldn’t blame him.

“How far along are you? Why didn’t you guys tell us?!” Matt shoots out questions like a disappointed father. He wasn’t upset that you and Chris were expecting, he was upset that Chris would keep such a big secret from him when they told each other everything. Some things they didn’t even tell Nick or you. “We’re telling you now bud. She’ll be eleven weeks this friday,” Chris jokes until he realizes Matt’s hard expression isn’t budging, “I don’t know. I was scared, didn’t want you guys to be mad at me.” You can hear the sadness in his voice, almost like a kid who was apologizing to his parents for bad grades. “I’m not mad you’re having a baby. I’m upset ‘cause you didn't tell me sooner. We all could’ve been figuring this shit out together Chris,” he lectures him like the true big brother he is. Matt moves his feet to walk towards you, “how long have you known?”

“We found out at 7 weeks,” you manage to get out before he places a hand on your belly without warning, “yea that’s real,” he confirms, shooting looks between his brothers and back down at you. “I want to know about the next one as soon as it happens,” he grumbles, keeping his hand on your stomach. Nick snorts, “please,” taking a hand off your belly so Matt could get better access, “you were probably in the next room as they conceived it.”

“Don’t call my baby an ‘it’. He’s a boy,” Chris argues, a grinning spreading from ear to ear. His comment makes both Matt and Nick look at him. Already knowing what the next question would be, you decide to chime in, “we don’t know yet. He’s just been manifesting the whole time.”

"Hold on," Chris nearly shouts, rushing out of the kitchen, and quickly returning with two extra copies of your first ultrasound you had gotten a few weeks prior. The same bright smile stretched across his face as he hands over a copy to each of his brothers, "doesn't he look like a boy?"

"Chris, it looks like an alien," Nick snickers, earning a playfully gasp from Chris. Matt studies the black and white printed picture, "yup,” he pops, "looks just like you, Chris."

"Funny 'cause you look just like me," Chris shoots back quickly. He still felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, you were bringing a new life into existence in just a few short months. He wasn't ready for it at all, but he was glad his brothers were there to help him, and you, through it.

🏷️ - @lvrsturniolo @ribread03 @unknvhx @m11rx @emely9274 @loveparqdise @sweetshuga @frickin-bats @katie-tibo @leila-marie4

#♡‧₊˚ cheyenne's works #♡‧₊˚ babydaddy!chris #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo

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magical-reid · 23 hours ago

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A Little Something Extra

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 1.1K

Prompt 22: “You brought me breakfast?” “Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

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It was another early morning in the BAU office, and the quiet buzz of activity filled the room. The coffee machine was working overtime, and the low hum of computers was accompanied by the soft shuffle of paperwork being passed around. In you usual spot near the windows, you were hunched over a stack of files, trying to make sense of the case that had been keeping you up for the last few days. There were too many details to sift through, and your brain felt like it was running on fumes.

You had told yourself that today would be different. You promised you'd take better care of yourself. You'd eat breakfast, take breaks, and not let the case consume you. But here you were, the morning slipping by, and you hadn’t had more than a few sips of cold coffee.

The sudden, unexpected sound of footsteps brought you back to the present. Looking up from your paperwork, you were met with a familiar face—Spencer Reid, looking more put-together than usual. He was carrying a tray with a bagel, fresh fruit, and a coffee cup with your name on it, balancing everything with an almost comical level of concentration.

You blinked, slightly confused. “You brought me breakfast?”

Spencer smiled sheepishly as he set the tray down on the corner of your desk. He’d already taken the time to carefully arrange everything as if he knew exactly what you liked. “Well, you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

You leaned back in your chair, surprised at the thoughtful gesture. Spencer wasn’t exactly known for being overtly expressive with his feelings, but every now and then, he'd do something that made you realize just how much he paid attention to the little things.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow. “You remembered that?”

Spencer's smile widened a little, but there was a trace of that characteristic nervousness in his eyes. “Of course. You’ve mentioned it a few times. And, well, I know how important it is to stay fueled, especially when we're dealing with, you know... all this.” He gestured to the mountain of case files on your desk.

You stared at him for a moment, your heart doing an unexpected flip. How did he always manage to do this? The little things, the quiet ways he showed that he cared—they added up. They meant more than you could say. You took a deep breath and smiled, your voice softening. “That’s really sweet of you, Spencer. Thank you.”

He looked slightly embarrassed now, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the tray as he cleared his throat. “I just thought... maybe you’d be able to concentrate better if you ate something. You know, breakfast helps with focus and energy levels, and I—”

You cut him off with a quiet laugh, reaching for the bagel and pulling off a piece. “Spencer, I’m sure you know all the scientific reasons why breakfast is important, but honestly, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I’m just... kind of terrible about remembering to eat.”

He shrugged, but his expression was still warm. “It’s no trouble. I know how intense these cases can get, and sometimes you forget to take care of yourself when you’re too focused on the work. I thought this might help.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, a mixture of appreciation and affection. “It definitely helps,” you said, taking another bite of the bagel. “And I think this is exactly what I needed.”

Spencer smiled, looking slightly less nervous now as if relieved that you weren’t going to make it awkward. He adjusted his glasses and stood back, a little uncomfortable but trying his best not to show it. “Well, I’ll leave you to your paperwork. I just wanted to make sure you were eating.”

Before he could turn to go, you quickly reached for the coffee cup he’d brought and held it out toward him. “Hey, would you like to sit for a second?” you asked, your voice soft, the invitation clear. “I don’t mind the company.”

Spencer’s eyes flickered to the seat across from you, then back to you, surprised. “Oh... I mean, I’d love to, but I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

You waved him off, smiling. “I’m already behind, but a break wouldn’t hurt. Besides, you brought me breakfast. The least I can do is share a few minutes with you.”

Spencer seemed a little flustered but pleased. He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, taking a moment to adjust his posture, as though he were preparing for some deep conversation. When he spoke again, it was in his usual, thoughtful tone.

“So... how’s the paperwork going?”

You gave a small sigh, rubbing your eyes. “It’s slow going. We have a lot of details to connect, but I’m still trying to make sense of the pattern.”

He nodded, immediately falling into his element, discussing the finer details of the case with ease. His deep knowledge and sharp mind were always a comfort, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the quiet way he always made you feel heard, understood.

As you listened, nibbling on your breakfast and sipping the coffee he’d thoughtfully brought, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Spencer was always a little awkward in his own way, but the way he cared—it was something you couldn’t ignore. The small gestures, the careful consideration, the fact that he’d remembered something as simple as your bad habit of skipping meals... It meant more than you could express.

“So, you know,” you said, breaking into his focused chatter, “I’m actually really glad you brought me breakfast. It’s like... the perfect little reminder to take care of myself.”

Spencer blinked, then paused mid-sentence, his cheeks flushing a little. “Well, you should... you deserve to be taken care of,” he said, his voice a little quieter now, but there was a sincerity in it that made your heart flutter.

You looked at him, your gaze softening. “Thank you, Spencer. You always know just what I need.”

He gave a small, almost shy smile in response, but there was something in the way he looked at you—a flicker of something more, something deeper.

You knew that, for all his brilliance, Spencer had always been a bit of a mystery when it came to feelings. But in this moment, as you shared breakfast together, you didn’t need any more words to understand. He cared. And that meant everything.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x yn #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid series #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds series #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagines #magical-Reid #requested

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cheshiresense · 2 days ago

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I’m loving all the parts of your Ichigo & Starrk time travel AU! This is a bit random and would take place some time down the road but I had a thought that Starrk probably still has the scars from when Shunsui almost killed him rigjt? So I was wondering if some combination of TBTP!Shunsui recognizing the kind of blades that would’ve left those scars (his zanpakutou is pretty unique after all) and maybe Katen Kyokotsu sensing her own “mark” on Starrk would result in Shunsui guessing a few things if he sees those scars. Or maybe it’s at a point in the timeline where Starrk and Ichigo have already revealed the time travel thing to a few people but not many details and Shunsui ends up putting more pieces together on his own.

Ooh yesss I do love a good scar reveal. For a scene like this, I'd prob go with the second scenario. I imagine Starrk's a pretty private person and also not one to be stripping down in front of just anyone lmao so there has to be a good enough reason. (I actually have a different ready-made one that would fit a time travel reveal scene that I've already hinted at previously but I think I'll write that another time, so we're going to use this one instead.)

This would take place maybe a year or two down the road, and because Shinigami elites are generally not idiots (most of the time), especially the ones Starrk and Ichigo have grown close to, I imagine Shunsui, Ukitake, Shinji, and Kaien (and prob Lisa) have pooled their observations and guessed that Starrk and Ichigo are from the future and have Experienced Some Shit, possibly under Aizen, possibly under some other major big bad that was bad enough to necessitate time travel. And time travel's hardly something just anybody can throw around so most likely there's some divine intervention involved. And once they've come to these conclusions, they decide enough is enough, leaving the fate of Soul Society and possibly the universe on two people who look like they're running themselves ragged trying to save them all is ridiculous. If nothing else, they're friends and family, and it's not right to just leave that burden to them.

I'm also going to throw Kisuke into this group because 1) Kisuke's observant as fuck and Ichigo's actually really bad at staying away from this one mad scientist who created him and weaponized him and pointed him at the enemy but also followed right after him because to Kisuke, Ichigo is everything from moral compass to magnum opus to greatest sin to the person he owes everything to, and he'd more or less handed over his entire soul into Ichigo's possession very early on. So even a hundred years in the past was never going to prevent Kisuke from gravitating to Ichigo who doesn't flinch from him or his reputation and looks at him like he's more than just a Rukon street rat turned assassin turned Shinigami in a captain trenchcoat who has no idea how to be a captain on a good day. (And everybody knows that once Ichigo is attached to you, it's all over, you're never going to be rid of him again, and more than anything, Kisuke has always just wanted someone to want him to stay.)

And 2), there's no better place for secret meetings than the Study Chamber under the Soukyoku Hill, Aizen doesn't know about it, and the Quincy might but with the place buried under enough seals to avoid all detection and probably withstand a siege, even they can't get in to spy. I want to say Kisuke and Yoruichi are a package deal so she should be around, but I also headcanon that they sort of drifted apart for a while after Yoruichi forced Kisuke out of the Second and onto the captaincy doorstep (which made the fact that she threw her whole life and career away when Kisuke was accused of treason that much more meaningful tbh). So for now she's not around, but she does still hang out with Kuukaku, and while it is very helpful that all these people are regular guests at the Shiba compound so nobody is going to get suspicious if this particular group is absent together from time to time because people would just assume they're holed up at the Shibas' for another party or something, Yoruichi is going to notice sooner or later that they're very much not at the compound when they're missing, so she goes looking for whatever fuckery Kisuke has gotten up to this time, and that'll be her way into this time travel adventure, so to speak.

But all of this is actually just to say, healing hot springs for the win, you gotta be naked in a Japanese onsen lmao and guess who's about to have a midnight rendezvous 😉 let's all thank Urahara Kisuke for reinventing such a convenient trope.

-0-

It's nearing two in the morning, and after the staggering revelations earlier, everyone is asleep.

It wasn't as if they hadn't already expected the time travel, but to have it confirmed, and to know now that the reason for it had been the near-total annihilation of all three realms at the hands of a race nursing a thousand-year-old grudge, one thought to be largely extinct but has actually been hiding in their walls - almost literally - and biding their time until their king's awakening--well, let's just say Shunsui isn't going to be able to walk down a street without wondering how many hidden eyes are watching him from the shadows until the Wandenreich has at least been dug out of the woodwork for all to see.

(It's also perhaps a little more… off-putting for him than the others, though perhaps that's his pride speaking. Shadows are supposed to be his domain, and yet he's never sensed anything amiss in all the long years he's lived in the Seireitei.)

There had at least not been too much of a fuss about bringing them into the loop. Shunsui had admittedly thought they would have to at least argue back and forth about it a few more times, if only because no matter how much Ichigo likes to deny it, the family resemblance is uncanny, whether in appearance or personality, and a Shiba is nothing if not stubborn once they've set their mind on something. Ichigo is exactly the type to refuse outside aid in the name of better protecting the people he cares about, has yet to understand that ignorance does not always mean safe, or outgrow that inexplicably instinctual mindset of his where he seems to believe that he must take on all burdens by himself instead of allowing others to help shoulder those burdens with him.

But then they'd confronted the boy, and while Ichigo had scowled up a storm and tried to bluster his way out of it at first - kid really is a terrible liar - he'd also capitulated far sooner than any of them had expected. In the end, he'd crossed his arms and scowled some more before deciding with the finality of someone who wouldn't budge any further, "Fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

He'd smirked at them then, still displeased considering the topic of conversation, but vaguely triumphant nonetheless as he'd eyed Urahara and Hirako and Kaien in particular. "It's why you cornered me when you know Starrk-san's out on a mission and isn't due back 'til late, right? Cuz you think you might be able to wear me down by nagging me to death, or worse comes to worst, you can figure it out by watching my reactions. But you won't get anything out of Starrk-san if he doesn't want to say, and he's hard to read even when he's actively emoting."

He'd snorted then, mockery softened by a reluctant sort of mirth. "Joke's on you, he's the reasonable one."

Which, to be fair, had been Shunsui's opinion. Starrk really is frustratingly, delightfully difficult to read, and this is coming from Shunsui, who's always found most people easy enough to figure out at a glance. Case in point, most of the things they'd pieced together for themselves had been clues Ichigo had inadvertently given away, not Starrk. And even then, if Starrk doesn't want them to know, no matter how many well-reasoned conjectures they lay at his feet, he probably wouldn't say a word.

But by that same token, it must mean that the hints he'd started dropping over the past few months could only be his way of encouraging them to ask without directly giving the game away, without giving them any hard evidence or firsthand testimony that would condemn himself or Ichigo, just in case the people they've chosen to trust fail their expectations and choose to hand them over to the government instead of trusting them in return.

To Shunsui, that had basically been an open invitation to sit down for a chat, and Ukitake had agreed with him, but they'd been outvoted - sometimes, he thinks with some amusement that the younger members of their little group don't seem to have eyes for anyone except Ichigo - so he'd let it go since he'd thought there wouldn't be any major issues with trying it this way first either. After all, he doubts Starrk would've shown his hand without Ichigo's agreement. It's just that they'd probably have to jump through a few more hoops if they went to Ichigo, what with the kid's knee-jerk reflex for keeping them at a distance no matter the cost to himself. And he'd been correct, more or less. It's just that they'd had fewer hoops to jump through than Shunsui had anticipated, but he's hardly about to complain.

"My plan was to force Aizen to out himself somehow and then take him down in front of everyone," Ichigo had continued, oblivious to the dawning look of horror on his cousin's face at the sheer lack of regard Ichigo clearly had for his own wellbeing, or possibly for the excessive margin of error implied in every sentence. "And then, you know, hopefully do the same for the Quincy, although I guess they'd be harder to draw out, so maybe we would've had to go to them? But anyway, Starrk-san's the one who's been saying practically from the beginning that we need more people."

He'd made a face then, reminiscent of children everywhere who'd been lectured by a parent for doing something potentially reckless and stupid, but there'd been a grumpy sort of acceptance there too that had lent maturity to his features.

"'Wars can't be won alone,'" Ichigo had audibly quoted with a rueful sort of twist to his mouth, as much to himself as to them. "'And this is their home. If they want to fight for it, let them fight. They're strong enough to make a difference. Besides, there's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you.'" He'd huffed and scrubbed a hand over his face, and then he'd just looked tired. "Well, he's not wrong."

He'd looked at them all again, gaze firm. "So if you really wanna do this, fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

They'd waited. It wasn't as if anyone had actually wanted to exclude the man anyway, couldn't even if they did since he and Ichigo were clearly a package deal. And Shunsui's of the opinion that anybody who can consistently convince Ichigo to stop and look around and realize he isn't as alone as he often seems to believe is someone Shunsui definitely wants onside.

Ichigo had told them that Starrk had been expecting a confrontation sooner or later, and there were only so many places for it to happen if they didn't want anyone else finding out, so if Starrk got back and found their shared apartment empty, he would know to check here.

Sure enough, an hour after, a reiatsu signature - usually so carefully tucked away but one that Shunsui had pressed into his own memory from the very first time he'd had the chance to really feel it - had flared politely right outside the door before wisping away to nothing again, and a moment after Urahara had flashed away to let him in, Starrk had ghosted in, still in his Shihakushou with the wooden case containing his Zanpakutou slung over one shoulder and an exhausted air about him, but the silver-blue gaze he'd swept over them had momentarily felt like the fangs of a beast locked around their throats.

He'd looked to Ichigo, who'd grimaced but nodded, some wordless conversation passing between them, and only then had all those predatory edges been folded away again, leaving only the quiet unassuming man people still barely looked twice at despite the fact that he'd graduated with honours just as impressive as Ichigo's had been, and had even been promoted to lieutenant on Unohana's personal recommendation straight out of the Academy. But most Shinigami saw Fourth Division and looked no further, blind to the power concealed behind Starrk's reserved apathy.

(In contrast, restlessness had stirred beneath Shunsui's skin at the sight. He'd wanted to feel that reiatsu again, to taste the corrosive bite of it against the endless abyss of his own, to revel in the reminder that neither of them could overwhelm the other. He'd wanted to see more of the wolf lurking behind Starrk's eyes too, wanted this man to know he had no need to hide any part of it, not from Shunsui, not when he had the same kind of monster residing in his own soul. But that was all still too much, too soon, and so he'd locked it all behind his teeth once more, waiting for the day he wouldn't have to anymore.)

Starrk had sighed and run a gloved hand over his mouth before wandering over to join them. "Alright, let's talk. What do you want to know?"

That had been five hours ago. The conversation had lasted until midnight before they'd all decided to retire for the night and continue in the morning.

(Ichigo had looked positively agonized at the prospect. Starrk hadn't looked much of anything, mainly because he'd been half-asleep - or doing an excellent job at pretending to be - for a good hour and a half by that point.)

They'd opted to stay in the Study Chamber. Urahara had had more than enough futons to go around, thick enough that they wouldn't feel the ground underneath, and there were bathroom facilities and even a kitchenette included in a sectioned off corner. He and Yoruichi had certainly outdone themselves.

Urahara in particular. He'd invited them to use his hot spring too if they wished - a derivative of Kirinji Tenjirou's very own hot springs, less effective and fast-acting than the originals, only able to speed up recovery, but also far less dangerous - perfect for soaking in after a tough spar or a hard day or anything that results in moderately serious injuries. A veritable work of art.

Still, Shunsui had been more preoccupied with the way Starrk's eyes had lingered on the hot spring even as they'd all headed off to eat something and wash up before going to bed. In that split-second moment, the normally inscrutable man had looked adorably like a cat with a patch of sunlight. It shouldn't have been so attractive, but Shunsui had found himself unspeakably charmed all the same.

Ten minutes after everyone else's reiryoku had levelled out with deep slumber, and Shunsui had likewise tamped down on his own and smoothed it out to mimic sleep, he'd heard the faint rustle of Starrk's futon being pulled back, and then the whisper of footsteps padding their way towards the hot spring.

A better man than Shunsui would probably not have followed. But if that had ever been an option, he'd thrown it out the window from the first time he'd almost drowned in the shattered devastation of Starrk's soul and still decided to go after him.

He'd known since they'd met that there was some kind of connection between himself and Starrk.

He'd known for nearly as long that something about himself made Starrk uncomfortable, at best, and hurt him on a soul-deep level at worst.

He'd known with every interaction they'd had after that - every moment Shunsui could spare to track him down without making it seem too obvious that he was doing it on purpose - that Starrk wanted him to stay away just as much as he wanted him to stay, and Shunsui had taken shameless advantage because he himself had also been unable to do anything less, because he'd looked at this man and the desolate void inside him and couldn't bear to leave him alone.

(Because every moment with Starrk had filled something in Shunsui's own heart that he hadn't even known had been missing until Starrk had slotted into his life so neatly, so easily, that it had felt like he was always meant to be there.)

And he'd known for months, ever since time travel had become the most likely explanation for Starrk and Ichigo's origins, that there was no way Starrk hadn't known him in another life, and known him well, because that was the only thing that explained it all with perfect, horrifying sense.

A better man than Shunsui would not have followed, would've given him space. But a better man wouldn't have reduced someone's heart to a grief-stricken ruin either, cut so deep that it had carved that anguish straight into their very soul, so Shunsui figures that since a future version of himself has already sunk about as low as he possibly can, he might as well keep going and see if there's anything at all that he can do to fix what another him - still him, in the end, with a mere hundred years and change between them - has so clearly, carelessly, cruelly broken.

One of the things that had been revealed earlier had been Ichigo's background, because they'd all noticed the flashes of Quincy and Hollow in his reiatsu. Kaien had broken three sake cups and almost Urahara's face, and even by the end, he'd still looked murderous enough that Shunsui had almost pitied Shiba Isshin's foreseeable future. But Ichigo's ancestry had led to Starrk's, whose reiatsu may be as inherently dangerous as Shunsui's but has never read as anything less than perfectly Shinigami. They'd all been curious for a while, because Starrk was the kind of old and powerful that very few people could get to, and none that could and still remain unknown for so long, but there'd also been no Coyote Starrk in the Gotei 13 until this version who'd time-travelled had arrived in the Seireitei.

Starrk hadn't beaten around the bush. He'd pulled open the front of his Shihakushou and bared the web of scars below his collarbones, slightly branched out but thick and concentrated over his sternum in a distinctly circular mass.

"I'm not a Shinigami," He'd said calmly, plainly.

"You kind of are," Ichigo had mused, even as he'd glowered death eyes at them all when Starrk wasn't looking.

Starrk had shaken his head. "There's no name for what I am. I just evolved enough to fix my own soul."

He'd placed a hand over the scarring, and his gaze became distant enough that Shunsui's hands had twitched with the urge to reach out, even while the others had gaped, visibly shocked because it's one thing to have a soul like Ichigo's, one ultimately man-made, cobbled together from hope and desperation and a scientist's gamble; it's another entirely to realize that Shinigami have perhaps been looking at Hollows the wrong way for as long as any of them have existed.

(Because all Hollows are ultimately the product of the Shinigami's failure to save them in time, though most don't view it that way anymore, if they ever have. Because the possibility of a Hollow saving themselves has never even been a thought exercise in anyone's mind.)

Shunsui hadn't cared. No, that wasn't entirely correct. He'd been just as stunned as the others at this revelation that overturned millennia's worth of ironclad beliefs. But he'd been far, far more perturbed by what he could see of a second scar on Starrk's chest that bisected the circular one, faded just enough to indicate that it wasn't a very recent injury, but still deep and ragged and vivid enough to show how lethal it had been, how fatal, and-

And Shunsui had seen enough- dealt enough damage with his Zanpakutou to know the kind of wounds his blades left in their wake. And as if that wasn't enough, Katen had murmured in his mind, terrible and possessive and ruthlessly final, "Yes, his is a life we claimed for ourselves."

Shunsui had been almost relieved when Starrk had blinked back into the present and pulled his Shihakushou back on properly before continuing in a sedate tone, "We concluded that this is the final step for a Hollow, that they're allowed a chance to become whole again. It's just that even the strongest Hollows usually only survive for a few hundred years before something kills them, or they just don't have the power levels to climb that high, especially in the time they have."

He'd smiled then, but there'd been no humour in his expression, only infinite emptiness. "I survived, and I'm strong. So I guess this was my prize."

Nobody had really known what to say about all that, though Urahara had done an admirable job of recovering, and then an even more admirable job of pretending he didn't immediately want to whip out one piece of equipment or another and start scanning Starrk for data. They'd moved the conversation back to more information on the Quincy instead, although there would definitely be more questions in the future. But it'd been a lot to take in, and everybody had needed time to digest.

Now, hours later, Shunsui waits a bit before getting up as well and quietly making his way to the hot spring. He isn't surprised when he finds Starrk already rising from the water and reaching for a towel, evidently prepared to leave.

"Don't go," Shunsui says before he can think better of it, and he doesn't mean it as a demand or order, but he doesn't take it back either when Starrk goes still, water sluicing off of him - all tanned wet skin and strong shoulders and lean muscle for miles and now is really not the time - half turned away, and it's only because of that that even with the steam, Shunsui notices the conspicuous scar left by a stab wound in Starrk's back, just left of the spine.

This time, he doesn't need Katen to say anything at all.

Perhaps he'd dropped his conscience in a ditch on his way here, because he repeats, can't stop himself from repeating, "Don't go. I don't mean to chase you away. It's more than big enough for the both of us, isn't it?"

He pauses, reaches for a hat he'd left behind on his futon, and settles for shrugging out of his clothes instead. "…I'll stay on this side."

He slides into the water and forces himself to wait. When Starrk slowly sinks back into the hot spring, Shunsui very carefully doesn't react to that either.

The silence that settles over them is less tense than one might expect. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Starrk slumps against the edge of the hot spring, eyelids drooping. He has his hair tied back in a bun to keep it out of the water, and it's rare enough that Shunsui can't help taking a few extra looks.

Then again, that's nothing new. Starrk has always drawn his eye. Ukitake likes laughing at him for it.

"Does it bother you?" Starrk speaks up abruptly, unexpected enough that Shunsui almost startles. "That I'm a Hollow."

Shunsui wants to say that this man is so far from everything he'd ever thought even the most advanced Hollows could be that a part of him simply can't reconcile the disconnect. The rest of him…

"You're the same person now as you were before you told us what you are," He points out. "I don't think anything else matters."

Blue-grey eyes slit open, not quite looking in Shunsui's direction, not quite not, expression utterly indecipherable.

"…Did my future self think differently?" Shunsui ventures, but that can't be right. He can't imagine any version of himself who would think that way, especially one who'd lived even longer than he has. Still, his mind flashes back to the scars on Starrk's body, hidden beneath the water now but seared into Shunsui's memory like a brand, and he can't help coming up with increasingly depressing scenarios.

But Starrk blinks, and his focus finally hones in on Shunsui, genuinely surprised, and Shunsui releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"No," Starrk says after a beat of studying him with that too-perceptive gaze. "You've apparently always been more open-minded than most." He cocks his head. "But you were staring, so I thought…"

I always stare at you, haven't you noticed? Shunsui wants to blurt out, but he swallows it down with only a little effort. Too much, too soon.

After tonight's revelations, after all the speculations he's pieced together bit by bit over the past few months about their past-future relationship, maybe it will always be too soon. But Shunsui's never been in the habit of admitting defeat without even trying, and this time is no different.

"Something is bothering you though," Starrk tacks on, still watching Shunsui through narrowed eyes, and Shunsui wonders if the man realizes how much he looks like he's stalking prey in moments like this.

It should be unsettling, being on the receiving end of such a gaze, and it is, a little, but Shunsui's grown used to it too, grown to appreciate it even, to the feeling of being seen, of being known, and still being wanted.

(Because that's the one thing that's never been in question. Because however much Starrk sometimes reacts like Shunsui's very existence pains him, or how much he sometimes makes Shunsui feel completely bare, every sin and secret laid out for judgement, he's also never looked at Shunsui with anything less than the sort of quiet devotion the tide holds for the moon, or the stars for the sky, or dawn for the horizon, steadfast and eternal. Is it any wonder Shunsui can't stay away?)

"Is it this then?" Starrk asks next, and the water sloshes a little as he straightens up, revealing his scarred chest to tap a finger against the near-horizontal scar cleaved across it, right through where his Hollow hole had presumably still been at the time of the injury. Seeing it in its full gruesome glory now, Shunsui can tell that this wound had to have nearly cut the other man in two.

He feels a little at a loss for words, then sighs and fesses up. "Maa, I suppose I'm just a bit curious." He tries to keep his tone light, but there's really no two ways to say it. "…I did that, didn't I?"

Starrk levels an arch look at him. "Well, you didn't." He slouches back into the water, and somehow, he actually looks a bit amused. "I'm long over it, Taichou-san. We'd just met, and we were enemies at the time. You did what you had to do. We both did. It was war. If it makes you feel better, I gave as good as I got."

Shunsui snorts. That does actually make him feel a bit better. At the very least, this is preferable to the progressively dramatic betrayal scenes he'd been thinking of. He doesn't like the idea of his future self almost killing Starrk, but at least it hadn't happened after they'd become friends.

It does mean he has to reshuffle a few things on his mental timeline though, and across the hot spring, Starrk glances at him again and seems to understand.

"I guess we didn't get around to talking much about Aizen," He muses, then reveals, "We mentioned that before the Quincy became a problem, it was Aizen you all fought. Aizen set up his base of operations in Hueco Mundo, sought out Hollows from all over, and created an army of artificial Arrancar out of them to serve him, using that Hougyoku Ichigo was talking about earlier. I was part of that army."

Shunsui blinks at that revelation, and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask what Aizen - in his quest for world domination - could've possibly offered a man who didn't even like fighting to secure his allegiance. Then again, Shunsui's willing to bet at least a little hypnosis had been involved to ease the way. Aizen doesn't seem the type to bank on genuine fealty without including insurance.

The question stalls in his throat though as Starrk lifts a hand out of the water--his left, the one with the vivid burn scar stretched over the back of it. That isn't something often seen either. Starrk almost always has gloves on. He stares at it for a moment before letting it fall back beneath the water.

"The ten most powerful Arrancar in his army were called the Espada," Starrk explains. "I was the Primera. The first."

"The strongest," Shunsui nods. That sounds right, especially if Starrk had been sent to fight Shunsui.

Starrk shrugs noncommittally and says nothing else, leaving Shunsui to mull over the new information for a minute.

"Ichigo-kun warned us earlier," Shunsui eventually says. "About being Hollowfied by Aizen's Hougyoku. That turning into Visored stunted any chance of growth, and that you weren't even halfway through the Blood War before Lisa-chan and the others' power levels had degraded to barely that of a seated officer's."

Hirako had been grim-faced at the news. Lisa had looked ready to march out and rip Aizen's head off right then and there. Honestly, Shunsui had shared the sentiment.

"Then wouldn't it have been the same for Aizen's Arrancar?" Shunsui continues, watching a puzzled frown furrow at Starrk's brow. "They were granted power by the Hougyoku. Shouldn't it have stunted them too?"

Starrk nods, still frowning. "Yeah, it did. Grimmjow was furious when he found out." He blinks, and then realization strikes. "Oh, you mean me."

Shunsui hums a confirmation. Why in the world would he mean anyone else?

Starrk shakes his head. "I was the exception. Aizen found me last, out of most of the Arrancar. Definitely last out of the Espada. But even then, I was already more powerful than all the others, so he gave me the Primera seat." A corner of his mouth quirks with a cynical sort of mirth. "I didn't want more power, and he certainly wasn't about to give me more. I suppose it was fortunate. I don't think even Aizen knew back then that the Hougyoku would cause stagnation."

Powerful enough to have risen to Arrancar on his own, Shunsui muses, and he has to marvel at that, has to admire it. That kind of strength - mental even more than physical in some ways - isn't something just anyone can possess. Evidently. The only natural Arrancar in the known worlds. The only one to repair his own soul. What an extraordinary accomplishment. Except-

"I'm sorry it took so long," Shunsui says softly, because he knows Starrk is around the same age as himself, and if he was still an Arrancar by Aizen's war, then he could only have spent all the centuries before in Hueco Mundo. Even if he'd had companions there, Starrk would've outlived them all. "It must've been lonely."

I'm sorry nobody could help, because no Shinigami would've known to help. Perhaps most wouldn't have been willing to even if they'd known. I'm sorry I couldn't help.

For a long moment, Starrk is still enough to resemble a statue. Then a scoff of something that could've been laughter if it didn't ache so much claws its way out of his throat. He doesn't lift his gaze from where it's fallen blankly on the shifting surface of the hot spring. "No need to be sorry. I'm used to it."

Used to it. Used to being alone. Used to being left behind.

Shunsui doesn't think he's only talking about those long years in Hueco Mundo anymore, not when he's avoiding eye-contact again, not when Shunsui can suddenly feel the bleak despair radiating from his soul again.

"There's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you."

Not for the first time, Shunsui feels an acute desire to have a nice long talk with his future self and ask exactly how much of the agony rippling through Starrk's reiatsu can be placed directly at his feet.

(It isn't as if Shunsui can't understand. Even disregarding all other circumstances, the fact that they'd been at war would've meant that there could be no guarantees.

But still.

Still.

Couldn't he have tried a little harder? Didn't he know better than anyone the pain of being the only one left behind, the way it lingers like a slow unending bleed you're forced to carry until the day death finally deigns to take you too?

Shunsui at least has Ukitake, has Yama-jii, has Retsu-senpai and Sasakibe-san too, has Lisa-chan and Hirako and Kaien-kun, even has Nanao-chan to watch over in his brother and sister-in-law's stead. And in the future, maybe he'd lost them all, but it also sounds like he'd still had one to staunch the bleed, still had Starrk, right to the very end.

Then, who did Starrk have after Shunsui had died?

Isn't the answer obvious? Isn't Starrk still bleeding right now?)

A heavy sigh jolts Shunsui out of his thoughts, and his hands sting from where his nails have dug into his palms, fortunately out of sight. On the other side, Starrk clambers to his feet, water sloughing off his frame as he turns to get out of the hot spring.

The steam obscures his face this time, but even if he could see it, Shunsui thinks it would be one of those times again where he wouldn't be able to read him at all.

"Don't think so hard, Taichou-san," Starrk says, voice as calm as a blanket of snow over a cemetery. "It's not your job to save me."

I can't be saved anymore. I don’t want to be saved.

Shunsui's out of the water and next to Starrk before either of them can blink.

Too much, too soon, a part of him warns, but this time, he throws caution to the wind, reaches out, and closes a hand around Starrk’s wrist.

Starrk freezes, the pulse under Shunsui’s fingers jumps, and for a moment, time seems to stop.

They must look ridiculous, dripping wet and naked, and yet Shunsui barely notices, and Starrk has probably noticed everything but.

"It's not my job, that's true," Shunsui says without letting go, staring at what he could see of the other's face. "And I don't know if what I'm doing is meant to save you. But if you think I'll just let you go to your grave after all this is over, Ichigo-kun is apparently not the one we should've been worrying most about after all."

They had made a mistake, Shunsui realizes. He had made a mistake. Because looking at Starrk and Ichigo--at Starrk who was so steady and composed all the time, and then at Ichigo who was so much more transparent in his misery, in his fury, in his determination to achieve his end goals no matter the cost to himself, that it was almost instinct for everyone to focus their concerns on him. Because for all that Ichigo was reluctant to involve them, and reticent on the best of the days, he was at least also loud about it, and therefore was that much easier to help--to know they need to help.

Compared to him, Starrk has always shown himself to be the rock in a storm that even Ichigo clearly clings to. He has never been anything less than an ocean of serenity, but perhaps they should've remembered that no ocean is calm beneath the surface.

…No, it's Shunsui who should've remembered. He has literal unparalleled insight into Starrk's soul, feels the ache of it regularly, even if not all the time, except he'd just… not forgotten, that's impossible, but he'd been trying to fix it in his own way, with tea and conversation and countless attempts at coaxing out even just one more smile, except he can never tell when he might be going too far, pushing too fast, wanting too much, always feeling a bit like he's standing helpless in front of a skittish cornered animal too hurt to accept any kind of affection, and so perhaps as a result, Shunsui's ended up failing to show Starrk just how far he's willing to go instead.

Case in point, he's still holding onto Starrk, touching him, skin warm against Shunsui's own. Shunsui would've thought he'd be shaken off by now, possibly tossed into a wall out of reflex if nothing else, but Starrk hasn't even attempted to pull away. His pulse is calming again, but Shunsui can feel the tension in his arm, and he's staring down at their limbs with a lost expression.

Shunsui tightens his grip and runs his thumb along the inside of the other's wrist. He feels more than sees the shiver that runs through Starrk's body, for all that Starrk still hasn't moved. But the lost expression on his face also retreats. It leaves exhaustion-bruised eyes and enough sorrow thrumming through his reiatsu to smother the breath from Shunsui's lungs in its wake, but at the very least, he also finally looks up to meet Shunsui's gaze.

"…I don't know what you want from me, Shunsui," Starrk says wearily.

It's the first time he's ever used Shunsui's name. Shunsui only wishes he wouldn't sound so unbearably sad when saying it, but he'd take what he could get.

"That's easy," Shunsui replies, catching that pale mercurial gaze and holding it. "I want the same thing you've asked of Ichigo-kun. I want you to live."

A long silence follows before a rough sound spills from Starrk's throat like shattered glass.

"'Easy'," Starrk echoes, shoulders shaking, with laughter, with tears. But his eyes are dry, and he's the farthest thing from amused, and his soul feels like it might swallow itself whole just to cease its own existence. So this time, Shunsui lets instinct guide his hands and doesn't let himself second-guess it--in one swift motion, he tugs the other man into his arms and wraps him in a hug like he's wanted to ever since Starrk's soul had grasped for his own like he was drowning and Shunsui was the only one who could pull him to shore. Who could convince him to come ashore.

Starrk collapses against him, shuddering like he might fall apart with even just one more word, one more breath, one more touch, but Shunsui only draws him closer, holds him harder, and refuses to let him go.

#bleach #kurosaki ichigo #coyote starrk #kyouraku shunsui #shunstarrk #ichigo & starrk time travel verse #myscrap #welp this got wildly out of hand #damn it's so fucking long #i hope you like it i guess?#also i just realized it's less your second scenario and more a combination lmao

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despressoslatte · 17 hours ago

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not the zoey you wanted (two)

pairing: zach maclaren x female reader!

summary: you waited all weekend for your boyfriend, Zach, to call or text, anything, to explain why he had just went and ghosted you when you were supposed to go with him on a family ski trip to meet his parents, his sister Avery, and his cousin, Miles.

content warnings: angst; victims of catfishing; miscommunication trope

masterlist | < one

ᡣ𐭩a/n: if you want me to add you to the taglist for this fic send me an ask!

ᯓ⟢

Zach watched the girl on his driveway, drive away. The dumbfounded look didn’t leave his face as everyone stood there confused as to what the hell just happened.

“I knew it,” Miles muttered, looking over at Zoey from his spot on the porch. “You’re not Zach’s girlfriend.”

The accusation rang loudly in Zach’s ears, almost hurting his head as everyone’s heads snapped from Miles to Zoey. She stood there with a shocked look on her face, like a deer in headlights. Zach looked to the car that was turning off of his street now.

He whispered out, “Y/N…” He looked at Zoey, blinking a few time as his memories were slowly coming back.

Zoey looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

“What are you talking about?” Zach asked his cousin, needing someone to put together the pieces of the puzzle because the pieces he kept trying to make fit wouldn’t connect.

“She’s not your girlfriend, dude,” Miles reiterated, pointing at Zoey with a shake of his head and an unbelievable scoff. “I thought when you introduced her to us… you just got a thing for Zoey’s.”

“Miles, honey, what are you talking about?” Connie asked, looking between the three college students with a look of bafflement splayed across her face.

Miles walked down off the porch, phone in hand, and jammed the screen towards Zach’s face. He was looking at a photo of his own Instagram page, full of photos of himself and the girl who just drove away nearly in tears.

Zach looked between the phone and Zoey, who stood there biting her lips as tears filled in her eyes.

“Look… I…” Zoey started to explain, and everything from the ski trip started to make sense. The signs Zach didn’t realize at first.

ᯓ⟢ THE SKI TRIP

Zach MacLaren was confused, to say the least. Ever since that car hit his bike and he went flying onto the pavement outside the bookstore, everything felt… weird, out of place almost. When the doctor had said that he was experiencing some form of short term memory loss from his concussion, all he could be was glad that was all that it was, and that Zoey was there with him. Though, that felt weird, too. Especially when he could’ve sworn he called her something other than Zoey and was confused why she was confused about the ski trip.

Hadn’t he invited her to that, or is he forgetting about that, too? Sign one.

At dinner, Miles came through the side door that lead to the kitchen, and Zach watched the way he paused for a second when he saw Zoey standing in the kitchen with his mother and father. Zach just smiled, getting up from the couch and placing a hand on the small of her back.

“Miles, this is my girlfriend, Zoey,” Zach introduced them.

Miles’ eyebrows furrowed downwards, not that Zach knew why. Maybe he thought she was out of his league, which honestly, he felt like she kind of was. They shook hands and when Zoey walked away, Zach caught Miles pulling his phone out quickly, looking down at it and then back up to where Zoey had sat back down in the living room a couple of times. It was like he was comparing something, not that Zach knew what.

He just figured after his amnesia concussion, he wouldn’t understand a lot of things for a while.

“Why are they all named Zoey?” he heard Miles ask under his breath, and while that also confused Zach, he didn’t question it. Sign two.

At dinner, his mother, Connie, made the comment, “I thought your name was Y/N?”

Zach tilted his head to the side, confused where that name came from. It did sound familiar. Zach’s dad, Matt, reached for his wife’s hand.

“It’s her middle name, remember, honey?” Matt reminded Connie. “Zach told us her friends back home call her Zoey, but she goes by her first name at their university.”

Zach nodded slowly, as if being reminded of that conversation while his mother said, “Right!”

He looked at Zoey, seeing a small awkward smile on her face. So, her first name was Y/N… He remembered that… didn’t he?

“You guys can just call me Zoey like the people back home, though,” Zoey interjected sheepishly. “I’m still not fully… used… to being called… Y/N…” Sign three.

“Zoey it is,” Matt smiled in agreement.

“So, Zoey, how’s Zach doing in tutoring now?” Connie asked.

“Knowing Zach? Horribly,” Avery teased, earning a mocking “ha ha” from her older brother.

“Tutoring?” Zoey asked, confused as she ate the food on her plate.

Zach just smiled, putting an arm around the back of her chair. “See, my grade in English is so good that I don’t even need tutoring anymore,” he said proudly. “Not that she doesn’t still help me. But as girlfriend, not tutor.”

“Right, English,” Zoey laughed awkwardly, grabbing her water to chug from so she didn’t need to answer any other question she wouldn’t know the answer to. Sign four.

ᯓ⟢ THE MACLAREN HOUSE

“I’m just surprised Avery didn’t say anything either, since I’m sure she’s seen photos of Zoey on your page,” shrugged Miles as he put his phone back in his pocket.

Avery was waving her hands over her neck, as if to tell Miles to shut up.

“You have an Instagram young lady?” Connie shot her daughter a disapproving stare. “You know you are not allowed to have social media.” Then to Zach. “You know she isn’t allowed to have social media.”

“She doesn’t,” Zach shook his head at the change of topic. “I made her give me the password, changed the password, locked her out, and now she can’t use it at all.”

All eyes fell back onto Zoey after the short detour. She had already explained why she did what she did—at first, it was to not stress him out like the doctor requested. Then, it was selfishly to get closer to Miles. Zach felt a pit in his stomach knowing he was actually feeling some sort of connection to her before this, but now he just wanted to throw up.

God, the look on your face when you had walked away… You thought he… Well, technically he… Oh, god.

Zach really looked like he was about to be sick, his head throbbing as the photos of you and Zoey’s story started to job his memory.

“I cheated on my girlfriend…” he muttered under his breath, aching and hating himself. He glared at Zoey. “You made me cheat on my girlfriend,” he spoke louder, a scoff leaving his throat. “How could you do that to me? To her?”

He could barely hear her excuse over the thoughts racing in his head over how he was going to make this one up to you.

“You’re the girl from the bookstore who called me an idiot,” it dawned on Zach.

“No, no,” she shook her head. “It was the name of the book… You’re not an idiot, Zach. You’re so smart… and so sweet… and I didn’t expect to like you, but I… I felt like we really connected this weekend.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zach said with raised shoulders, pointing out into oblivion for emphasis. “Whatever you felt for me this weekend, and whatever the hell connection I thought we had… none of that was real! Me… Me and Y/N… we were real… are real, if I can…”

If he can fix it.

“I’m sorry, I-I…” Zoey tried to find the words to explain.

“I… I need to get back.”

He had no classes on Mondays, but there was soccer practice later that evening. He planned to eat lunch at his parents’ before hitting the road, but now he needed to get back to you. God, his phone was broken, and you were going to spend the next two hours driving thinking he cheated on you.

He grabbed his luggage, looking at his parents for a second.

“I gotta go,” he said quickly.

“Good luck,” Avery called out after him as he got to his car, absentmindedly throwing his luggage into the backseat.

He needed to fix this. He needed you to know this was all a misunderstanding, a miscommunication really. That… that Zoey Miller was just a catfish who pretended to be you to a freaking amnesia patient. That he remembered clearly now.

It didn’t matter that his phone was broken when he got hit by that car. He knew the route back to your on-campus apartment like the back of his hand. He turned the radio on and just drove.

#drew starkey #zach maclaren #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #zach maclaren fanfiction #zach maclaren imagines #zach maclaren x reader #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #drew starkey angst #zach maclaren x angst #zach maclaren angst #the other zoey #the other zoey fanfiction #the other zoey imagines

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mythalism · 3 hours ago

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in my rook hating mindset now after that post this morning and cannot stop thinking about how they are literally the worst protagonist maybe in any story i have ever experienced JRHGKJERHGJERG. and like if you love your rook i am not saying you shouldn't. if you love your rook i am so so happy for you genuinely but you are also probably brilliant and have a huge brain because what the game gives you to build off of is so abysmal.

i literally cannot stop thinking about how insane it is that rook literally causes a double blight and worldwide catastrophe on a scale which thedas has not seen probably since the creation of the veil itself and just. experiences no remorse. and the story tries to tell us thats a good thing and makes them better than the villain/their foil. JHREGJKHERGJKHERG. HELLO?!!??!?!?! literally no one ever goes "hey maybe you shouldnt have done that" except solas and hes framed as the VILLAIN!!! WHAT!!!!!!!!!! hawke blames themselves for not putting the pieces together fast enough when a bouquet of white lilies arrived at their door? the narrative gleefully condemn anders with the immediate opportunity to kill him for his crimes. nearly every single character in origins immediately puts the entirety of the responsibility for the fifth blight on loghain's shoulders, regardless of the CLEAR SUGGESTION that the battle at ostagar could never have been won. and all of these makes sense for the world and characters!!!!! of course hawke would blame themselves for their families deaths when they were given the role of protector by leandra after malcom dies. of course the city of kirkwall is going to want anders dead for his extreme act of violence rather than start the uncomfortable process of acknowledging the beloved chantry's complicity in large scale abuse happening in the mage circles!!!! of course alistair and the warden are going to blame loghain for the blight and cailan's death!!!! it doesnt matter if they are right or wrong, it makes sense for their perspective and worldview to feel this way!!!!

have yall gotten the low approval conversations in inquisition????? solas's "Inquisitor. Tell me. How does it feel? Being you. Are you blissfully unaware or, deep inside, is some part of you banging on the walls, screaming?" cassandra getting drunk and practically spitting in your face how she regrets raising you up to such power? blackwalls' "Are you proud of yourself, of what you’ve built here? How about the lives you’ve destroyed along the way? Given much thought to those lately? Is this Inquisition all you wanted it to be? Because I’m disappointed. All I see is a gang of thugs led by a self-serving tyrant." and these SCATHING comments from those who once believed in the inquisitor enough to join their cause come from decisions that affect a fraction of the population that dies under the southern double blight. people will rip the inquisitior to fucking shreds when they fuck up. THATS THE ENTIRE POINT OF THE TRESPASSER DLC EHRGKJHERGKJHERG. like holy shit every decision carries the weight of "oh my god whos gonna hate me. who is going to die because of my choice. how is this going to come back to bite me." have we forgotten what its like to return to varric after leaving hawke in the fade and confess what we did? the call we just made? to look him in the eye and tell him that we sacrificed his best friend? WHY IS ROOK NEVER ASKED TO PARTICIPATE IN ANY OF THIS INTROSPECTION?????????? TO EVALUATE HOW THEIR DECISIONS AFFECT THOSE AROUND THEM BOTH PERSONALLY AND SOCIETY AS A WHOLE????? OH MY GODDDDD

the regret prison scene is so insane. first its insane because its solas at his best and most cunty. but secondly it makes no fucking sense even if im largely distracted by pookie being fun and villainous. solas tries desperately to play up rook's regrets during their conversations and we are supposed to believe that it was that manipulation that allowed him to swap with them in the prison. how does this actually work? blood magic? dont worry about it, kitten. but then when we get into the prison.... the only two regrets that manifest are things that just happened within the last 3 hours - your two party sacrifices. lets be clear that these are not even real sacrifices because literally all of these people volunteer to go and then argue about why they should go. this is so fucking stupid. then rook looks at the statues and says "i dont regret this because this was your choice". YEAH????? OF COURSE YOU DONT FUCKING REGRET IT WHY WOULD YOU. HELLO???? THIS WAS NOT ROOKS CHOICE THIS WAS ROOK JUST SAYING "SURE I GUESS". AND THEN THATS ENOUGH! THEY JUST LEAVE BC THEY CONQUERED THEIR REGRETS!?!?!?!?!??! WHAT!!!!!! there is no discussion of rook being responsible for the blight in the south that we find out via ooc inquisitior letter has KILLED LITERALLY EVERYONE. no suggestion that their recklessness and willingness to act WITHOUT ALL THE INFORMATION at the ritual is the reason for every single thing the evanuris do following their release.

and let me be very clear bc i know this was causing drama on twitter last week. i am not saying the double blights is rook's fault. i actually dont think it is their fault, although i do think they are stupid and reckless and shouldn't have acted so carelessly. but although rook is responsible for ghilly and edgar breaking free, rook is not responsible for the their actions following that freedom, and rook is not at fault for being put into an impossible situation (the need to stop solas's ritual) without all of the information on what the ritual was and what stopping it might incur. however, the double blight is rook's fault in the same way that the veil, the fall of the elvhen empire, elven mortality, and every demon's existence is solas's fault; which is to say, it is and it is not. solas was backed into a corner, in a desperate situation without knowledge of the potential consequences, and was forced to make a decision for the good of the world when he imprisoned the evanuris and blight with the veil. rook was backed into a corner, in a desperate situation without knowledge of the potential consequences, and was forced to make a decision for what they thought was the good of the world when they interrupted solas's ritual. but while solas feels immense guilt and responsibility for the choice he made, rook feels.... absolutely none. and the game tells us that... they're right? people should just not take accountability for anything? i will give credit where it's due here that varric's contribution to this scene is quite good and his line where rook tries to take responsibility for his death and varric says smth like "no, that was my own choice and you dont get to take that from me" is B A N G E R. WHERE WAS THAT ENERGY IN THE REST OF THIS FUCKING GAME!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?

THAT was the lesson solas needed to learn, not that his regret was wrong but that it was MISPLACED!!!!!!!!! and that is why it is mythal acknowledging that their burden is shared and not his alone is the culmination of his entire story and what finally allows him to move on. pride stands alone, wisdom seeks out the input of others to make an informed and wise decision. this is also why he leaves such breadcrumbs for the inquisitor (a high approval one, at least) because he respects their opinion and their input and their existence and the way they treat him turns him back into wisdom from pride. this is why a romanced inquisitor mentions his name being pride and how its possible that hes not even CAPABLE of changing his mind because it would be so against his nature, and he needs someone whose opinion he values to show him the way. his flaw is his SELF INFLICTED LONELINESS!!!!! NOT HIS REGRET. varric even fucking says this in some random banter you get with his ghost in the infirmary but im too lazy to go find it on my desktop. its something about how he sees attachments as a weakness rather than a strength. his pride causes him to take on responsibility that is not his, his wisdom -> pride corruption has led him to believe he is the only one capable of fixing the world's problems and he will destroy both himself and those he loves in the process. he asserts that he is just a man but is unable to stop making decisions for the world like a god.

THIS is the solas/rook foil that should have been: rook relies on their friends and that reliance is ESSENTIAL; after all, the neve/bellara and davrin/harding sacrifice is essential to win. in contrast solas refuses to rely on anyone, and this isolation makes him increasingly cruel. when he has no one to mirror the way a spirit should, he becomes Pride, too proud and too god-like. his attachments make him more human. he is terrified of depending on others and will kill them rather than risk the vulnerability of dependence after what it has done to him (mythal, felassan). he has to unlearn this avoidance and fear, he has to admit that there "could have been a better way" that someone else saw and he did not. he must learn that he does not have all the answers. he is not Pride. its NOT that rook doesnt experience regret and doesn't take accountability for mistakes while solas is trapped by his own regrets. the message we got instead is so incoherent. but it was SO CLOSE TO BEING GOOD. the bones of this are littered everywhere in both the game and in the datamined content and for some reason it just could not be brought together in a way that makes sense.

the message that rook is "right" and better for not having regrets is genuinely insane, especially when the "regrets" they have to conquer are literally just. other peoples decisions. the fact that rook has the audacity to say to solas that he could never escape the prison while they could so easily because he is trapped by his own regret as if rook is better than him is genuinely so fucking dumb it makes me want to claw my eyes out for having been forced to read it. rook sacrifices nothing and learns nothing. the sacrifices within the game belong to the characters that make them, rook does not order people to their deaths in the same way that solas or even THE INQUISITOR do. rook never is asked to grapple with the fact that they ACCIDENTALLY unleashed a double blight, no matter how good their intentions. WHY DOES NO ONE BLAME THEM FOR THIS???? regardless of if it is their fault or not, the objective truth of fault does not matter, what matters is that you make decisions and PEOPLE JUDGE YOU FOR THEM!!!!!!!!! THIS IS LIKE FOUNDATIONAL TO THESE GAMES JEHRGJKREHGJKRHG. this is what the entire game is about doing to solas. judging him. based on his choices. and the game clearly wants you to have empathy for him in the end. but its so OBVIOUS that the vessel for building up that empathy should have been ROOK EXPERIENCING THE SAME THING!!! THE SAME JUDGEMENT!!! THE SAME GROWTH!!!!! FEELING THE BURDEN OF THE WORLD ON THEIR SHOULDERS. FEELING THE DREAD OF GUILT AND SHAME AND REGRET. TRYING TO DEFEND THEIR INTENTIONS!!! I DIDNT MEAN TO I DIDNT MEAN TO IT WAS A MISTAKE!!!! LEARNING THAT THEY HAVE TO OWN UP TO IT BUT THEY ALSO HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO MOVE FORWARD!!!!!! HELLO!??!?!?!?! they BARELY even express remorse for the treviso/minrathous sacrifice, even when faced with neve/lucanis's anger they just go "a decision had to be made and i made it". well. YEAH? LIKE YEAH THATS RIGHT BUT HUMANS HAVE FEELINGS??? YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE A PERSON, NOT A BLANK SLATE VIDEO GAME PROTAGONIST!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ITS OKAY TO FEEL BAD!!!! YOU MADE A DECISION THAT RESULTED IN PEOPLE DYING. ANY HUMAN BEING WOULD FEEL BAD ABOUT THIS. ITS KIND OF FUCKING WEIRD THAT YOU DO NOT. HOW IS ROOK JUST BORN BEING OK WITH THIS. ITS SO ROBOTIC AND ARTIFICIAL LOL

rooks actions are such a clear, perfect parallel to solas putting up the veil and the guilt that haunts him afterwards that i KNOW it was intended that way and somehow it just got completely shafted. it literally feels like they did have a coherent parallel going and for some reason were forced to change directions last minute and thus we got some mish mashed barely cobbled together incoherent nonsense with clear echoes of its former self. instead rook has no flaws, makes perfect judgements at all time, has unconditional support from all of their friends who also make perfect judgements, are immune to making mistakes, and the message is its actually just really easy to not have regrets if you just choose right every time and refuse to take responsibility for anything as long as you had good intentions :D

#wow this just pissed me off so bad out of nowhere lMAO #dont leak this to twitter they'll flay me alive #datv critical #mine.txt #character analysis

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letsbangts · 3 days ago

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to my love || jjk

⤷ summary: a letter to a beautiful love let go

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 0.5k

⟶ genre: angst, fluff?, exes au, break up au

⟶ warnings: none

a/n: again a very old piece I polished up, here is a very short drabble based on ‘you were beautiful’ by day6. as always hope you enjoy & let me know what you think!

masterlist

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

To my love,

Everything I am about to say does not mean I want us to get back together. We still would not work; I am moving too many miles away from you. This letter is just me bringing up the past, all the memories of you that remain with me.

Huh. Where do I even begin? I will start with one of the things I appreciate the most about you. You never missed a single day to tell me that you loved me, from the moment we woke in the morning to before we went to sleep at night, you told me. I just wanted to let you know I remember that.

The way your round, dark brown, sparkly eyes looked at me. They always stared back at me with admiration, interest and love. When your sweet voice called out to me, sang me to sleep, and even just rang out a small laugh to light a spark in my day.

I know memories of me and us have probably just become something of the past. You most likely already moved on from those moments. Whatever I saw and experienced is all to be left alone now. But I wanted to let you know how much they meant to me, how much you meant to me.

Without missing a single moment, you always thought of me first.

Whether it was making sure I did not leave the house without a sweater because you knew I always get cold at night. Or how you would hold onto my hand so you would not lose me in the crowd because I have a terrible sense of direction. The way you looked to see if I was wearing my seatbelt before you put on your own. Or how you made sure my first time was perfect.

Even when things were not your fault, you said sorry, like when the ice cream parlour we went to was out of my favourite flavour. There was no way it could have been your fault, but you still apologized the whole way home.

Thank you, I remember that.

You were beautiful.

Everything just- everything about you to me was just-

You were beautiful. You left the feeling of not wanting anything more. The moments that only you gave me. From the thoughtless pillow talk, the inside jokes that sent us into a childlike glee, to the earnest pep talks to push me to my fullest.

Everything has passed, but Jungkook, you were so beautiful.

I still think of you sometimes. I heard that the choreography you created got used for a song, and it is all the talk right now. Congrats! I had wondered, “Should I call him?” There were a lot of times I thought that, but I know it’s already over.

No matter how much I want you, you are just a movie of the past, a beautiful motion picture that has already ended. I know that.

Even the last time your round, dark brown sparkly eyes looked at me filled with tears and your angelic voice, the one that heartbrokenly said, “Goodbye, take care”.

You were beautiful to me even then.

The moments I had with you, everything has passed.

But we were so beautiful.

Love, Y/N

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eliotquillon · 2 days ago

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I NEED a wilson and cameron meta/drabble, how did they meet? how are they on a first-name basis? why is wilson such a big hameron shipper?

anon i love you . thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about wilson and cameron!!!

speaking about them briefly as Characters, and not as ‘people’: the parallels between then both are really, really fascinating. by the end of the show, both of them have been married three times. she lost her first husband; he lost amber. wilson contracts thymus cancer, and cameron’s first husband had thyroid cancer before it metastasised—both are endocrine. they are both explicitly attracted to this idea of ‘neediness’; they have both fallen in love with someone else while still married (though only one of them acted on it); they’re both very concerned with…how do i put this, externality?? there’s a conflict in how they want to present themselves to the world versus how they really feel. cameron consistently has these high-brow morals that she struggles to follow through on, either because they conflict with each other or because it isn’t easy to act on. wilson wants to be seen as a good guy, wants to give all he can to people, and often does so—but is also itching, sometimes, for an excuse to act out, and he and house are drawn to each other as a result. i think really the best way to sum them up is that they’re puzzle pieces that look like they fit, but…don’t.

anyway. onto them as ‘people’, i guess:

truth be told i think wilson and cameron truly just met in the context of her showing up to work one day as one of house’s fellows. that said. i have NEVER been able to get to the bottom of why wilson randomly calls her ‘allison’ in maternity and at this point i don’t think i ever will. literally one of the first houseposts i did on main was about this because i was like ‘what’. but at a best guess i would say this was intended as shorthand/foreshadowing for the fact that, well, cameron is by far the fellow that wilson hangs out with the most. they get tons of scenes and subplots together in s1 and 2. and i think she’s probably the fellow he likes the most. she’s nice, she’s willing to stand up for herself, she cares about house—these are all qualities that wilson either has himself or seems to wish he had, and while foreman and chase each have some of these, cameron’s really the only one who starts off with all three. WHICH IS NOT TO SAY THAT CAMERON IS PERFECT or flawless because like. Lol no. but her good qualities are mostly things that wilson values, and i think that’s important; it’s probably why they appear to get along). (also, logistically speaking—cameron is a big focus of that episode, and the ones after it, because it’s the leadup to the dead husband reveal. it makes sense to reveal her first name to a casual watcher at this point, it just so happens that wilson being the one to do so feels…wonky, in retrospect. it probably would’ve made more sense for it to be foreman or chase to reveal her first name—she’s the one to repeatedly use theirs in her self help book era—but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

as to why wilson is such a huge hameron shipper: DESPITE EVERYTHING I HAVE SAID ABOVE, i think this is less about cameron and more about house. don’t get it twisted: wilson for sure ‘approves’ of cameron. she’s good at reading him—although she overplays it, in the end—she has all of the above listed qualities, and, y’know. nobody else is exactly throwing themselves at house at this point. she’s young and pretty, what’s not to like. but for all of this approval, all that he eggs house on…he still gives her a shovel talk. he warns her not to hurt house’s feelings, that she has the power to do so. he likes cameron, sure, but he’s obviously far, far more invested in house. and house is entertaining it, at least briefly! he buys a corsage and asks for tips on what to say. he’s willing to give it a go. this, i think, is why wilson wants house to go for it—not because cameron is particularly special, but because house is open to the idea and on paper it might be good for him. key words being on paper, lol. wilson is on board and he thinks house needs the extra push. note how wilson’s hameron shipping basically melts away entirely after stacy returns—he’s sure as hell not encouraging that relationship, but it’s funny how he never suggests house rebound with cameron instead. if house takes it off the table entirely, then wilson follows suit.

you did not ask for this, but: my own personal headcanon is that when cameron leaves for chicago, her and wilson stay on christmas card terms—but like. weirdly passive aggressive christmas card terms. on paper the friendliness is still there, she still helped him through the grief of amber, but—she severed ties with house. she believes him to be poison. wilson, though technically his own person…is still an extension. wilson i think probably has similarly cool feelings about her, too. but they’re both trapped in a kill-em-with-kindness-off wherein they keep promising to see each other if wilson ever ends up in chicago for a conference. he does not ever end up in chicago for a conference. lmao. ultimately i think it’s kind of a sad end to what seemed to be a genuine friendship, but…they both chose a side. i don’t think the friendship survives it.

#asks #house md #allison cameron #james wilson

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emmersonisdesperate · 1 day ago

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Ranting about Romantic Prongsfoot or Prongsfoot in general??

I saw someone post saying romantic Prongsfoot is basically incest. I sighed then scrolled. Was that so hard? Seeing an opinion you don't like, and then just moving on? Because that's exactly what romantic Prongsfoot is, an opinion.

The fandom analyzed canon Sirius's behavior, actions and dialogue when it involved James and we all pretty much came to the conclusion that Sirius's entire world revolved around James. Like a dog, a man's best friend, he was incredibly loyal and devoted to James.

Then, some of us decided to take a step further and made them soulmates in a platonic sense. Not best friends, brothers, but soulmates. Like we're talking Viktor and Jayce level.

That's like the one thing wolfstar, Jegulus and Prongsfoot shippers have in common; James and Sirius are soulmates. Or even something deeper if you want to take a step further. All the famous fanfics have this, where James and Sirius have Something between them, even if it's a Jegulus or wolfstar fanfic.

That's why some of you feel like romantic Prongsfoot is incest. Because most fanfics have written them as brothers, you're reading two characters that are portrayed as brothers so often, you start to perceive them as brothers. You think they're brothers.

And you're allowed to! No like, you're very allowed to. Can I emphasize again, how often fanfics portray them as brothers? Like genuinely, no one's stopping you.

But you have to understand, that's your perspective, your view, your opinion. It's not a fact because they are not brothers. They are close as brothers yes, but not actually.

They don't have a ragbros situation. Sirius wasn't adopted into the Potter family at 8 or something and then raised by them after. That's probably incest. I have an adopted brother, I do know.

He was adopted into the family at 16. You're considered an adult at 18 in the wizarding world. He had inheritance from his uncle Alphard. It's said he moved out on his own later.

All this implies Sirius didn't live that long with Potters. I'm not saying Sirius didn't develop a familial bond with the Potters because he was too old during the adoption. He probably did see Euphimia and Monty as his parents at some point.

But he was James' best friend so much longer than their son. A couple of limited years with the Potters is nothing compared to the 5+ years he spent being James' best friend. I say limited because he keeps being that best friend even after he moved out.

That bond, if you want, can be solidified into something sibling-level after the adoption. You can have your headcanons, fantasies and fanfics where Sirius runs away to a healthier, welcoming family!!

But I don't think their bond could just change like that?? Again, around 5+ years of having this special connection, where they are used to living together, sharing the same space, being glued to each other, why would being adopted into the family change anything between them?? Besides like, getting yelled at together by James' parents, their routine would have stayed the same.

And you're telling me I CANT romanticize that?? Because YOU see them as brothers??? When they're so much deeper than that???

Would it not have solidified it more?? Would it not have gotten deeper?? Especially when they have privacy now.

Like you can't tell me they weren't having conversations where they bared their souls to each other, diving in and revealing the ugliest parts to each other, deepest fears, insecurities, quite literally breaking themselves down into pieces because it's just them there and then putting those pieces back together, glued with loving words and gentle touches because it's them. Or fucking. Up to y'all idk.

I'm going off the rails. The point is, you can dislike, like, hate, love ships for whatever reasons, I genuinely don't care. But if you're hating on a ship because you FEEL like it's incest, please just keep it to yourself. No one wants to be told their favorite ship reminds you of incest.

Again, tagging filters exist, I don't consider prongsfoot a rarepair but it's true people rarely write them. You literally cannot accidentally stumble upon prongsfoot fanfics and literally no one's forcing you to read them??

Prongsfoot is like the least problematic thing in this fandom?? And its barely problematic!! People ship ACTUAL incest!! Like starcest!! (...good for them but also like...)

calling prongsfoot incest when actual incest ships exists is insane.

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tobiasdrake · 2 days ago

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hearing you call live-action sonic surprisingly conservative in your post about media moving forward felt like being shot in the heart

i mean, sonic as a character is pretty leftist. his whole deal is being free and setting people free,

beating up enemies in the game is literally breaking the shell that the animals are stuck in

Eggman was an analogy for pollution, with him destroying the environment for personal gain, and later being more of a fascist dictator

and his thing is always turning people into products, into literal machines he can control to do his labor and fight his wars, which would be every capitalist’s dream.

and so i never put the pieces together when it comes to the movie being conservative.

damn.

ouch.

could you elaborate more on it? idk, the conversation hurts but i’d like to know what your thoughts are on live-action sonic specifically

Oh, sure. We can talk about the surprisingly conservative themes and ideas of the live-action Sonic the Hedgehog films. With the caveat that this is old-school traditional conservatism, not modern nakedly fascistic conservatism. The Sonic movies are conservative in a Home Improvement sort of way, not a Lady Ballers sort of way.

What it amounts to is that Paramount approached the films not with intent to make a Sonic the Hedgehog movie but with intent to make a "relatable" story for an audience that also has Sonic the Hedgehog in it.

Have you ever seen 2019's Godzilla: King of the Monsters? A film which centers a broken family trying to connect with each other, while also there's a disaster movie happening around them? Like. Godzilla and Mothra and Ghidorah is all stuff that's happening, but what really matters here is whether this daughter can forgive her mother.

It's the of writing a low-stakes personal drama and then stapling the film premise to it. The kind of move that makes sense with something like The Day After Tomorrow where the premise is just "It got fucking cold" so the movie kinda needs something with some actual characters that it can be about.

But when it's an adaptation, it shows low confidence in the IP itself to carry a film. It says, "I don't think a Sonic movie would work, so instead I'm going to just make a movie and have Sonic in it."

And the a movie that they made centers some conservative values. But, like, old-school conservative values, not the hyper-fascistic transphobia and white supremacy and stuff you see around today. Things that were considered commonly recognized conservative values in the 80's and 90's, when white people were still supposed to believe that racism was over and all that jazz.

For one, Tom is a cop. Which is a wild choice for a film coming out at the height of BLM and ACAB. The film, as well as its subsequent sequels and spinoffs, play Tom's policing very sympathetically. A major theme of the first film is that Officer Wachowski is a vital and valuable part of his community.

There is no ambiguity; The cops are the good guys here. They're kind of wacky but we're meant to love both of them, Tom and Wade. They are, however, contrasted by the wickedness of the Feds.

Eggman, in the film, is reimagined from an industrialist to a federal agent. He represents the long arm of Big Government overreach coming for the sleepy town of Green Hill. Which is then further represented by G.U.N., who oppose Eggman once he goes rogue but are still the enemy nonetheless.

Even the Knux series still manages to be about fighting the Feds. The federal government has been the antagonist for 3 out of 3 entries thus far, when Eggman himself has only been the antagonist for 2.

The films leave the environmentalism of the original behind, instead centering family values. Rather than setting out to rescue woodland creatures from industry, Sonic has heart-to-heart chats with Tom about growing up and finding his calling. Knux isn't the guardian of Angel Island, but Sonic's adopted brother. Maddie can ground him for inappropriate behavior.

The first film also features the popular old-school conservative theme of Rural America vs. Urban America. Tom is a small-town cop who yearns for the glamour of the big city. He thinks his calling is there. But, over the course of the film, he learns to appreciate the value of small-town living and his importance to his community, and sets aside his foolish dreams of urbanity.

"I wanted to run away to the city but then learned that my Real 'Murica small hometown is where I truly belong" is probably the single most popular conservative story in decades of film and television.

It's worth noting that the film does feature an interracial marriage, which is something I hear brought up a lot as a way of saying "Actually it's not conservative because...."

But for as much credit as Maddie might warrant... There is the issue of Rachel. A character who exists primarily in the film to be a Sassy Black Woman who reacts with furious histrionics towards Tom for no apparent reason. She just. Hates him. From the bottom of her soul, despises "Relatable Cop Boy".

Like. So far as the film's concerned, it needs no explanation. Her relationship with Tom is just an eyeroll, sly glance at the camera, and "In-laws, amirite?" The second film at least gives her more to do, but the first concludes her subplot by having them tie her up and steal her car.

Like. That's it. That is what she amounts to. Maddie's sister yells sassily until she passes out and then the payoff is that they steal her car and leave her tied to a chair as... I guess her karmic retribution for being so sassy and mean to Tom? It's hard to really say whether this is mean-spirited because we do not know what her beef is. The film doesn't think we need to know. "In-laws are crazy, amirite!?"

When you set aside the cool action scenes of Sonic punching robots and look at what the films center as their emotional heart? You get a story about a small-town cop learning to appreciate his rural roots and build a family with his wife despite her unreasonably psychotic relatives, while the wicked federal government attempts to destroy their home, town, family, and way of life.

#sonic the hedgehog

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mouthpoisons · 2 days ago

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im still here and im still mad and feel like supplementing the stuff i said by talking about one of my favourite shows of all time, black sails. it's a show that markets itself as a prequel to fucking treasure island, and it has several beautifully handled examples of ''messy'' queer people and various flavours of Actual queerplatonicism/soulmateship, and i want to parade them around in service of saying Get Fucked to That Man a little more.

like i seriously feel like its my messy-nebulous-identity-queer-man oligation to hammer it in that he is gaslighting everyone, and that what he's trying to make you give up and just accept that he Apparently wrote genuinely exists in incredible capacities in infinitely better more big-brained pieces of media. the jayvik narrative was just straight up ''they want eachother but they have to battle the comphet demons first''. the queerplatonic/soulmate characters you deserve are out there (and by extension in this scenario, actual nuanced pieces of media about ostracised people revolting against their oppressors). lemme put you on.

black sails includes:

captain james flint, a former british navy officer, who was exiled from england because he's outed having slept with a nobleman called thomas hamilton. thomas's wife miranda was in on it the whole time, there's definitely a sense of loss and grief coming from her surrounding the situation but she remains fully supportive of them both, and she loves them both dearly. thomas is thrown into a psyche ward offscreen and flint and miranda flee england to the caribbean, where james becomes a seething vengeful pirate captain and miranda tries her best to make a comfortable home and a life for herself in exile. these two characters are deeply in love with eachother and the exact nature of their love is never spelled out to us. they are intimate with eachother, they fully have sex on screen, however they make a point of making it feel stilted and awkward with james just kinda lying there. miranda will later go on to desperately pursue a pastor who starts frequently visiting her for tea and company.

the way this show beautifully frames the relationship between these two characters honest to fucking god made me land on the reading that james is gay specifically, not bi

my reading of them is that they are a secret third thing, they are some form of queerplatonic partners who are bound together by their grief and the loss of their shared romantic partner. that james, who has gone back to burying his attraction to men under a million layers of shame, is only comfortable having sex with miranda, because shes the only person who fully knows who he is and loves him unconditionally. and in turn for a while she's only comfortable having sex with him, eventhough the relationship leaves her unfulfilled. a piece of fiction being able to ilicit that reading from me, that the man i just described isnt into women but has this relationship with one anyway, is fully fucking insane but they managed it flawlessly. a lot of people share my opinion and a lot of others see the situation as a doomed bi polycule, james as a bisexual man, and him and miranda just straight up being eacothers trauma-bound situationship, etc. which is an equally valid reading. it really could go either way

jack rackham and anne bonny From Real Life are also portrayed in this show, and they are set up as longtime sexual/romantic partners, practically joined at the hip, before shenanigans ensue and anne has her first ever non-hetero sex with a sex worker called max, which leads her to eventually figure out shes a lesbian, and her and max are endgame. i cant quite remember the jack/anne backstory off the top of my head but it goes something along the lines of; anne was the young teenage wife of an extremely abusive husband, and one day jack found himself in their tavern, and he kills the husband and runs away with anne. hes the only compassionate love shes ever known and her arc is built around her realising that shes unintentionally been in jacks shadow this whole time, and that she barely has any idea who she is outside of being his partner.

her lesbian acceptance arc includes her trying desperately to cling onto the initial state of her love for jack by inviting him to a threeway, and it very literally reads as ''i need my boyfriend here for comfort so i dont get scared doing the lesbian sex that actually makes me feel something''.

eventually however, anne comes to accept that she simply loves jack in a different way now, and jack, who loves her more than anything, wants her to be her own person, and is fully supportive of her, is willing to ''let her go''. anne has an amazing scene where she tells him ''i cant be your wife, jack, but we'll be partners until they put us in the fucking ground.'' and when anne uses that word, partners, in that context, you know exactly what she means. they remain intimate with eachother for the rest of the show, they are still eachothers best friends, eachothers soulmates, theyre 2 sides of the same coin, they kiss on the mouth like twice after this revelation for gods sake, but it's extremely clear that what she means by that is she's no longer his sexual/romantic partner. they're a secret third thing now. they are partners in the way That Man tried to retroactively convince you jayvik are.

this is just 2 examples, but ive left out the big one. if i analysed the actual main ''are they like brothers/do they have crushes on eachother/are they soulmates/are they queerplatonic/whatever the hell else is going on here'' relationship the 2 main characters have, id be here a while, and i kind of wanna leave them (and the incredible madi who joins them in their madness later in the story) under wraps incase ive managed to advertise the show to you. theyre amazing and tragic and beautiful and theyre best experienced firsthand. i promise you the authorial intent of portraying a close relationship between 2 men that defies clear-cut labels and explanations is crystal fucking clear in black sails, and it's not just a full ass Gay Guys With Comphet narrative that was word-of-god rolled back on at the last moment. the writers even went on record explaining that they specifically wanted to do a secret third thing with them. i wouldnt know where to dig it up again, but when these guys say it, you believe it. they are Not talking out their asses and they dont think youre stupid.

if you wanna watch a story about vilified downtrodden people who plan to revolt against an imperialist regime, which actually handles that setup amazingly and with proper tact and complexity, that's full of beautiful messy characters and relationships, which ends in a way that's earth shatteringly devastating, but in a way that makes perfect sense and leaves you depressed forever but satisfied, and is 50 billion times better than what arcane turned itself into in that horseshit second season, try black sails. this unabashedly revolutionary anti-imperialist tragedy will continue to surprise you in the best way and i genuinely think that if youre malding over arcane fumbling literally fucking every topic it touched, this should be your next stop. you deserve good food. this is the kind of shit arcane wishes it was.

also another point that i couldnt really fit in anywhere else; they turned fucking long john silver into one of The Most Fictional Characters Of All Time. this show is treasure island fanfiction and they managed to turn the original text into a dubious sequel, and i cant even begin to explain what i mean by that, but john might actually be an entirely new genre of guy now and it's fucking incredible what they did with him specifically. hes fictional character squared. im obsessed with him and they make that feel like a deep unforgivable violation of his privacy. go and experience that man's Narrative

and lastly a big ass disclaimer: the first season is the worst one and you have to go into it with the context that this was originally developed as a Historical Drama For Bros, and it has the vibe of a game of thrones ripoff until the creators are given due control from s2 onwards. theres uh. a lot of Cringe in season 1, i wont lie. the women and wlw characters have some very stupid male-gazey characterisation, theres an extremely uncomfortable arc where a woman is repeatedly sexually assaulted, theres some shock-valuey depictions of slavery, but i promise when the creators are allowed the chance to lock in, they lock the fuck in. they make something amazing out of every topic that's treated in a weird shallow way in the first season and you can tell when they start putting their entire backs into it

someone even did a ''what couldve been'' amv if you dont mind more potential spoilers via out of context visuals

#post #arcane #black sails #jayvik #this one goes out to ''i like it i guess because i can read them as qpp <:)'' aroaspec jayvikers especially #as ur bother in arms you dont deserve to be handed scraps like this. get over here. i have real qpp men media that doesnt think youre stupi #people who’ve watched both shows back me uppppp I need your strength you know I’m so correct #I have tasted GOOD FOOD and this is why i am like so personally insulted by the idea that #jayvik are on the platonic soulmate wavelength they are Not #you have to actively twist them into that after THAT narrative #I deserve better and other aroaces deserve better and allos deserve better we all deserve better #than this utter nonsense #he aint tryna give us rep hes walking back HOMOPHOBICALLYYYYY this is a post canon word of god broification #to appease his fellow insecure straight men he didnt do that for Us #WHERE IS YOUR RAGE RISE RISE RISE

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 2 days ago

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Bespoke kisses

Gil-Galad x reader. Modern AU. NSFW!!

*****

You really thought you had made it.

“I knew you could do it, (name)!” your friend Mirdania comments happily as you both walk out of the door, leaving the large building that houses the Arda Fashion Academy, which you both attend as final year students, behind you. She is prettier than ever in her deep green halter dress -personally designed by her, of course, just like you created your shirt and altered your knee-length skirt so that it better fits your body; nothing more natural, for two budding fashion designers like you are! “That three-piece suit was beautiful, I knew the examination board would appreciate it!”

You smile, sincerely flattered and happy for your recent success, even though, you have to admit, she is the one who should be congratulated, since the mullet dress she created was enthusiastically received by the board, and was awarded the highest marks among the thirty submissions on behalf of as many seniors, and she was the first student selected for the internship. “I bet the designers came to blow for the privilege of having you as an intern.”

“Oh, come on, you’re exaggerating…”

You are -just a little- but it’s hard not to feel overenthusiastic in a moment like this. The internship you and your friend have been selected for is an exceptional opportunity, the sort that happens only once in a person’s life; the Arda, the country’s most prestigious institution in the field of fashion, has established a collaboration with three important designers, each of whom would be be paired with a final year student for a six months collaboration. The selection was to be based, as well as on the hopefuls’ academic records, on the submission of a personal creation: a set of clothing, be it a dress, a suit, a simple trousers-and-shirt combination -someone submitted a bikini paired with a sarong, flip-flops and a beach hat- that a panel of the Arda’s most respected lecturers would judge.

As expected, most of your fellow seniors applied for the internship, and you and Mirdania were among the three chosen, together with a talented student named Elrond, who you know less well. You really can’t wait to begin: not only a period of employment in a prestigious fashion house will undoubtedly improve your resumé, but you’ll have the chance to see a talented designer at work, and to learn from them; the pay is low and between the internship and the classes you’ll still have to attend you’ll end up sleeping three hours per night, but who cares? Fashion has always been your passion, and while being admitted to the Arda was the first step to fulfilling your ambition of becoming a famous designer, you feel this could be your chance - the chance to find new inspiration for your works and learn on the field, rather than in class.

And who knows, I would not be the first intern who remains to work for their mentor even after the allotted time…

“I still can’t believe I am going to meet Celebrimbor, the Celebrimbor, tomorrow.” Mirdania comments as you both walk towards the metro station, which is where you’ll have to part to return home. Your friend has long been an admirer of one of the designers who offered their collaboration to the school, and was ecstatic to learn Celebrimbor had expressly asked for her as an intern, having been favourably impressed by her submission “I swear, I keep pinching myself because I think it might be a dream!”

“You’re not dreaming; and since he has already proven to appreciate your work, I’m sure you’ll enjoy working for him.”

“I think so too. What about you? Looking forward to putting a face to Gil-Galad’s name?”

You have to admit you are more than a little curious. Unlike Celebrimbor and Cirdan, the designer Elrond will intern for, your allotted mentor, Gil-Galad, is a mysterious figure in the world of fashion, well-known for his sense of style that has been appreciated, and worn, by celebrities all over the world, but very few people can say to have met him. He is probably the only fashion designer in the world who does not attend his own shows, nor does he give interviews in person - only by phone or mail. No official, proven picture of him exists on the internet, and you have heard that his closest collaborators -an inner circle among which, you imagine, you are going to be admitted tomorrow- are required to sign a non-disclosure agreement to swear not to share his personal information with third parties.

All it is known about Gil-Galad is that he’s a male, native of Lindon, and probably on the young side, since he started making a name for himself only a few years ago, soon before you started attending the Arda, and the rest is nothing more than gossip and assumptions; there is even the possibility he is using a pseudonym rather than his real name. The thought that you are going to meet such an elusive personage, whose identity fashion lovers and journalists all over the world would give an arm to discover, is intriguing, but all things considered, the personal matters of your mentor are none of your business; all you want is to learn as much as you can from him, and hopefully begin your career as a fashion designer.

“A little bit.”

“I can imagine. We’re celebrating tonight, yes? It’s Friday, we can go to the Moria.”

The Moria is one of the city’s best-known clubs; the music is good, the cocktails even better, and you always have a good time there, especially on Friday, when the club hosts its famous theme nights.

“I don’t know, Mirdania.” you confess as you follow your friend down the steps leading to the metro station, surrounded by a veritable crowd moving in both directions; it’s almost rush hour, and you already know that finding a seat on the train will be impossible “You do remember we are going to meet our mentors tomorrow, yes? I was planning on going to bed early, to be well-rested…”

Your friend assures you she is as determined as you are to make a good impression, and doesn’t plan on showing up to the Arda for her first meeting with Celebrimbor still tipsy from the night before, her make-up smudged and her breath smelling like alcohol. “But we do deserve to celebrate, don’t we? Come on, just a couple hours! We have a drink, we dance a bit, and then we return home. Keep in mind how busy we will be for the next six months!”

She has a point, you have to admit as you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, especially because you haven’t been to the Moria, or to any club or pub for that matter, in ages, since you were so busy with your classes and preparing your submission to the internship. An eight-, or even nine-, hours sleep would do you a world of good, but on the other hand, you do feel the need to celebrate…

By the time you have come to a decision, you and Mirdania have reached the station’s central joint: from here you’ll have to part to take different lines.

“Alright; I’m in.”

“Great! We’ll have fun, I’m sure.” Mirdania comments happily, her excitement contagious as you find yourself smiling “We deserve it, (name); we won fair and square.”

You assure her that you know, and your friend promises she’ll come pick you up at your apartment that night. You had no doubts she would be chosen for the apprenticeship, since Mirdania is undoubtedly the most talented student in your year, but you are happy the panel recognised the value of her work. You were a little less sure about yourself, since there are so many talented designers in your course, but since you got in as well, you have to have done something better than the others, right?

“I’ll see you tonight.” you promise, and Mirdania waves you goodbye as she walks away, her bright blonde hair soon swallowed by the crowd; you linger for a moment, already excited both for the night awaiting you and the day that will follow, and then turn to walk towards your train.

*****

You really thought you had nothing to worry about.

One of your favourite fashion designers, you read once in their autobiography, used their siblings as models at the beginning of their career, since they couldn’t afford to pay professional ones. You can’t do the same, being an only child, and most of your friends don’t have the time, or the patience, to let you spend hours fitting clothes on them, which is why most of your creations, except those you realise as presents, are tailored on a specific body type: yours.

Wearing the three-piece suit that won you to the internship for your celebration night felt like the most natural choice, and as you observe your reflection in the full-length mirror of your bedroom, having already taken care of your hair and make-up, you have to admit you do look good; more importantly, you feel good, and are quite proud of your creation.

A quick honk outside your window announces Mirdania’s arrival. You go out to meet her, and when you find yourself face to face with your friend, both of you burst into laughter: like they say, great minds think alike, and Mirdania looks amazing in the mullet dress the internship panel awarded full marks to.

“I doubt this is the Moria’s style.” you point out, amused.

“I don’t care; come on, I need one of Durin’s drinks.”

You happily sing along with the radio during the short ride to the club, and finally the Moria appears in front of you. You leave your coats at the entrance, and as you predicted, almost every person present turns to look at you and Mirdania as you step in the room, intrigued by your clothes; you and your friend share an amused smile, and you privately have to admit how flattered you feel, even though as a fashion designer what you enjoy is creating clothes, not wearing them yourself.

“Oh, it’s you guys; and here I thought two top models were gracing my humble club with their presence.” the barman and owner, Durin, jokes when he sees you approach, already busy preparing drinks behind the counter “You really put the rest of my clientele to shame tonight.”

“Thank you, Durin; we made these ourselves!”

“You both look lovely, truly. I wish I had worn a suit like yours on my wedding day, (name), rather than looking like a penguin…”

A grand piano is set on the stage at the centre of the room, a young musician playing a classic piece you vaguely remember hearing before. You and Mirdania decide to sit at the counter for a while, nursing the drinks Durin has already prepared for you. You let your gaze drift over the room, the people sitting at the small tables surrounding the stage, the soft notes soaring from the piano, the few couples who have already started dancing, gently swaying in the arms of their partner. You should feel happy tonight, relieved for your success and excited to begin your internship, and you do! You are happy, even though at the same time you can’t help but feel a bit wistful, and worried…

Mirdania is asking Durin about his wife, Disa, who recently gave birth to their first child, but then she notices your expression, and preoccupation colours her lovely face. “(name), are you alright?”

“Yes, yes; I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About the future. About where I will be, nine months from now.”

By then, barring accidents, you will have graduated from the Arda, free and at the same time forced to begin earning your living. “I thought you planned on finding a job in an important fashion house, just like me.” she points out; that is the most natural choice for a person with your education, unless they are exceptionally talented -or exceptionally wealthy- and are therefore able to get the funding to open a fashion house of their own.

“I do. It’s just… I don’t know if I can actually manage that.” you confess, to Mirdania’s open surprise; while you like to think you are not as presumptuous as some of your fellow students, who already imagine themselves as top selling designers, whose creations grace the covers of magazines and fetch top dollars among celebrities and members of the elite, it’s not like you to doubt your talent and potential, not to mention your chance of turning your passion in a profitable career.

“Why shouldn’t you? You are one of the best students of our course, you have obtained a prestigious internship, and many alumni of the Arda went on to become famous designers.”

“Yes, but not all of them; in fact, I bet many former students ended up doing something else, and not because of lack of talent. Fashion is one of the most difficult fields in which to break in; why should I succeed where so many others have failed?”

“(name)...”

“I’m sorry.” you murmur, suddenly melancholic, and scared, for a reason you can’t quite describe. Rationally speaking you have every reason to be happy, satisfied, and even hopeful regarding your professional future, given your excellent academic record and the prestigious work opportunity you just obtained, but thinking that at the end of it you’ll be only a few weeks away from your graduation led you to reflect on your future, which you have never felt more pessimistic about “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight…”

Who says your academic successes will be enough to guarantee you a career in the field of your choice? So many aspiring artists, actors and singers and writers, wait years and even decades for their big break, which never comes, no matter how good an education they have received, and even how objectively talented they are; it’s the same, or even worse, in the field of fashion, where maybe one out of a hundred or more hopefuls reaches some level of notoriety.

You already knew when you enrolled in the Arda how hard it would have been to actually become famous, or even just earn your living, as a fashion designer, and you don’t regret choosing such a difficult field to work in. Fashion has been your passion, your only ambition, ever since you watched shows on television with your mother and your grandmother taught you to sew when you were ten, and there would be nothing shameful in having to get another job to support yourself while you wait for your shot to stardom. But if you think that while you wait might end up meaning the rest of your life, and that your years at the Arda, and all the time and effort you have dedicated to your dream, all the hopes and the ambition, might amount to nothing, and you will have to work maybe a steady, even prestigious job, but that you find no joy or even just interest in, just to pay your rent and bills…

Oh, God; what am I doing? Maybe I should stop while I still can, and get a job at a supermarket or as a bank teller, it’ll be less exciting but at least I won’t have to fear any disappointment…

“You want to return home? I can drive you, it’s not a problem.” Mirdania proposes, an offer you actually consider but that you don’t have the heart to accept, given how excited your friend was about tonight.

“No, I’m fine; it’s probably because of the stress of these past weeks.” you try to reassure her, forcing yourself to smile “I just need to relax.” “If you change your mind we can leave; I don’t mind, truly.”

You thank your friend, sincerely grateful, and do your best to relax and enjoy the music and your drink, both of them actually good. You turn your gaze back to the piano, the musician having now switched to a melancholic jazz piece…

… and then, almost casually, your eyes meet those of a man sitting across the room from you, and time seems to stop.

He has dark hair, and is wearing something black; that is all you can see of him, given the distance and the soft light permeating the club, but it’s his gaze that compels you… a gaze intense and open, even blatant, proper of a person who feels no shame in expressing their thoughts and feelings.

He seems to have stared at you longer than you have been aware of; the man smiles at you, and you smile back, suddenly shy, and force yourself to look away to talk to Durin.

A few minutes later a man your age approaches the two of you: it’s Malendol, a friend of Mirdania you know she has a particular interest in. You chat for a while, and soon after your friend is invited to dance.

“I’d like that, but…”

“No buts; you go and dance.” you tell her, well aware she’d decline in order not to leave you alone; you actually don’t mind, and the last thing you want is for your bad mood to ruin your friend’s night “Come on, off you go.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t bother you?”

“Absolutely sure. Malendol, keep her away for at least half an hour.”

He nods, grinning at you, and a moment later your friend is walking towards the dancefloor, her dress once more attracting the attention of whoever she walks past.

Durin smiles at you, his arms resting on the counter. “That was kind of you.”

“No one wants to be the third wheel with a friend and a potential partner; and I don’t want to infect her with my bad mood.”

“Something bad happened?”

“No, and that’s the worst thing of all. I should be happy, but…”

“Hello.”

You realise it’s him even before looking; you remain still for a moment, suddenly struggling to swallow, and then turn, offering your best smile. “Hello.”

The first thing you notice, as natural for a future professional in the field of fashion, is his suit; expensive, clearly tailored to the body of the person wearing it, emphasising the width of his shoulders and his narrow waist, and paired with an elegant golden-coloured shirt.

And then there’s him, his face, and no matter how much you like his clothes, that is what makes your heartbeat accelerate suddenly.

“I hope you won’t consider me too forward, but I noticed you from my table, and… I saw your friend left to dance. May I sit?”

“Of course.” you answer happily, and a moment later the man has occupied the stool next to yours. Like you had noticed, his hair is dark, and longer than most men’s, a soft-looking, lucid mantle falling to his waist; he has a classically beautiful face, the sort you usually find on marble statues or antique paintings, bright dark eyes, and a friendly, open smile.

He is handsome. No, you correct yourself as you move your legs away to make space for him, too slowly to avoid his knee brushing against yours, he’s absolutely gorgeous, without a doubt one of the most attractive men you have ever met -and that’s saying something, with all the male models you have seen at the various fashion shows you have attended- and the way he’s looking at you is making you feel as if Durin had turned the heating to the maximum.

“My name is Ereinion.” he introduces himself offering you a hand you shake; he is wearing several rings, even though not, you notice with relief, the one that suggests he may have a spouse waiting for him at home.

“I am (name), good to meet you.”

“... you said (name)?”

“Yes, why?” you ask, surprised; is there perhaps something wrong with your name?

“... nothing. The pleasure is all mine, (name); may I say I really like your suit? It’s very smart, I like the embroidery on the lapels.”

“Thank you.” you say, sincerely flattered “So, uhm, is this your first visit to the Moria?”

You spend a few minutes talking, the conversation flowing free and relaxed like it rarely happens to you with a person you have just met. You tell Ereinion you are still in school, but when he ask what you are studying you propose to change the topic; you’re usually more than happy to talk about your studies, and the Arda, and all that concerns fashion, but at the moment the less you think about your future, and how little chance you have to actually earn your living as a fashion designer, the better.

“No problem.” he answers easily “Can I buy you a drink?”

You gently refuse, since two drinks per night is usually your limit and you don’t want to lower your guard in the company of a man you still don’t know you can trust. You and Ereinion end up talking for more than an hour, discussing everything from movies and literature, to travels and even politics. Your new acquaintance is an endless source of interesting facts and ideas; he has told you he’s self-employed -which, you gather, means he’s a businessman- and he travels much for work.

He’s interested in you, you can see it in his eyes, the feeling blatant and open even though he’s acting like a perfect gentleman, and even though this has happened to you before you feel both flattered and a little intimidated. Ereinion can’t be much older than you, but his suit, the heavy watch at his wrist, and something in the self-confidence he exudes suggests he is a man of wealth, which is as different from your situation as it can be, since you are attending the Arda on a scholarship and still have to rely on your parents’ help to pay rent. You seem to have hit it off, but you doubt you and this man have much in common…

“... and then my cousin, Galadriel, took offence, and threatened to carve that man’s face with a steak knife; had I not intervened, physically lifting her to carry her outside, she probably would have.”

“Oh my God!” you say, unable to stop laughing as Ereinion tells you about the latest disastrous family reunion he attended “I can’t believe she really threatened him!”

“She did. I am very fond of Galadriel, but sometimes I wish she had more self-control.” he admits with a soft smile; he remains silent for a moment, as if debating his next move, and then his hand covers the one you have placed on the bar’s counter, the touch feather-light but enough to make you perceive the warmth of his body “Would you like to dance?”

You swallow. “I’d love to.”

Durin looks approvingly at you as you let Ereinion’s hand at the small of your back guide you to the dancefloor; a moment later you have joined the couples gently swaying to the music, his hands resting on your hips, your arms circling his neck. He is the one leading, which is good, because by now you have completely stopped listening to the music, too focused on the firm, warm body embracing yours.

“What’s wrong?” Ereinion asks after a few minutes, his murmur caressing the shell of your ear.

“Nothing!”

“I can feel you are tense; is something bothering you?”

“I’m fine, really.” you try to reassure him as you meet his gaze, but you don’t seem to succeed, because a moment later, with a jolt of panic, you feel him pulling back.

“(name), if I have… made you uncomfortable somehow, I am truly sorry.”

“You haven’t; really, err, it’s not your fault. You can’t help being so terribly handsome, after all.”

You hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but you have, and blushing and covering your mouth with your hand doesn’t help. Ereinion grins, openly flattered.

“You really think so?” Despite your embarrassment, you find yourself smiling. “Oh, don’t be coy; I wanted to ask you if you ever considered a career as a model.”

“I… haven’t, actually; but thank you very much. I think you are extremely beautiful as well.”

“Well, thank you…”

You share a smile, the tension between the two of you dissipating. The next two hours pass quickly; you dance, you talk, you drink -a non-alcoholic for you- and in the end Ereinion accompanies you on the club’s tiny veranda for a breath of fresh air. You have met Mirdania’s eyes a couple times, as she danced with Malendol or sat with him and his friends, and you’ve seen approval in her eyes; clearly neither of you is disappointed her friend has found someone else to spend the evening with.

“I like this place.” Ereinion comments as he rests his back against the wall by your side, his eyes focused on you rather than on the sky full of stars above you; he has already offered you his jacket to wear, in case you felt cold, and you declined, secretly flattered by the offer “I’ll have to thank the people who recommended it to me.”

“You have a favourite place here in the city?” “A few. I, err, haven’t been to a club, or any other place really, for a long time. I’ve been very busy with my work and… people say that I don’t know how to relax.”

It’s a feeling you know well. “And they are right?”

“They are. But I’m feeling very relaxed right now, which is pleasant.”

Ereinion smiles; and you thought he couldn’t look more gorgeous. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, and you hesitate only for a moment before answering in the only way you can: truthfully.

“I’m thinking that even though this is one of my favourite clubs and I had been in the company of my friend until a minute before I was feeling pretty down, so I really have to thank you for coming to talk to me; I feel much better now.”

“Glad I could help.”

A moment of silence as Ereinion turns to look at you; his hand cups your cheek, and you forget how to breathe. “Do you want to know what I am thinking?” he asks softly, and you not imperceptibly, heart pounding in your chest “I’m thinking that you must be the most beautiful woman I have met in a long time, and I’m dying to kiss you.”

It’s as if you had been holding your breath ever since your gazes first met; and now, finally, you can exhale. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

You are surer of this than you are of your name, and you don’t care how desperate it makes you look to say it. “I am absolutely sure; please, I want it too, I want it so much…”

A moment later Ereinion has claimed your mouth in a searing kiss; you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his, and whatever he feels seems to please him, because you hear him moan in your mouth. His body is large, warm, powerful, and you lose yourself in the intensity of his embrace; your hands move up and down his chest, and Ereinion holds you by the hips as his tongue takes possession of your mouth.

The next ten minutes pass as if in a dream. Ereinion is now kissing your neck, the sweet caress of his mouth leaving goosebumps behind it, and you moan out loud, well aware that whoever among the club’s clients -or worse even, Durin- felt the need for a smoke or a breath of fresh air could see you, and physically unable to care.

“Oh, God…”

“Good?”

As if he could doubt it! “More than good. Please, please don’t stop…”

He has no intention to, and he proves it by holding you tight as he moulds the shape of your body with his hands. You can feel him smiling against your mouth as he kisses you again, and for some reason the sensation fills your heart with joy… and then you jump, when Ereinion lifts your leg around his waist, pressing his hips against yours.

“Fuck.” you murmur. You can feel how hard he is, and you barely know him, way too little for something like this to be the smart, or even just the safe, thing to do, but caring, reminding yourself of the rules you have set for yourself when you started dating as a teenager, is suddenly the hardest thing you ever had to do; you’ve never felt so aroused in your life, you want this man desperately, you need to feel his body against yours and in yours as soon as possible, you need to feel his hands on your skin and his mouth kissing every part of you…

Ereinion groans as he feels you rubbing yourself against him, desperately searching for some relief, a raw, blatantly erotic sound that makes you wish you were truly alone, naked, on a bed or whatever other surface sturdy enough to support your combined weight “God, you feel amazing…”

Your heart is pounding; your mind is spinning; your body is begging for contact, and if you don’t do something about it now you’ll end up on your knees in front of him - which will be undoubtedly amazing, even though not completely satisfying. So you meet his eyes and

“Can we go somewhere else?” you ask, and Ereinion grins. “Do you want to come to my place? My car is outside.”

“Yes, it’s fine; I just need to tell my friend, and take my coat.”

He nods, clearly happy, and you return inside together, his arm resting on your shoulders.

*****

Ereinion’s car is exactly like you had imagined, and exactly like him; large, elegant, powerful, and you feel yourself shivering with pleasure as you lower yourself on the leather seat, after he had chivalrously opened the door for you.

He drives unhurriedly among the city streets, focused on the road ahead but looking away to meet your eyes once in a while; you share a smile, no need for words between you.

You’re not at all surprised that, when the car finally stops, you have reached one of the most upscale neighbourhoods of the city, and the building in front of you must cost more per square meter than your yearly tuition at the Arda.

Ereinion once again opens the door for you, and offers you his hand to get out; you smile, secretly flattered. “Can I ask you a very straightforward question?”

“Of course.”

“You are rich, aren’t you?”

He laughs, sincerely amused. “I’m… comfortable.” he admits “I am fortunate enough to have a job that pays well, even though I do work hard and have paid my dues.”

You assure him that he has no need to justify himself, even though you must admit you do feel a little intimidated; most of your friends, and former partners, are or were students like you or people who work to support themselves, and while Ereinion looks only a few years older than you and doesn’t seem the sort of man who boasts about wealth, you have already perceived there is a huge gap between the two of you. Would he think less of you if you told him you still need your parents’ help to pay rent, don’t own a car, and still buy most of your clothes at the mall?

The sense of inferiority feels like a heavy and unpleasant weight on your stomach: still, he did not ask for your bank statement before bringing you home, and as you take his hand to be led inside, any fear and anxiety you may have felt disappears, leaving behind only joy and desire. Mirdania, who you have left in Malendol’s excellent care, asked in a whisper if you were sure of what you were doing, and you are, you are like you have rarely been of anything before.

You want him; and you only need to look at the handsome man now opening the house door -after you, miss- to know he wants you too.

“Come, make yourself comfortable.” Ereinion invites you kindly as he guides you through the door, which is as elegant and refined inside as it looks outside, all marble and fine furniture “Something to drink?”

You tell him you’d be happy to have a glass of water, since anxiety has dried your mouth, and he leads you to the kitchen, where you find out that, as was to be expected, Ereinion does not live alone.

“This is Aiglos; Aiglos, meet (name).” he introduces you, fondness evident in his voice, as the beautiful German shepard that stood from his bed near the fridge approaches and starts sniffing you; the inspection must yield satisfactory results, because a moment later the dog is licking your hands “I’m sorry, I should have asked you if you have problems with dogs.”

You assure him that you don’t, even though you have never had a pet in your life, and briefly play with the animal, a beautiful adult specimen with black and brown fur and bright, intelligent eyes, while Ereinion takes care of your last drink of the day.

“So it’s only you and Aiglos?” you ask then, after you have quenched your thirst and his dog has gone looking for his toys in the living room “Living here, I mean.”

“Is this your way of asking whether I am married?”

You blush, unable to hide it behind your water glass. “No, I… I’m sorry, I was just thinking that this house seems too large for a single person…”

“It’s fine.” he reassures you with a smile “And it probably is, I have come to realise since I moved here. And I am free as air, I swear.”

You believe him; you have no reason to, all things considered, but you just do. “I am single as well, in case you want to know.”

“I do… even though I don’t doubt you have several admirers vying for your attention.”

You don’t, actually, even though the main reason you have been single for more than a year, after your latest partner cheated on you, is that you have been so focused on your studies, and the upcoming internship, to have much time to dedicate to relationships.

It bothered you, at times; but right now, you couldn’t be more relieved.

You place your empty glass in the sink, and smile as Ereinion takes you in his arms once more. “God, you really are gorgeous.” he murmurs; he’s holding you close, not hurting you but tight enough you would probably be unable to wiggle out if you wanted to.

Good thing, then, that I don’t.

“I haven’t done anything like this in at least five years, you know?” Ereinion murmurs; then, as if realising his words could be misunderstood: “Taken someone home, I mean.”

“If you’re… uncomfortable in any way, we don’t have to…”

“No, absolutely; it’s just that… the last time that person stole my wallet and my dog while I was asleep, so it’s not exactly a good memory.”

“Oh, God, that is horrible…”

“Well, I was able to find Aiglos at least, a few days later.”

“That’s good. And in any case…” you murmur as you slip your arms under his jacket, feeling the firmness of his torso against your body “... I can promise I want nothing from you, if not what you are willing to give. I… I had never felt like this before; I need you, Ereinion, I just need you to take me…”

He sighs, as if overwhelmed by what he feels. “Then I will.” he murmurs, before cupping your face in his hands once again “You have my word.”

You keep kissing as he guides you to his bedroom, where a huge bed, its dark-coloured sheets soft to the touch, is waiting for you. You start taking each other’s clothes off, and once both of your jackets have been abandoned on a chair, you hear Ereinion groan as he unbuttons your waistcoat. “I just wish I could tear this off you…”

You pout. “I think you liked my suit.”

“I love your suit; it’s very elegant and you look amazing in it. I just wish it was easier to take it off…”

In the end you manage, and within a few minutes your clothes are scattered around the room, and you’re both in your underwear. Ereinion guides you to the bed, kneeling on the floor between your legs as you kiss senselessly; his hand moves up and down your thigh, but a moment later you have unclasped your bra, and he is pulling you close by the hips to kiss your chest, whispering words into your skin that make you thank God the room is bathed by the pale moonlight, because you don’t want him to see you are blushing.

You murmur his name as you arch your back, waves of pleasure running through you as he kisses and licks and sucks as if your breast were the last glass of water in a deserted world, hungry and reverent, almost worshipful, and your fingers play with his dark locks as you murmur how handsome he is, how good he’s making you feel, and how you can’t wait to feel him inside you.

When he stops, you can see he’s grinning. “Up.” he orders, and you lift your legs and then your hips to let him take your panties off.

You are naked, naked on the bed of a man you have known for four hours, and you’ve never felt so happy in your life. Ereinion kisses your legs as he opens them, and then he’s standing, taking off his black pants to expose his strong, sensual body, which is even more handsome than you thought, so perfect you struggle to breathe as you admire him.

“You’re beautiful.” you murmur, and Ereinion smiles at you as he reaches you on the bed, looming over you.

“I’m going to make you feel good.” he murmurs before kissing you once more “Just tell me if I hurt you or you want to stop.”

You appreciate the thought, but you know already nothing he’ll decide to do will make you want to stop. You sigh as you feel his body pressing against yours; your heart is pounding, desire tensing your muscles as every fiber of your being screams begging to be fucked, but at the same time you’re relaxed, at ease and safe as if you were in your own home, with a person you had known all your life, and with whom you shared something deep and real and destined to last.

It might be a sign; and it might be not. You don’t care about the future, just like you don’t care about the past, and the differences between your lifestyles. All that counts is the present, and what you’re living together, and oh God he’s started pushing and it feels so good he’s so big…!

“You’re so wet for me.” Ereinion groans; he smiles at you, eyes full of desire, and a moment later he is fully inside you.

Your lovemaking is slow, soft and intense, Ereinion hiding his face in the grove of your neck as he relentlessly pushes himself in, and in your delirium part of you fears he’s going to split you open, but you don’t care, because it feels so good, he’s so warm and strong and hard, and you’re moaning and crying and digging your nails in the flesh of his back -painful, theoretically, but Ereinion seems to appreciate- and begging him not to stop, because you love this and you love him too…

World dissolves in ecstasy; you stop thinking, hold on to him, and let your body join his in the dance.

*****

You really thought you had found something beautiful.

It’s the sound of water falling that wakes you the next morning, coming not from outside -the sky is clear, with no sign of rain- but from the room adjacent to the one you are in, a large, pristine bedroom with elegant modern furniture and a beautiful view of the city out of the windows. You have only a few minutes to observe it, since you were too busy for it last night, and to enjoy the quiet happiness bubbling in your heart, before the water in the en-suite bathroom is turned off, and a minute later Ereinion, wearing only a pair of dress pants, his hair still wet after the shower, enters, immediately walking to you.

“Good morning.” he greets you softly as he bends on the bed to kiss you; he is happy, and does nothing to hide it “Sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s no problem.” you answer happily; you are now sitting on the bed, not bothering to use the soft blankets to cover yourself as you savour the honey on his lips, and the warmth of his body still enveloping your skin. It has been the most amazing night of your life, and while you have no intention of saying it out loud, you know it’s the same for him “Can’t you stay a little longer? Please?”

“I really wish I could; but I have to meet someone soon.”

“A woman?”

“Yes; but it’s not like you think. It’s for work.” he hurries to explain; he cups your face in his hands, clearly anxious to convince you “I told you I wasn’t seeing anyone, and I’d never lie about something like this.”

“I believe you.” you assure him; you have no right to be jealous of him -nor he of you, clearly- but you can’t deny, at least in your heart, that knowing he is single is an enormous source of relief. Only a few hours, albeit very intense, after your first meeting you already feel Ereinion is a drug you could easily become addicted to, but at the moment you are too happy, and sated, to worry about it “I’m sorry, I don’t want to sound possessive.”

Ereinion assures you he is pleased to know you still desire his company, and you’re free to remain in bed as long as you want - and as long as you don’t take Aiglos with you when you leave.

“No, it’s fine; I have things to do as well.”

And you really do; according to your phone you have little more than two hours to go home, shower, change, and then go to the Arda in time to meet your mentor for the internship. Had things -specifically, your evening- gone differently, you would be trembling with anxiety; instead, you feel perfectly calm, excited but in control of yourself, ready to make a good impression on the famous designer you’ll be working under for six months. And after that, and after your diploma… well, you’ll have time to worry about the future in time, you decide; doing it in advance is pointless.

You take a quick shower -the bathroom is, just as the rest of the house, enormous, but it’s the sort of luxury that evokes cosiness, rather than unease- and by the time you are wearing your suit once again and have joined him in the living room, Ereinion has put an elegant white shirt on, filled Aiglos’ bowl with food, and prepared two cups of coffee, one of which he offers you with a smile.

“Something tells me you’re a black coffee sort of woman.” “I actually am!” you confess, impressed “How do you know?”

“Just a talent I was born with.”

Ereinion grins; he places his cup on the counter to kiss you once more, hard, loving, intense enough to make your head spin as you enthusiastically kiss him back. You’ve had sex three times already, but you’re not sated yet; part of you has already begun thinking you might never be, a thought that is both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Tell me I can see you for dinner.”

“I can see you for dinner.”

He moans, even though not in the particular way you have already come to appreciate. “(name), please…”

“Sorry, sorry.” you murmur, raising your hand to touch his soft hair; you have spent the whole night making love but God, that simple contact is enough to make you tremble “I’d really love to. Believe me, if what I need to do today weren’t extremely important, I’d remain here waiting for you to come back.”

Another of those beautiful smiles, and then Aiglos comes in to reclaim both of his food and a bit of cuddles from you, both of which are readily offered to him.

“He likes you.” Ereinion points out as he observes you playing with his dog; then, softly: “And I do too.”

“I like you too.” you readily admit, standing to look at him; again, you share a smile.

You leave the house together twenty minutes later. “The metro is that way, only five minutes away.” Ereinion informs you, pointing the direction with his finger “I can drive you home if you want, I need to take the car in any case, but I guess you wouldn’t accept, would you?” “I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t.” you say; he doesn’t seem the sort of man who stalks a woman after she broke up with him, but one can never be too sure.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

You assure him he will, and that you really can’t wait for your date; you share a last, long kiss, and then Ereinion is looking at you as you move a few steps away, turn, and wave your hand good-bye before setting out.

*****

And now…

You walk through the Arda’s main door -there are no classes today, since it’s Saturday, but a few students come to take advantage of the well-equipped atelier to work on their creations, which means the building is technically open in the week-end as well- ten minutes before the appointed time for your meeting with your mentor at a quick but unhurried pace, wearing your best suit, which you have paired with a blouse of your creation.

You should feel tired, since sleep was the last thing on your mind last night, but you aren’t: you feel lucid, excited but in control, ready to make a good impression without letting the fear for the future get you down.

And tonight you are seeing Ereinion again. Thinking back to last night, part of you still can’t believe what happened was real and not the plot of a cheesy rom-com; but it was real, it happened, to you, and while you have never believed in love at first sight, you are determined not to let this chance go to waste. He is so handsome, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in what you had to say, and he took care of your pleasure as well as his, which is more than you can say for some of your past partners. There is so much you still don’t know about each other, and the thought of dating a wealthy, already self-sufficient person while you’re still a student relying on her family’s help should probably make you hesitate, but it does not. You don’t plan on becoming Ereinion’s kept woman, nor to let your relationship, should the two of you actually begin one, divert you from your studies, and you actually don’t care for his economic status either way.

It’s less than twelve hours to your first date; you can’t wait, and you’ll need to think about what to wear… even though, you remind yourself as you quickly cross the main corridor, now you have to put aside your new fling, and focus on what could be your big chance to start building a career as a fashion designer.

You meet Mirdania and Elrond in the tiny break-room on the first floor. Your friend, looking very smart as usual in a blouse and frilled skirt she bought expressly to improve it according to her personal style, smiles knowingly at you as he sees you approach. “Well, look who seems in a markedly better mood than last night.”

“I had a wonderful evening.” you admit “And, I’m meeting him for dinner.”

“Good for you. I do admit your new friend looks very handsome.”

“I agree. What about you? Did you have fun?”

Your friend, blushing a bit, admits that Malendol did ask her out last night, which she accepted. You are discussing the possibility of organising a double date -at the Moria, obviously- when one of your lecturers enters the room.

“Your mentors have arrived, and are ready to meet you.” they say, before explaining which room each of the designers is waiting in “You have one hour to make their acquaintance and discuss your internship, then you are all to come to the administration office to sign a few forms. Good luck to you all.”

You and Mirdania share an excited smile, and whisper good luck to each other before following Elrond out of the break-room.

The class where Gil-Galad is waiting for you is at the end of the corridor; you reach it, take a deep breath as you square your shoulder, knock on the door, and open it.

“Good morning, sir. I am your new intern, (full name), and I am very happy for…”

“(name).” a soft voice interrupts you, and you blink, stopping dead as the door closes behind you. Then you see the person waiting for you, their hands and back resting on the edge of the professor’s podium, and you stop breathing.

The anguish on Ereinion’s expression is so intense it borders on panic; he starts walking towards you, slowly, like a hunter trying not to spook a doe… before he has time to shoot her.

“(name), I’m so sorry.” he says, his tone pleading “Let me explain… I swear I didn’t know…”

May I say I really like your suit? It’s very smart, I like the embroidery on the lapels. This is what Ereinion said upon meeting you, an apparently sincere compliment that immediately charmed you. Not many men would have noticed a detail like that, let alone thought of complimenting it, but a person who knows much about fashion, who works in the field and loves it as much as you do, would have.

You can’t stop staring at him -him. HIM!- as the enormity of the truth comes crashing down on you, burying you alive. It’s not possible, you desperately tell yourself, suddenly feeling dizzy, there must be an explanation, it can’t be true…

But it is, the reality too clear and evident to be denied, and it is now standing in front of you, close enough you could touch him.

Ereinion is Gil-Galad. Gil-Galad is Ereinion. The famous fashion designer you couldn’t wait to work for and learn from, and the charming man who seduced you and gave you the best night of your life. They are one and the same, the two sides of the same coin, and they both made a fool of you.

“I am sorry, truly.” he murmurs, kind and anguished as he takes your hands in his, but you have quickly stepped back, putting as much space between you as you can.

“No… no…” you stammer, barely aware of the words you are uttering; your head is spinning, and your legs a moment away from giving way, as you realise the enormity of the mess you have gotten yourself in “I can’t… it’s not possible…”

“(name), please… we can find a way to make things work, if you just let me explain…”

You don’t; you have no interest in whatever this man, whoever he is, may have to say, and you don’t want to remain in his presence a moment more, not to mention your eyes have already filled with tears and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how shattered you feel. So you swat his hand away, like you would do with an insect, and

“You… you bastard!” you scream in his face “You ruined everything!”

before turning and running out of the room, deaf to his pleads to stop.

*****

You really thought you had made it. You really thought you had nothing to worry about. You really thought you had found something beautiful. And now… all of it has disappeared like snow at the coming of spring, leaving behind nothing but shame and rejection.

There is no alcohol in the apartment, since you usually prefer to drink socially rather than when alone, and this is at the same time a very good thing and the worst possible outcome. You spend two hours lying on your bed, crying inconsolably as you hide your face in your pillow; your phone hasn’t stopped ringing ever since you ran out of the Arda, but you didn’t even bother taking it out of your bag. You can’t be fully sure all those calls and texts are his, and not of Mirdania, who might have heard what you did and be consequently worried about you, or someone else, but you don’t care; you feel so humiliated, so completely annihilated, you don’t even bear the thought of talking to your friend or your family.

You still can’t believe it. You were so excited, and nervous, of meeting Gil-Galad, a famous fashion designer whose work you had long admired, and then you end up in bed with him, making love with an intensity you had never experienced before, without even realising.

Is Ereinion his real name, and the one all fashion fans in the country know a pseudonym? Or is it the opposite? Did he realise the woman in front of him was his future intern when you exchanged names at the club, and decided to have sex with you simply because he found you desirable, and to hell with the work relationship you were due to begin only a few hours later, or he seduced you with the precise intent of making you his lover as well as his intern? Did he plan on spending his days teaching you the finer points of the art of fashion, and his nights with you in his bed?

Well, if that’s the truth, you’ll have to disappoint him. A relationship, whether romantic or sexual, between a mentor and a mentee would be absolutely inappropriate, it might get you in trouble should the Arda learn about it, and the power imbalance alone is something you are determined to avoid, because how could you care, and trust, and deal as equals with a man who could make it impossible for you to be hired in any fashion house in the country after a simple fight?

You’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours, and he clearly does not deserve your affection given how he deceived you, but the thought of losing Ereinion, that you’ll never see him again and never get to feel the emotions he filled your heart with in the few, precious hours you have spent together, breaks your heart. And that’s not all: you’ll also have to give up on your internship, because since the simple thought of seeing Ereinion again feels unbearable, how can you hope to work closely with him for six months? Despite his undeniable talent as a designer you are not even sure you want to work for him; what if he actually asks for sexual favours in exchange for his teachings…?

A small part of you is aware you are being too harsh in judging him, and that his heartbroken expression when you met at the Arda clearly suggests Ereinion was as unaware of your future working relationship as you were when you met, but you are too heartbroken to reason. The internship was all you aspired to and worked for for almost a year, you had invested so much on it, hoping it could help you start building a career as a fashion designer, like you had dreamt of doing since you were little, and now all of it was in vain. And last night… you really don’t believe in love at first sight, but you had never felt so intensely attracted to someone; you sincerely enjoyed the time you spent talking and dancing, and your lovemaking was sweet, intense, even loving; Ereinion had been everything you had ever looked for in a partner and then more: handsome, passionate, generous, able to share his pleasure with you and to take care of yours.

You really thought you could build something together; at the very least you wanted to, desperately, and the loss of that potential future makes you feel more lonely than ever.

Only a few hours ago you felt amazing, about to begin a prestigious work experience and pursue a relationship with a partner who had stolen your heart; and now you have neither, you have lost everything, and while there will -might- be other job opportunities, and other men, you can’t help but think this was your chance, he was, as a lover or as a mentor if not both things together, and you have wasted it all away…

Deep in your sadness as you are, it actually takes you a while to realise the doorbell is ringing, more and more insistently. You ignore it, since you have never felt so unsociable and really don’t want to see anyone, but after a while the shrill sound hurting your eardrums is replaced by a voice, one you have heard for the first time only twelve hours ago but that you can’t help but recognise…

“(name), it’s me!” Ereinion calls for you from outside the door “Please, it’s not like you think! Let me explain!”

He came to your apartment! You never told him where you live, which means he must have found it on your curriculum, which the Arda has provided him with. Anger mounts inside you; how dares he? Had you wanted to talk to him you would have answered his calls, or called him yourself, since you exchanged numbers; what gives him the right of coming to bother you at home?

You rise from your bed and walk to the door. “Go away!” you cry, forcing yourself to make those words sound like an order rather than a plea.

“Not unless you let me talk to you.” he promptly answers from outside.

“Listen, Ereinion or whatever your name is…”

“Ereinion is my name. Gil-Galad is my second name, that I use for…”

“... you have until the count of five to leave, otherwise I’ll call the police to say you are threatening me. One!”

“You won’t do it. You’re not that cruel.” He is not wrong, and the fact he’s still able to see right through you pains and angers you both; you ball your fists, wishing he could see how furious you are.

“Are you really sure?” you ask in your most cruel tone “If you get arrested the papers might come to know about it; is this the sort of publicity you want for your brand? Two!”

“(name)...”

“Stop saying my name, it won’t help you. Three!”

“(name), I swear I didn’t know!”

You stop counting, hesitating despite yourself. “It changes nothing.” you whisper softly, resting your forehead against the door “What is done is done. I can’t work for you after what we shared last night, and I don’t feel comfortable dating you either, since you are everything I wish to be and will never get to become. I am very sorry, but we should both forget we ever met.”

You hear him grunt. “Don’t I get a saying in this? It concerns me as well.” he points out unhappily “It’s also my relationship, and my job.”

“You don’t. I’m very sorry, but this is the only thing I feel comfortable with doing. Ereinion, please, if you care for me just go.”

Silence.

“I know you’re still there. Please…”

“I like the way you say my name.” you hear him murmur; his voice is hoarse, deep, and damn, you wish it didn’t make you shiver “I like it very much, you know? I wanted to make you scream nothing more all night long, and I almost did…”

You strife a sob as the unbidden memories of your night together fill your mind; your self-control has reached its limit, and you don’t know how much longer you can resist before opening the door and throwing yourself into his arms to beg him to make it all go away.

“Please. Please just go…”

“I will; you have my word. But let me speak to you face to face, please. I swear the next time you say leave, I’ll walk out of this door and you’ll never see me again.”

The thought is terrifying; a moment later you have opened the door, and moved silently aside to let Ereinion, who looks as tormented as you feel, walk inside.

The door closes, and the two of you can do nothing but stare at each other. You must look horrible -half dressed, puffy eyes, make-up smudged- but there is nothing but tenderness in Ereinion’s eyes as he looks at you; tenderness and heartbreak.

“I swear I did not know.” he starts after a minute “I know the matter is more complicated than that, but I want you to know. When I met you last night, I had no idea you were my trainee. Remember you never told me you attend the Arda, or even just that you study fashion; there are so many universities and schools in this city, how was I supposed to know?”

Once again, he’s not wrong. “But had the school not given you my curriculum? (name) is a pretty uncommon name, didn’t you remember reading it? There’s even my picture on it!”

Openly embarrassed, Ereinion admits he didn’t - not properly. “I received an email from the school yesterday morning, with the data of the student I was going to mentor. I was actually excited about it, but I was busy with something else at the time and, err, I just read the text real quick, without opening the attachment. Your name did sound familiar, but I didn’t make the connection. I only realised what was happening fifteen minutes before you arrived, when I finally opened that blasted -I’m sorry- email.”

“I see.” you murmur, and while you are relieved he did not try to deceive you, as he said, the problem at your hands is much bigger than a simple lack of goodwill.

“The suit I wore yesterday… I made it myself, you know?” you murmur as you hug yourself; it’s pointless to mention it, but you want him to know “It’s the piece that won me the internship.”

Ereinion smiles; you have no way of knowing, since you’ve only met yesterday, but his closest associates would marvel at how often he’s doing it while he’s with you. “I should have known; it is lovely. And I went to the school’s atelier, I saw your creations; you really are talented, (name). I would be proud to work with you… and I would have thought the same had I not met you last night at the club.”

It is a beautiful thing to say, beautiful enough to fill your eyes with tears. “Thank you; I would have been happy to work with you too.”

“Then let’s do it. I have a new collection coming out next year, I want your input, there are so many things I want to discuss with you, people I want to introduce…”

“But we can’t. Ereinion, I…” you sigh, because nothing is harder than making a case while at the same time desiring the opposite “It’s always been important for me to keep my private and work life separate, which is why I would never date one of my lecturers, and it’s the same, if not more, for a mentorship.”

“Because you think I could fire you if you refuse to sleep with me?” “I don’t think you would; but it wouldn’t be fair for you either. What if I make a mistake you would dismiss someone else over, or I am up for some promotion someone else deserves more? I would never ask for any special treatment, but I don’t want you to have to choose between making me happy and treating me fairly. Becoming a fashion designer has been my dream since I was ten, but I don’t want people to say I have built my success because I slept with someone.”

You both reflect on the matter for a minute; Ereinion folds his arms to his chest, as if he had to physically stop himself from reaching out and embracing you. “And I guess you would not want me as a partner, since you can’t have me as a mentor.”

“I wish it was that easy. I do want you; I want you desperately. But knowing how successful you are, and the fact I haven’t even started my career, and this whole mess with the internship… I don’t think it would work; I need to be in a relationship where there is no power imbalance, and I’m afraid this is not our case.

“So you’re throwing away everything we have? Everything we could have?”

“It’s not like I want to!” you cry out, frustrated; why can he not see how much you’re hurting? “What I feel for you, what I have shared with you… I had never felt it before; but I am not going to sacrifice my principles, and my self-respect, for a lover. Not even you, Ereinion; and if you can’t understand it, and accept it, you’re not the sort of man I want to be around.”

Silence falls; your heart has the time to pound five times before the tall, handsome man in front of you sighs, takes a step forward, and cautiously reaches out with his hand. “May I touch you?” “I am not radioactive.”

He grins, and a moment later he’s holding you in his arms. “There might be a way for you not to have to give up on your internship.” he murmurs “You could do it with someone else.”

“... what?”

“I could swap interns with another of the designers. Celebrimbor is set on working with his mentee, who I have realised is your friend Mirdania, but Cirdan is an old friend, and when I spoke to him he said he doesn’t mind taking you and letting me take his new intern, Elrond. You would love working with him, I’m sure; Cirdan is a gentleman, and knows more about the business than any person I know. You would have much to learn from him.”

You consider the matter for a minute, safely held in his embrace. “You told him why you can’t work with me?” “I told him we are family friends, and therefore it wouldn’t have been proper for us to work together. It’s not exactly the truth, but I think it was a more appropriate explanation; and he promised he’ll keep the truth for himself.”

Working for a successful designer like Cirdan is an opportunity anyone in your situation would give an arm and a leg to get; and you must admit it, the prospect is exciting.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I don’t want you to lose this internship, (name); you deserve it, and it would be a great opportunity for your future.” Ereinion murmurs; he kisses your hair, sweet and chaste “I don’t want you to have to give up on your dreams… but, if I may be selfish just for a minute, I also wish you wouldn’t give up on us simply because we’re working in the same field.”

“I don’t work; I’m still a student.” you mumble; you rest your cheek against his shoulder, and suddenly you feel as if you hadn’t rested in a year.

“You know what I mean. (name), do you really think I care about that? Because I don’t, and the last thing I want is you to feel you have something to prove, or some standard to reach, in order to be somehow… worthy of me. And you shouldn’t either.”

He’s right, and you know it; you never thought Erenion could lose interest in you, or not consider you a partner on equal terms, simply because he’s more successful than you - which is an unfair comparison to begin with, since your career hasn’t even started yet. The problem is you, and your insecurities, which maybe you’ll never get rid of completely, but as he said, you shouldn’t allow them to stop you from pursuing a relationship with a person you sincerely care about.

You can become a successful fashion designer relying on your own strength; and you can keep your private and professional life separate, like you’ve always done.

You feel him smile as you circle his shoulders with your arms, and now you’re holding each other, the intimacy different from what you shared last night, but equally precious. “I should probably go back to the school.” you murmur “To talk to mister Cirdan, and the administration office.”

“Sounds fair; as long as you remember you have a date tonight.”

You assure him you do; you share a smile. “Can I drive you there?”

“I’d like that. Come, I need a minute to prepare.”

You share a new kiss, and Ereinion smiles as you take his hand to guide him inside.

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Gil-Galad #High King Gil-Galad #Gil-Galad x reader #High King Gil-Galad x reader #Benjamin Walker #Bellona's stuff

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