#anyway. this whole debacle has been awful

[lyriumrain]

Ugh. The school is taking forever to process my withdrawal form, and I just got an email being like "if you dont pay (the $400) in full it'll get transferred to a debt collection agency" which sounds scary and threatening so I just paid it all with my credit card 😐

I better get my fucking refund, I can't afford this

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 7

Chapter 7: conserving Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader minor character death, guns, reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry WC: 3676 Hiiii : ) so sorry for taking so long with this. I know I promised a really long chapter but instead, ive broken it up to keep it at a readable length and i will be putting out ch 8 later today to make up for taking so long, i hope you can forgive me 😔 I was so honored to see all of your lovely comments and feedback, im so happy, omg you have no clue, all of the little notes i got that were excited to see updates make me cry 🥹 Tags: no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, some sweet arthur cuddle, arthur and his foul mouth : )

Arthur reveals a truth about himself.

Waking late in the night, there is a heavy presence behind you. On the verge of suffocating really, Arthur breathes; slow and even, asleep. It comes as a surprise to you that both of you fit in this tent; Arthur being such a large man. The fire crackles on and casts a deep orange glow still lighting the night around you. The warmth that surrounds you, however, comes completely from Arthur. It’s a little uncomfortable with him so close, the rough leather of his gun belt presses into your lower back. You wiggle, but he hardly stirs. But you can’t help to appreciate the heat he wraps you up in, the simple pleasure it gives you to have him hold you so close.

Your thoughts wander in the opposite direction of your appreciation. You think of carefully slipping out and going to your horse, leaving Arthur at this camp alone. But you opened your big mouth and told him where you and your parents lived. There’s no way you can keep Lucky very quiet, he would snort and stomp around grumpily. 

If Arthur woke while you were leaving, he would be furious. Worse then, is the idea of him waking up, cold, searching for you. Your stomach sours at the thought of Arthur waking alone. How angry he would be, how lonely. Maybe you would be lonely without him too. Would you miss him? Miss his lustful acts, his kisses? His overbearing presence, his heavy warmth? 

Some part of you can’t go back to the ignorance you had before. The innocence in not knowing entirely what he wanted with you when he took you to bed. You thought such an act to be sacred, reserved between man and wife, not just for pleasure, to feel so whole. It would feel like something was missing if you couldn’t have what Arthur had given you. It’s a strange thought, it makes your eyes scrunch shut. How awful a thought, that you need Arthur and all of the things he's done to you, that you want them to happen again. That you don’t want to leave him. 

Who knows if you’d even be able to lift Arthur’s arm off of you, anyway. He has a big arm slung over your hip, you imagine how he fell asleep holding your own sleeping form close to himself. It’s an oddly comforting thought, twisting your stomach with some sort of affection. He may not be traditional, may not be the perfect love story you had wanted when you were a girl. He hasn’t even been so bold or vulnerable to tell you that he loved you. But all of his actions point to some untold feeling that he harbors for you. You had never met a man who tried so hard to be with you, who met you and wanted nothing else but to have you at his side. 

Just as you’re about to drift back to sleep while thinking of him, Lucky starts to snort anyhow, nervous and shuffling. Somebody’s voice breaks the calm of your state immediately, like you’ve jumped in a cold river, shock freezes your limbs.

“Quiet, stupid animal,” a nasally male voice says over the sounds of the night and Lucky's anxious chuffing. You try to nudge Arthur, wiggling to face him but he only breathes deeply. You can hear the man looking through your things, pocketing items. You poke hard into Arthur, making him groan. 

He sees you when he groggily opens his eyes, face to face. He’s about to open his mouth when you shake your head, trying to convey your panic. His eyes stare confusedly and bleary from sleep. It’s not until he can hear the man rifling through the supplies on the wagon that he seems to understand. You see his features harden like tree sap, a look you’ve never seen on him before. He squeezes your hip, to comfort you, you think; before he sits up slowly, hand already on his revolver. He sleeps in his gun belt, as if already expecting some stranger to creep in on him. 

With an ease you didn’t think such a big man like him could have, he’s out of the tent and up on his feet. You can hear Arthur raise his gun and click the hammer back, making the man freeze. 

“Startin’ to miss when it was me doin’ the robbin’,” he says. The man turns so suddenly. You peek outside of the tent. You know Arthur wouldn’t want you to make yourself known but you can’t help but peek out of the thin sliver between the flaps. 

“Now, well, I was only hungry, ain’t ate nothin’ in three days! Slim pickin’s out here,” the man’s voice is strained. Arthur doesn’t falter. As if thinking over the man’s words, he hesitates. The burglar does look worse for wear but he did have every intention of taking all that he could carry. The panic wells in his eyes, the fear makes him shake. 

“I can give it back! No harm done, right?” He begins rifling through his pockets in an attempt to appease Arthur, but he fumbles, dropping something to the ground. Arthur’s words interrupts the moment. The thief puts his hands up. 

“Reckon you was gonna take more than a can of beans,” Arthur has his easy drawl to all of his words. His revolver doesn’t sway, doesn’t lower. It’s focused on the man. The calmness he possesses sucks the air out of the space. You think of his comment. He misses when it was him robbing others. He has done this before and he has no problem doing it again, holding his gun up at somebody, his commanding voice making his victim tremble in fear. 

A loud bang and a puff of smoke scares birds from their nests. You cover your ears and slip from where you were peeking down to your bottom. Arthur stows his weapon against the leather of his holster. Once you can hear clearly again, the gentle ringing of his spurs is all you can make out.

You come out, shocked at the sight of the thief crumpled on the ground. You’re almost afraid to look, walking up to where Arthur stands and the man lies in a pool of his own blood, soaking the earth underneath him. Arthur’s shot was perfect. Right in the center of his forehead. The contents of his skull leak out all over the floor of this clearing. Much too visceral for you. You cover your mouth. Nausea hits you, seeing such a disturbing display. You had never seen a dead man before. He has such an odd look on his features, his last moment of fear is stuck there on his face. His eyes look like they could still blink at any moment.

“Y’alright? Don’t look if it’s gonna make you cry, girl,” he’s picking through the man’s pockets, taking back the things he stole, a pocket watch and a coin purse from your saddle bag. “Damn rat,” he sighs, nudging the body in the side with his boot. He tosses all of the stolen goods into the back of the cart. 

Arthur has no reaction akin to yours, only indifference which borders on cruelty. His irreverent behavior has you flinching. You can’t seem to look anywhere else but at those lifeless eyes, at the hollow stare. It’s hard to say if the man deserved to have a hole in his head the way he did. 

 Arthur clicks his tongue in a small irritation when he notices you stuck to the scene, unable to look anywhere else but the vacant stare of the thief. He’s marching over and pulling you away, gently taking you into his arms. He puts himself between you and the body, til you can’t see it anymore. Comforting strokes down your back make you ease, albeit slowly. The fire flickers weakly, not much left to burn but daylight would be here within the next two hours. You sigh and let yourself sink into Arthur. It isn’t fair how warm he is with no coat on. 

“Alright, back to bed with you, too cold out here,” he’s ushering you back to the tent. 

“Are you coming back to bed?” You find your ask sounding more like a plea. You notice when it comes out of your mouth, your face warm. He shakes his head, shrugs on his coat. 

“Gotta clean up this mess, unless you like the extra company,” your face crinkles. How he finds humor after killing a man, you don’t understand. You kneel down to enter but turn around to look at the shape of Arthur in the fire light. Broad and dark, a shadow. 

“I-I don’t want you to go,” you don't look at first (out of embarrassment) but you do look up when your words make him stop in his tracks. He stops his dutiful striding. He looks over his shoulder but not turning completely. His posture before was upright and ready for action but with your words, he sags a little, putting his hand on his hip, huffing a barely audible chuckle. 

“Won’t take me too long,” he’s off and he picks up the body, up over his shoulder. As if it were a sack of potatoes or corn. His boots crunch in the snow, walking for a few minutes down into a thicket. You can hear him toss the body. No reverence. You don’t know how to feel. You’re sure that man wasn’t planning to kill you. Arthur could have let him go. But he had kept you safe. 

Arthur returns with little change in his attitude, letting the events of the night slide off of him, water over the scales of an alligator. He’s in the tent with you, more than happy to relax. Laying down, crossing one leg over the other. Like nothing has happened. He has his arm out for you to tuck into. You do, as always. How strange you are to take comfort and safety in the arms of a man who shot down another not even ten minutes ago. The both of you are strange, two mismatched people looking for comfort in one another. 

“You killed him,” you whisper in the night air, the sound of branches swaying in the wind is the only thing nature can give to break up the utter silence of winter. You say those words like you can’t believe he took a life so easily. Like instinct, a second nature. Arthur did seem to have something lurking just under the surface. Waiting for the right opportunity, the right provocation. 

“I did,” he has nothing else to say. As casual as anything else. You can’t find an argument to give him. A sigh escapes him, a slightly fed-up tone to it. “And you give a shit?” He’s a bit forceful, like he wants you to lash out at him, to tell him he’s a monster, a bad man. Your fingers tighten as they grip onto him. You settle into his warmth, his hold. Like a house cat. Your heart rate slips slowly into relaxation as you sigh against him.

“Never seen a dead man,” Instead you tell him the truth or as much as you can reveal of it. That you’re twisted enough to only remark on the fact that the man was a new sight. Your voice is a whisper, almost too quiet for him to hear.

A small tension in him is released when you say that.“ Lost count of how many I’ve seen,” he’s stating a simple fact. You wonder what he’s done in life to not remember how many men he’s seen like that, crumpled like an old newspaper and forgotten. You want to ask but you’re afraid of the answer after what he said earlier. 

Your hand is on his chest, head on his shoulder. You try not to think of that man’s head popped open, spilling on the ground. You must seem so childish to him. A sheltered girl kept from the world. You breathe slowly. Can hardly stand to sleep but Arthur lays awake with you. 

“Ain’t nobody else comin’, honey, just go to sleep,” he doesn’t sound exasperated. His voice feels like it's confined to this tent, so quiet. Like the world stops outside of the canvas woven around you. 

You don’t know why but you feel the sudden onslaught of emotions, some delayed fear rouses from the depths of you, washing over you in one big wave. You try to keep it from happening, feeling rather immature. Tears leak from you anyway. You grip onto Arthur before you start to cry, fingers scrunching into the fabric of his shirt and vest. 

You don't have the capacity to read Arthur for his reaction but you can feel him close around you, his scent, his gentle shushing. “You’ll be alright now, ain’t nothin’ to worry about,” The comment is a little awkward, unpracticed. But his desire to comfort you feels genuine. 

You sob into his chest, sniffling and curling in on him, overwhelmed. It takes you a while to come back, quieting down as he lays a kiss in your hair. He’s pulled you almost entirely into him, pressed flush against him. He pulls his riding gloves from his hands, untucks your shirt from where it's trapped underneath your riding pants. His hands are warm and rough, sliding over the give of your soft belly up to your back. His touch feels like hot tea with honey. Pleasing in this soft moment, where he holds you. 

You sniffle, wetting his shirt with your tears. You're so sapped of energy, barely able to keep your eyes open. Embarrassment unfurls in you too at the thought of you crying your eyes out on his shirt. 

“Got a little crybaby, don’t I?” He’s poking fun, not too mean spirited. However he still derives joy from seeing you tuck into him, hiding your face shyly. 

Arthur doesn't say much after that. Tucking you into the safety of his shoulder. You listen to his lungs fill with air. You don’t know how he can be so cruel in one moment and so docile in the next, he’s a completely different person.

You adjust so that your noses almost touch, his eyes snap open when he senses you looking at him. 

Perhaps a day or two ago, you would have minded more if your thoughts wandered to him kissing you, messy and loving despite your situation. But all you want is for him to kiss you. Though heat climbs up your neck and cheeks, you still find yourself wishing he just knew what you wanted, too embarrassed to tell him. You could only imagine the smug smile he would have, he probably wouldn’t give in either, he’d make you beg or some other humiliating act. He’d revel in your shyness. 

He doesn't seem to realize your desire. You have no desire to share it in a verbal manner or an actionable one either. Though you're not brave enough to initiate a kiss with him, you know he likes it when you touch him. 

And you do. Up his chest, to his cheek, the stubby hairs poking the delicate skin of your finger tips. Your touch makes him react too, makes his eyes relax, the smallest sigh leaves his lips. With you touching his face, he finally fulfills your wish, pressing so close, lips chapped but the flick of his tongue adds a bright warmth. The contact sends your heart into a frenzy. Why you're so happy, why you enjoy it so much isn't such a mystery anymore. You've started to internalize his words, how he'd be your husband, how he’d take care of you. And that’s all he’s done so far; taken care of you. 

He pulls you so close, grabbing everything he can, squeezing at the flesh that gives on your hips and bottom. His tongue pushes past your hesitance, licking into your mouth. You let him lay claim to you in every way he wants to. After he’s had his fill, he holds your face in his hands. Your fingers skim down to where you can feel his heart the strongest. You can taste the tobacco he smoked earlier. Playfully, you pull away, pushing your smaller hands against him. For a moment he’s displeased until you open your mouth to speak.

“You taste bitter,” your whisper is quiet and he grins at you. 

“There a problem? Wasn't me pulled out that cigarette,” 

You shake your head, a smile breaks on your lips. You bite your lip before kissing him anyway. From the feel of it, he smiles too. ‘That's what I thought’ is mumbled against you before his tongue meets your own again.

 It's euphoria that breaks up on your tongue like candy, melts away and slides down your throat. The soft sounds you make are returned with his own sighs and groans. Your kiss has him as close as he can be but you want him closer. The thought of him killing sours the moment for only a second before you rush to right his wrongs for him. Your valiant protector, keeping danger away at all costs. Every second between you two, you savor. You know that he would do anything to keep you safe now. 

“Arthur…” he hums; calling his name can't pull his attention away from trailing his mouth down to your chin and the underside of your neck. Giggles come from your lips, his beard tickles the sensitive area of your neck and face. He rights himself so he can bow over you, open mouthed kisses on your neck turn into a startling sting when he latches on your skin. You vainly push at his shoulders, whining, but he won't stop until he's satisfied. You don’t understand why he’s kissing so rough, too weak to push at him enough. When he pulls away you stare up at him, no doubt making a pout that he touches with his thumb. 

“That hurt,” You rub at the spot, wet with his spit. His smug grin doesn't drop at all. He just finds your confusion endearing. 

“Jus’ gotta make sure you know you’re mine, s’all,” He says, as if his actions were an obvious reality. His words touch some unknown part of you, sensitive to his odd sentiments. Even though theyre dipped in his usual cool attitude, a breathy chuckle that betrays him. He liked that more than he let on.

“Yours,” you say, almost offhandedly but the simple word has Arthur looking at you. In the dark, you can't see much but you can hear his breathing pick up. That urge of his to utterly possess you is stoked like a fire, burning brighter. He bears down on you, face so close to yours. You can feel the ridge of his uneven nose bump your cheek. 

“Supposed to be puttin’ you to bed, girl,” He speaks like you're a tempting thought, a seductress. Nothing you do strikes you as particularly flirtatious but you might try your hand at it.

“What would you do instead?” you ask, knowing what he would have in mind but teasing him would do him no harm. 

“You're messin’, playin games with me,” He sees right through you. Arthur is always too aware to have one pulled over on him. All of your bravery has drained from you, you might have liked getting a rise out of him but Arthur is obviously a man not to be tossed about. Not so easily anyway. His words have you looking away, even in the dark but his hand guides your face back up. He looks down at you but he grumbles. “This tent is too goddamn small for this, maybe I can fuck on you proper in your bed. With your folks in the next room, on a little bed you had since you were a girl no doubt,” He flops down onto his back again, pulling you so you’re at his side, tucking an arm underneath you. His laugh rumbles through his chest, his hand playing with the edges of your hair, sliding over your shoulder. You feel your face heat and a worried look pull your brows into each other. You smack his chest lightly, feeling scandalized at the mere thought.

“We-You can’t do that, Arthur!” That petulant tone to your voice embarrasses you even more than his perverted statements. A scratchy whine, childish. 

“And why the hell not? Must be big enough to bend you over the damn thing,” He scratches nonchalantly at his chin, as if discussing the weather. “I’m tired anyway, your little pussy cat can suck the milk outta me tomorrow,” His vulgar words make you turn away. How undignified they are. But you can’t deny how they make you feel. He has a chuckle, thick with his puffed up pride. 

He sighs and adjusts himself. The thrill you get at thinking of doing such a thing with your parents in the same house makes you sick. You had never dreamed of doing something so deplorable. 

“Arthur, you- you’re-” 

“I’m what?” His voice is gruff in your ear as he presses up behind you, turning so that he can hold your body close to his chest. You can feel how big he is like this, how you are nowhere near the very length of him laid out at your back. 

“Disgusting,” He huffs a small laugh against the curve of your ear lobe, tickling your hair. 

“Do I revile you? My poor princess,” It's only a little sarcastic, his arms tighten around you, comforting. You realize that he has completely distracted you from your outburst, from the incident with the thief. The exchange with him has pulled you away.

You hold his arms around you, brushing over his roughened and dry knuckles. Relaxing on him has his words stopping there, ready to soothe you to sleep. Just as you're slipping into slumber, Arthur mutters a ‘G’night,’ to you, kissing your hair. 

Thank you for reading ! Arthur is such a weenie omg, arthur and his nasty mouth, i love him your honor. i would be so happy to cuddle with him, omg, cuddle with arthur is perhaps a transcendental experience, i think. sorry i made reader a weenie in this chapter but i mean if i saw arthur blow some guys head off, i think id be kind of 😶 as well. either way i would probably just think it was kinda hot at the end of the day like my man is a murderer 🥹💖 pardon him of his crimes : ) cant wait to show you guys ch 8 tomorrow !!!

[lexluvswriting]

ꔫ L'autunno.

☆ Ch: 3                                                 [last page] [next page]

-> Pairing: Eris x ballet dancer!fem!reader.

-> (CW): x fem!reader (she/her), slow-burn, rivals to lovers, tinkle of angst on occasion, fluff, non-specified identity Summer Court!reader, regarding canon ACOTAR time: after defeat of Hybern.

-> (TW): uhm, some slight simmering sexual tension, ig? your first fight w daddy (jk. ur just a bit of a meanie in this chapter i'm afraid), Eris Vanserra is a mumma's boy bc i said so, thank u & good night.

W/C: 3.6 k

╰┈➤ Lex's note: I am SO SO SORRY THAT THIS IS SO LATE EVERYONE!! i've had assignment after assignment after assignment for the last 4 weeks on each friday [which is when i usually write 😵‍💫] I'm posting ch 3 tonight, but i'll have ch 4 and maybe 5 ready tomorrow!!

It had now been three days since receiving the news that you’d be performing for the Vanserra family personally. In that time, you had also discovered a few prominent things to note: the potential financial ruin that would befall the old dance studio if its debts weren’t repaid in time; that Eris Vanserra was a snide, egocentric prick who seemed to like watching you dance an awful amount, and that Eris Vanserra’s personal scent was of smoky woodfire, with a subtle hint of maple- a combination that made your stomach lurch. That last bit was information you were sure you could live without, but from when you two had ‘spoken’ in the hallway of the studio after the raspberry coulis debacle, it lingered in your nose and messed with your head.

It was the fourth day of practice- three days ‘till the Autumn Equinox- so as any normal girl did, you were trying to find reasons not to attend the Equinox, and not to attend the ball afterwards on Eris’ arm. Today to your dismay, he had requested time with you personally, and you were highly suspicious. However, your motherly confidants weren’t hearing a word of it.

“Think of the opportunities, petal! You will have a chance to wear some of the most beautiful dresses in all of the Autumn Court- perhaps all of Prythian! Everyone will be having their sights set on the Equinox in place of Calanmai, so you will be a star!” Primrose gushed, clapping her hands and pressing them together as she swooned- the pot plants to her left accelerating in growth, their blossoms procuring the most vibrant coloured flowers, feeding on her magic as the Spring Court native expressed her excitement.

“If [Y/N] wanted to be a star, she’d go to the Night Court and rendezvous with the lordling there. But she’s not.” Ordelia interjected her wife’s exclamations with a slight frown, taking a brush to your locks as you sat on the floor in front of the fae female. “You cannot possibly try to avoid it now- this would be a wonderful time to show Eris that you are skilled with your body and your mind. Indulge the boy in his dances, let him crow about his achievements, then confront him on what they are doing in the harvest quarter. The cul-de-sacs and the complexes are being raided almost weekly.” She encouraged firmly, wanting you to push forward with bringing up the topic of concern to the lordling. You winced slightly as she raked the brush through your hair as she spoke, yet you let her style your hair neatly.

“This is a chance for you two to discuss important topics, [Y/N]. Ignore the tabloids, and the gossips. You will be with the heir to the Autumn Court- the opportunity to hold his family accountable is staring you blank in the face!”

You sighed, fiddling with some loose fabric on the long, loose sleeve of your blouse. “Even if I were to talk to him, I highly doubt he has the capacity to process what I want to discuss. Besides, this feels stupid- why does he need to spend a whole day with me anyway?”

“Well it would make sense! You’ll be on his arm the night of the actual Equinox- he ought to make sure he knows who he’s dealing with.” Primrose advised helpfully, Ordelia nodding contemplatively behind you, “He might be wanting to look out for your best interests and warn you in advance about Beron.”

Ah, yeah. That tyrant. The arsehole who wrongfully increased the land taxes despite the land being on its last limb during Amarantha’s ‘blight’, merely to make his people work harder with no time for mourning or celebrating. The bastard who is not-so-sneakily declaring an exodus on non-Autumn fae, making every step you took a more calculated one when you’d walk to and from the studio.

After the protests in the streets recently, Primrose stopped sitting on her balcony to watch the sunset, and now Ordelia mostly runs the errands. You’ve been staying over at theirs a lot more too- not feeling comfortable in your own apartment, staring at the certificates recognising your creative and academic ability, thus granting you these pleasures. Not with the small Summer Court trinkets on your shelves despite living in the Autumn Court apartment. You didn’t even feel like a true fae. You felt foreign- like that human girl who was living in the Spring Court all that time. A small part of you wondered if she’d understand these troubles in the human lands too.

You had zoned out, and they both seemed to catch on to the way you went deathly still. Primrose warmed your hands with hers as she pulled you to stand, embracing you. “It will be alright, my petal. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. Just enjoy yourself today, yes? You’re going to be with the lord’s son. Perhaps he’s more than the papers make him to be.”

“He’s a male.” You huffed softly, yet her embrace gave you a small flicker of confidence.

Maybe it would be alright after all.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

“Are you going to be scowling this much at the Equinox ball?”

“Depends. Will you irritate me this much then?” Whatever Primrose and Ordelia advised for you flew completely out the window as soon as you entered the carriage that waited outside your complex. You had glanced around nervously before climbing in as soon as the door opened, his smug voice welcoming you.

“What are you afraid of? I won’t bite- not unless you’d like me to.”

Your nose wrinkled at his tacky response, but it was truly his foxish grin that unsettled you. In fact, everything about him unsettled you. You truly despised how handsome he was- especially when he was quiet, when he didn’t annoy you. It gave you time to observe him as he looked out the window of the moving carriage. His eyes glimmered in the light of the sun, as if his irises couldn’t decide what colour they wanted to be. His hair reminded you of the brightest, orange leaf you could find. He certainly seemed to emanate the idea of ‘Autumn’- as if he was the physical manifestation. Your stomach lurched as you sobered up to the ‘goo-goo’ eyes you gave him, your lip curling as you huffed at Eris and looked away, causing him to chuckle.

“I didn’t even say anything that time.”

You didn’t deign to respond, sending him a judgemental side glare, as if he wasn’t the noble who was taking you out for the day.

“You ought to be nice to me, lest you incur the wrath of my father. Or myself, for that matter.” His canines flashed as he smiled at you, his body language conveying a silent warning. You snorted softly at the mention of his father, unable to bite your tongue as you crossed your arms,

“And what will he do? Kick me out of his court? Wouldn’t be the first, would I?”

Eris’ face fell, and all sense of mirth- no matter how smug- left his face. He regarded you with a slow, calculating look- his eyes raking over you- before he rolled them, a more snarky, arrogant smirk curling on his lips as he regarded you again, clicking his tongue.

“My, my, what a tongue. Don’t tell me you’re subjecting me to ‘politics’ now. Aren’t you supposed to look pretty and dance?”

“Why am I here?” It wasn’t a question, and you wouldn’t apologise for it as you snapped at him, narrowing your eyes as you sat up straight- as if to strike like a cobra.

“Don’t you listen, darling? I’m taking you out for the day- to get acquainted and what-not. You ought to learn about my family before you insult them as horribly as you insult me- and we’ve only been friends for a day.”

You barked a laugh, almost recoiling in disgust. Friends? I’d rather drink dirty lake water.

“You are also going to be responsible for assisting in a make-shift Calanmai, shall we say.”

Your ears twitched, and you almost lunged for him. “If you’re implying that we are to share a bed, I’d prefer you to kill me right now.”

This time, he rolled his eyes, shaking his head as if you were the idiot in the carriage. “No, darling. Why don’t you listen to me first, before you go off rattling your poor little brain. The Spring Court cannot… ‘deliver’ on Calanmai this year, so the Autumn Court has decided to take up the honour. The Equinox is the night where the magic in our land concentrates the most- so you will be dancing to appeal to the Mother, and invoke a surge of power. Then, we will have a ball, where you get to look pretty on my arm and do some dances for me, in true ballerina fashion.”

“Prick.”

“That naughty tongue of yours- I must say, darling, you won’t last a minute with my father if you keep that up-”

“I could care less for your father.” You cut in, glaring at him with all the contempt you could muster.

“I could care less for him, and you, and your spoilt, sheltered family. You’re all tyrants.” The leash you kept your temper on, which wasn’t doing much before, was on its final thread now. But when Eris watched you in his usual smug amusement, snickering softly as if your disdain for him was comical, it made you lose it.

“See? You laugh because you know it’s true. You’re a spoilt, womanising bastard of a ‘lord’, and I dread the poor girl who has to sire your children. You- like your father, have no respect for your citizens- the natives, and those who came here seeking asylum.”

He inspected his nails boredly while you ranted, nodding along dryly, “Oh, I know. Doesn’t it just eat you up inside?”

“It does, actually. You and your father make no sense. He’s actively driving your people to ruin- upping their land tax when he knows damn well how Amarantha’s blight affected the court’s harvest and vegetation. Your soldiers are pulling families out of their homes in the dead of night, in the middle of the day, kicking them out with nothing but the clothes on their back and for what? Because your father was in the mood for some ‘nationalism’? Mothers, pleading for shelter, their children cold and crying while you all sit back and do nothing- provide no resolutions, no assistance. I don’t even want to imagine how weak and pathetic your mother must be-”

“Hold your fucking tongue.”

A sharp snarl tore through your rant, and in a blink, he had you pinned against the back of the carriage seat. Eris’ breath warmed your face, his canines sharp and pearly enough that you saw your warped reflection in them. His eyes were certainly bright now- as if he had captured the Vanserra fire in his irises, and for a moment you were completely distracted by his pretty eyes before you felt how tightly he gripped your upper arms, the feeling of his fingers digging into your biceps uncomfortably making you snarl as you pushed against him, trying to kick him off. Your body seemed to wake up as his skin made contact with yours; blood rushing in your veins; heart racing- the beats pounding in your ear as your stomach fluttered? Churned? You weren't sure what it was, but you didn’t like the foreign feeling.

“Let me go-”

Unwavering, he kept you in his grasp, his breathing almost uneven, some loose strands of auburn hair curling as they hung in front of his eyes. Everything felt far too amplified as he forced eye contact from you, and you wanted to get away from whatever this was.

“Speak about the Lady of the Autumn Court like that again, and I’ll rip out your fucking tongue.”

You had never been up and close with the Autumn heir- never knew what he looked like when he was angry- never experienced his aggression. But the flutter, the flicker of something that roiled in your lower stomach made you swallow dryly, your eyes locked on his as you silently nodded, your voice soft,

“Fine.”

Your eyes had widened at this point, and to a stranger, it would look like you were a frail deer cornered by a fox. Eris took slow, deliberate breaths to calm himself, his glare deadly as it bore into you in a way that was uncomfortably intimate. You watched his eyes visibly flicker from your own to your lips for a considerable moment, before he pulled away, releasing your arms from his grip as he sat back in his seat, looking out the window- jaw clenched. You both stayed silent for the rest of the carriage ride, yet your eyes never strayed from his jaw for that moment; your stomach fluttered every time he clenched it.

Well, this was certainly a start.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

You felt the carriage stop, and your head slowly turned back in his direction. At some point, you had turned away, looking out the window as you hugged yourself- your hands resting on your arms, where his hands had wrapped around them. You couldn’t get the feeling of them off you, the area of skin that he touched was still warm even after he had let go ages before. Your mind had raced in that long moment of silence- he certainly took the reputation of his mother seriously. What possibly could have caused that reaction? You had tried to remember what you could about the Lady of Autumn; not that there was much to go off. She barely had a moment in the spotlight, thanks to Beron. You didn’t even know her name- but did anyone? Everything you could remember about her was… muted. As if she wasn’t really there.You thought of the noble female fae again, and remorse trickled in, making you almost flinch at the way it tasted in your mouth. You pictured a lonely woman, married off to a man that made it his mission to evidently mistreat her, and it made something die within you. 

“I’m sorry.”

It was quiet, and he didn’t spare you a glance as he opened the door, disappearing out of the carriage before a hand stuck back in, waiting for yours to help you out of the carriage. You hesitated- would it burn? Would it warm your body the way it did when he grabbed you before? You barely had a chance to consider it before he pulled you out as if you weighed nothing more than a feather, his other hand instinctively catching your waist to steady you as your feet touched the ground. Before you could even look up at him, he let go, looking away with indifference that made a small part of you roll your eyes.

“I’m sorry. For insulting you and your family.”

You tried again, toeing at a small pebble on the ground. This was stupid. You felt like a child. And what right did he have to get all upset when it was true what you had said-

“I couldn’t care less what you think of me, nor my father. But you do not speak of my mother that way. Ever.” The seriousness in his tone when he regarded you finally made you stand straighter. There he was. That was Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court and future Lord, the oldest Vanserra son. This time, there was no arrogance from him when he spoke- nor any barbed retorts from you. You looked at him, squinting as the rays of the sun slightly marred your vision before you shielded your eyes with a hand.

“Where are we?”

“The amphitheatre that will be used for the Equinox. Thought you’d want to see where you’d be performing, lest you accuse me of ‘blind-siding’ you.” He seemed to have resorted back to his snide, playful manner quick enough- yet you were still cautious- still curious.

“I’m not from the Autumn Court.” You blurted out- not in the most cohesive way, of course- shifting your weight from leg to leg as you stayed put as he walked ahead. He sensed that you hadn’t followed and sighed, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“But you live in the Autumn Court, darling. Forgotten already?”

“No. That’s not what I meant.” You almost felt like a child with the way you responded, and he seemed to pick up on that as he snickered.

“I’m not from the Autumn Court.” You tried again, narrowing your eyes as you watched him roll his ith a dramatic sigh.

“Would you like a medal?”

You ignored him and stepped forward, looking out at the autumn scenery, shivering slightly despite being dressed in warm layers. “Why was I chosen to do this? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have someone of Autumn Court origin?”

“Are you really this ungrateful for such a prestigious opportunity?” The smile in his voice was evident as he goaded you, and you sighed, making your irritation known. He chuckled, clicking his tongue and shaking his head as he grabbed your arm to walk with you, only to sigh happily as you hissed and smacked his hand away,

“Alright, alright- I confess, I picked you personally.”

Well you knew that already. 

“Obviously. Why?” You glanced at him as you both walked towards the large stone infrastructure, and he shrugged, the smile on his face evident that he wasn’t going to tell you- or at least, tell the truth.

“You’re pretty. Available. Apparently you’re the best in the Autumn Court. Why wouldn’t I?” He asked sweetly, his saccharine grin making you glare at him before looking forward. His words made your ears redden, yet you tried to ignore his wily charms as you followed.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

Leaves crunched underfoot as you neared the large amphitheatre where you’d be performing, your eyes widening as you took in the horizon that came into view. The amphitheatre was situated on a tall hill that seemed to overlook all of the Autumn court territory, and even you couldn’t resist the varying hues of red through brown that appeared in the trees, in the reflections of the large lake at the foot of the hill you stood on. As you turned your head, looking back toward the structure, there was a tall, grey marbled statue of a feminine figure with a hood over her head, obscuring her face. In her hands, there was the image of fire, with a stony cauldron at her feet, and at the bottom of the statue was an inscription in a language you didn’t recognise- though you recognised the statuette immediately.

“The Mother.”

“And the Cauldron,” Eris nodded, eyeing the statue with a face you couldn’t read, before he nodded at you.

“You’ll be dancing in front of her, and my family, and probably most- if not all of the Autumn Court, to invoke the magic of the Court and make sure it thrives- isn’t that exciting?” Eris crooned patronisingly, not even giving you time to respond as he walked towards the large stone slab that posed as the main stage.

“And then, you and I will dance, commemorating me, commemorating my family- the one you seem to despise so eagerly- and commemorating the magic that flows through our land. How wonderful.” He sighed, as if swooning over a romantic gesture, and you couldn’t make your irritation more evident. 

“Lighten up, won’t you darling?” When his taunt went unanswered, that cunning, manipulative smile curled on his lips again as he walked over to where you were overlooking the Autumn Court.

“I mean it, you know. You ought to be kind to me. I hold the future of your beloved, ratty, worn-down studio in my treasury.” At the threat in his tone, you tensed, scoffing spitefully as you crossed your arms to hide from the chill.

“Threatening me now? Really?”

He shrugged, standing next to you with his hands behind his back as he looked out at the landscape, “Not a threat to you, darling. But to the old studio that seems to be in the way of some projects my father wants to take action on. It would be quite easy to knock down- I even heard a rumour that its owner is behind on payments! Imagine my surprise when your pathetic little instructor grovelled at my feet, begging for a solution.” He shrugged, completely indifferent to the callousness of his character. You, on the other hand, seethed with rage as hot as the sun. It bubbled and simmered, and you pondered how quickly you’d be able to run if you kicked him down the mountain. But instead, you bit your tongue- you two had already gone at each other’s throats today, and it wasn’t even lunch time. Eris took your silence as space to continue, and he chuckled unapologetically as he shrugged,

“Besides, I told your weaselly little ‘mentor’ that if you did not perform to my standards, did not act to my standards, he wouldn’t see the money that was to be rewarded for your service. Although… no money means no payment on the property, which means- Oh! No more dance classes for little [Y/N] [L/N], the prima of her time.” He shook his head, his voice sounding almost sympathetic, though your eyes caught his fiendish grin in your peripheral.

“You really like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”

“It’s me, darling. Of course.”

“Prick.”

“Don’t push it, darling.”

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: Ngl guys? this chapter is somewhat of a filler to bridge us to the next bits. I've had lots of writer's block but I persevered for you guys!! it's 1:20 a.m. for me rn and i have classes tomorrow so imma sleep- but pls give this some love, and (NICE) criticism bc i am a sensitive soul <3

[shallowseeker]

I was thinking about your description of "Sam running Dean and Cas ragged" after the whole Jack-Michael debacle. I think you're right that it's a little sad that Sam is so wrapped up in his own pain that he doesn't allow Dean to rest. I like how you pointed out that Dean was wrung out from protecting Sam on wild-hair hunts, from worrying about Jack, and even being the phone to talk to Rowena on the phone. That's when it struck me. Sam wasn't checking on HER. She'd been a VESSEL.

OH.

Yes.

via @spnscripthunt-inactive

Is Sam checking on Rowena?

Charitably, maybe.

It’s hard to be a "good friend" when you've got your hands full and your mental health has crashed into the toilet. Especially Sam, who is legitimately, tragically... kind of bad at doing it in the first place. When the emotions get too overwhelming, it’s even worse.

(((Sam isn't completely alone in this: like how Dean "wasn't there for human Cas" or how a young, exploited Rowena wasn't mentally equipped to handle Fergus. Or how a stark, raving Cas "wasn't there" for Sam and Dean to clean up his own Leviathan mess. Or how Mary 'wasn't there" for her kids because she was spiraling over her FRESH-feeling grief and rocked by the apparent inevitability of hunting itself. Or how John wasn't there for Sam and Dean because he was re Toni: "going slowly mad." We can go on and on.)))

///

But YEAH. ROWENA. IT SUCKS.

I suppose we could assume that Sam has checked in on her. After all, just because we don't see it on screen doesn't mean it didn't happen.

But in Charming Acres, (script-) Cas doesn't invoke Rowena. He invokes the loss of the AU hunters.

Sam is spiraling mostly over responsibility. Autonomy and safety. The leadership is what his whole arc with AU Bobby was about in s14.

And Sam is so unused to taking responsibility for other folks that he just freezes into this awful paralysis type of emotional upheaval.

I think you put it perfectly when you said it makes him a little blind to Dean's and Rowena's Michael-vesselship trauma and Jack's soullessness/battle wounds.

He's even blind to Dean's need to eat and sleep… blind enough that Cas has to step in and put his foot down about it!

///

Sam is Spiraling over Leadership

He blames himself for bringing the AU hunters here, even though the AU hunters were a group effort:

///

Sam is racing towards hunting the way that Dean raced towards hunting post-Michael possession, in 14x03 The Scar. But the difference is, Sam's running is more like a MARATHON than a self-limited sprint.

Hunt after hunt after hunt: Sam's indeed running them ragged. We see here that Dean's struggling to even EAT.

//

Cas and Dean are used to having this kind of responsibility, and they're used to the weight and tragedy of it, and it blowing up in their faces. But Sam isn't.

Cas IN PARTICULAR is used to commanding an army:

In the aired episode, it emphasizes Sam not failing Dean and family, but the script gets to the proper heart of the matter and shows why CAS specifically came along to offer mentorship.

///

I think the loss of the AU hunters is tangential to Rowena in a specific way, though...

Facing the loss of those hunters ALSO means facing that it's Rowena who was the tool, whose hands were marionetted to do the act. It's a bit of an off-key parallel to Sam’s whole Gadreel thing with Kevin.

And Sam won't touch that with a ten-hundred-foot pole. ☠️

Because this time, it’s Sam who went for the "experimental-coded treatment," re: Dean. Instead of putting Dean in a box, he was hoping desperately that Dean could keep Michael caged...

...and now Rowena sees her hands murdering the people she had grown close to.

///

Anyway, I DO think we can extrapolate how Rowena looms large in the thick of this psychological wound of Sam's. However, I tend to think that Sam might actively avoid her vessel connection, as well as the "I see my hands killing them" connection.

Overall, I agree with you: it's most likely Dean and Cas who are checking on her in this era. It's Dean and Cas who are trying to hold down the fort, even with their own respective psychological burdens.

They take on more individual strain.

[pinkcrocss]

Zendaya is "Overrated" (Re: Over-Hated) TLDR at the end

There's a lot of racism/misogynoir hidden beneath how alot of white people have been talking about Zendaya lately. And the problem is that they're entirely too un-self aware to see that.

There's bucket-loads of misogyny tied into how men have been talking about her lately, too. And most of them are aware... they just don't care.

Overall, there's this over-whelming sense of "she doesn't belong" in the spaces she's in when it comes to alot of the Internet's attitude towards her lately.

And that's not to say that there aren't valid criticisms to her acting (I don't particularly think she's a mind-blowing performer (yet). I didn't even like Euphoria). But it's the general anger and resentment I've noticed in certain groups that's causing me to pause.

Like, Chris Pratt isn't a particularly good actor either imo, but there wasn't this level of anger when Hollywood made him their white boy of the month and cast him in everything for like 2 straight years (the backlash came waaayyy after that because of his homophobia accusations. So don't even try it).

Even actors like Keanu Reeves and Ryan Reynolds are charming and likeable, but can be awful when pushed out of their limited range. Yet, when I don't like an actor, I just simply don't watch their stuff.

But how are you going to profess that she's overrated and you're sick of having her shoved down your throat, when she's only been in 3 movies (only a lead role in 2 of them), since 2020 and the last season of Euphoria was in 2019?

I get the feeling that there is a different source of anger or resentment for a lot of the men and white people who have been on this growing "anti-Zendaya" train ("Zendaya is mid", "Zendaya is overrated", Posting pictures of Sydney Sweeney, for some reason, under any post celebrating her accomplishments).

The truth is, Hollywood rarely affords this type of career to people who look like Zendaya in the best of circumstances. The last person I feel even got close was Halle Berry.

Zendaya is in a weird place where she has acknowledged her privilege as a light-skinned biracial, and understands that Hollywood would rather (and has in the past) cast her to play an unambiguous black character, than they would a darker-skinned, mono-racial black actress.

As such, she has stressed that she puts more effort into going for roles reserved for white girls (aka everything by default). I guarantee you, 10 years ago Rue in Euphoria is a role that would've 100% been written with a white girl in mind (think Effie from skins), not to mention the whole MJ debacle, and the fact that despite the Fremen being inspired by non-western cultures, every version of Chani prior to 2021 was played by a white woman.

That now constantly puts her in the crosshairs of the anti-woke/anti-DEI crowd that feel like her presence alone is "taking something from them". Spaces that they feel they've always been entitled to (at the expense of any representation for minority groups).

And that's for Hollywood's more palatable "black" girls. See the absolute disrespect of the roles afforded to talented, unambiguously black women like Lupita Nyongo or Viola Davis in comparison to their white contemporaries (I still maintain that a white Viola Davis would have been regarded at Meryl Streep level if she had the opportunity for those kind of roles).

Anyway, my point is, there are so many other young actors who have been cast in way more projects than she has these past few years, or who have given weaker performances than she has, but there is just a bizarre push-back towards any celebration of her success that I am not seeing as much towards her male or white contemporaries. Almost as if their success is expected, but hers is some aberration that needs to be "corrected".

I remember the white "it-girls" of the 90s/2000s that were hailed and celebrated, despite not fitting the mold of being "conventionally attractive", but weren't constantly dismissed as undeserving of their success (No one was saying Claudia Schiffer needed to replace Renee Zelweger in all her movies because they find Renee to be "Mid").

Lets not even talk about the constant hypocrisy of the men that body shame her, and refuse to accept that she could be popular, because they don't think she's pretty enough.

Those are the same men that constantly villainize the concept of "body positivity", because women are "objectively more attractive when they're slim". The same men that will throw up golden ratios, and borderline eugenics language (re: "looksmaxxing") to undermine any attempt at celebrating non-eurocentric, "unconventional" beauty.

Yet it's unheard of for them that a naturally skinny actress with dark skin (by their standards) and a literally perfectly symmetrical face, can be adored by so many and genuinely considered beautiful. Instead, they constantly body shame her and claim she "looks like a man".

I truly think a lot of this ties back to the first 2 statements in this post.

TLDR (Sorry, this was meant to be brief but I kept having more to say 😭): Do NOT come into my comments talking about some, "Just because I think she's a bad actress, doesn't mean I'm racist". Cuz I know too many of you MFs CAN'T READ.

Idc if you don't like her acting, I am aware that she's had her weak moments (like any other actor). My point is that there is an exaggeration of: A) how "bad" her acting is and B) How ever-present she is when it comes to getting "Cast in everything".

In addition, the genuine dismissal of her hardwork, and literal lifelong commitment to her career, as well as the dismissal of her beauty and constant comparisons to her less popular white counterparts is starting to give "she doesn't belong here" to one of the few black actresses that has managed to break into spaces black actresses are usually excluded from.

There's a million averagely talented white or male actors that Hollywood pumps out every couple of years to cast in project after project while they're popular. Ask yourself why it never seems to foster the same levels of resentment and indignation in the past from these same groups who now take issue with Zendaya's popularity?

[belovedspector]

Double Jeopardy!

Pairing: Joel Miller x gn!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: You met Joel at trivia night at a local bar. While watching old Jeopardy! reruns together, you realize Joel bears a striking resemblance to a certain game show host.

Content: No outbreak/modern AU. Fluff, use of pet names (darlin’), slightly insecure Joel

A/N: Just a silly little fic based on this silly little post I made. This got a little out of hand (it was literally just supposed to be one scene), but I had fun with it! Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

It’s been a hell of a week, and it’s only Tuesday. After a disastrous work day full of dumbasses and delays, Tommy insists on going to the bar, and it doesn’t take much convincing at all before Joel agrees.

The bar is crowded for the middle of the week, Joel thinks. Groups of people are gathered around nearly all the tables, and the stage is illuminated.

“Music tonight?” Joel asks the bartender after flagging her down.

“Trivia night,” she says, handing Joel and Tommy their beers.

The brothers manage to snag two bar stools next to one another, chatty idly about everything other than work.

After a few minutes, a man gets up on stage, and the game begins.

Joel has never been much for trivia. He’s not dumb by any means, but he’s also not one of those people who can name all the presidents in alphabetical order, or whatever. Still, he finds himself captivated by the game before him, watching just as intently as he would any football game.

You draw his attention early on, even from across the room. You’re the spokesperson for your team, and Joel can tell you know your stuff. It also doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes, even in your simple t-shirt and jeans. As Joel watches the game unfold, he can’t help but silently root for your team, and he’s pleased to see you and your teammates take home the (plastic) trophy.

You’re beaming as you head over to the bar for a refill, serendipitously ending up on Joel’s end of the bar.

Tommy elbows Joel in the ribs. Joel glares at him, but Tommy just gives him a look and gets up from his stool, wandering away to God knows where.

Joel clears his throat after you’ve ordered your drink. “You’re awful good at that,” he compliments.

You feel heat rushing to your cheeks, and you smile despite yourself. “I watch a lot of Jeopardy!” you say by way of explanation.

Joel considers this. He hasn’t thought about that show in years, didn’t even know it was still airing. “That Trebek guy still hosting?”

“Oh, no.” You shake your head with a slight frown. “He died, like, three years ago.”

You look almost sad about it, Joel thinks. He almost wants to apologize for your loss, but realizes how ridiculous that would sound. Instead, he asks, “Who’s hosting now, then?”

“Ken Jennings,” you answer, perking up again.

“Ken Jennings,” Joel repeats. “That sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, he had a seventy-four game winning streak in”—your eyes turn up towards the ceiling in thought and you scrunch your nose up in a way that Joel thinks is adorable—”2003, I think?”

“Ah, must’a heard about it on the news back then,” he says with a nod.

You nod alongside him. “Yeah, he does a really good job.” You pause to take a sip of your drink. “God, and don’t even get me started on the hosting debacle that happened after Alex’ death.”

Joel has no idea what you’re talking about, but he chuckles anyway. It’s been a while since he’s talked to anyone like this. Is this what flirting is like nowadays? Well, he supposes, it’s working on him—you’ve got him completely enamored with you and your little game show facts.

You and Joel end up closing down the bar together. It’s just the two of you and one slightly disgruntled bartender who has been dutifully cleaning all the tables around you. To be perfectly honest, Joel has no idea when Tommy had gone home; he’s been so wrapped up in you the whole night. Tommy will definitely give him shit about it the next time he sees him.

You had, in fact, gotten started on the Jeopardy! hosting drama at some point. There are a lot of names thrown around that Joel doesn’t recognize, but you’re so damn enthusiastic that he doesn’t have the heart to stop you.

Eventually, the discussion turns away from game shows. You talk to each other about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing as freely as the drinks.

All good things must come to an end, though.

“Alright, I’ve gotta close up now,” the bartender announces.

After a playful squabble over who will pay the tab (which Joel ends up covering), you reluctantly make your way out of the bar, the neon “open” sign going dark behind you.

Joel, being the gentleman that he is, offers to walk you home. You pick up right where you had left off at the bar, but, all too soon, you’ve reached your place.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you say with a smile, twirling your keys around your index finger.

“Yeah, me, too,” Joel agrees. “I don’t want to be too forward, and there’s no obligation, but is there any chance I can get your number?”

You beam at him. “I thought you’d never ask. Gimme your phone.”

Joel complies and watches as you add in your contact info and send a text to yourself.

He returns his phone to his pocket and says, “I might be pushing my luck here, but any chance you’d wanna go out to dinner one night?”

You smile again and nod enthusiastically. “I’d love that.”

“Alright,” Joel says, smiling back. “I’ll be in touch.”

He’s feeling bold. The alcohol is still coursing through his veins, giving him the push he needs to lean forward and kiss you on the cheek. He hopes he’s not imagining the way he feels your skin warm under his lips.

You giggle—an honest-to-God giggle. You’re going to be the death of him. “Good night, Joel,” you say.

“Good night, darlin’,” he returns, making sure you’re safely inside before heading back home, grinning like an idiot the whole way.

You go out to dinner that Friday.

“I’m missing Jeopardy! over this, you know,” you tell him while you scan the menu.

“Well, I’m honored,” Joel says with a laugh.

“I think it’ll be worth it,” you say with a broad smile.

Friday dinners become your thing. You usually meet at a restaurant, but, a few weeks in, Joel has an idea: he invites you over for takeout and Jeopardy! You seem thrilled at the prospect.

And so, he finds himself sitting next to you on the couch, a pizza box open on the coffee table in front of you. He’s got the TV tuned in to the right station, and it’s just a matter of minutes before the show will begin.

Just like on that trivia night, Joel finds himself totally wrapped up in the fast-paced game. He quickly learns that you like to shout out the answers, and he joins in when he can. It’s the most fun he’s had in a long time.

All too soon, it seems, half an hour has gone by, and the credits are rolling. Joel clicks the power button on the remote. The TV screen goes dark, and the living room falls silent.

“So?” you prompt. “What do you think of Ken?”

“Jennings ain’t bad,” Joel admits, “but he’s no Alex Trebek, that’s for sure.”

That Tuesday, you invite Joel to trivia night. You fall into an easy routine: trivia on Tuesdays, Jeopardy! on Fridays, date nights every other weekend. For the first time in a long time, Joel feels content.

“They have old episodes that you can stream, you know,” you say one night after the show ends.

It’s been a couple of months, and things are going quite well, if Joel does say so himself. You’ve met Tommy and Sarah, and they’ve both given their stamp of approval.

“That so?” Joel asks, tightening the arm he has around your shoulder.

“Yeah. I can set it up, if you’re not all Jeopardy!’d out for the night.”

“Pfft, never,” he says.

You grin, grabbing the remote and navigating to Pluto, picking an episode at random. A younger, mustachioed Alex Trebek fills the screen.

As the episode plays, you’re still answering clues like normal, but you also keep sneaking glances at Joel throughout the game.

Finally, during the Double Jeopardy round, he pauses the show. “Okay, what is it?”

“What do you mean?” you ask a little sheepishly.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” He runs a hand across the scruff on his cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”

You laugh. “No, nothing like that. It’s just…” You hesitate.

“Yeah?” he urges.

You cut your eyes between Alex on screen and Joel on the couch. “You look kinda like Alex Trebek,” you blurt out.

Joel is stunned into silence for a moment. He studies the man on the TV, with his graying hair and mustache. He’s not a bad looking man, but—

“Are you sure?” he asks. He feels almost shy all of a sudden. He knows he’s getting older; his hair is more gray than brown, and the lines on his face have gotten deeper. But, still, does that mean he’s old? Getting compared to an old, now-dead game show host has brought all of his anxieties about aging to the front of his mind.

You nod. “Positive,” you say, pulling him out of his thoughts before they can spiral any further. You grin. “I’ve always had a thing for him, you know.”

“W—Who?” Joel stutters, not sure he’s heard you right.

“Alex Trebek,” you clarify, your grin widening.

Joel hums. “That so, darlin’?” he asks mildly, but he’s not quite able to keep the smirk off his face. “What do you think—should I get rid of the beard, just keep the mustache?”

You slap his shoulder lightly. “Shut up,” you mutter. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

He breaks out into a wide grin and leans in to steal a kiss. “You know I’m kidding, darlin’.” He looks to the TV screen again, and then he turns back to you, eyes softening. “I could do a lot worse than Trebek, I s’pose.”

“It’s a compliment!” you insist.

“I know, I know,” he says, kissing you again. “God, I love you.”

The words slip out without him even realizing. It’s not until he sees your eyes widen a little that he comprehends the weight of what he’s just said. Fuck. He’s gone and fucked this whole thing up, hasn’t he? Can he…take it back? But he doesn’t want to. It’s true, he realizes—he really does love you.

“I love you, too,” you say breathlessly, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

Joel breathes a sigh of relief as he hugs you. He takes another glance at the TV from over your shoulder, where the still image of Alex Trebek stares back at him. Joel must be imagining it, but…it almost looks like Trebek is winking at him.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)

[mega-ringsandthings-world]

Just a quick ask-

If the Red Force in the JT AU ever decides to lay low on Dawn Island (while looking for the Gomu fruit) with Luffy tagging along because, of course, he is lol, how does the whole mountain bandit debacle go down? Number one, Shanks is well-known at this point; years go by, and all, but still, his face was plastered into every single person's face at least once for the last six years. He's probably almost Emperor level at this point, and the pirate/marine world still says his name with awe, sympathy, and fear.

So, are they undercover? Shanks and crew dress down, hide the red hair and straw hat, row to shore just far enough out so the inhabitants can't see his ship properly? Also, I don't know if this version of Shanks would just shrug his shoulders and take the bandits' taunts. I mean, he could; it could be a "I've eaten scarier things for lunch, and this is barely a fly of an inconvenience." Or maybe it's because they're undercover he can't do anything? That would absolutely grind his patients and when he can finally just stab the guy na break his face in it’s gonna be so cathartic. Is this why he won’t loose his arm this way here but later? Because he just beats the bandit into an inch of his life before he can capture Luffy?

Also is Mihawk here? Just hanging around or is he off doing secret war lord stuff.

Also, is this how Garp finds out about Luffy? Or I’m completely off base with all of this but hypothetically if this all happened what the out come?

Anyways, this AU has brought me so much joy through such a hard semester and general few months. It really made my year; thank you.

Ohhh we're diving into the good parts here. Yessssss. To start, yeah, Shanks' face has been cemented into the public collective, and he's peaking. Already wildly powerful, but still a ways off from emperor status. At this point in the timeline he's gone into a period of 'calm', he's overcome the initial hurdles he faced after Loguetown, and is now taking a more protracted approach to climbing the ladder, i.e, stuff like the Gomu fruit. There's only so much that brute force and violence can bring at any given time, and he's instilled enough awe, sympathy, and fear in people that he can afford to dip down a bit. All that is to say that, yes, AU Shanks does in fact lay low at Dawn island for a year like in canon. Which brings us to the actual laying low part. Luffy is at the ripe age of six now, is fully glued to Shanks, and Shanks has free time on his hands. So he decides he wants to begin training Luffy in the ways of pirating, but he also does not want anything to threaten his well-being in any way, shape, or form. The compromise is to take Luffy along with him on this clandestine mission for the Gomu Gomu. (that Dragon agreed to let Luffy go was due greatly to Luffy's incessant whining getting in the way of him writing his political treatises) They do have to go undercover, or at least proceed very cautiously and secretively. (this is the part were Shanks dyes his hair) What helps them is that the inhabitants of Dawn Island, minus the nobles, are sympathetic towards pirates and their cause against the WG, and actively work to conceal Shanks' presence on the island/his ship. And Shanks has visited the island briefly once before, when Luffy was born on it. He's known to the inhabitants. Shanks would disregard the bandits in much the same way he does in canon, and never engages with them for the sake of the mission, up until the point when they try to lay a hand on Luffy, and that in particular does grind on him, because of Luffy having to witness everything and not understanding why Shanks doesn't fight back, they way Shanks has been teaching him to. So there's some pent-up unconscious rage at play when he finally lets loose on the bandits. The bandits come after Luffy because Shanks has been found out and the bandits were sent to retrieve Luffy, and while Shanks kills the others, one still does take Luffy. But the chase after him goes on for days instead of Luffy being found at once, so technically Shanks loses his arm much later than he does in canon. Garp already knows about Luffy at this point, but he's never had any concrete leads/opportunities to make a grab at him. When he finds out Shanks is on the island with Luffy, he decides to make a move and kidnap Luffy and stow him away with Dadan, where unbeknownst to anyone else, Garp is also hiding Ace with. Which leads into a whole other mess for a later date. Mihawk is in the middle of the formation of the Warlords, but he visits Shanks regularly on the island, which makes this period one of their hardest so far, as they have to be separated. Their individual tasks distract them, though, Shanks has a handful dealing with Luffy and searching for the Gomu Gomu, and Mihawk likewise has a handful with the new Warlords, so they stay busy enough to withstand the other's absence. Right back at you! I'm so glad you like it so much! It's really making my year too, it's so much fun!

[luimagines]

Fierce questioning Pokemon Trainer Reader why do they treat him like this while they're cooking. As you said yourself, many even the Chain view him with caution, fear or as a threat. So this strange mortal being unaffected and overly kind to a god who had been sealed away for a reason is unbelievable. Their answer isn't what he expects.

Reader: Giratina, the Renegade Pokemon, was banished to the Distortion World long ago for its violence. Darkrai, the Pitch Black Pokemon, creates awful nightmares around anyone who sleeps in it's vicinity as a defense mechanism that it can't control. Lugia, the Diving Pokemon, hid itself away at the bottom of the sea because it was so powerful that a single flap of its wings could devastate homes.

These are some of the most powerful yet dangerous Pokemon that I not only met but befriended. Part of my true team that I use as a Frontier Brain has species known to be volatile, dangerous or even feared. My Grimmsnarl and both Tinkatink's evolutions are examples of that as well. I treat them like how people are supposed to treat others. With kindness and respect unless proven otherwise.

I don't know why you were sealed away nor do I care. To not give that chance to those like yourself would be disrespectful and downright atrocious. So far, I haven't seen a reason to stop. Anyway, can you hand me those two Pecha Berries? I need to balance the curry's flavor or else it be too sour.

Reader ends it with that not even bothering to acknowledge the fact the Chain saw the whole debacle and them politely waving off Fierce's question.

The Deity hands them the berries as they politely requested. It would seem petty to not do so. However their word sonly leave him perplexed.

Surely such power beings would have been slain by the gods themselves for their power. And yet they roam enough to be known and retold. He has not had such a merciful fate.

But perhaps if they would have been able to befriend the merciful, he would be able to do so as well.

[cecebookworm]

Edit: Rereading this now you can so tell that I’m half asleep. I type like I’m ten when I’m half asleep. I’ll just edit this in the morning when I can actually understand what I’m typing and thinking. :)

What I learned from my most recent rereading and annotations of the first KOLTC book in no particular order:

- Fitz and Sophie’s first encounter is so much funnier than I remember OH MY GOD

- Dex and Sophie are really adorable together in the “two silly best friends” kind of way in the beginning

- Dex pissed me off when there fight happens. Like bro, she’s losing the people who she was CONVINCED we’re going to be adopting her but noooooo focus on the fact that she might be adopted by the Vackers just cus you don’t like them. Believe me, after Flashback I haven’t been a fan and if I was an elf in that world I would hate them too, but STILL. You keep that to yourself in that instance.

- This whole book I just kept thinking about the fact that Sophie is midway through an adoption and Rayni has already been abandoned and forgotten. Yikes.

- The first time we’re introduced to Oralie I wrote, “First mother daughter meeting.” on the top of the page.

- I realized after being forced to basically highlight 75% of the pages that this book is 100% pure set up.

- Honestly underrated. I perfer the more recent books but MY GOD if Grady and Edaline didn’t have my heart in this book (there my next point)

- I skim read this book for fan fic reasons a lot and I tend to skip over the whole adoption debacle on one hand because it likely won’t play a part in the fan fic but also because I don’t have the emotional strength to read that. I literally started balling my eyes out midway through chapter 39 even though I knew everything would be okay in the end.

- Grady and Edaline. Just them being tragic and compelling af in this book. Like honestly there relationship and relation to Sophie in this book are SO well written. Criticize this series all you want, but some of these platonic relationships hit like truck.

- My dumb dumb brain never put together the significance behind the three original councilors to meet her. Brontë: Suspected dad for a book, later close mentor. Kenric: Honsstk idk, I thought he was a mystery after Unlocked but he just got more mysterious after Stellarlune I swear. Oralie: … Mom…

- Keefe isn’t that important in this and it kind of hurts.

- At this point in the series SoFitz was 100% Endgame.

- If I was at Foxfire, my favorite subject would 100% be history (thought it’d be 75% propaganda) and the universe.

- Telepathy is overrated

- This world is aristocratic and that’s just so funny to me.

- Biana is so bad in this book OMG. And honestly so is Alden. The twist at the ending. Horrible.

- Marcua and Stina are legit awful in this book too regardless of there later redemption.

- I can’t pick between any of the abilities I would want so oh well. There’s to many.

- Iggy is the real hero of this series

- The councils apology to Sophie at the end of the series is honestly both funny and horrible. Like they basically said, “Sorry that you were stalked, kidnapped, and tortured right under our noses but we’ll do better next time. Consider that your official punishment for saving the world! (Plus promise we’ll catch them!)”

- 8 books and one novella later and no one has been caught.

Anyway, book one was fun and all but mostly I was just thinking about how much of it was set up. Like seriously. Almost EVERYTHING was set up.

[sangcreole]

Hi! I am asking this to you, the mun, cause you're the only Louis expert I know. How do you think Louis viewed Lestat saving his life at the end of Merrick? What do you think he thought about his new body and new powers? Did he think Lestat condemned him to darkness yet again? Was he grateful that he didn't die?

ANON WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME CRY

listen I'll be honest, it's been like 4 years since I read merrick start to finish, so this is a part of canon I'm actually not an expert on! On this blog, I don't count Merrick as canon, so I don't write post-suicide Louis. I'm still so butthurt about the whole thing and kinda erased it from my memory so please know my grasp on this era of canon is skewed and obscured by my love for louis LMAO

I think, ultimately, Louis IS relieved at his salvation for two reasons. The first being that Louis was literally not in his right mind when he ended his life. I know he had planned to end it before Merrick cast her spell on him, however his suicide note is so egregiously out of character, I refuse to believe it was Louis himself who wrote it. If Louis were ending his life on his own terms, I honest to god don't think he'd be able to do it without saying goodbye to Lestat (and Armand honestly!!). Or at least write more than two goddamn sentences in his fucking suicide note. But ANYWAY my own saltiness aside, I do think that part of him being thankful for being brought back has to be informed by the fact that he didn't even die on his own terms in the first place y'know?

In terms of him being saved by Lestat.......look, it's something I'll never not be devastated by, okay? For so long, Louis was defined by his weakness, and he embraced it not only because it allowed him to cling to the last dying embers of his humanity, but also because his weakness was what would allow him to eventually die, which he sees as a gift. He says himself: "the ability to die is key," and so on the one hand I think one of his greatest motivators for rejecting the ancient blood was simply that he was too scared to go on forever, he wanted to cling to his exit strategy.

The thing that breaks my fucking heart about Lestat’s decision to save Louis though is that he only does it because he genuinely believes Louis would want to be saved. He begs Merrick and David to listen to his thoughts because if Louis doesn’t want to be revived, Lestat is aware that bringing him back might result in absolute catastrophe. So even if we don’t know whether Louis wanted to be saved or not, we do know that Lestat was acting with his best intentions, that he wouldn’t have done it unless he 100% believed it was what Louis wanted. Ultimately, like most things that happen in these books, a thread can be traced back to the essential question of do we, the audience, trust Lestat and his judgment?

David (I begrudgingly admit) also makes some good points when he and Lestat are debating whether or not to revive him— ultimately, Louis had been looking to die for a long while, and the Claudia Debacle had given him enough nerve, but having "survived" one day in the sun, that nerve is probably gone. We'll never know what Louis was actually thinking in that moment, but I do think David is right on this one. I'm sure it was an intentional narrative choice, the way this sort of mirrors Louis' first turning, when he was still human and wanted to die but didn't have the courage, and relied on Lestat to give him a new life. He wanted to die and, having tasted death, wanted once more to live.

Once Louis is revived, he does thank Lestat and David and Merrick, but honestly I think the most telling passage is when he describes his new senses— the way he can hear far away music and feel mortals on the street— and he describes it as "sweet and welcoming" and to me this moment just makes my heart ACHE because it reminds me of when Louis was a young fledgling in awe of the simplest things like the light of the moon or the buttons on Lestat's jacket LOL! While it's clear Louis is overwhelmed by the power upgrade, there is also this renewed sense of wonder and jubilance, and he admits that he finally feels a part of something.

TL;DR— even though I fucking abhor this part of canon and refuse to write about it, I do think Louis is grateful for the chance to live again, and I think a case could be made for the way he approaches his new powers with curiosity rather than horror.

[measuringbliss]

Spider-Man Read-Through 072 Silvermane Dies (SSM 69-71)

MASTERPOST

Hehe, 69...

In this post, we some some guests back, and I analyze Peter Parker's mindset post-first Clone Saga (=after Conway's run).

Also, I get really, really tired of Debra Whitman.

Hey, that's a cool cover!

And a gorgeous top half of the first page.

And the trend continues.

So the Cloak and Dagger investigate drugs, which apparently come from Silvermane...

I'm sorry but this issue is so gorgeous!

Peter reminisces about Uncle Ben in his old house, which May wants to refurbish to make into a "boarding house for oldsters".

Nathan Lubenski notices Spidey leaving the house and is curious about that. He also has a plan to get money and make of May's dream a reality.

After an unproductive encounter with our mysterious duo, Peter's back in class, having trouble following what Dr Sloan's teaching.

He's a dick to each one of his colleagues, particularly to Debra, who knows his secret...

But I do love his outfit so I forgive him.

I think it's pretty clear that Peter's downright avoiding any sort of social interaction by pretexting he needs to be Spider-Man and arrest some goons any time he feels stressed. It's a coping mecanism, and we see more and more how terrible it is. He doesn't have any actual friendship with any of his colleague; his old friends are nowhere to be seen. Ever since the clone debacle, Peter has had no solid relationship.

You could almost write meta about it, because it's been a constant thing for what, 6 years of publication now? Some of it may be accidental, some of it may just be the writer's impression of how Peter behaved before, but I feel like it's been much worse for a while now.

Peter Parker has been depressed ever since Gwen's death, the clone saga seriously messed him up, and developing relationships has probably felt (unconsciously?) impossible.

Like sure, Wein's run was mostly action. Wolfman's run wasn't much better. Meanwhile, Spectacular has been quite flat, static, and uninteresting. I'm latching onto any social aspect, but it's far from fascinating like the Coffee Bean Gang could be.

Stern, you CAN do something about it. But I'm not sure you plan to. And Bill Mantlo's SSM issues so far aren't stellar.

I don't know, I feel like at this point, it's been a phase of his life, where Peter's meandering and mostly fights unconsequential fights.

...

Anyway.

To find Silvermane, Jean DeWolff tells Spidey he has to go talk to the Kingpin, whose adress is no secret.

Hello, handsome.

The Kingpin gladly gives him the address. He's likeable now! I like him. I'm not asking for more Kingpin, but if "more Kingpin" = "more Kingpin like this", I won't mind!

Anyway, Silvermane's in a pretty sorry state, and the Dagger ends up killing him.

Blood, again! (See last post.)

Spidey's getting GRUESOME. Edgy? I don't know, it still feels weird.

In #70, Silvermane's doctor attempts to revive him and Peter has to escape.

Alright, I'll accept it.

That's a great expression.

Anyway, what happened with Saruman?

This is frankly disgusting.

Could Peter's teachers stop being assholes? I know it's give exposition, but there's a moment where constant reminding of some things throughout some characters really sounds awful.

However, he calls Biff "preppy" and I'll take that as another confirmation of his bisexuality.

Anyway...

This is miserable. These characters are miserable and that storyline is miserable. I can't imagine following the magazine at the time of publication. 6+ years of pushing poor Debra around with little to no progress. Jeez.

Apparently, she leaves in SSM 74, and to be honest, I can't wait because this whole thing has been sad to witness.

Anyway, Silvermane "dies" "again" ("probably") and everything ends well.

She has a teddy bear, which is great, but goddamnit girl, get a hold of yourself!

Alright, 71 time.

During a robbery, the victim shoots a thief dead while Spidey attempts to resolve the situation.

Then: a discussion on gun violence.

Quick, someone tell Robbie 1980 is not happening anytime soon because Gwen died, like, two years ago at this point.

The discussion reads like baby's first "guns in the US" debate, it lacks subtlety but at the same time, I welcome the message. It's a shame things are no different 4 decades later.

The subject is upfront throughout the entire issue. Very upfront. I think the shocking aspect works, at the very least.

Anyway, the weapons are found.

I just like seeing angsty Peter.

[the-mortifying-ordeal-of]

Self harm, press the bruise, flooding, autism trigger tantrum, raw raw raw irritable scream fight wreck run away fuck it leave.

In theory, I like the idea of housesitting: an enforced staycation in a new environment where I can't smoke, can't fuck around because I'm on camera; I don't spend money because I'm not going places, just eating my prepped meals and some of their bougie food that I've always enjoyed. The dog walking needs force me outside a couple times a day, his schedule keeps me up early and to bed early: it's simple living! An awesome stretch of time to do deep work like readmits, or write some letters, or digitize my CDs, or this time I planned to finally do my taxes!

I want to kill this dog. Maybe it's the nicotine withdrawal, maybe it's the irritation of being out of my routine and feeling watched and not being able to dance or read my fanfic or leave whenever I want.. but every time he breaks the silence with a loud, painfully piercing series of barks at nothing, I want to scream (but can't, because I'm on camera). The sound of him constantly, disgustingly, unceasingly licking himself makes me want to throw him. He cannot focus on walks, but weaves back and forth on the path, stops to smell everything, backtracks, suddenly runs and then stops and weaves s'more and then loses. his. shit. every time another human or god forbid a dog nears us. He growls and rushes toward children. I fucking hate picking up his poop, my god ugh ew blech. And then it's cold and windy and I'm antsy and he doesn't respond when I call him so I'm tugging as gently as I can but it tugs his throat and he digs his feet in and coughs but refuses to follow and I hate hate hate him. God and then bedtime, where he gets into bed with me and wants to plant his awful, smelly, matted body UNDER THE BLANKETS right by my fucking face and I'm so filled with disgust because I've seen the way he still has remnants of shit on his ass and there's visible grit and stains on the white bedspread from his body and I'm all nausea and rage.

So that's been a hard time for me. Last time I was here, I accidentally taught him a game with one of his toys and now he whines whines whines at me to play when I'm trying to focus on my deep tasks. He doesn't stop, not when ignored or told no, just whines whines whines right at my fucking face, jumping up on me if I ignore him too long.

I don't like thinking of myself as not-an-animal-person because I loved BabyCat but honestly I'm often so fucking disgusted and do not want to interact at all. I love pictures of pets, stories of pets, but I do not want physical interaction at all. Virtual only please.

So anyway I have not done my taxes. I've barely worked. I certainly haven't written any letters. I did digitize all my old CDs and emotionally wrecked myself reliving 2012-2020, and then as a palate cleanser I made a playlist of my mp3 players from 2008-2012 and honestly that sucked too. I feel gross. I hate remembering, especially the visceral memories that turn my marrow to tar and leave me in the fetal position.

I did finish an audiobook and did a bunch of sudoku, only fucking up a few, and I'm disappointed by how much I did not care for the book, bc now what am I going to say? "Thank you for recommending this book, I had no idea it was a series, I barely slogged my way through the first, but I read the Wiki articles for the last two! They seem fine."

I just feel like an asshole. I feel like a classic villain: hates dogs, hates stories, not good with kids, not good at work - ignoring emails and missing deadlines and just sucking.

Oh God and the whole fuckin debacle of finding out my exex hates my ex and wondering wtf I did wrong to have all my people hating each other. I talk so much shit on people and tell such one-dimensional stories that nobody loves anybody; for having my love language apparently be words of affirmation, I am so toxic and talk so much shit that no one understands why I love anyone. I'm a mess. I feel like a trash person.

And now the fucking dog is whining at me. I will not pet or cuddle it. It has food and water, we walked 90 minutes ago, I'm not fucking playing. I cannot wait to leave. Maybe I'll leave the house and smoke another cigarette. I'm fucking losing it.

[dear-mrs-otome]

Silvio Ricci - Smexy Butler Teim - Another Terrible Summary

(Silvio: "Do something that makes me want to serve you.")

Here is my irreverent, only nominally-guaranteed accurate rendition of Silvio's butler story.

One day, when Rio’s called away from the castle on business for one reason or another, Emma is woken up by Silvio of all people kicking in her door bright and early. He saunters in, gloating about how he’s heard Rio is gone and ordering her imperiously to accompany him as he goes out today.

Emma, of course, is less than thrilled by this idea and turns him down flat, much to his irritation. He insists that she doesn’t have grounds to refuse a guest’s request, and scrambling to come up with an excuse that will fit with her ‘noblewoman’ cover story she tells him that it’s her day of leisure and her father forbids her from going anywhere without a butler in attendance. No Rio, no butler, no outing - aw shucks.

But Silvio just looks all shrewd at that.  “So if there was a butler, there wouldn’t be any problem?”

She hastily adds that Rio’s the only butler that’ll do for her, but Silvio dismisses that as her just being self-centered. She has a very very bad feeling as he leans over to say something she can’t hear to one of the servants, who looks baffled but leaves to do whatever he’s asked - and then he tells her she’d best meet him in the drawing room in a half an hour. If she tries to weasel out of it, he’ll have her brought there even if they have to make her, he threatens.

Furious at how goddamned IMPOSSIBLE this man is, she’s nonetheless resigned to having to comply…and thirty minutes later she’s outside the drawing room, bracing herself for whatever may come. Only to open the door and nearly keel over in shock at the sight that greets her - of Silvio, lounging on the top of a table dressed in a butler’s uniform.

“So, you’ve got nothing to complain about this, do you Mistress?” Silvio points out all triumphant. “Now there’s no reason for you to refuse to go out.”

She’s still trying to wrap her brain around this whole thing, just abject denial NOPE NO NU-UH. Silvio as her butler?? It does not compute, especially given that his rude, lackadaisical attitude just proves that he doesn’t have any REAL intentions of serving her. She asks if he really wanted her to go out with him that badly, and he agrees that’s part of it - but the bigger part is how delightful it’s gonna be to stick it to that ‘damn dog’ Rio when he finds out that Silvio was Emma’s butler.

She tells him his attitude is shit for a butler, and he says that’s because he hasn’t accepted her as his mistress. And any lady who can’t control her butler is simply incompetent.

She’s bristling at that, firing back that she wouldn’t want a butler like him anyways, but that only seems to amuse him.

“Oh? Don’t get cocky. If I tell you I’m going to be your butler, you’re just going to have to go out with me,” he insists. “But mainly…if you want me to act like a proper butler - do something that makes me want to serve you. That’s the beautiful thing about dogs, isn’t it?”

She’s trying and failing to ignore how her heart does an unsettling flipflop when he sticks his tongue out all provocatively at her with that.

Resigned, realizing he’s not going to give this up, she reluctantly agrees to the whole debacle, much to Silvio’s evil delight.

Much later, she’s back in her room utterly exhausted from taking him around Rhodolite all day. He’d wanted to sightsee apparently and she’d been his impromptu tour guide - but he’d never lose the rude boy attitude and she was drained from trying to hold onto his reins all day. Especially given that he hadn’t listened to a single thing she’d said.

Still…she supposes there’s some saving grace in how he had seemed to thoroughly enjoy every moment of today.

Now dressed back in his normal clothes, Silvio returns to her room and haughtily says she proved a more useful guide than he’d expected. She’s mainly just…did you still need something? And he proclaims he thought he’d give her a reward for her hard work today.

She’s freaking out as he pulls her in with his arms around her waist, spluttering about what he’s doing.

“What’s the use in getting upset over something like this? You’re my mistress, aren’t you?” he tosses back on a smirk.

She’s still NOPE NOPE, trying to protest when he cuts her off by stroking a hand at her hip, as if chastising her for talking back, and she’s gotta snap her mouth shut on the noise that’s trying to escape her at that (you can practically hear Emma furiously just telling her brain NOT HOT NOT NOW hahaha)

He’s gloating about how she suddenly quieted down, and then his stupidly ridiculously handsome face (her words even not mine, the tsun is strong with this girl) is drawing near and she closes her eyes - only to feel his warm fingers and something cool at her ears, and she realizes when she reaches up to check and looks in the nearby mirror that he’s hung exquisite pink jeweled earrings from her ears.

He says that if she’s a lady she should be wearing splendid things like this - she’s too drab and a noblewoman’s gotta keep up appearances. Before he breaks out in a smirk. “Well…unless you are a commoner, right?”

She’s scrambling to cover for that, only making it worse when she tries to say she can’t accept something so expensive and he calls her out on the fact that a lady wouldn’t consider these all THAT expensive. And all haughty he says she can’t try and measure his standards by hers. With an arrogant laugh, Silvio suddenly turns his attention back to her ears, all mirth slipping away. “Be sure to keep them on in front of that damned dog.”

She’s thinking OHHH so that’s what this is all about, but she’s certain he wouldn’t take them back even if she insists so she’s left with nothing to do but thank him for the gift. He finally lets her go and makes to leave, in all sorts of a good mood, when she notices he’s got some flower petals caught in the fur ruff of his cape. She calls out for him to wait, reaching out to pluck them free…

When he just yeets himself away from her like she’s scalded him, leaping far out of reach.

He’s scowling and blushing and demanding to know what she’s doing, and she tries to explain about the flower petals.

He’s still scowling, even harder now maybe, but his face is still flaming she notes as they just stare at each other for a long long loooong silence.

“...Your face looks red -” she starts to point out.

“You’re imagining things,” he interjects. “I don’t care if there are petals, don’t come near me.”

Suspicion finally dawns on her then, the inkling of an idea, and she literally starts hunting him down, prowling across the room until she’s close enough to reach him again, but before she can touch him he’s grabbed her hand and he’s scolding her that she can’t just do whatever she wants because she’s his mistress.

Then he starts mussing up her hair and she’s squawking indignantly, demanding to know what he’s doing - they devolve into bickering where he tells her he doesn’t have all day to waste on her and she counters he seemed pretty dang free all day today!

“That was observation, stupid,” he scoffs, and after another brief stroke of her hair, he leaves the room as if running away.

Poor Emma is just left standing there, rooted to the spot, her hair still a rat’s nest as she’s trying to process what just happened. How it’s apparently alright for him to touch her…but not for HER to touch HIM??

But it hits her then that she may have just stumbled across his weak spot, and she thinks how if she learned anything from him today it was to suss out your opponents weakness and use it to make them obey you.

His words from earlier come back to her. “But mainly…if you want me to act like a proper butler - do something that makes me want to serve you.”

And thinking ahead to the next time Silvio says he’s going to be her butler, she laughs to herself - suddenly looking forward to the prospect.

[sugamamacustard]

Come see me

Pairing: Alpha! Tetsuro Kuroo X Omega! Reader

Genre: Minor Angst, but other than that, fluffy cuddle piles. 

Request: Hi kinda nervous to request this since I'm very shy but..Is it okay to request a scenario where omega reader is feeling very insecure and jealous after idk like some new person comes in the pack and everyone is paying attention to them and reader feels very neglected but keeps quiet, starts spending more time with their friends and avoids the pack and their alpha. And then the pack plus alpha notices and drags reader back, and reassures them, and the entire pack cuddles and hug reader. Kinda like angst to fluff. Could be any team and any alpha. Though I prefer kuroo and nekoma. Sorry if it's too long I've always wanted an imagine like this. You don't have to do it if you don't wanna tho! I was just asking :)Have a good day💜

Summary:  Being a manager for Nekoma was a thankless job, but one you were proud to do. You were surrounded by alphas who wanted what was best for you and in turn, you wanted what was best for them. However, sometimes what’s best for them...may not be best for you or your omega.

Warnings: Jealous omega! reader, reader almost goes into an omega depression, small angst,

Author’s Note: No need to be shy, darling! This is my first request for this blog so I’m super excited to write this and to fulfill my first request.!

Requests: Open!

Tetsuro Kuroo

➵ Originally, the idea of another manager for the Nekoma team excited you.

➵ You were really pumped to have an extra set of hands on board to help keep scores, or pick up balls, or put up and take down nets. 

➵ To have someone else to joke and laugh with on the sidelines while Yaku was yelling at Lev, or to assist you in prying Kenma’s switch from his hands so he can eat.

➵ Having another manager seemed like such a good idea. A new friend for the pack. 

➵ Until it wasn’t. 

➵ Ichika was a kind and sweet girl in class 2-B (You were in 2-D), and originally you and her got along well.

➵ Your omega didn’t outright hate her, more of an indifference, and your personalities melded well together.

➵ And from what you’ve heard from her friends, she talked about the boys on the volleyball team a lot.

➵ So you figured she would be a good fit. 

➵ However, you weren’t certain on it anymore.

➵ Maybe she was too good of a fit. 

➵ ‘You’re being silly’ You told yourself. 

➵ ‘She’s getting to know the team, that’s all’ You practically chanted in your head like a mantra.

➵ ‘She’s honing in on our pack. Our alpha.’ Your omega sneered, padding in a circle before flopping down, growling lowly.  You tried reminding her that Kuroo was nothing more than a captain. 

➵ An attractive captain who who you found yourself finding every opportunity in the book to talk too. But that was fine print. 

➵ He was not your alpha. He was the commanding alpha of the volleyball team, but not yours. 

➵ And maybe that was what hurt most. Knowing you had Zero claim on anyone in the pack, therefore you had no right to demand the attention.

➵ They gave their attention to who they wanted. 

➵ Even if nowadays, it seemed to be Ichika more and more often then not. 

➵ It hurt, when you both would be sitting on the sidelines and Inuoka would brush right past you to chat with Ichika.

➵ Or when you both would be passing out towels and water bottles and they only thanked her. 

➵ It began hurting to the point you had to bite down whines or whimpers. Your omega was upset, therefore you were even more upset. But they seemed happy,

➵ Who were you to ruin that? 

➵ Just because you saw them as pack, doesn’t mean they saw you in the same light. 

➵ You tried pushing away that god awful thought, but it was planted and nothing was moving it. 

➵ And whether you noticed it or not, you were acting on that thought.

➵ You didn’t stay after practice for anyone, instead cleaning up quickly and efficiently while the boys were in the change room. 

➵ Leaving behind your notes for that day’s practice along with the gym keys right in front of the door. 

➵ You didn’t wait for anyone and took a different way home so no-one would try to walk with you.

➵ You needed to separate from them, even if it hurt. Even if you cried on the way home. Even if you stayed in your nest from the minute you got home to the minute you had to leave for school the next day.

➵ Even if your meals got smaller and smaller. 

➵ You never sat with the team anymore, Ichika taking your spot like she belonged there. 

➵ Instead you sat with a group of friends from your class. They never asked any questions, which you were thankful for. 

➵ You began wearing scent blocking patches to hide your scent, hide the sour note that almost always accompanied it. 

➵ You just...tried to disappear. You still fulfilled your manager duties as you always did, but never more. 

➵ Never gave words of encouragement. No pointers on how to improve. No jokes on Lev’s behalf. No nothing. 

➵ And holy shit, that Irked Kuroo. 

➵ He was always so excited for practices at the end of the day because that was when he would get to show off in front of you. 

➵ Prove he was a strong alpha. 

➵ He would admit, he liked you...A lot. He was even working on a future courting gift (It was a bracelet with intricate beading that looked almost like a cuff) but was having a few difficulties so couldn’t gift it to you yet.

➵ However, you were pulling away. 

➵ Away from him. Away from the pack. Just away. 

➵ You barely even glanced their way anymore.

➵ During practice, you just sat there, completed homework, then took notes. He never saw you after that.

➵ He tried to pack up as fast as he possibly could at the end of practice but was always late. You were always, without fail, gone. No trace of you ever being there except the notes you left in your wake with the keys. 

➵ His alpha kept barking at him to stop you. To come up with any excuse to keep you here long enough for him to walk you home in the very least. But you were always gone.

➵ He tried everything, but you seemed one step ahead of him. 

➵ His alpha blamed Ichika. Ever since she showed up you began pulling away.

➵ Were you jealous? Were you angry with them for trying to keep her away?

➵ They only put up with her because it was obvious you didn’t like her. So they tried keeping her away. 

➵ Was that backfiring on them? 

➵ Kuroo didn’t even know why there was another manager. You were perfect for them. Like a puzzle piece. Their personal cheerleader. 

➵ Maybe school was piling on you?

➵ No. You always went to him for help.

➵ Maybe the duties were too much?

➵ No because you were still doing them all.

➵ Come to think of it, what was Ichika even doing? 

➵ She did nothing except fawn over them and purr over their skills, which was nice for the ego boost at first, but soon just got annoying when she tried scenting them.

➵ It seemed she was fixated on him especially, trying to rub her neck all over him only for him to push her off with a growl. He had only scented two people in his life. 

➵ Kenma, because he needed the practice, and you, which was why he practiced. 

➵ And he planned to keep it that way. 

➵ But you were still staying away. So he scented no one. 

➵ The final straw was a Friday practice. 

➵ You were sitting a ways a way in the corner, doing your work with your jacket wrapped in front of you like a boundary. 

➵ His heart hurt at the thought of you feeling the need to recluse yourself like this.

➵ He made a motion to Kenma, his co-commanding alpha, who nodded before making his way to you. 

➵ As he should’ve predicted, Ichika intercepted him. She tried to hug him, but he dodged, side stepping and trying to get to you, but she persisted.

➵ “Why don’t you give me the same attention you give her, huh? Rumor has it she’s been bordering on dropping for days, nothing but attention seeking in my humble opinion.”

➵   He paused in his efforts, looking down to her once more.

➵ “I’m sorry?” 

➵ Ichika rolled her eyes. “It’s been all over school. Surprised you haven’t heard. She skips lunch more often than not, nowadays. People have even started bets as to when she finally drops. Real shame though. Gonna miss having someone else do all the work.”

➵ You were missing lunches. Lunches were meals he could guarantee you ate, and you suddenly weren’t doing so anymore. He was failing you.

➵ You were dropping right under their noses and as your pack they were watching it happen. 

➵ As your head alpha, and hopefully future alpha, he was watching you drift away and ultimately fade from him.

➵ He was watching this happen?!

➵ What part of this was okay?! None of it. 

➵ He was loosing you. Hell, if he hadn’t lost you already. 

➵ No. You were here, at school, He still had time. He still had a chance. He still had- his jacket and bento. 

➵  Turning tail, the alpha made his way to his bag, digging out the bento (Come to think of it, he hadn’t been eating much since this whole debacle started anyway) and grabbing his jacket before making his way to you once more.

➵ He didn’t pay any mind to Ichika, this time fully shoving past her to get to you. 

➵ You looked up to him skeptically, watching as the alpha, the head alpha, bent to lay on his knees, slowly putting the bento on his jacket and sliding it in front of you. 

➵ Your heart and mind were going a mile a minute as you watched the commanding fucking alpha of the pack, bow to you. Ask for your permission to get close to you. 

➵ What-

➵ “Hi?”

➵ Kuroo said nothing in return, only lowering his chin to the ground, looking up to you. Almost waiting for you to allow him closer. 

➵ When you said nothing he motioned towards the bento with a nod of his head. He was almost like a pup with how minimal his actions were. 

➵ When you slowly took the bento, he raised in time with the box, watching you open it. when you popped a small bit of rice into your mouth. He purred loudly, slowly inching closer. He laid his jacket over yours, adding another layer to your barrier, which you slowly moved to allow him in. 

➵ He crawled into your space, slowly moving your books and bag to nuzzle into your neck. You allowed him to, eating more rice-- which seemed to appease him. 

➵ One by one, more of the teammates came by, offering their jackets to your now makeshift nest, joining in on the cuddle pile. 

➵ All but Ichika, who seemed to angrily stomp about while cleaning up the few stray volleyballs. 

➵ But you didn’t really care about her at this point. 

➵ Your omega was at peace, especially with the alpha you’ve been pinning after purring into your neck, scenting you and pressing small kisses to your neck.

➵ This was your pack. Your home.

➵ And they wouldn’t let you fall behind. 

[aminiatureworld]

Frustration

Characters: Childe, Diluc, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,068 words

Premise: Commissions don’t always go as planned, much to your frustration. Luckily there’s someone there to make you feel better.

Author’s Note: So I’ve been thinking of writing Genshin stuff for months now but haven’t, for various reasons mainly that being how much this blog is already a bit of a disarrayed mess. But after awhile I decided another fandom won’t hurt. Besides I think it’s better to write something than nothing, even if the fandom keeps changing. So… yeah?

This particular scenario was basically my day today. The characters have been chosen out of my own personal will. I was going to do Zhongli as well but I’m exhausted so if this is well received perhaps I’ll do that another day.

Also I’m so tired I’m halfway to a headache and feel a bit floaty so sorry if there are grammar mistakes and such. Anyways, hope you like!

Character Banners in progress

Ao3 link in reblog

Childe

“I’m gonna kill someone.” You muttered, slamming your weapon down on the table, causing the ginger next to you to start.

“As long as that person’s not me I’ll be glad to help you.” You weren’t sure whether you found the comment worrying, insulting, or charming, and decided not to reply, instead throwing yourself in the chair across from Childe, usually reserved for customers or some member of the Fatui higherups, though today you could care less.

“Hey, am I not good enough?” Childe half whined half joked. You only grunted before getting up and walking over to his chair, plopping yourself on his lap and promptly picking at a stray thread on his coat which had caught your eye and was now becoming an increasing source of irritation.

Taking this as a sign Childe gently pried your nails away from the offending thread. Placing your palms in his gloved hands he smiled and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Want to tell me about it?”

“It’s this stupid ley line! You know, the one in the stone forest? I was commissioned to keep an eye on it, normal stuff, but this one seems absolutely crawling with all sorts of slimes and the like, hilichurls too and a stray bandit here or there. They keeping breaking the damn thing and the minute I fix it they’re back again. At this rate I’m not going to finish it!” You chewed on the inside of your cheek, thinking of the hours you’d spent fighting with the thing. You’d even let out a few tears of frustration in the process, and having nothing to show for it was intensely irritating, to say the least.

“Poor darling.” Childe’s smirk was timeless, but there was a softness to it that you took as confirmation that he understood. I mean if anyone was going to understand it was going to be a member of the Fatui. As much as you disliked the group on principle, you did have to admit that Childe was certainly a hard worker, and running around at the whims of the far off Tsaritsa certainly had its trials.

Slumping against his chest you allowed yourself to relax a bit, some tension brought out simply by the act of telling someone about the frustrations that were building up, like someone shaking a corked bottle. Childe kissed your hands, a welcome distraction, before giving you a peck on the nose. You smiled at that, squeezing his hands. It felt good to have someone to complain to, to have someone who understood. But that was Childe, surprisingly understanding. And always looking for a fight.

“So…” as if on cue Childe spoke up, tone becoming truer, his smile becoming more foxlike. “You have something you need help fighting I hear.”

“Don’t let this get you any ideas.” You smirked right back. “I can still whip you when it comes to sparring at you know it. Besides, won’t I get in trouble if you’re there.”

“Give me half the commission rate and we’ll call it square.”

“Such a steep rate!” You gasped in fake horror, nevertheless lifting yourself off the chair. Childe was up no sooner, giving you a mischievous grin.

“Well of course! I can’t have you fleecing me out of my money. Not when I’ve already given you my heart, which is quite expensive by the way.” Giving you a quick forehead kiss he took your hand then, giving some half assed excuse to the poor desk clerk when they asked where he was going. “I have to save someone some trouble.”

You scoffed at that, but it was true. Childe was saving you a lot of trouble, and keeping your pride in some sort of piece. That was Childe. Wild, passionate, aching for a fight, perhaps not a great person – no in fact decidedly not so. But he was also surprisingly caring, reliable, and steadfast. And that was all you could ask for in the moment.

 Diluc

“Do you know where in Monstadt someone is supposed to find 50 Windwheel Asters?”

Diluc whipped his head up at that one; out of all the things he expected you to say that was certainly not one of them. It was almost closing time at the Winery, and this was normally the time when you came up to see him, chatting about this and that, waiting for him to close the ledger so you two could have some time together. In the entire history of your relationship there’d never been an evening that began such as this.

“There should be some around here, and Windrise if you’re in for a bit of a hike. But 50 is an awful lot, and I’m not sure the florists would be happy if you carted off with all their flowers.”

“I know.” You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall, picking at your fingernails. “I know that finding 50 of anything in a day is a hard task. But I was given a short noticed commission by some wealthy tradesman who’s passing by and wanted some flowers for a gala or some such thing. It’s important for the Guild that I complete these you know, and I’m not looking forward to telling Katheryne about it tomorrow.”

You sighed, glancing out the window of the Winery. You thought of all the places in Monstadt the view was perhaps loveliest here, cozy, with a view of all that made Monstadt, the planes, the forest, even a glimpse of the waterways that ran through it. But right now all you could think about was how in such a vast swath of land you’d still failed to meet the goal, you’d still turned up empty handed.

“Would you sit next to me?” Diluc’s voice broke you out of your depressing reverie and you sat down in the chair adjacent to his – a recent addition to his office – laying your head somewhat awkwardly on his shoulder, running your hands through his soft hair. You two sat in silence like that for a bit, the steady flow of Diluc’s pen keeping your eyes occupied while your hands braided and twisted at random, gentle and absentminded.

Finally the ledger was closed and Diluc turned to you. Smiling he massaged your left shoulder slightly, eliciting a sigh from you.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things like this.” He began, his tone soft and low. “No reasonable person on Earth would ask you to gather so many flowers in a day. Even Flora doesn’t sell that many to a single customer without an order, and her whole job consists of selling flora. You’ve watched me work long enough, do you think I’d sell 50 kegs of wine to a tradesman on site?”

“No, of course not.” You mumbled. “But it’s my job to do the unconventional requests, how can I pick and choose at random? I can’t very well complete only half of my commissions.”

“Of course not, but nobody expects you to simultaneously catch 50 flowers out of thin air either. The Guild has its own regulations and rules you know, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a violation of one. No one doubts your prowess my dear. You’ve slain Eyes of Storms and have scaled mountains taller than most people in Monstadt might ever imagine. You done what might be considered impossible to some many times. So you should trust in the Guild and in the people of Monstadt. They aren’t well likely to turn their back on you over such a ridiculous request.”

You hummed a reply, resting your hands on Diluc’s. All he said was probably right of course, Katheryne could very well tell you how ridiculous such a request was, and no harm would come to your reputation. But your relationship with Diluc was still young, there was still so much to learn about the other, and so hearing such confident praise from him felt like a sort of gift, recompense for such a frustrating ordeal. Humming once more you leaned your head on his shoulder again. Tomorrow you would go and tell the Guild about the debacle, and let the man know the ridiculousness of his request. But tonight you just wanted to rest with the person you cherished the most. That was all you wished for.

 Xiao

“Something’s wrong.” Xiao’s voice was purposefully flat, and you wondered not for the first time how the adeptus in front of you had become so good at reading your mood, especially considering the fact that he admitted himself that his grasp on human emotions was a tricky one. He always seemed to know when you were upset at least, and your initial urge to attempt to hide your frustration immediately blew away.

“It’s been a rough day.” You admitted, standing next to him on the Wangshu Inn’s railing, letting the cool evening breeze cool you down. It’d been an obnoxiously hot day, and you were glad for any bit of fresh air. Xiao said nothing, but you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for your decision as to whether or not you’d let him know the reason you were upset. Not that it was really a question, at this point you couldn’t imagine a time when you didn’t tell Xiao practically everything, from the most mundane to those things that loomed largest in your life. You’d never met someone you trusted so much in your life before, and it felt rather freeing, knowing that he didn’t mind a bit, something that had scared you when you first began opening up to him.

“It’s just a commission, nothing ground shaking. Thankfully.” You added on, thinking of when Liyue had almost been swallowed whole; the moment when it seemed all would fail, before the miraculous traveler had bound the adept and the citizens of Liyue together. It was something you weren’t likely to forget, and something you never wished to relive. “That being said.” You added on. “It’s something that, well, is distressing me a lot.”

Xiao stood patiently as you explained to him that your deceptively simple commission of delivering food to someone had managed to go horribly awry after a group of Cryo slimes had left the food frozen solid, with the angry customer unwilling to pay or wait for a replacement.

“It wasn’t too expensive thankfully.” You remarked. “I mean it was just food. But it feels silly, and a bit embarrassing. I mean of course I should’ve paid, I don’t begrudge that. I just don’t understand how I managed to screw up something so fundamentally simple. It seems… somehow a bit of a slap in the fact. I mean, aren’t I any good?”

“Of course you are.” Xiao’s answer was firm, but not unkind. Instead it held in it the certainty of one who’d lived thousands of years, and whose trust in you was absolute. Drawing closer, the adeptus glanced around, making sure there was no one around, before slinging an arm around your own, drawing you close and running soft circles around your shoulder.

“You’re a great adventurer.” He remarked, voice filled with as much serious as there was fondness. “I’ve seen many warriors, many adventurers come and go in my time. Those whose feats will fill the pages of books and the staves of songs long after they themselves have been reduced to ashes. Those who will be called great heroes. All of them fell sometimes. And, if you must fall, I’d rather it be over something so simple as a botched food delivery.”

You glanced up into Xiao’s eyes. Normally he was reticent with words, even moreso with gestures. Every word let you deeper into someone’s life, into their past, their personality, their soul. No word was careless with Xiao. And as you stared at eyes filled with pride and love and worry, suddenly you felt as if what had just passed was small, oh so very small. There would be another commission, just as there would be another tomorrow. There’d be another failure most likely too. Many of them even. But they were small stones in a great big pond, quickly sinking out of sight and out of mind.

“I love you.” You breathed, and Xiao’s face seemed to open all of a sudden, shedding a thousand cares and a thousand worries. He pressed his forehead to your own.

“I love you too.”

[janekfan]

Duress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30665933

As ever, Jon’s timing was impeccable.

Impeccably awful.

Barely a month into his new “promotion” and already he could feel a toll. If he was completely honest with himself he hadn’t expected quite this level of work despite not being a stranger to long hours. To put it bluntly, the archives were a mess. Gertrude hadn’t left any clues as to how filing was done and it all seemed so haphazard he had to wonder if it wasn’t on purpose. He was up to his elbows in files he’d found in a water stained cardboard box when Tim sauntered up, looking down his nose at the papers in disgust. Jon wished he would help and didn’t know how to ask for it with their relationship as strained as it currently was. Tim had silently allied with Sasha when Elias made the announcement and they were all navigating the current situation gingerly. Jon didn’t blame him. She needed support. The statements and recordings and organization could wait until they were ready.

“Hey there, boss. Was wondering if you wanted to come out with us tonight.”

Oh, of course. It was Friday, wasn’t it.

Jon looked around his office, strewn with papers and post-its and worse off than it was this morning. Guilt welled up in him like blood from a wound. Tim was losing his already limited patience with him.

“Uh, yes, that would be nice. It has been a while.” He leaned back and wiped his dusty hands off on his trousers adding to the light streaks already there.

“Yeah, I’ll say. Too important to hang out with us now, ey Jon? Now that you’re a corporate bigwig?”

“I am not!” Tim held his hands up in supplication.

“Just kidding, yeah?” It didn’t sound like it was just anything; certainly not the jokes Tim used to tell. This just felt cruel, probably because Tim thought it was the truth. Jon could admit he was prickly and difficult and knew he never won over many. If he lost Tim and Sasha over this he didn’t know what he would do. “Usual place.”

That exchange happened hours ago and Jon didn’t feel well. He couldn’t go out like this, pulse pounding, head throbbing, vision swimming. He’d have to cancel. But he’d canceled at the last minute on them so many times before and he could tell their patience was wearing thin. How was he supposed to choose between his new job and his old friends? Why couldn’t he just be normal for once?

Why did Tim choose now to forget this sometimes happened?

Any moment they’d be by to collect him and Jon was so dizzy he wasn’t altogether sure if he could stand. He hadn’t felt like this since Uni when he and Georgie spent many a late night studying for exams. He’d crashed shortly after, struck down with some illness or another, and barely remembered more than a glimpse of her face staring down at him with concern. Surely they would understand?

“Ready, boss?” Casual with his jacket over one shoulder, Tim leaned into the office, scowling when he laid eyes on him, exasperated. “Really, Jon?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Tim scoffed. “S’sorry. I know it’s rude, I’m just. Tired.” That was a part of it anyway.

“You know, Jon, you say you still want to be friends and then never hang out with us.”

“I know, I’m--”

“You’ve cancelled so many times at this point I don’t know if it’s even worth inviting you.” Jon’s heart nearly stopped, a painful lurch that all but choked him.

“...Please.” Bare more than a whisper, Tim raised an eyebrow in question.

“What?”

“P’please keep inviting me.” If Jon wasn’t so sure he’d pass out upon standing he’d be springing to his feet. “I, I, I’m there. Next Friday, bells on, I swear.”

“And tonight?” Cold sweat slipped down his spine. But if he rested this weekend, took it easy next week, maybe asked them for a bit more help-- “Sure, boss.”

The weekend came and went and Jon tried every trick in the small volume of self-care tips he actually paid attention to. He wanted to show them what they meant to him, even Martin, new and bungling as he was. If they were to be a team, he needed to get to know him. And besides, Sash and Tim enjoyed his company. Had been inviting him out the whole while. Unfortunately, Jon was still exhausted from not sleeping well for bad dreams and restlessness, not eating enough because anxiety turned his stomach. But he’d made a promise and he vowed to make good on it.

Monday saw a fresh pile of work stacked neatly in the center of his desk blotter, old assignments shoved off to the side and a note in Elias’ neat scrawl informing him that this was the priority. Jon spent the next hour putting together the things he’d been in the process of collating and jotting down a list of instructions that even Martin could follow before dragging it out to where his assistants were working.

“Hullo, Jon.” Bright and cheery, Martin chirped a greeting and Jon forced a small smile.

“Morning.” Tim and Sasha nodded back, expectant looks on their faces. “I, um. Well, Elias brought in some more documents for me to take a look at.”

“Promotion came with some extra obligations, did it?” Tim laughed, elbowing Sasha good naturedly.

“Yes, I suppose it, it did.” Jon shifted nervously, anticipating the answer even before he’d asked. “I was hoping you would be able to help me with these ones?” He lifted the stack and Tim made a show of whistling.

“Wow, I mean. I would, boss, but I’m in the middle of this other thing you gave me last week.”

“Oh. I was. Well I was rather hoping you’d have wrapped that up by now.” The room began to tunnel and Jon staggered just a step even though he was standing still. He hadn’t been able to use his cane and handle this veritable mountain.

“You and me both.”

“Jon?” Martin’s worry was more embarrassing than anything else and he forced himself to focus despite the trembling in his hands. “I can take some of them.” But the messy heap on the corner of his desk in danger of toppling hardly seemed smaller than it had the week before. It wouldn’t do to add even more to what the other man couldn’t seem to handle but...

“Th’thank you for the offer.” He selected a few slim folders and handed them off and somehow the work in his arms became heavier.

“No problem!” Martin was beaming so he must have done something right and it sparked a bit of warmth in him. “I’ll make an exchange for another, soon as I finish this up.”

Tuesday went much the same, though Jon’s insomnia and sore joints forced him out of bed and he decided to use the gift of time to come in early to get a bigger start on the old mess so he had more time for the new mess and while Martin was slow it helped to have someone else tackling it with him. He suspected that Tim and Sasha were making a statement in their being shiftless and Jon couldn’t find it in himself to address it instead hoping that once he proved himself they could move past it. Using the stairs proved foolish as Jon nearly took a header from vertigo and he thanked the stars he was early and alone so he could sit down and wait for the episode to pass. Lord, he hurt. Joints on fire, white-hot fire pokers of pressure needling his hips. He hung his head when tears of frustration began to fall.

Wednesday found Jon buried alive and struggling. He had to stay late in order to finish out the day and by the time he made it home he could barely stand, falling into bed and waking the next morning still dressed in his wingtips and work clothes. Marginally better for the rest, Jon used the boon to plow through the rest of Elias’ assignment, skipping lunch he knew he wouldn’t eat anyway to finish.

“Oh, Tim!” He called out his door as he passed, relieved that he wasn’t ignored. “When you have a moment could you take these up to Rosie?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Jon pushed away the disappointment when the end of day came, his assistants left, and the box still sat on the corner of his desk.

No bother, Tim probably forgot and Jon searched the stacks for the department’s hand truck with its one sticky wheel and found it loaded up with more of Gertrude’s chaos. He didn’t have much choice than to shove at it unceremoniously until it toppled over, papers fluttering out of their folders and under shelves. He’d just have to deal with it later. What’s one more thing? When he tugged, his shoulder very nearly came loose and his yelp of pain was swallowed up in the dark and the dust. Noone around to hear him anyway.

More tears.

He was a mess.

He went along more carefully, cursing the squeak of the blasted wheel, cursing Tim for his forgetfulness, cursing Elias for letting him even steal the job from Sasha to begin with. Cursing time itself because he wanted to go home and it was already an hour past.

“Rosie, I’m so glad I caught you.” She was just starting to collect her bag. “Can I leave this for Elias to collect when he gets in?”

“Of course, Jon!” She helped him lift it to her desk and disguised his taking a rest with interest in her writing a note of explanation.

“Thank you, you really are a lifesaver.” Jon chuffed a weak and humourless laugh. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Of course, dear. Just take that along with you so I don’t have to hear about it from the night staff.” The dolly. Yes. It would have to go back down with him wouldn’t it?

Thursday Jon could barely lift his arms. The debacle from the day before had taken whatever they had left and he was scared that at any moment, his arm would drop from its socket. That happened sometimes. So far, no doctor had figured out why.

“Ready for tomorrow?” Tim jolted him out of staring at his pen cup and the surprise set his heart to racing. Jon didn’t know how many minutes he’d lost.

“Ah, uh.” Absently, he rubbed at his chest, willing the battering tempo to slow before it shook him apart.

“Boss.” It sounded too much like a warning and felt too much like his last chance to prove he had what it took to be their friend.

“I’m not backing out!” Quick to cover up his fumble. “Don’t forget to collect me.”

“Never!” Jon couldn’t help but hope he did.

It was a short walk to their usual pub and Jon pushed himself to keep up, breaking out in cold sweat as the nausea from his laboring heart rocked his stomach. He couldn’t wait to sit down. They were regulars enough that the first round appeared before them as if by magic. Jon sank into the conversation around him, sipping from his pint, wishing it was water, and interjecting when he felt up to it. Martin kept staring at him. Jon didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“Oh come on, boss! Our company can’t be that boring!” Tim was three drinks in and clapped Jon hard enough on the shoulder to rattle his bones. Jon bit his tongue so hard he tasted iron.

“Ah, no, just a long week.” His voice was papery as a wasp nest, thin and drawn. “Looking forward to a lie in.”

“Aren’t we all?” Tim drained his glass and Jon looked down at the worn scratched surface of the table to hide his irrational irritability with the statement. He didn’t corner the market on sleeping in. The others deserved a restful weekend just as much as he did.

“I’m surprised you managed to make it through Elias’ busy work.” Sasha murmured, selecting a chip and using it as a means for sauce delivery.

“Martin helped a great deal.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Jon, but we know who worked his way through the majority.” They exchanged a warm smile.

“Yes, well. Any you did, I didn’t have to. It was very much appreciated.” Martin was bright red and Jon’s cheeks were warm, from alcohol or otherwise, and Tim’s cawing laughter rang bright as a bell over the cacophony around them.

“You’ve broken him, Jon!” They caroused well into the evening until Martin mercifully faked a yawn and explained he had an early morning. Jon almost hugged him and if it weren’t for the state of his shoddy joints he may well have. Holding up a very drunk and very affectionate Tim, Sasha nodded to him.

“This was lovely.” Her grin beamed. “We’ll have to do this again.”

Jon dreaded it.

That month they dragged Jon out to the shops for lunch a few times each week. Catching dinner after work became a regular occurance. Sasha hosted a movie night one weekend. Friday nights at the pub continued.

Jon wasn’t sure which was worse; the exhaustion or the steadily increasing pain, but it felt worth it when the frosty attitude began to thaw. They were still friends. That’s what counted even though the littlest tasks had become huge when faced with choosing which ones to do at the cost of himself. He knew better and still he was overspending, going into the red just to collect more and more debt with no way to catch up other than lose his friends. Something was going to break. Jon hoped it wouldn’t be him.

Groggy, slow, Jon came to with his cheek mashed into the statement he’d been skimming. Something was...wrong. His heart. Racing, pounding against his breastbone, trying to hammer its way to freedom or jump straight out his throat. He blinked hard, trying to bring anything into focus and failing. The first attempt to stand had him face down on the desk again, the next he took in steps.

Sit up. Let the room stop moving.

Breathe. In. Out. Count them.

Ignore the agonized beating. Ignore the fear that came with it.

Stand. Slow. Wait. Patient.

Let the world fall still.

Jon didn’t bother picking up his bag. His phone, wallet, keys, all in his trouser pockets.

“Sorry all. I. I think.” He paused, gulping for air, swallowing none. “Need to go, go home.” If what made it out of him were even close to words he’d consider himself lucky. His tongue was thick and clumsy in his mouth, tripping up the syllables fighting their way past the rabbit-quick hammering,

hammering,

hammering.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha was at his elbow, Tim halfway out of his seat.

“Not feeling well.”

“You sure you can get home, boss?” Nodding absently Jon made his way carefully to the lift before Martin could offer to call him a cab or something equally ridiculous.

Muscle memory got him back to his flat and it wasn’t until he collapsed into bed that he remembered it was Friday and he’d again ducked out on drinks again. Tears collected on his lashes, slipping down his temples when his trembling got the better of them. They. This. All his hard work and he’d undone it. Before the encroaching black overtook him he fumbled with his phone, tapping out an apology to the group chat and barely managing to hit send.

He slipped in and out. Lucid one moment, hallucinating the next, burning away to nothing and ending up on the floor more than once after passing out attempting to, to…didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough in him to attempt it again, opting to lay flat on his back in the sweat soaked sheets trying not to move for the pain. For a wild, hysterical moment Jon was sure he would die here, alone, phone just out of reach, melting in wretched heat and so uncomfortably hot it was difficult to remember a time when he wasn’t.

Jon hurt.

Everything was darkness and agony. Each tremor an earthquake threatening to tear him apart. He was trapped in treacle, done up in bits of twine, strung together with razor wire and unable to move. It was a familiar voice that clawed its way down to him. Lifted him up, low and soft, a stone tumbling down a mountain and catching Jon up in the landslide. He thought he answered, made some attempt at a response, drawn out of him like water from a well. Hurting and disoriented Jon drifted. Consciousness slipping in and out through his fingers like the surf, breath like coals banked beneath his ribs. Jon’s body wouldn’t cooperate as it should and time seemed to skip from one moment to the next between long bouts of nothing.

A heavy palm, cool and comforting, came to rest over his forehead and Tim materialized out of nowhere, startling Jon enough that he keened when each joint shrieked and protested at his moving.

“Sh, sh, shh.” Tim. That’s right...he wasn’t sure it was true, but he was wiping down his over sensitive skin with a damp flannel to quell the coals for a handful of moments.

“Wha’s..?”

“When you didn’t come in yesterday or this morning, we figured we should check on you.” So many words. Too many to parse more than a few but the flood came anyway, streaking into his greasy hair because he’d been sure no one would come and Tim kept applying the cold compress; wrung, applied, repeated, and Jon sobbed with the simple relief of it, tears cool against the incandescence of his skin.

“Are you...l’leaving?” He winced at the raw scrape of his voice against his vocal cords. “Been. You’been s’so angry with m’me.” Tim’s face fell and Jon wanted to apologize. It was the illness, that’s all, lowering his defenses and simmering his many insecurities just below a fractured awareness that refused to keep them in where they belonged. Instead his breath hitched and he choked on a whimper of defeat. “Tri’tried so hard ‘nd still. M’sorry.”

“It’s alright.” So unbelievably soft. Jon thought he’d ruined this long ago and the tears came somehow faster. “I think we need to call an ambulance, bud.”

“No...nonono…” Jon didn’t want to be poked and prodded by strangers and stuck full of needles alone in a cold sterile room. Even in his ragged state Jon could see Tim was torn. “Pl’please.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, gentling him with a touch. “But if you can’t keep this down we have to go.” Medicine. Lucozade. Fed to him mouthful by mouthful in the intervals he was awake.

Quiet sounds he recognized, Martin. Sasha. Hushed. Martin tipped the next sip into him and Jon wasn’t aware of much, but he was aware enough to know he was disgusting after having slept and sweated in the same bedclothes for days. Martin wouldn’t hear of it and Jon didn’t know where to put all the feelings and he was so tired of crying and couldn’t seem to stop.

Sasha, they told him, has gone out for supplies and they asked if he’d like help getting out of his uncomfortable trousers and button down, now missing several buttons no doubt from his restlessness. Jon didn’t trust his voice, only nodded, trying and failing to sit up, losing consciousness entirely when one of them levered him up with an arm behind his shoulders. Tim was explaining it to Martin when he came around, peering up at them through fluttering lashes.

“S’al’...” Clumsy, the words wouldn’t come to him.

Together, they shift his limbs, passing him back and forth between, one moment resting against Martin’s chest, another tucked into the hollow where Tim’s shoulder and neck meet. He should be helping but he can barely stay with them, just concentrating on the pulse currently beneath his ear to ground him. Carefully, as though he is some precious thing, they rid him of the awful, disagreeable stickiness and their low murmuring seems such an intimate thing. He isn’t worth it. This. And then soft, clean clothes, well worn and familiar and when Jon surfaces again he’s with Tim on the sofa, bundled up and more comfortable than he’d been in months.

Martin is changing his sheets.

“I’m sorry, Jon.” He didn’t know what for and shook his head, or tried anyway. “Made you think you had to push yourself like that. Ignored how exhausted you were and guilt tripped you into not telling us ‘no’.” Lord, so many words, Jon dizzied himself trying to catch them, hold them, decipher them. “You should be able to trust us, and I.” A suspicious sniff. “I’m sorry.” Jon relaxed into him with a hum he hoped conveyed something.

“I think I remembered which meds he tolerated best.” Sasha elbowed her way into the flat, face lighting up when she saw he was awake. Kind of. “Jon! Thank god. You were in such a bad way.” Whispery and rushed, the same feeling in it as with Tim. “Let's get you dosed up and back to bed, okay?”

It was late evening judging by the window. The reading lamp was on. Martin sat beside him with a book he couldn’t recognize by cover alone.

“Mah’in..?” So it hadn’t all been a hallucination after all.

“There you are.”

“Miss’d work.” He nodded, uncapping a bottle of sports drink and holding it to his chapped lips. Jon drank what he could.

“Not important right now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Gave us a scare.” Easy, like it was nothing in the world to do it, Martin laid the back of his fingers against his neck, against his throat. “That’s a relief. Tim called us in a panic.” By way of explanation. “But I think you’re past the worst of it now.”

“Don’, don’ remember.”

“Probably for the best. We’ve decided, if you’re alright with the arrangement, that one of us should stay with you.” That sounded okay even if normally Jon would fight it tooth and nail. He did remember being alone and scared. “Tim and Sash are talking. I get the feeling we missed something very important.”

“Mm.” Jon tried to sit up and swooned, came around with a pillow behind his back.

“Dunno if I’ll get used to that any time soon though, I’ll be honest.”

“Happens sometimes. Th’that’s why…” Martin picked up the thread.

“You cancelled on us. I understand. And I hope, I hope you know you can always tell me, us, I hope, when you need to. There’s no shame in it. I’ll admit, I’m upset with Tim.” He fussed with the quilts, smoothing out imaginary creases. “He knew this was something to look out for and he didn’t tell me.”

“No, it’s--”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Martin spoke with conviction. “Ever. I don’t want you to, to push yourself like this for a blasted game night. We can do other things as a department. Things that don’t jeopardize your health like this again.”

“Martin’s right.” Sasha sat at his feet, draping a hand over his ankle, and Tim stood at the foot of the bed. He looked proper chastised, eyes rimmed in red and swollen from crying.

“I’m so sorry, Jon. So sorry. I should never--I was angry and frustrated and used it to. To hurt you. Make you think we’d stop being friends over a stupid night out. Not like I lifted a hand to help you! When I knew you wouldn’t ask a second time!”

“S’okay.”

“It’s not!” Tim was a staunch friend. The type who got to know you so well and sometimes aimed too precisely at your soft parts. He didn’t need another telling off. Exhaustion lapping at his limbs, Jon curled his fingers in poor imitation of a come hither gesture. Willingly, Tim allowed himself to be pulled along by it, slotting himself beside Jon on the mattress to hide his own tears in his chest. Graceless, Jon managed to tug a hand over the back of his head, tangling fingers in Tim's hair, surrounded by friends and not alone.

“Will be, then.”