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whysodelirious08 · 1 year ago

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Guitar picks and promises (A Mini-Series by Deli) (18+)

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Parts: 1/?

Pairings: Steve x FemReader x Eddie

Warnings: 18+, love triangle, angst, slight violence, heartbreak, abandonment, conflict.

A/N: Hi! Welcome to the first part of this mini-series. I hope you enjoy it and feel free to post any suggestions on what could happen next/at some point. And who do you want to earn the love of? Eddie or Steve?

Please comment with any feedback and ideas! Reblog if you would be so kind!

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You hadn't seen Eddie for months, not since he scored that once-in-a-lifetime trip to go see one of his favourite bands. Not that you knew who that was. He had told you. Only on the day he was leaving and you couldn't remember for the life of you what it had been. And that had been nearly ten months ago. The trip should have been only a few days but somehow you had gotten word that he managed to tag along with the support band and get a taste of life on the road.

All those feelings pulled thousands of miles and they were going to snap at any moment. You'd barely heard from him. A few postcards. A few voicemails. Nothing else. And they were few and far between. You two had been attached by the hip from the moment the two of you had met but now you felt like he didn't even care about you. Like you were now a distant memory. Hell, you had been close to admitting your feelings for him just before he left. And you knew by word of mouth that he also felt the same. So why was he now suddenly so unconcerned about you? Why did it feel like he didn't give two shits about you or your life. It hurt. More than that.

During the late hours when you couldn't sleep and your mind would wander, you thought how he might have found someone else. Some rock chick to fill his fantasies. Some girl who was prettier than you. Funnier. More suited to his style. Perhaps the version of the friendship you had formed with him had all been some sort of delusion. Perhaps none of it was real, a figment of your imagination. Perhaps his version was totally different. That you weren't as close as you had thought. These were the thoughts. The maggots. That buried under your skin. In your brain. Tormented you. And you just couldn't let it go, you just couldn't stop and it was eating you from the inside.

Even now as you sat at the desk waiting for someone to check out a movie or buy some snacks. The day was slow and you were nearing the end of your shift but knowing your luck, everyone and their cousin would turn up the moment you stood up to close for the night. Always your luck. Perhaps one day you'd clock out on time. That was wishful thinking though. Just as you got up to start packing up, a familiar face sheepishly revealed itself.

"Slow night?" A soft voice called, hands in his pockets as a small smile appeared, tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned against the counter from where you had just been, strands of brown hair falling into his face momentarily before he swiftly pushed them back.

"Steve. I've just closed for the night. Well, I'm trying to. So go and lock the door before anyone decides to rent the entire store. I'm sick of finishing an hour later than I'm meant to" You sighed as you half-assedly point to where the keys were.

"Yes miss president. Of course, miss president." You heard him say sarcastically as you looked up and watched as he put his hands up in defeat and swung his body around the counter and grabbed the keys, giving no extra effort than average as he walked over to the door and flipped the "open/closed" sign just as someone was about to walk in. The act earned a dramatic flinging of the arms as a loud "What the hell, man?!" Was muffled by the glass. The scene made you smile at least, you enjoyed Steve's company at least.

You focused your attention back on putting the returned movies back on the shelf, hearing Steve lock the door and shuffling over, the sound of the keys landing on the counter along the way.

"So..." You heard Steve start but trail off.

"So?" You copied as you stood up and wiped your knees off the dust embedded in the thick, wiry carpet. You were glancing at him but focusing on picking up the now-empty box and stood waiting briefly for an answer before you moved around Steve's still body. You half listened as he stumbled over his words trying to find the right wording. Clearly he was having a hard time trying to ask you something.

"Yes say it. Jesus, listening to you try and find the right words is more painful than what you're probably trying to ask." You sigh and turn on your heel to face him after placing the box down on the counter, arms now crossed over your chest. Quite frankly you were grumpy from being on your feet all day and tired of being around people. You just wanted to go home and have a nice bath, catch up on Golden Girls and call it a night.

You heard Steve sigh and he became quiet for a moment, you watched as he ran a hand over his hair and strolled over a little closer.

"Have you heard anything from Eddie?"

"No. You know I haven't. Why are you asking me this now?"

"It's just. There's been some information going around-"

"Information? What do you mean? Who from?"

You watched as Steve's expression twisted into a frown.

"I don't know who it came from first. Maybe Gareth? Anyway, apparently he's with some girl now and he's maybe. I'm not sure. Maybe coming back to Hawkins. But you can't trust word of mouth you know so dont-"

"You expect me to be okay with information. Steve? I haven't heard anything from Eddie for at least three months. Does he really even have anything to come back to?!"

"Hey...hey. calm down. Let's just-" you listened wanting to rant but you bit your tongue, wanting to see if that was all Steve was going to say.

"How about I walk you home? I know you have your little routine so...how about I make you some food while you have your bath?"

You took a deep breath and tried to calm down. You couldn't help but get so riled up at any mention of Eddie now. You only felt anger and pain when you heard his name or anything about what was going on with him. You wished that you could just erase home from.your mind like he never existed on your life. That would be easier than this.

"Okay. Let me just go sort some stuff in the back" you agreed after a moment.

...

Steve held the door open for you once you had unlocked it, you shot him a small smile and plodded into the dingy wooden cabin you called home, throwing your things down on the nearest seat before doing the same to your tired body, landing on your green corduroy couch. The scene had clearly amused Steve as you heard him chuckle from his place in the kitchen which was open plan to your living room. You knew that your flimsy home was rundown and stark in comparison to Steve's own home but he hadn't ever said anything, had given a more than surprised look when he first saw it but had kept any thoughts about the place to himself though you could read from his face back then that he thought it was a shitty little shack in the wooded area of Hawkins.

You heard Steve pipe up from the kitchen as you flicked through the TV trying to find the late night running of your favourite show.

"Not got much in. When did you last get groceries? Half of this is off" he grumbled, concerned

"I don't know..." You tried to dismiss it, acting like you hadn't been unconsciously starving yourself.

"You'll get unwell, you know. I'll grab you some food while you're at work tomorrow. OK? I'll order us some food for tonight. You have to look after yourself, there'll be nothing left if you at this rate" you listened at Steve rambled and you rolled your eyes even though you knew it was all true. You hated facing facts. You'd rather ignore them and deal with the consequences later.

"Yeah yeah. Okay. How about pizza?" You smiled and watched as Steve nodded and headed to the phone. You shifted your attention to the TV as Steve ordered, paying attention to the commercials that didn't stand out. It wasn't until you felt a tap on your legs that you shifted your gaze to Steve and moved your legs so he could sit down. The couch wasn't massive but it was enough for three people, you felt Steve tug your legs back down and placed on his lap. You felt a little fluttery as his hands remained on your legs, gently tapping along to the jingle of one of the commercials. You deny that the last few months were spent with Steve and along the way you two had been getting closer. You knew he was all about Nancy yet it seemed like for a short while he had shifted to you. Any time he touched you, you felt all warm and yet nervous inside. The same thing you felt with Eddie...but you didn't want to think about him. You loved Eddie. You never confessed it to him but it had probably been obvious to others. But he wasn't here now. And though you felt guilty every time you got butterflies from Steve's touch and smiles, you felt you deserved to be wanted, even in just friendship.

You were just sinking into the seat when you heard the phone go off. You groaned and went to get up but Steve signalled that he'd get it. Thinking the pizza place was calling back or something.

"Hello?" You heard Steve ask before falling silent, you didn't look until you noticed Steve had been silent for a moment too long. Long enough to pique your interest. You noticed the tense demeanour Steve suddenly held which gained a frown from you as you shifted to get a better look at Steve.

"No. She's not home. It doesn't matter what I'm doing here. It's not like you have any business saying where I shouldn't and should be." You listened as Steve became aggravated and you were trying to figure out with your tired brain who Steve was talking to until you heard a slight shout from the phone of a voice you recognised.

"Is that Eddie?!"

"No."

"Don't lie to me Steve. Give me the phone" you asked as you pulled yourself from the couch.

"No. You don't need to speak to that asshole" You listened to those words that left Steve's mouth and something stupid inside you snapped.

"Don't talk about him like that! Give me the phone" you demanded as you reached for the phone, you could hear Eddie on the other end shouting something unintelligible. All before you watched as Steve hung up. You stood in tense silence. In shock. Not being able to believe that Steve just hung up on the first call in months from Eddie. You felt the anger rise from the pit in your stomach. A fiery resentment suddenly formed. You didn't realise what you had done until the sound echoes off your walls and Steve was no longer at eye level. You had slapped him clean across the face. The sound of contact had been so crisp. And Steve's body had swung down after the contact until he was in. A crouch, trying to compose himself. You both stood in pained silence.

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alphacrone · 1 year ago

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20 questions game!

thanks for the tag @displayheartcode ~

tagging @eskildit @ghosthorse @injustspring and whomstever else

How many works do you have on AO3?

119! but i also used to have a livejournal and three different ff.net accounts so....there's definitely a lot more floating around out there.............

2. What's your total AO3 words count?

598,242

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently only Lockwood & Co., but I used to write a lot of Check, Please! back in the day.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

lol they're all OMGCP. like a handprint on my heart (2,880 kudos), i'll see you with your laughter lines (2 412 kudos), until your father's at the table (1 702), smaller than dust on this map (1 222), Blue-Eyed Jack (1 051)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes! i want people to know how much I appreciate their feedback, and i enjoy interacting with the community. if i didn't, i wouldn't publish my fic i would just hoard it for myself haha

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hmmmmm well i do like to kill main characters for the angst so probably either rage, rage against the dying of the light (lockwood fic written I think right after Whispering Skull came out? god what a cheesy title) or anything for one more hour of light (written for the check please heartbreak 2017 fest)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i tend towards happy endings in fic so that's a lot of them lol. maybe like a handprint on my heart?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i get occassionally rude comments on ao3 itself but never anything really bad. i used to get quite a few nasty anons on here though. some people will REALLY go out of their way to tell you exactly why your writing is cringe.

9. Do you write smut. If so what kind?

i did during my stint in the check, please! fandom but i don't really write it anymore. i would definitely call my past smut messy (in many ways).

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

i like to do crossover AUs -- harry potter aus, hunger games aus, etc. -- but I cannot remember the last time I did a proper crossover. it might've been back in my twilight days, if ever.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i'm aware of! i honestly haven't even heard of fic stealing since the days of ff.net but i guess it's not surprising it's still rampant

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! at least one in russian, i want to say another in mandarin. i would have to go back and find them, and some might be gone.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

not fully cowritten, but @ghosthorse and i like to plot out stories together. we have a couple original stories half-baked in google docs from when we were living in different states and got REALLY bored at work.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

my ships change with the tides. i'm a pretty big sucker for locklyle, though, and zimbits. i tend towards rare-pairs and non-canon pairings though.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

every WIP i've ever started lol. but i would like to get back to for it's better to burn out than to fade out of sight (fruits basket) though i doubt i will.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I tend to capture the voices of characters decently well. I love writing dialogue and banter.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

EVERYTHING ELSE HAHAHAHAHHA (crying). I've been told my writing is very cringy and I tend to agree. I struggle with plot and pacing, I don't spend enough time on setting or building up to important scenes/moments, I almost never edit before I post, I'm very bad about contradicting myself between chapters or creating plot holes, I overuse adjectives and adverbs and commas and em-dashes and semicolons, I love a run-on sentence, I misuse big words, and I have a tendency to rely too heavily on the same couple of phrases -- e.g. taken aback, testament to, gave them pause, blood ran cold, face grew hot, etc.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I generally don't do it, but if you do, run it by a native speaker first.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First wrote for Harry Potter or Bartimaeus, first published for Twilight. (Okay not QUITE accurate. I technically published HP fic but on my own shitty HTML website. My dad wouldn't let me join any fic site because I was too young, but he saw it as a great chance to get my to learn HTML. It was called "Visions of Red and Gold" and I posted my shitty fanfiction and mine and my friends' fanart.) This was the image on the home page that you had to select to get into the site:

Yikes!

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

oh this is hard. i'm currently very fond of Jessica Lockwood’s Home for Misfit Ghost Hunters, it's been a delight to work on. but my all-time fave is probably until your father's at the table. it was incredibly cathartic to write.

#anna writes things

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sb-essebi · 2 months ago

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Hi @owwllly I loved this comic so much I wrote fic about it!

(Some angst slipped in, sorry about that)

Me and my ✨genius partner✨

Jayvik | Teen and Up | 1k | Complete

No Archive Warnings Apply | Tags: #Fluff #a dash of angst #Getting Together #Friends to Lovers #First Kiss #Pent-up Feelings #Insecurity #Self-Worth Issues #internalized ableism #(Viktor thinks something very ugly about himself) #Author is disabled #Implied Sexual Content

[Read on AO3]

“Incredible,” Viktor said, awed, staring at the newly-refined, perfectly round gem.

“It worked. We finally turned the crystals into gemstones!”

The excitement in Jayce’s voice was palpable. Even if the experiment hadn’t been as successful as this, that alone would have been enough to make Viktor happy. Jayce’s shoulder was amazingly warm against the back of Viktor’s.

“See,” he said gently, extricating himself from Jayce and taking off his goggles. “Your theory was solid, it was just the execution that needed some refinement.”

“Amazing…” Jayce’s eyes were exhaustion-soft and joy-bright, and Viktor had to force himself to look away. “And we pulled it off a week ahead of Progress Day!” Viktor put his goggles down on the workbench, and felt the air behind him shift as Jayce rose and bolted for the door. “Sit tight! I’ll bring Heimerdinger over and show him our new invention.”

Turning to watch Jayce go, Viktor spotted the thick, scruffy stubble that had taken over Jayce’s face in the days and nights spent working ceaselessly in the lab.

It looked quite fetching on Jayce, and Viktor felt some heat rush to his cheeks at the thought.

“Eh, Jayce, wait!”

Jayce stopped at the door and looked back, smiling.

“Yes, V?”

Viktor pointedly tapped a finger against his own cheek to signal Jayce to check his.

Jayce’s eyes and mouth went wide.

“Oh! Almost forgot.”

Puzzled, Viktor watched Jayce walk back over to him.

Then, Jayce planted a firm, resounding kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll go tell the professor what me and my genius partner have created!”

With a wave and a wink, he left.

As if nothing had happened. As if Viktor’s cheek weren’t burning still from the touch of his lips. As if he hadn’t left Viktor speechless with his whole face growing hotter and hotter by the second. As if Viktor’s right hand weren’t glued to the spot Jayce had kissed as though to keep that easy affection trapped against his skin.

“I… I meant your beard,” Viktor said to the empty room.

Next thing he knew, Viktor had bent over the workbench, face buried into one of his forearms while the other clutched at the back of his hair, shaking, with a blush searing itself down his neck and chest.

Normally, he could handle his feelings for Jayce. He could handle Jayce’s unfairly good looks and his utterly perfect body. He could even handle Jayce’s tactile nature, the hands on his arms, the shoulder touches and the half-hugs.

But this… this casual intimacy, however accidental, this he couldn’t handle. Not on three hours of sleep in as many days. Not when it ushered in thoughts of what if. What if it could be intentional, what if he were Jayce’s life partner, what if he could have Jayce-

He curled in on himself until it hurt, and a horrendous, needy whine left his throat.

“Viktor, I am so sor- Viktor, are you okay? Oh God, you’re breathing so fast-”

It was humiliating, to be caught wanting so viscerally. Especially to be caught wanting as someone like him, defective and deteriorating and dying, wanting someone like Jayce, who was— everything. Who was perfect. Who deserved better and more and longer, who Viktor had vowed to leave alone, to spare him an even worse heartbreak when Viktor would inevitably pass—

Viktor thought he might start crying.

And that was when Jayce decided to put both hands on his shoulders.

“Viktor, are you okay? Please, talk to me. Do you need medical attention? I’m so sorry about- that was so out of line-“

Later, Viktor would not know what came over him. He would blame the lack of sleep, temporary insanity, arcane influence, anything but the fact that he just couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t take the gentleness and concern in Jayce’s voice. And his every resolve crumbled to dust.

He straightened up, swivelling on the stool when Jayce recoiled in surprise, punted his good leg on the floor to stop himself once they were face to face, grabbed Jayce by the tie and kissed him squarely on the lips.

Jayce stood stock-still. For some reason, presumedly out of shock, he let Viktor kiss him long and lingering and desperate, and catalogue the heat of his body and the taste of his lips and the feel of his beard against the corner of Viktor’s mouth while the rest of the world faded from Viktor’s awareness until—

Until Jayce kissed him back.

Cupped Viktor’s face in his large, warm, calloused hands, melted into him and kissed. Him. Back.

Viktor’s breath was promptly punched out of his lungs. He kissed Jayce breathlessly then, needing him far more than air, pressing his tongue past Jayce’s parted lips and kissing him until black spots were dancing behind Viktor’s eyelids and he had to forcibly pull himself back with a gasp.

Jayce was breathing hard, cheeks and ears crimson.

“I was gonna say I was sorry for kissing your cheek,” he said with a chuckle, one hand rubbing the back of his own neck. “But, um-”

Viktor took a great gulp of air and kissed him silent.

Surely, when he ran out of oxygen again he would know what to say. Something that wasn’t ‘I love you’. Surely, after this kiss.

Or after the one that followed.

Or the one after.

Surely he could face Jayce then, question him as to why he was even indulging Viktor.

Certainly, after they’d finished putting the lab’s workbench through new and unspeakable abuses, Viktor would be able to field Jayce’s inevitable inquiry of his behaviour, respond with something that wasn’t that he adored Jayce and wanted to spend every second of his however short life with him.

Surely.

Definitely.

Doubtlessly.

Doubtlessly, there was an explanation for Jayce lying on the floor and gathering Viktor into his arms and on top of him to spare him the cold hard stone, holding Viktor tight and frantic and gentle, alternating between peppering his face and neck with kisses and whispering sweet nothings into his ear -my partner, my beautiful perfect partner, my Viktor- that didn’t include mutual, requited, wholehearted romantic love for one another.

Wasn’t there?

sleepless nights

#jayvik #arcane #my fanfiction #fluff #first kiss #getting together #friends to lovers #internalized ableism

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varyathevillain · 3 years ago

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to everyone who is just wandering into RQG tag after we're trending: hi! we're fans of an actual play podcast by Rusty Quill, based on the TTRPG system Pathfinder, and which is named Rusty Quill Gaming! you might've seen us trending before, as well as our fellow RQ podcasts, such as the fantastic improv satirical comedy based on a capitalistic sci fi nightmare, Stellar Firma, or the heartbreaking and oftentimes terrifying in its emotional core and worldbuilding horror by name of The Magnus Archives!

we're coming to the finale of its first and longest running (6 and a half years in progress!) campaign, Erasing the Line, finishing next week on 1st of December, on 218 episode.

the campaign itself revolves around the alternate universe Earth, in 18(mumblemumble), where magic and fantastical concepts exist in everyday life, and most of the world is ruled by a dragon Meritocracy. all of this is built by its Game Master Alexander J Newall, with the players being Bryn Monroe, Lydia Nicholas, Ben Meredith, James Ross, and (a later, but not the least important addition) Helen Gould, who together have created an incredibly compelling story full of amazing characters, some of which being alternate versions of real historical figures, such as Thomas Edison, Nikola Tesla, Albert Einstein, and many more!.. yes, Oscar Wilde is also there. no, don't ask me why he's so important. yes, I cried about him on podcast at least three times, but that's irrelevant.

it's one of the AP podcasts that I can, and do, recommend on par with such giants like The Adventure Zone and Critical Role, and for me personally? it's even better.

yesterday, I have written a thread on Twitter, giving my thanks to everyone involved in the podcast's creation, and to the people within fandom who have created the wiki, many fandom events, and participated in the community in every way possible while I was being a part of it. and I would greatly appreciate if you, reader of this post, if not retweeted the beginning of the thread, then at least looked at all these names, at the tags I've mentioned, at the creations we've done, and maybe, just maybe, decided to look into what sort of creation RQG is.

if you are one of the fans of our fellow Rusty Quill fandoms, checking it out is so much worth your time. I came into it from The Magnus Archives, and, honestly? it's my favourite RQ podcast. and just my most favourite podcast ever, period.

thank you to everyone in the fandom for being here with me. see you next week.

we've got this.

#RQG #RQ Gaming #Varya RQGposting #Rusty Quill Gaming #text post #fandom #podcasts

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janerogan · 3 years ago

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god any recs for best supernatural fics?

Hi hello, why yes I do! Unfortunately, I don't have time or space to list every single beloved spn fic BUT I will give some highlights of one's I can remember off the top of my head. It's all Deancas cuz that's all I read really. Oh apart from As You Were which has no pairings. Obvi be aware of like tags and ratings cuz some of these deal with some heavy shit.

Four Letter Word for Intercourse was the first spn fic I ever read. I've reread it like 5x by this point. I adore it. Literally one of the most iconic spn fics I think, I knew about it before even starting spn

Canticles - no idea how to describe this it's just fucking GOOD. Beautiful writing. Also one of the first spn fics I ever read.

Cinderwings - LISTEN. THIS FIC. You want good worldbuilding? Look no further. It's a cinderella au when boiled down to it but that does in no way prepare you for the story. Dean is a prince, cas is an angel looking for the key to his peoples freedom under the guise of a masquerade ball.

And this, your living kiss - THEE poetry fic. If you love good Dean pov and characterisation and you love poetry or even if you don't like either then pls read this. Cas teaches poetry and Dean is a mechanic who published poetry under the pen name Jack Allen. It's beautiful.

Fenario - Lake House fic! An absolutely gorgeous post empty fic. My fave subgenre of Dean buying cas a house so he doesn't have to live in the bunker anymore and through renovation he's able to sort out some stuff about himself and how he feels.

Take the bones, begin anew - a post empty cas comes back fic. I love it so so tenderly. I am not immune to post empty fics. I could do a whole list just for cas comes back from the empty fics tbh.

Crossing lines and the sequel you want it darker - this series holds a special place in my heart. Also one of the only fics to make me cry (possibly the first?). It's a time travel fic where young Dean is pulled from the past and this forces Dean to assess the trauma he's been living with. It's really heavy going so, as with all these, check Tags. Just a heartbreaking exploration of deans life and trauma and relationships but in a really cathartic way. The sequel is much lighter and Dean is healing. Cannot stress the happy ending on this one.

Carnival oasis - creature cas! He's just a weird centuries old little guy who eats sin and Dean finds him in a tent at a carnival, advertising itself as a confession stand. Just,,, great cas characterisation and really interesting creature also. It's fun, it's silly, it's serious, it's good.

It's the end of the world as we know it - you will see the tag friends to enemies and think that braces you for the impact. It will not. Another one in which the worldbuilding and plot is just delicious. Like fucking hell, the way tiamatv paints a picture of the places the characters travel through... It astounds me. But yeah a real whirlwind adventure. Its set in high school and then jumps to when they're older and they reunite when the world is quite literally coming apart. It's got heartbreak. It's got other planes of existence. It's got cosmic horror. It's got incredible cas characterisation. It's got a suggested reading list embedded into the fic jskdkf. I love it so so much.

Here, bullet, here - a dean study but it's just,,, it's like poetry, it's so beautifully written. I adore it.

Let's take a drive - KID JACK FIC. It explores the implications and messy emotions of the characters if Jack DID de-age after the finale. It's messy but God is it soft and ends happy. Just a really beautiful study of relationship dynamics tbh.

Aching in the absence of you - oh it hurts but the payoff is worth it. Cas leaves the bunker and Dean let's him. As the tags say, it's a study in missing someone. Ends happy tho I prommy. Also, just generally I love sobsicles.

Dean Winchester Beat sheet - lichrally iconic college au. Another fan favourite also

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart) - really really tender possession fic where cas needs a vessel to reside in for a while and Dean offers himself up.

Under the midnight sun - so obsessed with this fic, the artwork is the best artwork I've ever seen embedded in a fic. Dean is camp manager at a research station in Alaska and he's been told that a new ornithological researcher will be camping a few miles away and not to bother him. The ornithological expert is ofc cas but things are NOT adding up so Dean keep an eye on him. The descriptions and details in this are so fucking delicious. It's a fic where it feels like the authors love for the story and the setting shines through so much you cant help but love it too.

The cheapest room in the house - starts off silly goofy, cas comes out as gay and Dean decides it's his job to guide cas throw that by downloading grindr for him. Do not be fooled by the silly goofy premise tho because it's also a heartbreaking exploration of Dean and it hurts man, amidst all the laughing Thom. This fic has it all. Dean disorders, so much second hand embarrassment, Dean and cas' weird boy best friend dynamic, incredible characterisation. The list goes on.

Muscle memory - I have never seen 50 first dates but this is an au of that and its soooooooooooooo gorgeous.

Empty spaces - really intense fic where John dies and Dean is struggling and then meets cas. It's about deans mental health and him experiencing an eating disorder. It IS hopeful tho. One of the only fics to make me cry.

As you were - de-aged Dean and Sam fic. NO pairings but it's them being taken care of by cas when they get hit with a curse and it destroys me with how loving it is. Dean and Sam being looked after in the way they deserved to be by John.

Not part of the plan series - it starts with a one night stand which in no way prepares you for the absolute beast that is this fic. Once again worldbuilding is incredible and also the politics and planning of the world is sooo? Fucking good. Its about the tension between a kingdom and its neighbouring Republic and the arranged marriage of Dean and cas. Lots of political intrigue but also the most satisfying build up to a relationship. Its a slow burn despite the one night stand start. There are so so many moments that have stayed with me from this and the amazing thing the author does is manage to write the characters with so much depth, everything is explored, the author never pushes anything to the side in order to get the characters or plot where they want it. If there are implications and repercussions, then they're getting explored.

#Well there we go #If I recced all the spn fic that changed my life then we'd be here all year #Fic rec #Ask #Anon #Spn

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years ago

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Mystery Writer (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer finds books at a second hand bookstore that are annotated and he falls the person writing the notes.

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins server! This is for the marvellous @definitelynotkatesblog <3 I really hope you like it! I had to delete the original post because it didn't show up in the tags. This will be staying up regardless of that now.

Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

“If you need anything, just let me know!”

Spencer pressed his lips together at the person behind the till before heading deeper into the rows of second-hand books. Familiar titles, old and new, printed on spines in various states of pristine/decay, they tempted him to select and bring them home with him. The clear sections between biographies and fiction guided him deeper into the forest, deeper into finding his way out. He was hoping to adopt one such book for a day off, when he could revisit it with a fresh eye. It would be like seeing an old friend again, remembering why they were friends in the first place with a hint of that initial read through from years ago, and perhaps he would learn something new in the process.

A dull ache in his chest at the sight of The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. But he had long since recovered from that heartbreak and he would be able to read this story without feeling that again.

Still. It had been several years since he read this book.

His nervous fingers plucked it off the shelf and the pages fell open for him. A flattened gum wrapper parted the pages like the Red Sea. Spencer lifted it out tentatively. Its creases were ironed in from its role as a temporary bookmark, an impression of scribbled black ink flattened after it was made.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the page in search of what this gum wrapper might have been guarding.

“Women are never to be entirely trusted – not the best of them.”

In the margins was scribbled:

Product of the time, but still a prick, rude smartarse role a bit dull

Spencer found himself exhaling in light laughter. That a lack of empathy was considered “dull” by this person, when it was something he dealt with in his job almost every day. The confidence in this commentary too, this brazen critique of a much beloved fictional character was left for someone else to find.

His gaze found Watson’s opinion of Holmes’ casual sexism: “atrocious sentiment”. It was circled twice in the same black biro.

Spencer dug his thumb against the text block and flicked through the book. A waft of that book smell lifted from the paper, accompanied by the bold notes of the previous owner dotted across the text until he finally landed on the reverse of the front cover. Two letters – initials - were scratched onto it.

It was with bridled exhilaration that Spencer approached the till and held up the book with a half-smile. His hands were quick to place it down on the counter so that the shop assistant could type the price into the till. His mood was apparently palpable because they seemed just as happy as Spencer to hand him back the novel in a brown paper bag – the receipt tucked inside.

--->--->--->--->--->

“Love is an emotional thing, and whatever emotional is opposed to what is true, cold reason, which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgement.”

What a lonely existence and also a lie. See: entire relationship w/ Dr. Watson!

Spencer smiled at this comment. Now all the other instances of a double underlining made sense. Each one produced itself in his mind as evidence that Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact love. Maybe not marry, but it would have been terribly unconventional for him to wed Doctor John Watson. The unknown author seemed to understand this. They never emphasised if this love was platonic or romantic. But the way in which they proved love existed within this character oft portrayed as emotionless, Spencer simply adored. They were a romantic reader, who still enjoyed reading about the cynic

He grew quite aware of his posture in that moment and he straightened his back. A few clicks of complaint emitted as he stretched, his head twisting from side to side. Screwing his eyes open and shut behind his glasses, he revisited your deduction.

On the dot of the “i” in “lie”, there was a sprinkle of graphite around the indent from where a pencil’s lead had snapped from the effort put into topping off this point. A sprinkle of graphite smudged where the pages pressed together.

Spencer moved on to where a sentence in black biro tried to blend in with the printed words. A memory appeared at the front of his mind: when Rossi was bewildered to learn Spencer and Dr. Alex Blake wrote the newspaper crossword in pen.

The pencil markings were like mini brainstorms, something to revisit and make a solid theory with the black biro. But the planning was never rubbed out.

Little quotes were circled. This mystery critic spent half the book roasting the characters and the other half leaving little exclamation marks and circles around phrases and words when they couldn’t think of something to say. Spencer found it sweet, picturing the thrilling unfolding of events for the reader to revisit.

His heart ached in bittersweet memory as he recalled the contents of Dr Alex Blake’s book The Route of Linguistics. It was necessary pain to create a profile of who this mystery critic was. Yes, he was profiling out of work hours. His evenings were now spent trying to picture the voice behind the notes. The sarcasm, the witty blows to the character’s and author’s ego. He almost wished that he couldn’t read so fast because he finished the book, even with its additional notations, all too quickly. But there was one bonus.

Spencer traced the pad of his fingertip over the exclamation marks describing Mary Morstan. What else might a detractor of the great Sherlock Holmes read?

--->--->--->--->--->

He had returned to the bookshop in favour of adopting another. Yet he could not find one that satisfied his unknown criteria. It was not until he found himself checking the front pages of the fifth book he had selected, that he realised he was looking for a pair of initials.

Sighing, he placed My Dear Bessie, with its empty front page, back on the shelf. The chances of finding another book containing this mystery critic were so minute. He could probably calculate them if he wanted to dedicate himself to such a disheartening statistic. He’d rather not spend his lunch break doing that, as much as he loved statistics. This once, they did not assure his safety and he remained unsupported by the fact that he could not find any other Arthur Conan Doyle books.

His desperation became most apparent when he thought that perhaps fate should just decide for him. If anything, he would come away with a random book to read through in about ten minutes on a flight back home.

He peeked around the corner of the shelves. The shop assistant at the till was busy writing something down, not paying any mind to the shop’s only customer.

“A random shot had no better odds than just picking books off one by one” is what he told himself as he closed his eyes and placed his fingers on the end of the shelf, just over the first book’s spine. In an “S” pattern, his arm moved up and down, over the books and shelves and gaps between units. His feet stepped forwards into the space he knew was clear.

Spencer stopped and opened his eyes, his finger shifting just an inch out of the way of his new book’s title.

Circe. Madeline Miller.

He tapped the top and the book fell forwards, where he caught it. Its shining dust jacket was serving its purpose, a few tears along the edges from where it had protected the hardcover. He checked the front page. A map of Aiaia in orange and brown filled it to the corners. On the next page, his heart stuttered at the sight of two initials in the same handwriting and the same biro. There was also a scribble - invisible to start with then a ball of black.

The first page with the story’s text held a scribble just above its opening line:

the power of the name

“When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.”

He could see that the first was in a blunt pencil, but the addition was a sharpened point carving into the paper. A secondary thought that was provided after completing the novel, they had added it. Spencer lifted it to his face, his eyes crossing to keep the stipple in focus. The scent of the paper and the graphite reached him easily; the note must have been made just before Circe was gifted to him. How lucky he was to find such a treasure.

The shop assistant was cutting out a new sign for “BUY ONE GET ONE HALF PRICE!”. By the time Spencer made it to them, the sign was placed upon the pile besides him. The shop assistant smoothed out a crease on the dust jacket, ineffectively but Spencer admitted the gesture. He was glad that someone who loved books as much as him got to work in a place like this.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer’s mind, definitely for worse, echoed the words off the tabloids around his head the split second he made eye contact with the headlines. He paced the shelves to somewhere a little quieter. When he found the chocolate aisle, he pretended to peruse. Ever half a minute or so, his gaze drifted up to the till area where the shop owner was on a phone call and clearly not paying attention to him.

It was not long before Spencer grew bored of looking at KitKats, and he pulled out One Thousand And One Nights. The book’s pages fell again to page 57. This shop’s receipt stood above them, still holding its place from the previous owner. It felt wrong to part the two.

No new people had entered this corner shop for 8 minutes. He’d even given the time at the receipt’s end a fifteen-minute margin either side. Given that this mystery critic took a break from work at the same time on the same day of the week – and that they worked during the day – he should have seen them. Maybe he had, and they were that man in the baggy hoodie who stunk of weed. Probably not. Hopefully not. Not that Spencer was judging him for his… recreational activities. He just wanted the mystery critic to be someone he could realistically spend time with.

Just then, Spencer’s phone trilled annoyingly loud. He received a glare from the shop manager and Spencer sent an awkward apologetic expression his way before answering JJ quickly.

“Spencer, we’ve got a case. We need you here ASAP.”

His response was immediate. “Ok, be there in ten.” Hanging up, Spencer dithered on the spot then grabbed a packet of Cheetos. He’d been there for nearly twenty minutes; he had to get something.

“Three dollars,” the manager said before returning to his call. But not before he rolled his eyes at Spencer. Spencer dropped the bills onto the counter and dashed out before he could be offered a receipt.

--->--->--->--->--->

An outlier in the usual length of case work had passed by in five long days. Spencer hardly ever regretted the time he put into this job. Every unsub caught was lives saved. But the absence of his mystery commentator had been niggling at the back of his busy mind and he was glad to finally reunite with them on this long flight back.

From his satchel, he recovered the copy of One Thousand And One Nights and began rereading the notes to ground himself in the story. His focus lingered on the page as if he were reading it at the average 250 words per minute. It allowed him to block out the humming of the engine.

Spencer did not take his eyes off the page as he pulled open his desk drawer and popped a piece of overpriced gum into his mouth. Half-hearted reminders bounced in his head, from when he tried smoking and chewing gum to ease his cravings. The fruit flavour was very clearly artificial and it faded within six minutes. Why his mystery critic would pick such a pathetic packet of gum to chew, he didn’t know. But hopefully the fact of its flavour disappearing fast would mean they get through the packet quicker and buy another soon. Even if today, and the days before, spent in that shop did not lean in favour of that hypothesis.

--->--->--->--->--->

The Five People You Meet In Heaven was in the Recently Donated pile. It was near the top, slid towards the edge of the container after being placed wonkily on a copy of some sports autobiography.

Within the pages was more than Spencer could have ever hoped for. Entire paragraphs were circled, quotes underlined. A squashed mini post-it note tabbed the page and a whole paragraph was scrawled on it, about Tala. An arrow pointing to the underside, Spencer lifted the flap and saw more to read, like an interactive pop-up book that he’d gotten Henry for his second birthday. Spencer closed his eyes quick and snapped the book shut. He wanted to save it for when he was sitting comfortably, not while he was rushing back to work in time for JJ to get to her lunch break on time.

The shop assistant had just clipped the lid back onto a green highlighter when Spencer drew up to their counter. With careful fingers, he placed the book upon it. There was a twitch of the assistant’s mouth; their eyes brightened. They looked like they wanted to say something, but something else held them back from making the first move. Spencer recognised it from his school days.

“It’s a good read.” He spoke after they had typed the price into the till.

“I know,” The assistant replied instantly, a relieved smile on their lips, “What part are you on?”

“I’ve already read it, but I wanted to revisit the passage at the diner.”

“Ahh, that’s a good bit. One of my favourites.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed a fraction of an inch. His gaze dropped to the nametag on the left side of their chest. Y/N, their name’s first initial. It couldn’t be.

“What did you think about the final person, Tala?”

“Oh,” The shop assistant clutched at their heart, “I was an emotional wreck before and it hit me hard just as the rest did. So bittersweet to hear her forgiveness. It took me a few times to finish reading the end, but it was all worth it.”

He couldn’t be this lucky, to get this many books from the same person and to have them standing in front of him. Spencer didn’t believe in luck.

As he reached across for his new book, he turned over the cover, “Was this yours?”

Twisting their head around to read the publication details, the assistant – Y/N - smiled sheepishly at the initials. “Yes, and I’m glad to see it go to a new home.”

Apparently luck believed in him.

“But,” Spencer felt his brows knit automatically as he looked between the book and their previous owner, “You love it. I-I’ve seen your notes.”

A hand clapped over Y/N’s mouth, “Oh God, you must have. I mean, it wasn’t the intention initially, but I thought they might be a little entertaining for anyone who picks it up to leave them in there.”

“Oh, they were! I’d love to read more of your thoughts. Hear, hear them, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Y/N checked the door to the shop, still shut, and back to Spencer. They dropped their elbows onto the countertop with their chin in their palms. “What did you wanna know?”

From his bag, Spencer procured his – their – copy of The Sign of Four and flicked through the pages. So many places to choose, but he wanted to open with what had introduced him to Y/N’s analysis.

The pair put their heads together, leaning on the counter. Spencer could smell the chewing gum on their breath. Y/N never cut him off, and he never wanted to cut them off. There were little pauses at the end of each of their turns to speak before the other picked up where they had left off. Their voices leapt from secretive whispers to passionate orations of their favourite passages, rebounding evidence and analysis off each other like a bouncy ball. Spencer finally had a voice to put to the sarcasm, the one his mind had conjured long forgotten in the wake of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

The shop’s door swung open. Spencer leapt to attention as an older woman swept in, past the two of them towards the non-fiction section. Y/N adjusted their name tag, their back straight too. The clock behind the till announced that it was now twenty minutes after the end of Spencer’s lunch break.

Running on the rush of his hobby meeting a potential friend, Spencer asked, “Can I get your number? So we can talk more, maybe swap some more books, when you’re not working?”

His luck was still by his side as Y/N wrote out their number on his receipt, written in their infamous black biro.

--->--->--->--->--->

Spencer leapt over to the door of his apartment, took a deep breath, and unlocked it. Stood behind where it had been was Y/N and they too were still wearing the uniform from work. Their nametag was still on their polo shirt, the same spot that Spencer wore his FBI tag.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked the second they made a step inside his abode.

“Tea would be great. Milk and one sugar please.”

And while he was in the kitchen, Y/N rushed over to the bookshelves, their eyes wide to take in Spencer’s collection. “Oh wow! You weren’t joking!” Their finger indicated to a hard cover copy of Mean Time by Carol Ann Duffy, “That’s one of mine. Well, yours now.”

Plucking it from the shelf, they opened it up. Spencer had written his initials beside theirs.

Spencer stuck his head out in the partition, “Ours. If we’re going to be sharing.” Y/N stood on tiptoes, teeming with delight, their hands cradling the book with all the care Spencer could hope for in a fellow reader. Joint custody of their books and their passion? What a dream.

“I just have to write a little more about the epilogue, and I’ll be with you,” Y/N took their place on his couch. A pencil began scribbling away their thoughts onto the last few pages. Their knees were their desk.

Spencer finished brewing and placed the mug in front of Y/N, who mumbled a quick thank you to him. He joined them in writing his final notes. It slowed him down a considerable amount, but he was glad to take things at a casual pace, especially considering the way that Y/N almost broke their pencil as they scrawled out their thoughts for Spencer to hear later.

“Have you thought about the next one you’d like to try?” Spencer asked tentatively. He wasn’t so sure if Y/N would want to be interrupted.

Luckily for him, Y/N paused their stream of consciousness to look back at his books, “Hmm. So much to choose from.”

Stood up, their book left in Spencer’s care. They took a deep breath, closed their eyes and used their forefinger to draw a zigzag over the spines. Spencer felt that he was almost sick with joy.

Y/N stilled their wandering hand and opened their eyes, already drawing out the selected novel, “This one.”

“And what have you chosen for me next time?”

Y/N handed over The Butterfly Lion from their bag, “Ok, I can’t wait any longer, what do you think?”

They sat back on the couch. Their legs now hung over the arm of the couch, elbows either side and face cupped in their palms. The book rested in their lap. Shifting so that he faced them completely, Spencer returned to the first page and his analysis began.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my writing

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somedrunkpirate · 4 years ago

Text

learn the dead | Arthur/Eames

Read here on ao3 or continue below Tags: Presumed Dead, First Time, Angst with a happy ending, pining Rating: T Wordcount: 5,4k

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

Everything checks out.

The hospital records, the police report, even the fucking local news because, to quote scruffy looking anchor, with a stutter no less, “There has— sn’t been an lethal acc—sident for over ten years on this s—street.”

The information is bare-bones, but that isn’t remarkable for an open and shut case like this: drunk driver meets tree trunk. Happens a thousand times a year, and will continue to happen whether you make a fuss out of it or not. Write down the licence plate, try (and fail) to inform relatives, do the paperwork and get home on time for dinner for once. Simple as pie.

Except. Except Arthur wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have driven drunk. His stick reaches too far up his ass to do something so utterly reckless in reality.

That thought is what had spurred Eames to begin his search— there had to be something, anything, that could explain the whole bullshit situation. Even if that something is a hit, covered up like an accident. Then at least Eames would have some to blame— Someone to kill.

But everything checks out.

Even that initial discrepancy. Arthur couldn’t have been drunk, but after many phone calls and bribes, Eames had learned what Arthur could have been.

He could have been high.

His last job had been an experimental trial. Not with a chemist Eames knew. An academic who had shit his pants when Eames barged in with a smile as sharp as a knife— and a knife in his hand, of course. Wouldn’t do to be less than intimidating in this case. The chemist had spluttered into a rant Eames had understood half of, so he’d called Yusuf and held the phone up without responding to the cursing at being awoken in the middle of the night. But he’d caught on quickly, started to ask questions Eames wouldn’t have thought to ask. Then more, sharper. With a hiss.

“What is he saying?” Eames had asked, after the chemist had run out of breath.

“Eames—“

The way Yusuf sounded, a sigh more than an utterance. The tone of his voice as it tried to fold in pity— badly. Yusuf was never quite made for compassion. Though the attempt had been enough to haunt Eames’ nightmares since.

“Eames. He’s dead.”

The confirmation had come without fanfare in the end. Eames didn’t even kill the chemist, after. It hadn’t been his fault that the mix Arthur had taken voluntarily turned out to suppress reflexes when tired. Not tired as they would call it— after a rush job, when exhaustion nipped at your heels. Just tired; about to drink a cup of coffee tired. Arthur probably hadn’t even felt any different until it was too late. But it had been raining, and he’d been driving for more than six hours. It was no one’s fault that Arthur had lost control over the vehicle just in front of the only tree in a three mile radius.There had been a rabbit flattened between the car and the bark. He’d probably been trying to save it.

A fucking rabbit.

Eames had hung up on Yusuf without a word. It had been the last time he’d spoken to anyone for a long time.

Except that isn’t quite true.

“Well, darling, you’ve gotten me in quite a pickle.”

The grave doesn’t respond. It never does.

— — — — —

If someone had told him that his reaction to Arthur’s death would be to stand before his grave every day for a month straight, he'd have laughed his lungs out of his chest.

It would’ve been sad, of course, to see such a talented colleague go. He might even have gone on a bender for a week— drinking away the sorrows that come with a lost acquaintance— maybe a friend. But he’d have better things to do than indulge himself for longer than that. He’d been indulging himself with Arthur for far too long, and death should have been the end to it.

Because he had been thinking about it, sometimes, when he was feeling fanciful. You would have had to be blind not to see the chemistry. The push and pull that led to delicious flirtation — as much as Arthur wanted to deny it — and even more delicious dreamsharing. They made each other better and that was honestly the only thing Eames ever looked for, when, if ever, he thought about that nebulous concept of ‘settling down’.

So yes, there would be something more to losing Arthur. Eames had known even then. It was losing that slight hint of potential. Though that is always a treacherous word.

Because he never truly believed he’d make it that far— not just with Arthur, who would’ve laughed even harder if Eames were ever to confess his vague future plans for them — but with life in general. Why plan for something that would be cut short anyway? Even if Arthur could be persuaded to make something out of the spark between them, it would’ve been cruel to do so. Eames knew himself well. He wouldn’t have stopped taking risks, stop wanting more-- craving freedom like a drug. The idea to set Arthur up for inevitable heartbreak had been enough to avoid thinking about practical steps. A fantasy was fine. Eames got paid to live in them. He didn’t get paid for reality.

So, Arthur’s death would of course be sad. But it shouldn’t have been more than another scar on his back— the punishment of the trade he chose, along with a whisper of nostalgia at losing a construct of his imagination. Even he wouldn’t have had the heart to keep the fantasy of a dead man alive for his own entertainment. A week, a few drinks, and it should’ve been over.

It shouldn’t have destroyed him.

“I just never thought I’d be the one left behind, darling,” Eames says to the wet dirt below him. It feels off to tell the headstone itself— the name is fake. Aaron Fister. Arthur had thrown a knife past his head when Eames had shown him the forged papers. To say he regrets the joke now is an understatement.

“In all fairness, it should’ve been you here, it would make more sense for you to fall in love with me, once I’m not there to bother you anymore. Absentia makes the heart go fonder, hmm?”

The dirt seems to be judging him. It’s good that some things never change.

“I know— I know it's hypocritical. I didn’t even— I didn’t even love you. It was just a game. A fun thing to theorise about when the goings got tough. Would you be as snappish if we lived together? Would you forgive me faster if I sucked you off? Would you kiss me goodbye in the airport?” Eames stops himself, and rubs a hand over his face, groaning. “It’s humiliating, darling. I should’ve just gotten off at the thought of you like half of the dreamshare community was doing. Hand on or in their whatever and imagine you moaning next to them. But I had to be pathetic about it. Though this is reaching new heights, I must say.”

He leaves, abruptly sick of himself. He comes back the next day, as always.

Some days, though, Eames doesn’t devolve into confessions that make the little old ladies passing by their lost friend’s grave raise their eyebrows and linger by a random grave to listen anyway.

Some days, Eames is angry.

The first time, he breaks his toe in the process.

“You bloody cunt!” He’s aware that he’s shouting, but he doesn’t stop. “Never experiment alone! Isn’t that what you fucking say to the newbies? You need someone to be a baseline. Someone who can bring you home safe. You fuck. Why didn’t you call me. Why didn’t you fucking—“

Kicking the gravestone had not been his best idea, but the pain of it brings a rush of satisfaction. There is— so much, inside of him. Eames is drowning in it, and the throb in his feet cuts right through it. Clarity. He kicks again.

“You fucking bastard.”

The old ladies have gone from curious to concerned now. Eames hobbles away, hissing, before he gets a restraining order on a grave.

The next day he’s back, a bottle of whiskey in hand, and finds himself apologising.

“I know— I never made it quite clear that you could call me, for stuff like that. That I would pick up. Maybe I wouldn’t have. Or no, I would have, but I might not have bothered for that. The jobs— I knew how to handle you on the job. But outside of that. I don’t think I would’ve had the courage. I wouldn’t think that way then, of course. Convince myself that I’m above errand runs like that. Throw you a bone recommending some up and coming kid I knew or something— intern type, for all that we have those here. But I don’t think I would’ve come. So it isn’t your fault. You made a mistake, not getting back-up, but it isn’t your fault. You didn’t know you had any. And I didn’t dare to believe I could be yours. That you would let me. That it wouldn’t end in disaster.”

Eames leans against the cold stone and sighs. “’Suppose it has, already. Would’ve been too good to have it end any other way.”

— — — — —

When Eames isn’t in a graveyard, or in a bar, he’s in the warehouse.

It had felt too… personal, to get a hotel room for this. To do his research in a living room, as opposed to the dreary, dusty and echoey spaces where most of their professional relationship had flourished. It’s too big for a one-man job, but Eames had managed to fill it up anyway. Boxes upon boxes of information, any trace of Arthur he could find. Every email, record, police report, college paper— printed and archived. Eames can find his way through the documents blind and drunk. Arthur has taken over every nook and cranny of the warehouse— and every nook and cranny of Eames’ mind. Eames has read everything, twice over.

If Arthur had been alive to know, he would’ve killed him.

Because Arthur had always been a private person, for all that he pries in the lives of clients and collaborators both. He was the one who asked the questions and rarely answered them. It had always been a luxury— a rare reward, to be thrown a scrap of information. He’d always said something with that slight subtle smile, like he knew the power his breadcrumbs of personal life held over others. Everyone ravenous for more intel on one of the greatest pointmen of their generation.

How horrible is it then to revel in the mountains of information that Eames had been able to gather after his death. He’d always known he’d had enough pull to find something, and after the inception job he’d had more than enough cash to buy the rest. But he’d never done it; at first because of the wrath that would quickly follow. Then because he’d known it would tarnish Arthur’s trust in him— something he’d wanted to protect at all costs. And then lastly — but maybe from the start — because it was so much more thrilling to learn bit by bit, piece by piece. To earn his knowledge of Arthur, and to ensure that his curiosity would never run out. He’d become slightly addicted to the feeling.

But now, with no one left to tell, it had only taken the excuse of the suspicious circumstances of his death for Eames to turn into the hoarder he’d always known he could be. It had gotten to a point where new packages arrived every so often— criminals even beyond dreamshare having caught wind of an individual willing to invest heavily on any information. Someone had even hacked the pentagon to get classified documents. From the message on the box, the hacker thought they were helping a spy of some kind. Eames had sent him enough bitcoin to blow wind in the direction of that particular fire hearth of urban legend. He’d rather have people think there is a whole network of people digging into this, than anyone realising it’s in truth only one pathetic man.

So Eames drinks. Eames talks to a grave. And Eames reads. It only takes him two boxes until Arthur makes him laugh for the first time since the car crash. It was due to a spirited essay on the importance of open source information that was clearly written to spite the professor leading the course, who’d been forced to give it an A+ regardless. Eames had chuckled, imagining the self-righteous satisfaction of this young Arthur as he got his grade back, and then began crying. Not to grieve the loss of a future he hadn’t realised how much he wanted, as is his wont, these days. But from the unfairness of it all. That a person like this, who had so much to say in this world, should’ve been taken so early, and in such a meaningless way.

Arthur would’ve denied it, but Eames knows he’d only be content with a death from sacrifice . He’d shown that side of him clearly when he jumped into Cobb’s mess headfirst and without hesitation. If Arthur had died from a bullet taken for Cobb, Ariadne, or maybe even Eames, he would’ve been at peace— or as much as you can while bleeding out.

Eames had known that, but as he learns more and more of Arthur, he realises how true it is. How, despite everything, Arthur cannot stop himself from being a silent hero. There are so many instances where Arthur, behind the screens, helps someone. Whether it was connecting the right people to each other under the mum of a potential project, or taking jobs way below his pay grade because he sympathised with the client, Arthur did not let their line of work destroy the possibility to be kind, every once in a while.

It’s not like he advertised it. He didn’t do it in a way people would recognize his actions— which was smart, as it could be seen as a weakness in their circles. But whenever the chance came along, even if it was to his own detriment, Arthur chose the rough road home if it would ease someone else’s way.

And this, Eames realises, is the secret to his competency. All other pointmen are expert researchers through and through, but no one had the reach Arthur had. Arthur knew everything, and if he didn’t know, he knew someone who knew— and most importantly, someone who would tell him. Eames doesn’t even know if Arthur ever realised that it was his kindesses, in and out the community, which led him into such a position of power. His actions are too random and inconsistent to be a strategic scheme to build an empire. Some of his biggest successes are results of a nicety five or ten years ago, something that he might have forgotten doing, but the people receiving it definitely haven’t.

On the surface Arthur had been known as cool and effective— someone with a distance to the rest of the world that resulted in a highly detailed overview of any situation, even if it brought a side of professionalism to even the most informal of interactions. The people who witnessed a more casual side of him were few and far in between, but even those came away with the impression that to Arthur, doing the job in the best way possible was the only drive to his actions.

No one had seen every little thing he did that had no other reason at all besides that he could do them for someone.

Eames maps out everything on the walls of the warehouse. And when he stands back to take it all in, he realises that more than anyone, the person Arthur had silently helped was him.

Everything he’d done for Cobb had been grand and obvious, but more out of loyalty to Mal and her children than kindness without any other motivation. And Ariadne’s training had been as much for the inception job than for herself— maybe introducing her to the life hadn’t been a kindness at all. Continuing after could be seen as one, even if you could argue that her honing her raw talent would directly result in better and more stable dreams in later jobs.

But Eames— what Arthur had done for Eames—

Eames can’t think of a single reason besides just being plain nice.

Because it hadn’t been like he needed to. Eames had made him very clear that he’d be down for almost any job Arthur put in front of him. Just him being himself had always been enough, he didn’t need to do him any favours to persuade him like everyone else did.

And maybe Arthur had gotten the memo, because he’d done Eames favours without ever telling him, and those you can’t pay back. Eames had no idea the reason he got out of that trouble in Chicago was because Arthur bailed him out— it was presented to him as a procedure mistake. And then there was the Telula job, with an extractor-architect team Eames had wanted to work with for ages, but the chemist they’d been looking to hire was someone from Eames’ not so smooth first years of dream-share and he’d almost cut out of the job to not be forced to confront that past. That was until the chemist suddenly dropped out with an offer he couldn’t refuse— an offer Arthur had been behind.

There were so many things like that. Little things, small things— warehouses next to Eames’ favourite restaurants; nuggets of information given anonymously through the channels of dreamshare gossip to hit Eames’ ears right on time before a betrayal; a job a week delayed because of Eames’ mother’s funeral.

It’s not like Eames had been the only one, but he was by far the most frequent of all of them. More and more so over the years, like Arthur had been finding more reasons to be nice to him, while Eames had still been stuck in his pathetic imaginations, blind to what was already in front of him.

A friendship.

He’d been so preoccupied with his own flights of fancy, that he only realises how close they had been all this time until it was too late to experience it. Too late to thank Arthur for everything he’s done.

The agony of it— the longing. His heart thundering with the sudden need to have Arthur in his arms, alive and real and—

“Oh god. I love him.”

Eames drinks until he can’t remember. He manages to avoid the grave for a little while, but he doesn’t last long. Inevitably he’s pulled back to the grave yard, whiskey in hand, ready to talk to the love he lost again.

— — — — —

His cemetery routine— because he has one of those now — is usually to be at the grave around noon. Late enough to roll out of bed reasonably comfortably after a long night of drinking and/or reading, but early enough for there to be time left to check the new documents coming along and pay the right people before they send thugs to his hideout.

But this time the afternoon light shines golden over the rows and rows of headstones and Eames shivers in the Autumn breeze. The old ladies are all dressed in fur coats. He recognizes some of them, and wonders if they noticed he was gone. None of them greet him as he passes, so he assumes not.

Eames takes another sip of his bottle, allowing his feet to lead him over the familiar path up the hill, and then he drops his bottle all together.

A man is standing before the grave.

Tall, hunched a little in the wind. Long coat and thick black beanie. Nondescript. Anonymous.

He does not turn as Eames nears.

“You’re late.”

Eames’ hand is on his gun at the first syllable, but before he can put it on his temple a leather gloved hand snatches it from his fingers. The clip ejects with a decisive click.

Arthur gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t be dramatic. We don’t need a scene.”

His face— a little gaunt. His eyes— tense, intent, darker than they should be. Eames doesn’t recognize the coat. But he’s there, pressed in close to hide the gun between their bodies. His breath— warm, hits Eames’ cheek. It isn’t— It can’t. He can’t be breathing because he’s—

Eames squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of metal against the palm of his hand, the smell of gunpowder.

A sigh falls between them. “It won’t work. This isn’t a dream, Eames.”

The hell it isn’t. “Experimental somacin, three levels.”

Raised eyebrows shouldn’t be audible only through speech. “Do you remember how you got here?”

Eames opens his eyes and says, “Deep immersion dream.”

Arthur huffs at that. “Do you really think they’ve been keeping you under for years? Fine. When have you last lost memories?”

Oh, that’s easy. “Two days ago.”

There is a pause, and Eames hates the fact that he can see the exact moment of tension in Arthur’s jaw that signals him suppressing a question. It’s too detailed, too precise, too re—

“Later,” Arthur murmurs under his breath, almost to himself. Like later is a given between them. He seems frustrated. His eyes keep flicking to the side and his hand hovers near Eames’ arm, like he’s trying to keep himself from hurrying Eames along and is annoyed that Eames is stalling them.

“I’m sorry darling,’” Eames drawls, “but in case it has escaped your notice: we are having this discussion on your fucking grave, so forgive me for being reasonably sceptical about the reality of this situation.”

Arthur breathes out a deep sigh, clenched teeth. “Eames, think about it, is there any forger you know capable of forging me in a way you can’t see through it? Or for that matter, is there anyone who would dare to try steal from the fucking person who invented the craft?”

No. The answer is no. It hits Eames with a muffled weight. He wonders what his face is doing, but whatever it is, Arthur responds to it with a curt nod. It suddenly strikes Eames as absurdly hilarious, in the way only the most traumatic experiences can.

“You know, complimenting me really doesn’t help with the reality argument. Never mind doing it twice. Death changed you, darling.”

Arthur stills in the middle of putting the clip back in Eames’ gun. There is the slightest flicker of his lips, and he huffs. “Maybe it did— can I trust you not to shoot yourself the moment I hand this back?”

“Come on now Arthur,” Eames says, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

And there— there it is. Arthur rolls his eyes as he presses the gun into Eames’ waiting hands, and a part of Eames’ breaks with it. Still muffled, still numb, but something is lumbering closer. He can almost hear its laboured breaths.

“There you are,” Eames says, smiling. “You don’t know how much I missed that.”

It is a miracle he doesn’t choke on the words.

“Glad to be remembered for something,” Arthur is saying, and now he’s pushing Eames— gently but with intent, away from the grave. “And I’d like to keep it that way, so we need to talk before your insatiable curiosity ruins everything I worked for.”

Eames doesn’t know if it's the words, or the press of Arthur’s hand against his back— barely sensable beneath all the layers but even the slightest hint of pressure sets him alight— but all at once everything falls into place.

“You faked your death.”

“Have you always been this slow on the uptake?”

Eames barely hears him. Reality is roaring and there is space for nothing else. Arthur isn’t dead. Arthur isn’t dead. They’re standing on Arthur’s grave— an empty grave. A lie. A trick. He’s been fooled because Arthur isn’t dead, he’s right here. He’s touching him because he isn’t—

Arthur isn’t. He isn’t.

He’s alive.

Eames doesn’t say anything the rest of the way to wherever. If Arthur speaks, he doesn’t strain to listen. Because Arthur isn’t dead and if he hears anything at all he’s either going to scream or kick the shit out of him just like he did on that stupid fucking grave— just to check that this one isn’t made of stone but flesh and blood and he is alive.

His fists hurt from clenching by the time they enter a hotel room. Something of the turmoil must have reached Arthur because he’s gone quiet. The roar lets off the very moment the door clicks closed and Arthur stands before it, uncertain, almost as if he regrets closing off his only exit. His expression is one Eames knows very well— preparing himself for a fight he saw coming too late. But he isn’t reaching for his gun. He just stands there.

He’s just waiting to take it.

Eames kisses him.

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s—

A heartbeat feels more real when it’s underneath your lips. A pulse against a jaw— up, up to feel breath against breath. To hear the rush of it— a hitch of— of surprise.

Strength— dead people don’t have strength and Arthur is pushing him so he can’t be dead.

“Eames—“

Alive, alive, alive.

“Eames! Wait!”

Eames pushes closer. He places his forehead against Arthur’s, presses them both against the door. Arthur isn’t pushing him away anymore but his hands are still on his chest. Eames wonders if he can feel the beat of his heart. He hopes, quietly insane for a moment, that Arthur will never forget to make his heart beat as long as he is feeling one. As long as he’s given an example on how to live.

“Eames,” Arthur says. A word, a question, a name. All in one. His eyes are wide. Breathing heavy— breathing, breathing, breathing— and he’s flushed. Sharp cheekbones stained red. Lips wet.

Eames’ hands move of their own accord and cradle each side of Arthur’s face.

“Let me, darling. Just let me.”

Arthur breathes again.

Eames trembles, trying to hold himself back. Trying to breathe. But one more moment and he will collapse and he can’t— he can’t risk it. He can’t risk losing another chance. He needs this as much as he needs Arthur to be alive. He needs to stop regretting not having done this when he could and now he can again and how can he let this undeserved second chance slip through his fingers. He has to. Please. He has to.

Arthur’s mouth falls open. “Eames. Eames, it’s okay. You don’t have to— You don’t have to beg. It’s okay.”

“Let me, Arthur,” Eames repeats, “Let me.”

Arthur lets him.

Arthur lets him do everything.

— — — — —

It’s after when Arthur whispers, “I didn’t know.”

His head is on Eames chest, moving ever so slightly when he breathes. In and out. Eames has his fingers tangled in his hair. The strands slip away when Arthur turns around to look up at him.

“I didn’t know,” he says again. There is a rasp in his voice and his eyes are wet. Eames has never been apologised to like this before. Arthur sounds as if he believes sorry would be an insult, the word too small to encompass his regret. There is guilt there, in the flush of his cheeks, and the way he can’t seem to hold eye contact. His pupils flickering, microscopic twitches of shame.

Sometimes he’d dream of this. Arthur’s return. A fantasy, a different one, yet still addictive like a drug. He’d expected to be angry, to want to spill his pain onto Arthur’s feet and watch him try and walk through it; burn in it. A stimulation of the magmatic life Eames has been living since his death.

But now, face to face with an Arthur who is alive, Eames doesn’t want any of it.

So he leans down, and kisses Arthur on the forehead, like a benediction, trying to extract the regret from his face. And he tells him, honest in a way he’s learned to be in the last scant weeks, “I didn’t either, darling.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but there is something about his misery that is easily pushed to the side for curiosity.

Eames smiles at him and continues. “You were— you were a fantasy. A what if. Something amusing to think of when I was bored, or something life saving to dive into when reality drew a knife and stabbed me with it— literally, sometimes. But it was always a fantasy. An escape. It— it couldn’t have become real, if you’d given it a chance back then.” Eames takes a breath, shakes his head.

Arthur reaches up with a hand, frowning, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“But the trouble is, darling, it is incredibly hard not to fall in love with you the more I learn about you.” Eames smiles under his finger tips. “That is what changed. You never let me learn you. But who is to stop anyone from learning the dead?”

Something flickers over Arthur’s face— guilt, again, but different. “I didn’t know you wanted to learn about me— I thought you only gave a fuck about what I could be for you.”

Eames lays his hand over Arthur’s. “You’re right. I was blind— too blinded by the possibilities and too selfish to do anything about it. Maybe I needed to lose you in order to learn how to see .”

“No— No I should’ve,” Arthur shakes his head sharply. “I should have told you. There would’ve been another way without— How long have you been drinking?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to darling.”

“Eames.”

Arthur takes his hand off and moves off of Eames’ chest, sitting up straight. Eames follows him, struck by a sudden vision of Arthur slipping out of bed— out of his life, dogged by misplaced guilt and regret. He curls his hands around Arthur’s wrists, as gently as he can. Don’t trap him. Don’t chase him away.

“No. It’s fine. We’re fine,” Eames hurries to say. “Why would you tell me? I was a colleague at best, bane of your existence at worst. I had— I have no right—“

“I should have told you because I did know you,” Arthur interrupts him. “I was supposed to know. You said possibilities? I am supposed to be the one who sees them— all of them. I’m the one who has to prepare for all scenarios, know the players, do the research and put the pieces together. That is what I do, Eames. And I missed something.” Arthur takes a shuddering breath, looking forlorn and tired. “I’m so sorry for missing the most important part.”

“You can’t apologise for missing something that wasn’t even really there yet.”

“Yes, I can. I’m sorry for missing our potential. For underestimating us. Underestimating you.” Arthur laughs. “I’m so fucking stupid. I thought you kept searching for me out of— curiosity. Or that I fucked up, left a trail somewhere and you wanted to prove to me that you found it, you figured it out. Fuck. I never thought it was because you missed me.”

“I did,” Eames says, and it almost chokes him. “Every day.”

Arthur looks at him then, eyes flicking to the side, his hair covering half of his face, but his smile is visible. “You know, I did too. That’s why I knew you were looking for me. Kept tabs on you, even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.”

Eames swallows at the sight— at the hope it instills in him. Arthur let him, yes. It could have been a kindness. But this smile, shy and bashful, and the words that follow it. Maybe potential comes in twos. “I didn’t keep looking because I missed you,” Eames tells him, because he has no time for secrets anymore, no time for regret, for either of them. “I kept looking because I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t bear it. Darling.” Eames slips his hands from Arthur’s wrists and puts them on either side of Arthur’s face instead, bracketing the smile. “You’re my future. You couldn’t be dead.”

“I’m not,” Arthur tells him, like a confession of his own. “I’m not dead, Eames.”

“Good.” Eames pulls him in closer, and Arthur lets him. He lets him trace the smile with his thumbs, lets him breathe close against his mouth and whisper, “Next time darling, when decide to you kill yourself. Kill me too.”

The grin that blooms doesn’t fit between Eames’ fingers, so he kisses Arthur instead. Deep, possessive. Loving. Arthur lets him, and he never stops.

#arthur/eames #fanfiction #fanfic #inception #inception fic #inception fic rec #arthur/eames fic #dreamhusbands #dreamhusbands fic #im back to writing?#honestly from all the wips and ideas that i have #no clue why this one ended up being the first #but i like how it turned out

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floreleine · 4 years ago

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That GM prequel fic - part 3: Florence's POV

Part 1 (Madeleine, <1k, G)

Part 2 (Scarlet, 1k, G)

Ships: Floreleine & ScarletMay

Hiding the entire fic under the readmore this time for Part 1+2 spoiler reasons! This one's also rated G (or T if we're going for swear words and alcohol consumption I guess), a little over 1k words.

There will be at least 1 more part of this, and then I might post a revised and possibly longer version to ao3.

Bc idk where to put this in the fic itself yet, quick setting overview: they're not sitting around a table but instead Florence and Madeleine are sitting on a small couch, Scarlet is next to Madeleine on a wobbly kitchen chair and Anna May is sitting opposite them on a barstool at the kitchen aisle.

That night, the librarians plus Scarlet (and minus Baby, who is sleeping in the next room under a security camera that both Madeleine and Scarlet insist on checking every other minute) are sitting in the kitchen together for dinner and a drink.

Or five drinks in Anna May's case, as she downs the first one in one go and hasn't let go of the Whiskey bottle since. Florence can't blame her, really - if Madeleine had run off with some guy, no matter how early in their relationship, only to return a year later with tears and a baby... She has no idea what she'd be doing right now.

Madeleine and Scarlet are talking about the child right now, sharing child-caring advice - Florence is fairly certain that Madeleine has her knowledge from books and only from books, but she seems to have picked out sound advice from all that she has read at least - and Florence has to smile fondly at how Madeleine is glowing at the prospect of having a child in the library.

Scarlet is careful in her replies, not wanting to commit to anything, her eyes shifting back to Anna May whenever she doesn't think that the others are looking.

'She's afraid she'll kick her out after all,' Florence thinks with a quiet sigh. 'Can't blame her, Anna knows how to hold a grudge, and with how she is drinking right now... It isn't her friendliest appearance'.

Still, she thinks that they will work it out. They better. It's been a while since she has seen Anna May have an emotional reaction to just about anything, and it can't be healthy to keep it all locked inside, pushing all chances of happiness away.

Madeleine must have heard her sigh, and she leans back against Florence's side. Florence squeezes her arm, content to have her by her side, glad that they, at least, don't have to worry about their relationship status. Being with Madeleine always relaxes her, makes her feel like everything is alright in the world.

Madeleine presses a kiss to her chin and, after checking that both Scarlet and Anna May are looking down at their glasses, nods in the direction of the door. 'Should we give those two some privacy?'

Florence tilts her head for a moment to consider, then shakes her head, nodding at Anna May, and Madeleine winces a little. Yes, Anna is barely keeping it together now, who knows what she may say or rather shout if they left them alone... Anna May should get a chance to cool down, before she ends up saying something she doesn't mean and would regret.

As if on cue, Anna May throws back the rest of the Whiskey in her glass in one gulp and loudly brings it down on the kitchen counter as if to dispel the silence that has fallen.

"Fuck."

Madeleine looks like she wants to remind her about cursing with children in the house again, but Florence squeezes her arm to stop her. They don't need to irritate Anna May even more right now.

"I'm sorry," Scarlet says immediately. Florence doesn't think that she is apologizing for anything in particular, just for the situation in general, for present and past.

Anna May gets up and turns around, putting her glass in the sink and turning on the water, but then just leaning against it with her hands holding onto the metal edge and her knuckles turning white.

Florence is trying to decide whether to step in or not when Scarlet speaks up again in a shaky voice. "I can - I can leave, I don't have to -" she gets up, clearly ready to bolt, and Anna May flinches, but she doesn't turn back around.

"No-one's" leaving, Florence says at the same time as Madeleine says "No, don't be silly!" They share a smile, and then Madeleine squeezes her hand before getting up and walking over to Madeleine. "Come on, let me show you everything. You can sleep in the room with Samantha, me and Florence aren't really using it much anyway."

Florence watches them go with a soft smile. Madeleine always knows what to do, what to say. She's so grateful to have her.

Once the other two have left, Florence goes up to Anna May and slams the still-running tap down, making her jump.

"Stop wasting water and get a hold of yourself, Anna!"

Anna May whirls around, clearly ready to fight, but Florence just throws her a deadpan look and she deflates.

"Fuck, I don't know what to do." She slurs her words a little, but not as much as Florence would have expected after that much alcohol.

"Right now? You are going to drink some water so you will not be terribly hungover tomorrow. And tomorrow, you have got to think about whether you want that woman and her kid to stick around or not."

Anna May flinches a little, but when Florence sighs and pours her a glass of water, she takes it without protest and gulps most of it down in one go.

"I dun' want her to leave," she then murmurs, staring down at the glass in her hands. "She left me once, I don't want her to leave me again."

Florence sighs and pulls her into a hug. "Bloody hell, Anna, why did you never say anything? You must have been fucking heartbroken, and all you told us was that you gave dating one last chance."

Anna May half-laughs, half-sobs and clings to Florence like a lifeline. "Don't know. Didn't want to be weak. Didn't want it to be real."

"Oh, Anna," Florence sighs and squeezes her tightly. Then she takes a step back and fixes her with a hard look. "You've got to tell her that, you know that, Anna May? She is going to run away just to give you space while you are not talking to her because you're afraid she might run anyway."

Anna May sighs and grimaces a little, but nods. "I - tomorrow. I'll tell her tomorrow, before I can chicken out." she sighs. "I mean, it's not like I know whether she'd want to - whether she still-" she sighs. "She only left me because he didn't want to share, but maybe by now she's just over me."

Florence shrugs. "I can't look in her head, Anna, but from the way she looks at you... I think you guys will figure it out."

Anna May nods uncertainty, then frowns again. "And you'd be fine with it, if she's staying here... Indefinitely? I mean, she has a - kid -" she adds with a somewhat perplexed expression on her face, making Florence laugh. She's half of a mind to say 'congrats, you're a step-mom!' but stops herself at the last second. There will be time for that kind of joke when the peace between Anna May and that Scarlet isn't quite so fragile anymore. "Exactly," she instead replies. "So you know Madeleine will be mad at you forever if you let them get away."

Anna May snorts. "She did seem quite... taken by the kid."

Florence nods, frowning a little herself now. "She's always wanted kids, she just accepted that it isn't sensible in our line of work, and that I am not interested in them anyway. Seeing her with Samantha, now I'm wondering..."

"You did nothing wrong," Anna May reassures her. "And fuck, can you imagine having two kids around? It will be bad enough, trying to protect the one from everybody."

Florence sighs and nods. "I suppose. But I'm sure we'll manage. ...are you going to be alright now, or do I have to hide the Whiskey?"

"I'm not a drunk," Anna May replies a little offended, and Florence grins.

"I know you're not, but you sure made a great impression of one earlier!"

Anna May groans, and then she turns back to the counter to refill her waterglass. "Fuck, I'll be so dead tomorrow."

"Sleep in, then. Me 'n Madeleine will make sure Scarlet won't take off before you're awake and had your talk with her."

Anna May nods sharply. Florence smiles and squeezes her arm. "Well, get some sleep. I'll check on Scarlet and Madeleine."

Anna May nods again, and Florence sees her lean back against the counter with a deep sigh while she is leaving the kitchen. She really hopes that Anna May will take her advice to heart. Some heartbreak can't be avoided- but the one between her and Scarlet doesn't seem quite so inevitable.

Part 4

@phoenixhalliwell @thesevenwondersofawitch another update, hope you liked it!

If anyone else wants to be tagged for this series, lmk! Not tagging my usual GM tag list in every fic update as that would just be spammy.

Taking prompts!

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musinglymuse · 5 years ago

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A grumpy witcher meets a gregarious bard: opposites attract, destiny intervenes. Their friendship spans literal decades, fertile grounds for ample amounts of fanfiction to take root in. The tales of Geralt and Jaskier has it all: joyful meetings, heroics, drama, japery, heartbreak, and sorrowful partings. Just how many songs can a bard make from that?

I’ve compiled some of what I consider excellent fanfics that feature this pairing although it does not contain all of my recommendations. They are listed in no particular order. I plan on creating more recommendation lists in the future and may do so for other fandoms. Please check my blog for other recommendation lists.

As a reminder, please make sure to check the tags and any warnings before reading. Take care of yourself!

Food of Love by tanktrilby Canon Divergence // ~22k // PG-13

I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again.

you follow? by shortcrust Modern AU // Series // ~3k // PG-13

Did @bardofficial win a Grammy? No. But he DID put his husband in a leather tunic for the red carpet and in that sense, we’re all winners tonight

and yet so far from death by SummerFrost Ghost AU // ~31k // NC-17

"Your song about the ghost, then," Maja asks warily. "It's just metaphorical, right?" "Yes, of course, absolutely metaphorical," Jaskier brightly assures her. "No ghosts here." Jaskier's favorite painting falls to the ground. "Bollocks."

New Monster Stories by kathkin Urban Fantasy AU // ~20k // NC-17

“So do you have a name?”

“Yeah.” The man who had saved his life less than an hour ago – the white-haired, absurdly buff, weirdly sexy man Jaskier might have called taciturn if he was feeling charitable and surly if he was feeling less so – dug into his second burger.

Jaskier waited. “Are… you going to tell me what it is?”

The man paused mid-bite, and looked at him reproachfully as if to say how dare you. How dare you interrupt me. Can’t you see I’m enjoying my cheeseburger. Can’t you see this cheeseburger is the most important thing in my life right at the moment. He swallowed, and said, “Geralt.”

Love as You Are by thisgirlsays22 Soulmates AU // ~16k // NC-17

Jaskier didn’t want to marry just any noblewoman--no matter how comely she may be--he wanted adventure and many loves, but most importantly his biggest, greatest love of all.

He is not expecting that love to be in the form of a brooding stranger sitting at the back of a tavern.

In one instant his breath catches in his throat at the beauty of the man before him and in the next, there’s a burning sensation on the bottom of his heel as his mark makes itself known. It’s pain and pleasure knotted together, roses surrounded by thorns.

A Dandelion By Any Other Name by TabbyCat33098 Hanahaki Trope // ~4k // G

Jaskier is throwing up flowers and refuses to tell Geralt who has afflicted him so. As Geralt grapples with Jaskier's impending death, he comes to terms with a few things himself.

home is nowhere, therefore you by Ark Canon Divergence // ~18k // NC-17

"Right, well," Jaskier says, when he halts before Geralt. Up close, he looks much more nervous. There is sweat on his brow and his collar is damp with it, and his teeth keep catching on his lower lip. "True love's kiss. There's—ah—there's nothing to it." And he bends, the utter imbecile, and kisses Geralt full on the mouth.

spring, summer, spring by yogurtgun Canon Divergence // ~32k // NC-17

After spending a treacherous winter together, Jaskier and Geralt make an arrangement: they travel together for three seasons before Jaskier finds a town or a court to winter over until spring. However, this year Geralt meets Jaskier a little earlier than expected, during Imbaelk. Between holiday celebrations, solstices and plum schnapps, Geralt falls in love and loses his way.

Nisraea by spqr Soulmates AU // ~4k // R

Jaskier's seventeen when he pulls the Witcher from the fire.

He has no idea, at the time, that it's a magical fire.

500 Crowns by vands88 Canon Divergence // ~9k // R

Every year, Jaskier finds himself singing at Cintra’s court, watching Geralt’s abandoned Child Surprise grow up.

Skin Deep by sospes Canon Divergence // ~8k // PG-13

“What’s that?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier blinks. “It’s a tattoo,” he says. “Have you never seen a tattoo before, Geralt?”

Geralt fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I know it’s a tattoo,” he says. “What’s it a tattoo of?”

The Sevenfold Path by Star_flaming Canon Divergence // ~17k // G

Geralt had known Jaskier studied at Oxenfurt University, but he had thought of it as a sort of formal music education. It was becoming abundantly clear that while he had indeed studied music and composition, he also knew a lot more than Geralt had ever learned. And it was impressive. And humbling, too.

to render it transparent by theundiagnosable Time Travel AU // ~24k // NC-17

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

Time Again by didoandis Age Regression // ~17k // NC-17

Things you need to know: It’s 1264. You seem to be losing your memory. Also Geralt likes you now.

Jaskier’s losing time. Geralt’s not sure he can live through the last two decades again, especially not backwards.

A Blessing, A Curse by aileenrose Canon Divergence // ~12k // NC-17

"For a while, Jaskier doesn’t know he’s cursed. It feels like free will, going back down that mountain, just as dangerous down as the way up, and alone this time, too. The descent is fast, maybe even reckless, but Jaskier’s feeling numb and out-of-sorts anyways, Geralt’s words simmering in his mind, and at the time it doesn’t feel like he’s being pulled on by anything but his own desire to get away."

#geraskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier fic rec #the witcher fic rec

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varyathevillain · 3 years ago

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I posted 7,117 times in 2021

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For every post I created, I reblogged 61.4 posts.

I added 14,276 tags in 2021

#you've been queued - 4665 posts

#gifs - 3330 posts

#text post - 2180 posts

#art - 864 posts

#beautiful artwork - 648 posts

#rusty quill gaming - 560 posts

#rqg - 547 posts

#rq gaming - 542 posts

#scenery - 517 posts

#way too true - 423 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#david 7 (as much as they can be described as a guy) and trexel. literally every man in rqg and hamid. and then jonmartin are both shitty /hj

My Top Posts in 2021

me: haha Alex wouldn't do an ensemble cast final battle. we'll just have a couple cameos, and most probably will see everyone in the epilogue instead…

Alex: and everyone is here for the final battle!

me with tears in my eyes: AND EVERYONE WAS THERE FOR THE FINAL BATTLE

161 notes • Posted 2021-11-17 17:40:36 GMT

Sasha losing her memories of how to speak English with time and stressing out about it, trying to write down as many words and as much information she can. writing the same letter for her friends over and over until she's sure that it's written in a language that the people she's writing to can understand; wishing to tell every single little detail, describe every single one of her children, but crying her eyes out as it hits how many words Sasha had forgot

169 notes • Posted 2021-08-30 09:52:43 GMT

we're coming to the finale of its first and longest running (6 and a half years in progress!) campaign, Erasing the Line, finishing next week on 1st of December, on 218 episode.

it's one of the AP podcasts that I can, and do, recommend on par with such giants like The Adventure Zone and Critical Role, and for me personally? it's even better.

thank you to everyone in the fandom for being here with me. see you next week.

we've got this.

179 notes • Posted 2021-11-24 18:45:09 GMT

post-canon Wilde, at any inconvenience: I didn't die for this. can you imagine? me, dying for this? [gestures dramatically] TWICE?

221 notes • Posted 2021-09-01 18:28:29 GMT

thought of how the "Aziza looks like woman Hamid" is played for laughs from Bertie's perspective, but let's say it's not. let's say that they're similar enough someone might've jokingly compared them to being twins separated by time in the past. and with how Hamid might've not had the opportunity or moments to cut his hair during the weeks (I think now months?) since the day Aziza died... imagine him, surviving the end of the world, now with longer hair, maybe even tied hastily with a ribbon or a tie, catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror and mistaking it for Aziza for just enough moments to remember that she's gone, and Hamid is still here, just suddenly breaking down... pain.

249 notes • Posted 2021-11-19 13:52:20 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #well! who woulda thunked that my number one fandom would be rqg /j #rqg spoilers #because this post be spoiling RQG through my top posts :|#text post #long post

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jenmyeons · 5 years ago

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Favorite Fics 2019

hi hello it’s me your local mess. ok so this hit me on my way to work the other day and since it’s friday i feel like today is a good day to hopefully make someone’s day/night/weekend a little brighter?

i love reading fanfics. periodt. there are lots of incredible writers out there on this site and other platforms who take time to write beautiful fics about the real people and characters and their emotional support kpop ladies and gentlemen to show their love and appreciation so i want to dedicate this to my favorite fics of this year. these fanfics are of varying lengths and genres but they all have two things in common 1) they were posted this year 2) i love them.

(most of these are exo but i have some other groups sprinkled in there too)

other favorite fics of mine can be found under my fic recs tag!

A Decade of Midnights by @chogi-wae

queen of noir! grumpy chenneth! sexy detectives! murder mystery! do i even have to say anything else? oh yes! we also get coroner!baekhyun

ps: jae has a sequel started for this with two parts already having me at the edge of my seat. i love all of jae’s writing but this one takes the cake

Enough by @yeoldontknow

anything kat touches turns golden and holy mother of everything that is self-love and reflection. this is a fic for all us sexy ladies with a body that doesn’t conform to what society has decided is “beautiful”. i can’t call myself plus size in any way but i do not have a flat tummy or legs for days or perky titties. quite the opposite; i’m a short lady with love handles, saggy tits and stomach rolls (yes we’re going tmi here but it’s important ok). park chanyeol is the opposite of that and he’s the best fucking man ever in this fic. he’s a muscle man but he’s a man with the biggest heart and he says “you have a cute butt” which is enough reason for you to read this. when i feel bad about myself, i think about enough and i become a little happier

Empty Vessels

another yeoldontknow masterpiece! i stand by the statement that this is the best fic i have ever read. probably read this five times already and i think about it almost daily. junmyeon is a witch from salem and that’s only one of the many reasons for you to check this out and hopefully fall in love with it as much as i have. it’ll rip your heart out and stomp on it. dub me professional empty vessels promoter already kat!!

Dichotomy by @kyungseokie

dia hurts you in the best possible way with this fic. bawl my eyes out every damn time i read this because fucking hell this is emotional investment and hearts broken and everything hurts and this is not your average love triangle where one guy is obviously worse than the other. NO! this can go either way and you just want everyone to be happy and baekhyun needs a hug!

Teacher’s Pet by @suhoerections

teacher junmyeon getting called daddy “threatening” to bend you over his desk and fuck you hard is a lot for a suhoe stan such as myself to think about but i’m not mad, just jorny.

Clouded by @mayrubyy

uhm yes do you want to cry some more? this is an emotional rollercoaster, you have been warned! this fic has great potential and it’s maya’s child and when the next part is posted you know shit will go down and ashjgff i have no words only love for both the author aka my baby and the fic itself🥺💖

Familiar Stranger by @myforeverforlife

love love love love LOVE familiar stranger! a beautiful story about reader losing all memories of the last five years due to an accident which includes her entire life with fiancé kim jongdae. dae is an angel, we all know that, but he’s somehow even more angelic as the most patient person ever in familiar stranger. this hits right in the feels (can you tell i love to read angst ahjdsf) and it’s not your usual wham bam thank you ma’am all-memories-recovered-in-five-seconds kind of situation either and i’m praying for another update of this because this is not just one of the best fics of this year but one of my favorites period.

Sunny Side Up by @dreaminghaos

i love everything fee writes with a burning passion y’all

this fic is everything everything everything!!! i can’t get enough of this fic and i probably never will get enough of it either because i love this pairing and i’m in love with struggling writer!jeonghan

Magnetic by @softyexo

did anyone say ceo!myeon? this is a recent love of mine. i read it just the other day and have been thinking about it non-stop since. absolutely in love with oc’s and junmyeon’s dynamic in this one and it feeds all my lovesickness for this man made of pure husband material. thanks for coming to this ted talk.

Hold on to silence by @dropsofletters

amazing! show stopping! incredibly unique! absolutely astonishing! idiots in love! omg i LOVE this one! yixing as chanhun’s manager is everything i didn’t know i needed and holy crap this is such a lovely story please read it and experience the feels™

Neon Moon by @kyungseokie

they were roleplaying! ROLEPLAYING!

Trauma by @baekwell--tart

dad and secret mafia man!byun falls in love with his babysitter after being an absolute asshole to her and oh my god i am so invested in this masterpiece. whenever bella updates trauma i yell. i’ve re-read this many times already and i continue to find new reasons why i love this story with my whole entire being

Mr. Byun

bella once again proving that she writes the most amazing bbh fics. angst and smut combined i swear i was a whole lot worked up with all the spice in this one and then i cried like a baby when it ended. have i told you that i’m a very emotionally stable person?🤡

Bedazzling Heart of Gold by @baekonsforbreakfast

i love this song! baekhyun gets dumped and falls in love with oc who runs one of the biggest hostess bars in all of sk and holy crap you just love everyone in this fic. even that one character who you feel like you should hate but kind of still empathize with on a deeply emotional level. no? just me? ok then. i love you belle and i hope you know how much i enjoy your writing💗

Mr. Muscles by @chogi-wae

short and sweet drabble about oc biting jun’s bicep. no but for real i’ve read this one countless times and i just love a domestic jun so go ahead and read duality and dyson as well because nobody writes cute domestic fluff like jae ilysm

Money Makes Her Smile by @ninibears-erigom

mrs gom has written one of the dirtiest but also loveliest smut series of 2019. jongdae’s part was posted yesterday and holy fuck i have never read better jongdae smut ever i think

Business Before Pleasure by @pcychedelic

actor minseok! i repeat: actor minseok!

they get down and dirty in like the second chapter and i’m in love. not because of the obvious spiciness but because the amazing portrayal of minseok in this fic. love a strong female character? then you will love oc too!

High Voltage by @skyesins

SIN! THIS IS SIN! I LOVED EVERY SINGLE PART OF THIS FIC AND PART TWO IS EVEN BETTER!

there’s also the original ofc version on asian fanfics for those who aren’t into reader inserts and it’s just as good!

Literally every single aesthetic that @kpop-daze has written but some favorites include exo as broken love / exo as ephemeral tenderness / ��exo as fleeting heartbreak

Unfitting by @heechulhamster

SOLDIER MINSEOK SOLDIER MINSEOK SOLDIER MINSEOK that is all

no wait... this has real descendants of the sun vibes and i love it so much can i have a soldier!xiu por favor

Fire and Frost by @writing-exo-things

queen of drabbles! i love every single one of them but this one is next level™ i cried like a baby this is truly amazing!!!

Take Care by @omyeol

g o d i felt this fic on a deeply spiritual and emotional level

False Hope by @pastel-kpop

i hate you and i love you for writing this it still hurts reading this like YES MAKE ME HURT AYESHA THEY ARE IDIOTS

Mocha by @stainandscribble

the whole café series is lovely but mocha and espresso really stuck out to me i’m so soft for the whole aesthetic of these!

ever imagined that jackson wang is your date to your brother’s wedding? well @softseunies did and it turned out fucking amazing! what i love the most is that it’s very open for interpretation and of course jackson is always a mood when will he be my date and mayhaps potential bf at the wedding of the brother i don’t have?

little forest by @myforeverforlife

I LOVE THIS! DO YOU HEAR ME?! L O V E THIS!

not his to love by @boogerines

can you hear me sobbing? this hurts so much let me go back to crying over this again after i re-read this for the nth time

this blurb right here is adorable @sprinklesofktrash did that!

wild valley by @fairyyeols

wild valley is that bitch™ and that’s all i have to say i live and breathe for this installation of exo customs my favorite, in fact

blossoms in the wind by @marshmallow-phd

don’t @ me but this goblin!au with junmyeon as the goblin and baekhyun as the grim reaper is more intriguing than the drama and that’s saying a lot but i cry with every new chapter ohmygoddddd

wrong number by @yeoldotcom

i’m a hoe for fake texts and zee makes the best ones🥺🥺🥺🥺

also love love love bf!jun in food buddies

break up with me by @exoangst

don’t mind me i’m just crying in a corner as i read this for the millionth time and cry over how well written oc is and how fucking amazing that breakup scene is like has anyone done it like that before? maybe, idk but this is the only one that counts

#fic recs #2019 favorites #here it is!#I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH YOU'RE ALL AMAZING AND I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT #got carried away as usual but i love to support content creators on this hellsite #maybe i'll do this for other things as well?#drama recs anyone?

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ladybugsfanfics · 5 years ago

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Redamancy | Tom Hiddleston

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader

Style: One Shot

WC: 4.3k

Warnings: Angst, so much angst (though with a happy ending), I want to be clear that there is smth going on here that isn’t light and is pretty serious. I don’t want to tag it due to spoilers, but I also feel the need to say so. I’ve tagged the theme in the actual tags as a tw so if you feel like this may apply to you, please check or send me a message and I’ll let you know (if anyone feels i should i add it here, i will do so. just let me know).

Summary: Anonymous requested: “Reader and Tom are dating for years and he's planning on proposing, but on the day he does, Reader says no and break up with him. The poor guy is devasted, and he keeps thinking during months what he did wrong... [request cut due to spoilers]”

A/N: This is some of the hardest shit I’ve ever written. It’s angsty, it’s heartbreaking, but there is a happy ending and I hope you all like this and that your hearts break as much as mine did writing it ^_^

redamancy (n.)

the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full

Tom opens the black box one more time.

On the inside lies a ring. Its silver metal works its way into a perfect circle, though a little before the diamond takes its place, the circle cuts into two lines that snake around each other. One of the snakes is lined with diamonds, but the real eye catcher is the round diamond perched on top.

When he’d picked it out, he’d told the goldsmith he didn’t have a budget (now he didn’t spend that much on it, but he didn’t hold back either). The diamond is a flawless, one carat that he hopes will tell you how much he loves you.

He’s even planned the night down to the second. And it’s all about to start, as soon as you leave out the door.

Tom closes the box again, sighs happily, and holds onto the ache in his lungs. The butterflies have been fluttering around his gut for two weeks, finally it’s settled for another (albeit not better) feeling.

He slips the box into the inner pocket of his jacket and walks out of your shared bedroom. And in the hallway, twirling in front of the mirror, stands you. You’re dressed in a beautiful black dress that hugs your torso and flows into a deep length at your legs―the only reason it doesn’t reach the floor is the pair of high heels you’re wearing.

“You look…” The word gets lost in his throat as you turn around, the dazzling smile on your lips now directed at him. “... absolutely stunning.”

“Thanks, handsome.” You walk the few steps needed to get close to him. “You look absolutely dazzling, yourself.” And Tom isn’t sure he can speak after you press your lips to his.

Maybe he should just skip the whole plan and propose to you now, only so that he can take off that dress and show you how good you make him feel, show you how much he loves you.

But he clears his mind and smiles. “Shall we go, m’lady?” he asks and holds out his arm for you to take.

“We shall, m’lord.” You giggle up at him as you take his arm, and you walk like that to the limousine Tom had ordered for the evening. Something which is a surprise to you and have you look up at him with wide eyes and the biggest smile Tom has ever seen.

He had listened that time you told him you wanted to take one. Why not make the most of it when he’s going to propose anyway?

The driver holds the door open for the two of you. You both thank him as you get in, and a few short moments later, the car is driving and you’re both sitting with a champagne glass each in your hands. You’re leaning on Tom, chin on his shoulder and looking up at him with the most adorable smile he’s ever seen.

He can’t help himself; he presses a kiss to your lips, though when you pull back a little, he doesn’t let you go and captures your lips with his again. Every moment with you, is a moment his world is on fire, and by each moment, his world gets better and better. Tom is never letting you go.

After a half hour drive, the limousine pulls to a stop. The driver is quickly there to open the door and Tom helps you out after he’s gotten out himself. A few stares from the pavement comes your way, but when you don’t seem to notice, Tom lets himself ignore them as well.

(It is the first time you’re really out, despite having been together for exactly three years―the anniversary part was a great excuse to get you dazzled up and out for his plan―but Tom’s always been secretive and you’ve never minded the privacy shared within your home. So going out into the public eye hasn’t been done a lot, but if you don’t mind now that he’s finally going to propose, he doesn’t either.)

“Tom,” you say, lightly hitting him in the chest, as you make your way inside the restaurant. “This is a really expensive restaurant. I know you’re rich and all but… Isn’t it too much?”

“For you, darling, nothing is ever too much.” It sounds as cheesy as it did in his head, but by the smile on your face, he doesn’t care. He presses another kiss to your lips before you stop by the hostess’s stand.

A woman behind it greets you with a big smile, and asks if you’ve reserved or not. Tom smiles at her and says his last name, garnering a bigger smile and a bright ‘follow me’. She brings with her two menus and leads the two of you to the back of the restaurant.

Compared to the front, it’s far more romantic. With candles lit, the light slightly dimmed and a window seating staring out onto the Thames. The night has fallen over London, and the table you get basks in the little moonlight that streams in through the window.

Tom’s heart squeezes when you try to suppress a slight squeal at the sight. He helps you with your chair as you’re about to sit down, and moves for a kiss before he sits down himself.

(He’s catching himself doing that a lot more than he usually does, but seeing as he enjoys it and it seems you do too, he makes a mental note not to stop.)

“We’re only doing dinner and dessert, right? Not an appetizer or more shit that’ll make me feel as if my anniversary present isn’t enough?” Your tone is playful and light, but Tom can hear the slight insecurity behind it.

He shakes his head. “Only dinner and dessert,” he replies. “Only, you can’t choose the dessert. I’ve already chosen one and I can’t have you suddenly changing your mind even though I suppose you would choose it anyway.”

“Now I can’t wait for dessert,” you say, and laugh. “But I bet you’re also choosing the wine, and the dinner and maybe even how I eat?”

You’re smiling, but Tom feels slightly self-conscious about it. He had said it was a surprise, but admittedly, he had probably also been a bit bossy whilst getting you to go along with everything. “You can choose whatever you like. I recommend a wine that goes with your food, though, love.”

“You do? How surprising.”

Tom nods and smiles at the glint in your eyes. God, you’re beautiful.

And that’s how the rest of dinner goes. Tom focuses on all the little aspects of you. The way you laugh; the slight tug at your lips whenever you think you’re being clever; the sparkle in your eyes that draws him in and doesn’t let go; the mesmerizing smile that rips out his heart and swallows it, keeping it to yourself forever.

There isn’t anything about you that makes Tom question your worth, but everything has him second guessing your choice of him. He can’t fathom what he ever did to deserve you.

Something he will show when the dessert comes.

It comes whilst you’re laughing at something he said. A simple brownie with raspberries and strawberries on top, sprinkled with powdered sugar. The dish itself looks simple, as if today is nothing more than an ordinary day.

(And he didn’t do the thing about hiding the ring in the dish. He didn’t dare).

However, the brownie means something. To both of you.

On your very first date, you’d ordered a simple brownie with berries on top and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Just before the dessert comes―and Tom had ordered something else―you’d said that when it came to sweets, you sucked at sharing and that he should never expect to get any if you got your hands on something good. But when it came, and he didn’t mind letting you taste his, you let him taste yours and, as a slip of the tongue, said that that was the first time you’d ever shared food on a date.

Tom had never felt as special as he did that day. The date had ended with a kiss, a sweet kiss that to this day lingered on his lips. But the brownie symbolized the very start of your relationship, and he’d always joked that if he ever were to propose, he’d make a reference back to when you first started dating.

Now, he can see it dawns on you that that’s what today is. Your face goes through a series of emotions; starting from happy at the sight, to confusion, to shock, to a stare at Tom that takes his breath away, and then, your face blanks.

However, Tom has already stood up. He’s making his way down on one knee and he’s pulled the black box out of where it lay in his pocket. He holds it securely between his hands and looks up at you with the most loving expression he knows.

A hand covers your mouth. A tear runs down your face.

“Y/N,” he starts. The nerves can be heard in his voice, already on your name it shakes. “On this day, three years ago, we went out on our first date. I could never have wished for a more perfect night than that night, and yet you give me a more perfect night every night. Every moment I’m with you is the best of my life, and I want nothing more than to share the rest of my life with you.”

He takes a deep breath. His eyes find yours, tears are streaming down your face. In the moment, he isn’t sure whether they’re happy tears or not. But he gathers the rest of his courage, and as the words leave his mouth he opens the black box. “Y/N Y/L/N, will you be my wife? Will you marry me?”

Tom gazes expectantly up at you. He’s been planning this for so long, he’s been waiting to hear a yes for so long. How could you say anything less when, despite the occasional fights, you seem to love him more and more each day?

Only, you’re not saying anything. And if Tom’s not wrong, there’s a slight look of horror on your face.

Tom’s heart shatters into a million pieces as you shake your head. “No,” you whisper, the word barely audible. “No, Tom, I can’t… I can’t.”

“Why?” he asks, and he holds the ring with one hand only, taking your hand in his. You’re shaking, and the tears he couldn’t decipher before he can now see are sad tears.

“I can’t.” You shake your head. “I have to go.”

Before Tom can say anything, you’ve stood up from your seat and are rushing out of the restaurant. Tom falls to his butt on the floor, his heart lost somewhere on the ground and his lungs constricting in on him. He’s not sure he can breathe, he’s not sure he has any ounce of energy left in him to get up.

The only thought swirling around in his mind is the one that will be his downfall.

What did I do wrong?

---

It took two days before the text came. A text that twisted his heart, had his already bloodshot eyes fill with more tears, and his heart crush into a million tiny pieces he was certain he couldn’t ever glue back together.

At least not without you.

I’m sorry, Tom, but I don’t think we should see each other anymore.

The text haunts him every time he looks at it, and he keeps looking at it, hoping it’s a nightmare. But when your best friend comes a few days later with their partner and clears out your belongings, it hits him how real it is.

He tries not to let it show. He doesn’t want them to know how much he’s hurting. But he isn’t sure how well it comes off, not with how his clutching Bobby to his chest and the dog keeps licking away his tears.

Tom knows he’s a mess, and he lets it show when the two friends of yours leave with your things. He lets the tears stream down his cheeks, lets the sobs loose, and clutches Bobby tighter to his chest―but not so tight it hurts the dog.

And that’s how he is for the next few months. He keeps up appearances wherever he’s needed, and he continues to do his job, keeping up the pretence that nothing’s bothering him. But he crashes on his couch whenever he gets home, he cries himself to sleep night after night after night.

During it all, he racks his brain as to why you would leave him. It doesn’t add up, it doesn’t make sense, he can’t seem to figure out the reason. Maybe if you had given him one, it would have been easier to get through it…

However, Tom doesn’t give up. He sends you countless texts, doesn’t care that you leave them all on read. He calls, his heart breaking every time you don’t pick up. Yet, he isn’t sure if he has a heart left breaking after all.

It’s late at night when his phone rings. The snow has laid down on the streets, and the moonlight shines through the window off Tom’s apartment. He reaches for the phone, unsure whether or not he wants to answer.

Until he sees the caller ID.

Y/BFF/N Y/BBF/L/N

His thumb hovers over the green phone icon. He contemplates not answering, contemplates showing them the same treatment as he has gotten from you over the last few months.

But he decides against it. What if something has happened to you?

Tom’s thumb presses the button and he puts the phone to his ear. “Tom Hiddleston,” he says.

“Hi, this is Y/BFF/N. You probably don’t really want to talk to me, but I need you to listen.” Their voice sounds shaky, and Tom’s mind spirals into the worst possible probabilities.

But as they said, Tom doesn’t really want to talk to them. Listen, he will.

He can hear their breath on the other side, and when he doesn’t hang up, it sounds like a relieved sigh. “I didn’t know at first why you and Y/N broke up. I thought it was something different than what it was, but she told me today. I thought you broke up with her by how devastated she was.”

Y/BFF/N takes a deep breath. Tom braces himself for what comes next. He’s almost certain the words will be that he missed his shot; she got hit by a bus, or fell off a bridge. Anything that makes his lungs constrict in on him and shatter the few remnants of his heart.

“She’s got cancer. She’s being treated and things are looking bright, but there’s no saying for sure. She found out a little before your anniversary and didn’t want to tell you just yet because that would make it real. She said no because she thinks you deserve better than someone who might die before the wedding even happens. I don’t think she thought it through, but they say her survival chances are good. I thought you should know.”

Tom takes a little time to catch his breath. He wants to yell, he wants to cry, but most of all, he wants to hold you.

“Where can I find her?” he asks, voice hoarser than he expected.

“She’s at her parent’s. She’s going through it with us, but I know she misses you, and I hope you can be there with her.”

“I will. Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course.”

With no hesitation, he hangs up the phone. Tom jumps off the couch, packs a little bag with some clothes and some other necessities, and food for Bobby. In less than ten minutes, he’s out of the apartment with Bobby in tow and rushing to his car.

It takes half an hour to drive to your parents, but Tom makes it in twenty minutes by going over the speed limit. He can’t wait to see you, to kiss you, to tell you that he loves you, and to chide you for keeping it hidden from him.

He parks in the driveway and walks out of the car with Bobby. He leaves the bag there, too busy wanting to find you.

As he rings the doorbell, he can feel his heart beating a mile a minute. His head pounds and his hands feel clammy. Tom doesn’t understand why he’s so nervous. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable―or maybe he hasn’t after all?

The door opens, and there you stand.

You look tired. Dark rings under your eyes, red rims around them and only half a smile to spare him. Bobby jumps up at you as he sees you and you crouch down to pet the dog. You kiss the top of his head and let him lick you, his little tail wagging frantically.

“Let me take him.”

Tom didn’t notice your mother coming up behind you, but she pries Bobby’s leash from his hand and takes the dog with her inside. He follows happily after, now showering your mom with love, though less than what he showed you.

But with his hands free, Tom pulls you to him. He presses you tightly against him in a hug, and breathes in the smell of you. He’d missed it. How you always smell fresh, always smelled as if you just showered.

He can feel his shirt getting wet, and pulls you a little away from him. You’re smiling, but the tears keep falling down your face and Tom does his best to wipe them away. The touch has his skin burn, has a tear fall down his own cheek because it makes him realize how much he missed you.

And then he can’t keep himself from it. He captures your lips in his. You sink together, pressing as tightly as you can. Your hands move instantly to wrap around his neck and his circle around your waist to press you close. It feels like he’s on fire. Like you’re a magnet and he can’t stop the pull he feels towards you, he can only go with it. His heart keeps beating in his chest, pounding in his head, drumming in his veins.

All the feelings that he’s missed during the months you were apart, comes rushing back at once, lighting him with adrenaline, with passion, with relief. The pleasure of finally kissing you again has his body loosen up, rest from the tense position it’s been stuck in since you left.

He wants to kiss you forever, never let go.

But you have to step away to breathe, and when you break apart, he presses a kiss to your forehead and drags you back into his embrace. Your head rests on his chest and his fingers run through the soft strands of your hair.

Neither of you say anything. Neither of you move from where you stand. Neither of you care when the snow starts falling, settling in your hair and on your exposed skin.

Neither of you care about anything but staying in each others embrace. Everything else comes second, first priority is to show each other the affection you’ve both been missing.

---

Tom waits until you’re inside and alone in your bedroom to say anything. You’ve latched onto his hand, grip tight and knuckles white. He doesn’t mind, only basks in the closeness.

You sit down on your bed, dragging him to you and clutching his arm tighter to your chest. The smile on your face is a mixture of guilt and relief.

“I’m sorry.” The words are hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Tom smiles. He wipes away the tear that travels down your cheek with his thumb. You lean into his touch and he wraps his arms around you, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

He says the words over and over again as he rubs circles on your back. When you pull out of the embrace, he kisses your forehead. “What made you hide it?”

“I… I wasn’t sure how to tell you. And then everything happened all at once. I didn’t want to ruin your career and I didn’t want to say yes when there is a possibility that I might not be here for it.”

“Never say that.” He presses a kiss to your lips. “You cannot ruin anything as long as you’re in my life. We will get through this together, I promise.”

You smile. “If we do, can I say yes?”

Tom nods, a smile growing on his face. He captures your lips in another kiss, and when you part, rests his forehead against yours. “I will never take back my question, but I did leave the ring at home so your finger can’t be jeweled just yet.”

“That was not one of my worries,” you say and let out a quiet laugh. The happiness on your face makes your tired features look a little alive again.

---

Healing takes time.

Healing takes strength.

Healing takes… a lot.

Tom’s exhausted.

Even as he’s with you, helping you work through it and doing his best to be there, he’s also working. His closest know, help, but it pains him not to be there for you everyday.

It helps that you get better. Little by little you quicken, you smile more, you find hope. And you start to plan a wedding.

Which is what Tom finds you doing when he comes home after a month away―it pained him. You’re lying on the couch in the living room, magazine in your lap and a pen between your teeth. One hand rests at the magazine’s spine, whilst the other switches the page.

You don’t notice him at first, only when he coughs to gain your attention do you spare a glance his way. And as you see him, a light shines on your face and you jump from the couch. In his embrace, you hide your head in the crook of his neck and your arms snake around him tighter than ever before.

“You have been gone way too long,” you whisper. “I’ve missed you.”

Tom places a kiss where your shoulder peeks up from your top. “I’ve missed you too, love. How are you?”

You pull back from him and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m great. The doctor says there is a good chance for a full recovery. I might actually beat this.”

“Darling, that’s fantastic.” Tom cups your cheek. “But I have never doubted it. You are the strongest person I know, and I couldn’t bear it if you weren’t here with me.”

“No, of course not. You can’t doubt it because you wouldn’t be able to live without me, baby.” You scrunch your nose up at him. “You’d be totally lost without me.”

Tom laughs. He captures your lips in another kiss. A hungrier and more demanding one, but he doesn’t push it. He relishes in the smile that forms within the kiss, in the fluttery feeling deep in his gut, and in the way his heart squeezes being close to you.

“Now, you’ve started wedding planning?” he asks as he breaks the kiss.

You nod excitedly and turn to get back to your magazine. “Okay, so I’ve been doing some thinking, and I don’t want anything really big. Especially with everything going on, but I thought we’d invest something in it, anyways.”

There are words hanging from your lips, unspoken. The glee in your eyes carefully hide away the fear that lurks inside, but Tom knows you, has known you for so long, that you can’t hide it.

But he also knows not to comment. So he nods, and he smiles and he listens to everything you have to say, wanting this to be the wedding of your dreams. He doesn’t care if it becomes expensive or cheap, or if it doesn’t live up to a fantasy he once had. He couldn’t care even if he so wanted to, because all that matters to him, is that he gets to marry you.

---

It’s a month before the wedding when you get the all clear; you’re cancer free. The joy radiates off of you, and Tom couldn’t be happier. It’s the best wedding present he could wish for.

In that month, time flies by faster than he can comprehend. Everything needs to be done before the wedding, but most of all, you celebrate life.

And when the wedding comes, he doesn’t really focus on anything but the fact that he's married to you. He got the love of his life, he got to marry you, and you’re cancer free. There’s nothing to worry about.

Well, there’s the slight thing about having the kids talk (he wants at least one), especially after you’d come home after being at the doctors and gotten the news that you couldn’t have children anymore. You’d broken down in his arms, cried your heart out, and he’d tried to comfort you but he knew how much it meant. And he’d kept from bringing it up again.

Until a month after the wedding, and your honeymoon was over. He tries to step carefully around the subject, unsure how you’ll react to his words.

“Darling,” he asks.

You look up at him, a small smile placed on your lips. “What’s up?”

“I have been thinking lately.” He takes a deep breath. “About kids.”

The smile on your face grows bigger. “Thank God,” you say, “because I have, too. I’ve been looking into some adoption agencies, but I didn’t want to rush things and I wanted a clear view on some before I proposed the idea to you.”

Tom smile grows wide and he moves closer to you, and captures your lips in a kiss. “So, it’s settled. We’re going to try and adopt?”

And you nod and smile so big Tom’s heart skips a beat.

God, he’s the luckiest man in the world.

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