#it makes me deeply uncomfortable and annoyed to have them short short

[transcarcinization]

my nails just have to stay long for my sanity. they’re short (by my standards) for work rn but they’re still a good ways over my fingertips. if i have nails shorter then my fingertips i start to experience catastrophic system collapse

[uranometrias]

goodbye love, you flew right by , spencer reid

this was inspired by the season fourteen episode 'truth or dare'... it's my take on the jeid confession aftermath. listen to ceilings while you read, but don't think too deeply into it, because the story has a happy ending... this is only part 1 though, and it ends on a awkward/angsty note, so sorry. reader passes out from a head blow.

i wanted it to be short, but i have no self control.

you tried to keep your mind on your training, you didn't really have time to panic, you needed to stay calm. you focused all your energy on your breathing, willed your fear away with thoughts of better things. you didn't even want to focus on the fact that spencer was across from you, hands pinned behind his back as he stared up at the manic man that was currently holding you, your boyfriend, and your closest work friend hostage. you believed in your team, and what you were capable of, you knew without a doubt you'd make it out alive.

"casey..." spencer speaks, his voice has matured over the years, rightfully. he sounds so official, and you find yourself sitting a touch straighter at the sharpness behind his words. jj was standing up, eyes glued directly on your captor, her face was pinched up with the proof of her worry. she catches your eye, and looks forlorn, you only hope that she sees the resilience resting in your own eyes, as you try and offer a semblance of hope through your own gaze.

"shut up!" he shouts, and his gun is aimed at spencer. he spits the words out, quickly stomping towards jj as he forced her to the floor.

"okay, okay!" she exclaims, and it's clear that he's hurting her. his patience has run thin, and jj's plan of getting through to him by playing along with his sick 'truth or dare' game was proving to be all for not. your foot unconsciously begins to tap, likely a nervous habit that you have no time to unpack. you're still too busy trying to appear unbothered, it always seemed to tick the unsubs off when it seemed like their bravado meant nothing. that's what you needed. you couldn't afford to let him think that he scared you.

"last chance." and his gun's trained directly at jj's head. "something you'd never say aloud, not even to your friends here." and casey's whirling around to point the gun in your direction, you think it might have been a mistake for him to turn around. when he sees your foot tapping his face contorts, he's annoyed with you, angry with you. your arms are uncomfortable from the way they were taped together behind your back, and the foot tapping has become involuntary.

his reaction is almost instantaneous, and you think you understand why the team's always telling you not to get so lost in your own mind.

casey's grabbing you by your arm and it hurts, especially as his nails manage to pierce through the skin. he seems to be doing it on purpose, yanking you up to your feet as jj and spencer both surge into action. "wait, wait, please-" jj's leaning forward, eyes wide and full of fear for the first time since this whole ordeal began. spencer's scared too, but he hides it much better you think.

"please, don't hurt her." he begs, and you find it a bit annoying that he's brought them to the point of begging, of using manners to appeal to his ego. casey's eyes jump from spencer to jj, and then to you, and he's sneering. he whirls you around, arm looping around your neck as he presses the barrel of his gun directly to your temple. you sing along to your favorite song in your head, using it as a way to stay grounded, it likely made you look like a mad man.

you supposed that it was your superpower, your ability to look death in the eye, and not flinch. the team often mentioned they weren't sure if you or emily was more stone-faced in a crises situation. "oh, you don't want me to hurt her?" he mocks, and you don't look at spencer, no, you keep your eyes on jj, because she's the one that has to play the game. if you didn't know spencer so well, you never would have noticed the slight movement of his arms, he was up to something.

he was fine.

jj was the one in the hot seat, and she needed you to be calm. freaking out would only make her all the more anxious. so you offer her a stern look, a look that expressed that you all would be okay. she doesn't look convinced. "i want your deepest, darkest secret." he insturcts, "impress me, or i'll kill her." and he slams the gun deep into your temple, the action dizzying as you try and maintain your balance. you feel pain blooming behind your eyes. "and then i'll kill him." he nods his head towards spencer, and jj's on the verge of tears.

you have no choice but to watch her, he's given you a first-class seat to the action. jj's eyes don't land on you though, instead she's looking over to spencer. he looks back at her, face pensive, but otherwise calm. she shudders for just a moment, and it looks like she's trying to work up the courage. "come on!" casey suddenly screams directly in your ear, and you flinch violently. it garners both jj and spencer's attention. casey tightens his hold on you, gun at the ready. "do you think this is a joke? do you think i won't blow this bitch's brains out?"

you're not too fond of being called a bitch, and the drama of it all, takes you out of the moment a bit. why were all unsubs so cliche?

jj takes in another shuddered breath, this one bordering on a sob as she takes in a puff of air. it takes her a moment to get her bearings, but then she's looking at spencer again. she offers him a weak smile, and you get a tingle up your spine, it feels like a warning for disaster. "spence..." she says his name weakly, voice harsh as she croaks. he's looking away from you finally, meeting the gaze of his best friend. "uh..." she inhales sharply. "um..." she looks at you then, and you're eyes are wide, confusion swirling there and she's exhaling.

there's a heaviness, a guilt that stares back at you, and you find yourself scared for the first time, but not of casey. no, you're scared of your friend. "i'm sorry." she mouths to you, and you watch as she looks back at your boyfriend, the clear love of your life. you feel dread then, because you know jj, you know her too well, and you know what's coming. why else would she be so worried, why else would she be looking at you with so much shame in her eyes. "i've-" she stops.

spencer's none the wiser, he wouldn't get it until she said it in full. so while you spiraled into despair, he sat patiently, doe-eyes wide and full of whatever innocence he still had left. you wish you could go back to before, you wish you hadn't been assigned to go with jj and spencer, if you were with the team you'd be none the wiser. you wouldn't feel so heartbroken, displaced, uncertain. but you're here now, and all you have to do is wait for the other shoe to drop. jj inhales, and you wish she would get it out. "i've always loved you."

and there it is.

you'd come to recognize the signs and signals of tears, it always started with your eyes burning like you'd been sitting in smoke. your nose stings next, and you bare down harshly on your tongue to keep them from falling. "and i was just too scared to say it before." it's a gut-punch, it would have likely knocked you on your ass had casey not been forcing you to take it all in. "and now things are just really too complicated to say it now." and she's crying, and that's how you know that she means it. that only makes you feel much worse.

jj, for all intents and purposes was a great actress, she could make any story believable, but she'd never been a good 'fake crier'. she could hide every single one of her tells when she spoke, but emotions were harder to manage. you remembered how she'd told you that one day while the two of you were hanging out. you don't know what brought you there, but she'd made it clear, that tears for her were hard to fake. which left you with what? a best friend that was in love with your boyfriend?

"i'm sorry, but you should know." and you'd hoped she'd at least have the decency to look at you. she doesn't. instead, she's still looking at spencer, and you feel like you're intruding. more than that you feel so stupid. spencer's got this look on his face, this shock and awe and confusion that makes you want to vomit, it makes you want to throw yourself to the ground and throw a tantrum. you want to open your mouth and scream, remind them that 'hey, you're here too'... remind them that you were apart of this, that this was a very very bad thing.

hope was not the sort of look he should be wearing, it's not how he should be responding. you don't know what you'd expected, but certainly not for him to look so relieved, not while you were sitting right there in front of him with a gun to your head. he gives her a half smile though, and you crumble. casey's suddenly chuckling, shoulders rocking as they're pulled out of their little moment. "hot damn!" and he's releasing the gun from your temple, holding it like a little prop, as he forced you back to the ground.

you don't resist, your knees slamming into the floor as you conceal your wince, conceal everything.

"now that's what i'm talking about." casey mutters excitedly. "now those are some last words right there..." he nods his head. he then looms over her, gun pointed directly in her face. "but not good enough to save your life-" before he can hope to pull the trigger, spencer has shot him. the shot echoes all around you, but it doesn't seem to pull you from your muffled mind. casey falls to the floor, jj jumping as he lands down next to her. she shudders violently.

then she's looking back at him, at spence. your spence.

you don't like how it makes you feel, that they've conjured this small habit of getting lost in one another. you clear your throat, and they're finally, finally looking at you. jj looks mortified, but you can't read spencer at all. he doesn't look at jj again, doesn't say a word, instead he's looking at you. you should feel something other than rejection, but you don't. not even when his eyes seem to brim with all those feelings that you know he has for you, because now it feels fake.

he's quick in the way he rushes towards you, kneeling as he inspects you like porcelain. his dominant hand moves to gently brush over where you'd been hit with the gun. you don't want him to touch you though, so you pull back, it's more like a hard jerk, like you were frightened of his touch. you try to play it off, pretend it never happened, but you know that he knows. it felt like the beginning of the end, like the prerequisite to something god-awful.

he looks so upset, hurt by the action, but you think out of the two of you, you're the one who's really hurt. "can you just get me out of these, please?" you don't sound like yourself either, instead you sound hollow, like a grieving woman. you probably are, grieving that is. spencer gives you a worn down nod, but maneuvers until he's behind you. he gently tugs at the tape, but it still hurts as it strips at your skin. you bare your teeth, but don't say anything, head hanging low, until he was done. he offers you his hand, you ignore it.

"y/n." jj calls, and she sounds so distraught. you ignore her too, you don't know what other choices you have. the room's not big enough to hide in, so instead you find yourself rushing over to melissa. you think it's silly, to leave the two of them alone while so much hung in the air, but it was better that way. "melissa." you say her name quietly, kneeling in front of her, despite how shabby they felt. "i need you to hang on, okay?" you exhale shakily.

"help will be here before you know it." you promise, and you're pressing on her wound, blood smearing your hands and your fingertips as she winced painfully. you don't hear anything from jj and spencer, but it doesn't make it better. clearly a glance was all it took for the two of them now. you hate the way this has thrown you, you don't exactly know why you're so fearful. jj was married, she had two sons she adored, and a marriage she was happy in. so why did it feel like the confession was the start of something bad.

were you so insecure that you felt like you didn't stand a chance?

you don't want to think about that, it might actually be enough to make you upchuck. instead, your masochistic mind has you chancing a glance back to where it all went down. you see that spencer has taken the tape off her hands. she's looking up at him, and he's staring down at her. you think that you hate them then. the door bursts open a second later, and you're glad. soon enough a medic would come to see to the wounded, and you could get the hell out of dodge.

"we're going to need an EMT, we've got three down." you exclaim. the room immediately jumps into action. you hear the incessant thrum of conversation as everyone jumped into action, and you're more than grateful when you feel someone looming. your mistake was believing it would be a medic, your face falls flat when you're met with the sight of jj. she had always had a bad habit of trying to force the hard conversations. today though, you were determined to stand your petty ground. you avert your gaze, attention back on melissa.

"y/n, please don't do this." she says this quietly, and you hear the genuine anguish in her voice. it doesn't sway you, it can't possibly.

"it's already done." you quip, and you're grateful to have slowed the bleeding of melissa's wound, as a medic takes your place, finally. you stand to your feet, bloodstained hands itching to smear against your jeans, but you refrain. you ignore rossi and tara's questions, not really in the mood to answer different variations of the 'are you alright?' game. you needed air. silly you to think it'd be over just because you'd willed it to be. just as you're stepping outside, you feel a warm hand encompassing your wrist. you don't want to stop, but it's habitual.

"let me go, spencer." you try quietly. you don't want to be that girl, the one that lashes out, and causes a scene. diplomacy was the name of the game. your eyes are glued to the ground, you didn't want to picture him with that stupid hopeful look on his face anymore. you knew that night when you closed your eyes you'd see it over and over. it would taunt you, play on an endless loop while you tore yourself to shreds. what was it about her? why was this happening to you?

"i can't." he replies, and you wish he'd spoken to you earlier. you wish that he had communicated with his mouth, rather than with his eyes. maybe you wouldn't be so far gone. it didn't have to be a big deal, because at least you would have known that it didn't matter. that her confession hadn't changed anything, but he'd stayed silent, and he'd looked at her in a way he'd never looked at you before. you knew there was history, you'd heard whispers from derek and penelope about a football game from years and years ago.

you had never expected for it to matter now.

"you can, you're just choosing to hold me hostage." you mumble, and despite your anger, you can't lash out. you can't be irrational.

"i'm not going to let you leave angry with me." and you hate how he knows you so well. you think it's something you'll miss. "i want us to talk about it, i think that we need to." he says in that voice he often used when he was trying to gently guide you towards the right choice. you don't want to be policed or treated like you were the one that had messed things up. all he'd needed to do was shut it down, all you'd wanted him to do was not look so happy, like it was something he'd spent his entire life waiting for.

"what's there to talk about, spencer? it's happened, okay? let's just move on, before this turns into something it doesn't need to." you shoot back, and he's not convinced, nor is he willing to budge.

"you're treating me like some stranger, as if i don't know you well enough to see when you're lying to me." he's gaining that disappointed lilt to his voice, and you think long gone are all your chances of getting out of this place without it turning into a full blown soap opera meltdown. "we're not going to get anywhere if you can't be truthful with me." he adds, and you don't want a lecture, because you'd done nothing wrong. you were the one casey had held, you were the one that had a gun pressed to your temple.

you weren't the one that made the life changing confession.

"i'm asking you to drop this." you say sharply, and you're hoping to snatch your arm away from spencer. he doesn't let you, and on any other occasion you'd feel so protected, so wanted. now though, you feel claustrophobic, trapped, you didn't feel safe. "i understand that you're trying to preserve our relationship, and i wish i could tell you that this doesn't change anything..." his face morphs, eyes screaming at you not to proceed. "but i just need a second to wrap my head around all this, okay? can you give me that? space?"

to him space always felt like the beginning of the end. he thinks that's why he's determined not to let you go. "will you come back? if i let you go?" and he's already dropped you wrist, so you know that he's not really talking about right now. he sounds uncertain, scared, and it does remind you that there was love he felt towards you. the fear wraps around you, and you're not sure how it really makes you feel. you exhale shakily, and you don't want to give him the wrong answer.

"agent l/n." you're both being pulled back to reality, back to what was going on around you. you note the bleeding gash in his hand, likely from the shard he'd used to free himself from the tape and you sigh.

"i don't know, spence." and it's true. "i'm just a little bit confused right now." you admit. "and my feelings are hurt," you shake your head rapidly. spencer doesn't know how to express the way his mind is running. all he knew was that jj's confession would not be enough to make him want to throw away his time with you. he wanted you to know that you weren't a consolation prize, but he didn't know how to say it now without seeming ingenuine. he knew how it looked, he knew how he'd feel if he was in your shoes.

but, he wasn't in love with jj. he remembered a version of himself that tripped over himself at her gaze, the version that stayed up late at night replaying conversations in his head. a part of that guy would always exist, he couldn't lie and say it didn't. he loved her so wholeheartedly that sometimes it still managed to scare him, but she was an illusion, a fantasy. realistically he doubted they'd make sense in a romantic sort of sense, it was only something to think about... not something to uproot lives behind.

more than that though, he'd never felt for jj the way he felt for you. he remembered the first time you'd waltzed into the bullpen. you'd knocked him right on his ass, took every thought in his head, and made it your very own. you consumed his time, and he was willing to let you. he wanted you to be the only thing that could quiet his running mind, he wanted you to be the only person that could help him sleep. he didn't want to give this anymore attention than it needed, because he was set in his heart. it wasn't a question.

he didn't know why he couldn't just say that. why everything felt so lopsided and off focus now. his lips curve down into a deep pout.

"my head hurts." you mumble, your bottom lip trembling as spencer's frown deepens. he wants to hug you, but after your initial rejection he doesn't know if he can take another one. you feel a bit drowsy, likely a side-effect of the way casey had manhandled you.

"i know, you'll need to get checked out." he says quietly. "you might have a concussion, he really did a number on you." and despite his initial protests, and your earlier reaction, he's reaching for you again. you don't know if you're insecure, or if your profiling skills are allowing to see him for who he is, but the look in his eyes pushes you to relax. his fingers are gentle in the way they cradle your face, and instinctively you're leaning into his palm, cheek pressing against his hand. "i'm sorry." and you don't know which part he's apologizing for.

"can you come with me?" a quiet and still hopeful question. "we could sit together in the ambulance, pretend everything's alright just for a second?" you offer, and you think that's an answer to his question in itself. you didn't know how long it would take to get checked out, you didn't know how long it would take for them to bandage his hand and assess him for other scrapes and bruises, but you could take advantage of it, just the two of you. you could sit in silence, and dance around in that space between love and betrayal.

it was possible.

"y-yeah." he didn't stutter much anymore, so it stands out and makes you want to frown. "we can do that." his expression is torn, and you want to know what's on his mind, what he was thinking. you needed to know, you wanted some sort of sign, anything, that would show you he hadn't given up on you all because jj was in love with him. you hoped you weren't that disposable. "i want to." he adds, and he blinks harshly, almost like he's warding off tears, and it feels so awkward. the usual banter, the back and forth, the flirty remarks that always managed to leave you both shy were all gone.

in a matter of moments.

"good." and at the very least, he's here with you right now. "give me your hand." and you're careful not to grab the one he'd split with the glass, instead stepping around him to pull his clean palm into your slightly stained one. your fingers interlock, and it's a habit, a natural one at this point. "don't think too hard about it." you instruct, and he scoffs at you. he's upset, he's disappointed, hurting, angry, confused, you can see it. all his emotions seem to pile up on one another.

"how can i not?" he asks, and he sounds so tired. "it feels like you're seconds away from telling me that you're done with me." you're a not surprised at the pivot in his demeanor.

"isn't that what you want now?" you've started to walk, and spencer's letting you lead him, not quite ready to let your hand go once you reached the medic that was currently trying their hand at getting your attention. "i mean the girl you've always loved just put herself on a silver platter." you adds with a quiet sneer a second later. "what do you need me for?" you question, and he hates the feeling of his heart mimicking the sensation of pulling and squeezing. it hurts.

"y/n..." he tries, and you shake your head. "you have to know that nothing has changed." he promises, and you scoff. it stops you in your tracks.

"everything's changed!" you hiss. "she's in love with you. jj, our friend. she's been harboring feelings for you for years, but nothing's changed?" you huff, a tear seems to find joy in slipping from your eye in that moment. it's just one, but you know it's a opener to the main event. it's probably because despite everything, he makes you feel safest. part of that safety came an inability to shield your emotions and reactions from him. you'll have to try your darndest to do so now.

you don't really know if you can conceal them, but you don't want them to turn into full blown sobs. a few stray tears were easy to ignore, but the second it became a meltdown you knew you were finished. this wasn't your secret to share, and despite how angry you were with jj, you knew that it wasn't her fault. things were complicated, and you couldn't fully blame her for how she felt. you just wondered if she was biding her time, if she thought she was better suited for spencer than you. did she actually like you?

did she actually believe all that she'd told you regarding your relationship with spencer?

'i've never seen him smile so big' ... 'you guys are actually perfect for each other' ... 'tell us y/n, are you gonna be the one to give spence a few baby geniuses? the boys need some cousins'. your heart aches at the thought of it all being nothing but lip service. but you'd never expose her to the team, you'd never hurt will and the boys like that. which meant you'd have to shape up before the team was back.

"i mean for myself. nothing's changed for me and the way that i feel for you." he presses. "i wouldn't just toss our time together away like that." spencer looks stern as he scolds you. "was there a time that i thought about what it would be like? to be with jj... to-to have her love me back? yes... i won't lie about it." he says, and your face crumples up, and you want to run away. you don't know what he's getting at, but his words don't help as much as he might've hoped.

it causes you to yank your hand away, head shaking back and forth as you step back. "i said that i didn't want to talk about it." and you feel hypocritical because you'd thrown a few rocks to get you to this point in the conversation. "so stop it, okay? we're going to let it go, and we're going to talk about something else." you try your hand at deflecting. spencer's got an exceptional amount of patience, you see it wearing thin on his face, but you're not willing to budge.

"no, we need to talk about this." spencer argues. "i'm not going to pretend with you, and we've been together long enough for you to realize that you don't have to pretend with me, either." he adds. "if we don't now... i'm scared that we never will, and you're- you're angry with me, and i need you to tell me why." he pleads. "if we can't deal with things like this, we'll never make it past the hard stuff." he exhales, "i really want to make it past the hard stuff with you."

"i don't want to talk about it." you feel yourself getting a bit more irrational, angrier. your head feels like it's hurting even more, throbbing as it passed behind your eyes.

"why are you acting like this?" he's growing a bit frantic, he's got abandonment issues, and it feels like you might leave. he's lost a lot of people in his life, he's never been the best with change, he's never been the best with moving on, getting past the hard stuff. he doesn't want to push you too far, but he feels like he's got to hold on tight or risk losing you forever. "why can't you just tell me what you're thinking? if you're gonna vent, why not with me? let me help-"

"i don't want you to do anything for me!" you snap, and you're getting looks from the officers outside. you see rossi and his eyes are directly trained on the both of you. the rest of the team is scattered about, but much like rossi they're looking your way. it's officially become a scene. you run your hands across your face, dried blood caking over your skin, as you press your hands together, taking in a shaky breath. "i told you that i didn't want to talk about it." you remind him harshly.

"y/n-" you don't give him the chance to say much else, because you're immediately cutting him off.

"no!" you're ensuring your volume stays at appropriate levels, especially now that you seemed to have garnered a small audience. tara's still looking, and you know that every so often jj's taking it all in too. you at least owe it to the both of you to not go too far. "i want you to respect that maybe this isn't something you can fix with your extensive knowledge." you proceed. "you're smart as a whip, but boy do you still have a lot to learn about emotions." and you think you might have gone too far. you've definitely gone too far.

your head is really hurting though, and your vision's getting spotty. you don't have it in you to be politically correct, but you see the way his face morphs, how he looks so hurt. he towered over you, but he never looked more like a little boy than he did in that moment. "and my feelings... whatever they may be aren't just something that you can push out of me to make yourself feel better. this isn't just going to go away and be fixed by bed time, doctor reid."

he blinks.

"i wasn't-" he exhales, heartbeat wanting to rise in his chest. "that's not-" he's not prone to panic attacks, but he knew a lot about them. he knew how they could come out of no where, and be crippling. he was panicking, freaking out, mostly because he was being misunderstood. he never wanted you to misunderstand him, especially as it pertained to his intentions and his feelings towards you. "i wasn't trying to manage your feelings... i-" he's trying to breathe. "i just want us to be okay, i don't want to lose you."

you want to reply, really you do. you don't think you can though, because your brain feels like it's about to erupt. your knees lock, and you almost jerk. spencer's eyes widen and he's surging forward to catch you the second you start to fall. it brings him to his knees, split hand be damned. "y/n." and his suspicions about your concussion were confirmed, it makes guilt lash at him instantly. if he'd just bit his tongue, you wouldn't have passed out. he'd let you get too overwhelmed, you'd told him your head was bothering you.

he's so busy beating himself up, and trying to ensure that you were breathing, he doesn't even realize that matt's trying to garner his attention. "hey, what happened?" and he snaps out of it when tara's gently shoving at his arm. he feels like everything's going in slow motion now, he's just concerned about you. that's nothing new.

"i think she has a concussion..." he mutters. "casey-" he tightens his hold on you. "casey hit her in the head." he explains, and he wonders why he hadn't been more diligent earlier. the EMTs are joining next, and he should feel more relieved that you'll be getting the care you need. he knows most times unconsciousness wanes about fifteen minutes from the time that the victim passes out, but it doesn't calm him down. guilt was one hell of a problem.

"she's gonna be alright." tara is telling him, as they're rising to their feet, eyes following the stretcher you were laid out on. "she's a real fighter." and he already knows that, he thinks you're the strongest person in the world, but he should've never pushed you.

"spence!" jj's calling him, and she's approaching before he can reply. "what happened?" she sounds about as worried as he feels. guilt clearly was a dinner for two. "is she okay? w-what's wrong with y/n?" she fires off, and spencer thinks he should be the one talking to the EMTs and not tara and matt, but he can't seem to move. or respond, based on the way jj's face contorts. "spence!" she calls him again.

that snaps him out of his reverie.

"she's got a concussion, it's all my fault." he says what he's thinking. "i shouldn't have tried to force her to talk-" and he hates that right now is the moment he decides to word vomit. "i just-" he looks up at jj, who's got a mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes. "i should have let her go get checked out." he explains.

"this isn't your fault. spence, you're not the one that gave her a concussion. you're not the one that hurt her, casey was." she insists.

"casey's not the one that blew everything up." his retort is quick, and in hindsight, he doesn't blame jj for anything. he knows things are complicated, tricky, weird. but he doesn't want her to be the one to comfort him, and tell him everything was going to be fine. not right now.

"what? are you blaming me now?" jj asks, and she sounds heartbroken. spencer thinks he's getting used to the feeling of his foot being in his mouth. there's a moment of tense silence, a stare off that occurs where neither of them knows what to say. they don't know how to proceed, and he doesn't know why he keeps getting caught in this limbo of not knowing what to say. "i didn't mean to make things difficult." she finally says. "i never-"

they're pulled from this moment by tara. "spencer." and his head turns. "are you going to ride along to the hospital?" and it should've been the natural decision, except he's not feeling particularly ready. he takes a small step back, and it's one everyone seems to notice. the only people that were privy to what went down in that room were you, jj, and himself, and yet it felt like in that moment the entire team was given a front row seat to the obvious aftermath.

something had shifted, changed.

"y-" he shakes his head. "you go ahead." he offers, and tara's eyebrows raise. her shock makes him feel worse, but she doesn't question it. she climbs into the ambulance, and soon enough they're peeling out. his hand still hurts, the gash gnawing at him, but it's a welcomed pain. he'll have to bandage it soon though.

"spence." jj's wearing this look, a mixture of emotions he doesn't want to deal with. "it wasn't your fault." she insists. it doesn't make him feel any better, instead he's forced to come to terms with the decision he'd just made. you'd been taken to the hospital, and he'd stayed behind. he'd stayed behind and been reassured by jj.

you were never going to forgive him.

[cinnamon-galaxies]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩

Pairings: Alastor x gn reader Summary: In which you are an annoying simp and Alastor regrets claiming your soul. Warnings/Tags: gn reader, Emberlynn-coded reader, unrequited love, reader is obsessed with Alastor and he can barely handle it, second-hand embarrassment, really, it gets uncomfortable, a whole bunch of passive aggressiveness and sarcastic remarks, Alastor questions his sanity, reader is annoying af, Alastor being Alastor, trash-fic Wordcount: 3.6k A/N: I had this idea for months but watching the latest Helluva Boss short made me actually want to write it. I hope you like this trash fic. I have many more ideas for funny (and uncomfortable) moments between Alastor and our simping reader. Comments, Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated!

Spin-off: 'Curiosity Killed the Demon'

Masterlist

   Alastor was a man who never felt regret because every move he made was precisely calculated, every action driven by a purpose only he fully understood. He always had an ulterior motive in mind, ensuring that he was the one who came out on top. His every decision was meticulously planned, and every word carefully chosen to keep his game running flawlessly and his grip on control unyielding. He was a mastermind at the top of Hell's food chain. One of the most powerful and feared overlords, a dealmaker at heart, with hundreds – no, thousands – of souls bound to him, all following his every command, terrified of what might happen if they disobeyed. None of them ever dared to challenge their loyalty, always doing as he said. But one in particular stood out: you.

   Some might say you were just another sinner in his vast collection of pawns, but you were different. You followed him like a dog that didn’t even need a leash. When he called, you came. When he gave an order, you were already carrying it out by the time he finished speaking. You were completely, utterly devoted to him. And oh, Satan, were you irritating.

   Alastor remembered the day he met you as if it were yesterday. How could he forget? It was a memory that had burned itself into his mind like a brand on the hind flank of a horse. While most souls came to him begging for help, trading their essence for a taste of power or security, you practically threw yourself at him. Your eyes had been wide as saucers, lips pursed with desperate eagerness, and a strange gleam of excitement had nearly brought tears to your eyes.

   “Please, please, please! I’ll do anything for you!” you had begged, your eyes so wide it seemed like they might pop out of your head.

   Alastor had narrowed his eyes, the static around him crackling with an intensity that made your hairs stand up on your neck. “Anything...?” he had replied with a slow drawl, his grin turning sharp and menacing as he leaned in closer, towering over you. His sharp canines bared in a predatory smile that would make most people flinch, but you… you only seemed more excited.

   Had he known just how annoying you’d become, he might have killed and eaten you right then and there in that dark alleyway. Alastor was a patient man. At least, that's what he let others believe. But you often pushed him to the brink of madness, testing his limits as if you secretly anticipated getting double-killed. Had he considered featuring your squeaky voice on his infamous radio broadcast? More than a few times. The idea alone was deliciously tempting. He often fantasized about the sound of your screams if he ever decided to torture you. Yet, a deep-seated uncertainty always held him back. Some kind of deeply rooted fear that you might actually enjoy it. You were so wildly unpredictable that he couldn’t even tell if you would cry in agony or, disturbingly, moan in pleasure.

   The thought alone horrified him.

   No, he wouldn’t subject himself to that humiliation. If he weren’t already plagued by nightmares, the prospect of you enjoying your torment would certainly give him some. You were already haunting him in his waking life; he couldn’t bear the thought of you invading his rare moments of sleep, too.

   Your existence felt like a cruel joke. A fucked up twist of fate or perhaps the true eternal punishment Hell had in store for him. You were utterly infuriating, a disruptive presence in Hell's chaotic tranquility. And yet, he couldn’t deny that he found some guilty pleasure in your antics. As irritating and nerve-wracking as you were, you were the most entertaining thing he’d encountered in eons. Watching you embarrass yourself without even realizing it, witnessing your clumsiness, your stupidity, and being the object of your obsessive attention, the center of your world, was better than every drug advertised in Pentagram City’s most run-down district. As uncomfortable as you made him feel, Alastor had to admit that he secretly reveled in your desperate need for attention, your never-ending search for his affection and your unwavering, completely blind, loyalty.

   You followed him everywhere he went. Like a lost puppy you’d trail after him with an enthusiastic skip in your step, hopping around like a deer on a wide open field. Alastor didn’t even need to look over his shoulder to know you were there, because you always were. You followed him everywhere. To the bar, to the kitchen, to the hotel’s parlor or his outings. You’d probably even follow him to the bathroom, if you could. You were always there – eyes gleaming with devotion, your adoration conspicuous and radiating around you like the static in Alastor’s presence.

   It was suffocating.

   And he couldn’t even tell what was more terrifying: that you were so focused on him he could always feel your gaze burning through the back of his coat, or that your steps were so silent he couldn’t even hear them despite his almost preternatural hearing. Only an occasional squeak that made you sound like an excited guinea pig actually proved your presence, causing his ears to perk up and twitch in overstimulation.

   “Alastor!” your squeaky voice warbled through the corridors of the Hazbin Hotel and Alastor stopped in tracks, holding his breath in annoyance and his smile twisting into an uncomfortable grimace. With a silent sigh he turned around and tilted his head unnaturally to the side, his red and black hair swinging with the movement like a curtain.

   “Yes, my dear?” he retorted with exaggerated joy, the strain in his voice betraying the forced politeness and tinged with anything but patience. Today was one of those days he found himself regretting his decision to ever put that collar around your neck. He just wanted to be left in peace, not having the nerve to handle your exhausting presence.

   You grinned at him proudly and Alastor could feel his stomach twist, nausea creeping through his guts at the recognition of the lovestruck gleam in your eyes. When you didn’t respond instantly, he narrowed his eyes, his voice losing any of that faked patience, “What is it?”

   You shrugged your shoulders, though your grin didn’t waver. “Nothing!” you exclaimed enthusiastically, “I just wanted you to wait for me!”

   “Ah,” Alastor retorted, unimpressed, the uncomfortable feeling inside his guts increasing. “You know, you don’t have to follow me around everywhere I go,” he said, a subtle hint of irritation in his tone, hoping you'd understand that he wanted to be left alone.

   Your expression didn’t falter. In fact, it became even more eager, the gleam in your eyes so intense that Alastor could see his entire reflection in those dark orbs of yours. “But I want to be present whenever you need my assistance!” you exclaimed, interlacing your fingers in a gesture that resembled a pleading prayer.

   “I can always summon you, if that's the case,” Alastor quickly explained, still not convinced by your flimsy excuse for clinging to him like a parasite.

   “Oh, but I want to be close just in case you forget, my sweet Radio Demon!” you chirped, batting your eyelashes with saccharine devotion.

   Alastor cringed inwardly. Why exactly did he do this to himself again? Oh, yeah, right… He hadn’t yet decided if he wanted to wring your neck or keep you around for entertainment.

   “Well, that's very thoughtful of you,” he replied in a tone dripping with sarcasm. Before he could say more, you let out another joyful squeak. Alastor's ears flattened against his head as the high-pitched noise pierced his eardrums. He saw your eyes widen with delight and silently cursed himself for even attempting to sound polite – even if his words were more of a mocking jab than a genuine compliment. Yet, you seemed to take it as one. You trembled with excitement, your knees bouncing like a jackhammer. It was a wonder your vibrations didn’t send seismic waves rippling through the floor, cracking the occasional brick.

   Alastor let out a sigh. “My dear,” he said, his voice smooth as honey, “your… enthusiasm is truly unmatched. But don’t you have anything better to do than… following me around all the time?”

   You immediately shook your head. “No, Alastor-kun. I’ve devoted myself to being your servant,” you declared with unwavering certainty. “Besides, nothing’s better than being by your side!” You looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes, the adoration in your gaze both unsettling and pathetic. “I want to see everything you do, learn from you, be close to you. You’re just so… incredible!”

   Alastor let out yet another sigh. Although he found your flattery grating, he couldn’t deny the subtle boost to his ego from your words. He knew he was exceptional, but hearing it so explicitly was an indulgence he couldn’t resist. No matter how much you grated on his nerves. “Incredible, you say?” he repeated, and you nodded with such fervor that it was clear you genuinely believed what you were saying, rather than simply using your words to flatter him. “And what, pray tell, do you find so ‘incredible’ about me?”

   You blinked, obviously surprised by the question and took a moment to ponder an answer.

   Alastor chuckled softly. If you were already venturing into this territory, he might as well use it to his advantage and coax you into showering him with even more compliments. It was amusing how effortlessly he could manipulate you into praising him as if he were a deity, a god deserving to be worshiped. And it took barely any effort at all. You were so completely infatuated with him that he imagined you might even write a song for him – if only your singing voice didn't sound like a saw on the verge of breaking.

   “Well,” you mused aloud before gushing, “Everything!” You began to enumerate, counting on your fingers as you spoke, “Your power! Your elegance, your wit, your charisma! The way you command everyone’s attention with just your presence… How people are captivated by you… Your style, your old-fashioned charm, your impeccable sense of humor…”

   Alastor’s eyes narrowed as he listened, struggling to keep up with the torrent of words spilling from your mouth. He stared at you, on the verge of zoning out as he tried to manage the relentless flow of praise. Did you ever need to pause for breath? How could you talk so much without gasping for air?! It was almost impressive…

   “…like I said, everything, Alastor-kun. I mean, you’re the Radio Demon! You’re… absolutely remarkable! And I’d follow you to the end of Hell and back!” you concluded, your endless monologue finally coming to an end. Alastor’s grin widened, not from the sheer volume of praise you’ve just thrown at him, but from the amusement of your desperate eagerness to win his attention. From the moment you met him in that dark alleyway, you had craved his affection. It wasn’t that he had found you helpless – no, you had actively sought him out. Why? He had no idea. He would never understand your obsession nor the full extent of your feelings for him.

   “Why, thank you, my dear…” he forced out between clenched teeth, his jaw tightening without him even realizing it. “It’s always nice to hear how much you admire me, but… let’s not linger on it any longer…” he added, his voice betraying the discomfort that always crept in whenever you were near.

  You stared at him, your confusion practically palpable. “Why?” you asked, genuinely confused and a bit taken aback by his abrupt change in tone. “You asked me what I think of you. I’m just being honest!”

   Indeed, he had. But he hadn’t expected you to gush on endlessly like the Niagara Falls – even though, by now, he should’ve known better. Why did he even ask, knowing full well you were unpredictable and always found a way to annoy him further? Was your presence really so irritating that he tended to forget his usual caution? Alastor was a polite man after all and he valued manners above all else. 

   Manners.

   Manners, manners, manners.

   He prided himself on manners. But you? You weren't worth any of them. He needed to remember that.

   “Oh, my dear, I’m only concerned that your little brain might overheat from thinking too hard. We wouldn’t want you to strain yourself and get a headache, would we?” he replied, his tone thick with mockery, every word dripping with sarcasm. He could see your eyes widen and your pupils dilating.

   “Aww, Alastor-kun, you're so considerate!” you cooed, entirely missing the veiled insult.

   Alastor chuckled, his lips curling into an exaggerated smile while his eyes narrowed, feigning a semblance of care. Your delusion was almost painful to watch, though there was a certain dark humor to it.

   “Why, I'm simply concerned about your well-being! After all, too much... admiration could lead to a most unfortunate accident,” he continued, flashing his sharp teeth in a menacing grin, a predatory glint in his eyes. His pupils shifted to radio dials for a quick second and the static around him crackled in a dangerous intensity. The threat in his words was clear, but knowing you, you’d probably overlook it entirely, twisting it into yet another misguided belief that he cared about you. Which he didn’t. Alastor cared for very few people, and you were certainly not one of them.

   A strange sound – something akin to a dying hamster’s squeak – escaped your lips and ripped him out of his reverie as you started bouncing up and down again. Alastor couldn’t help but wonder, for a second time, how the floor beneath you didn’t give way and send you tumbling several floors down, far away from him and into a dark, twisted corner of Hell where you would never bother him again. Or maybe you would just break enough of your limbs to keep you from trailing after him for at least the next six weeks... Either way, the image in his head was delightfully hilarious, and he nearly chuckled, wishing to some kind of higher being to let this tiny mishap come true.

   “Aww, you’re so thoughtful! You really do care about me, Alastor-kun!” you chirped, and Alastor’s eye twitched. There it was – your joyful exclamation of utter delusion. Yikes.

   Alastor took a deep breath, his grip tightening around his cane. “Oh, yes… care…” he drawled. “Your well-being is... of utmost importance... so, considering you’ve been trailing after me all day… and the days before… and the weeks… and months…” he continued, his voice growing weaker with each word, “how about you take a break? Leave the hotel, spend some time with yourself, explore the streets of Pentagram City...” and hopefully never return… he finished in his head. His smile was sharp, his face settling into that same threatening expression as before.

   You waved a dismissive hand, grinning with a wide, toothy smile. “Don’t worry about me! I always feel so good around you!” you exclaimed with fervor, and Alastor suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. There it was again – that relentless, infuriating optimism that clung to you like a bad stench, no matter how much he tried to wash it away. How were you always so blissfully unaware of his disdain?

   “My, my! Such dedication... I’m almost flattered. But… have you ever considered, oh, I don’t know… finding a hobby? Far, far away from me, perhaps?” he said through clenched teeth, realizing yet again that he was still being far too kind. Why couldn’t he just scare you away? Were you really so pathetic that he couldn’t bring himself to be outright rude? Your antics must have really been some kind of messed up guilty pleasure for him…

   You tilted your head and straightened your back, gazing up at him with those unsettlingly large eyes. “Oh, but you are my hobby, Alastor-kun! My absolute favorite! Watching you, learning from you, serving you – it’s all I ever want to do! You’re my senpai, Alastor! My favorite deer boy!”

   Alastor’s eyes widened, and his grin began to falter, teetering on the edge of a frown, his expression one of sheer disbelief. Your... ‘senpai’? What in all seven circles of Hell was a ‘senpai’?! He might have considered asking Angel Dust the next time he saw that spider if he weren’t already convinced that the explanation would just traumatize him further. And did you really just call him ‘deer boy’?!

   His eye twitched once more, and then something inside him snapped.

   Alastor’s eyes darkened, the crimson on the verge of turning black again, the static increasing around him, crackling with charged malevolence. “Careful, my dear,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his sharp claws scratching the top of his cane with a metallic screech. “You’re walking on dangerous territory.” He stepped closer, looming over you like a tower of deep red and black, intimidating and far from pleased. He slowly got furious, the discomfort slowly turning into something he should’ve felt much earlier. Through narrowed eyes, he watched you flinch, though you didn’t step back. Instead, you straightened your back and tilted your head to look up at him, your mouth moving in a way that indicated that you were nervously biting your lip.

   Alastor’s smile widened at the sight, his yellow teeth flashing in the dim corridor, and the lights began to flicker around you, their energy drawn off by the crackling static around him. One blink, and his eyes turned black again, ticking radio dials replacing his irises, blood-red and dangerous as the demon himself. It took him only a flick of his hand to conjure the leash around your neck, its invisible form taking shape and turning solid glowing green.

   “If you insist on being a loyal little shadow, then perhaps I should teach you some manners,” he hissed, leaning down slightly, his grin stretching unnervingly wide. The collar tightened around your neck, a cold, burning sensation seeping through your bones as his words dug into your skin like jagged glass, a painful reminder of his control. He tugged on the leash, and you stumbled forward, eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat.

   “My, my…” he continued, flicking his tongue with a repeated motion that created a smacking sound, both unsettling and provocative. “If you truly want to serve me, you’ll need to learn some boundaries, my dear. I've been far too forgiving with you, but even I have my limits.” He pulled you closer until there were mere inches between you, his breath icy against your skin. You visibly shivered as his voice dropped to a low whisper, each word laced with sweet yet deadly venom. “After all, it would be such a shame if I had to... discipline you. And believe me, I can be quite imaginative when it comes to punishment.”

   For a moment, you just stared at him, and Alastor’s broad grin relaxed into a pleased smile, satisfaction blooming in his chest. For once, your reaction was exactly what he had anticipated. You were silent.

   Frightened.

   Oh, what a wonderful sight after enduring your incessant chatter for the past several minutes – months, actually. But he also knew this calm wouldn’t last long. A brief respite before the cycle began anew, and he found himself caught once more between annoyance and amusement.

   Perhaps, in some twisted way, he was a bit of a masochist. Because despite his power, his ruthlessness, his terrifying reputation as the Radio Demon, he continued to endure your presence and insufferable behavior if it meant he could find that brief moment of satisfaction when he saw that flicker of fear in your eyes. When he could finally silence that ceaseless admiration. When he so blatantly humiliated you with his words, degraded you with his passive aggression, yet you still met him with unyielding enthusiasm, somehow convinced he was speaking to you sweetly, when in reality, all he did was use his power over you to eventually put you in your place, reminding you of who he was and what he was capable of. 

   It was a game of control, an endless cycle where he used his dominance to break you down, only to watch you build yourself back up with even more deluded devotion. And while it should have irritated him beyond measure, there was something oddly gratifying about it – about toying with the boundaries of your blind infatuation and making you dance on the edge of dread and reverence.

   Seconds ticked by, stretching into what felt like minutes, and you eventually took a deep breath, releasing it in a long, shaky sigh. You blinked, once, twice, eyes still wide and pupils constricted. You shivered under his control, slight goosebumps rising on your skin. Alastor took in the sight, his satisfaction evident in the effect he had on you.

   You took another deep breath, then whispered in a low, breathless tone, “Fuck…”

   Alastor blinked and tilted his head, caught off-guard by the unexpected reaction. Confusion spread across his face, but before he could even formulate a response, you interrupted.

   “That was hot.”

   One second passed.

   Two.

   Three.

   Then, Alastor released your leash, hastily retreating as if he had just burned himself on a hot surface. His grayish skin turned pale, and his grin faltered into an expression of utter mortification. Within moments, his shadows enveloped him, and he seeped into the floor, leaving you behind in the hallway, bewildered and flustered.

   Maybe he should actually consider featuring you in his broadcast. Because that was the most horrifyingly unsettling response he had ever encountered. Some demons hid their cruelty behind a facade, blending seamlessly into their surroundings. And you? You were undoubtedly among the most insidiously malevolent of them all.

I had so many ideas for this fic but most of them didn't fit into the plot. So stay tuned for more Alastor x Emberlynn-coded reader content...

[thatfandomslut]

The Plastic and the Art Freak

Janis Imi'ike x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Trigger Warnings: smut, MDNI. Top!Janis, Sub!Reader. Fingering, oral, heated make-out (all R receiving), & closeted reader.

Request: 1.1k

Can you do a Top!Janis Imi'ike x bottom!plastic!fem!reader smut. Where the reader runs into the Janitors closet after the reader broke up with her bf (bc she's a closeted lesbian 😗) and finds Janis is there also and Janis is basically being snarky and shit bc of the reader going along with Regina and the shit she did to Janis. And Janis eventually gets all up in her face and eventually the reader kisses Janis and that leads to more...

Mean Girls requests are open.

Discord | Roleplay

(Y/n) ignored Harry calling to her, wanting to know why she was ending it. Everyone had gathered around them, and (Y/n) felt uncomfortable. Walking away, her pace continued to grow as she rounded the corner, slipping into the janitor's closet. She sighed in relief, finally feeling peace fill her until she looked around and made eye contact with Janis, who was eating chips and sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor. (Y/n) wanted to curse when she saw Janis Imi'ike of all people in the same small room as her. Turning to leave, (Y/n) hoped that Harry was gone and the crowd died down.

"What's the matter, princess? Scared to breathe the same air of a lowly art freak?" Janis questioned, standing up to throw away her trash. When she moved, (Y/n) began to realize how small the space around them was. Shaking her head, her hand twitched on the door handle, narrowing her eyes over at the girl who wore a cocky smirk on her lips. She knew what she was doing. "Don't let me stop you from leaving. Regina is probably worried sick about the whereabouts of one of her most loyal henchwomen. You can't leave her worried, can you? After all, you're just like Gretchen and Karen, you follow everything she does all the time."

By the time Janis was done, their faces were close together, and (Y/n)'s face was red with anger. But instead of yelling back at Janis, she kissed her deeply. This was something that Janis automatically reciprocated as she pulled (Y/n) close. (Y/n) deepened the kiss, her hands making their way into her hair easily. This was something that (Y/n) thought about practically every day, kissing the girl in her art class who stands up for the little guy, always says what's on her mind, and looks hot while she is painting the most radical art projects. In truth, despite how Regina says they should hate Janis, (Y/n) has always liked and admired her.

Janis could say the same for (Y/n). Even though she was annoyed that (Y/n) followed alongside anything Regina said they must do, she knew that (Y/n) wasn't like the other Plastics. She guessed she was more annoyed over the fact that (Y/n) dropped Janis when Regina did. Right now, though, with their lips smashing together and their teeth clashing as they kissed, it felt like none of that mattered anymore. The only that truly mattered to Janis at that moment was the girl she was kissing as her hands slipped under her shirt to hold her waist before they traveled to (Y/n)'s pants.

"Do it, fuck me, Janis," (Y/n) whispered on Janis's lips, allowing them a moment to catch their breath as they made eye contact. Janis nodded softly before smirking as she kissed (Y/n) again. Her hands slipped into the girl's shorts and automatically, (Y/n) gasped out in pleasure. Janis knew all of the ways to push her buttons the right way. (Y/n) moaned softly on Janis's lips until Janis pulled away to press kisses down her jawline and neck. Her body felt like it was coming undone in all the right ways. "Fuck, Janis, you feel so good."

Janis's ego was boosted by (Y/n)'s words as she slipped a finger into (Y/n), smirking when she moaned her name. Admittedly, the two have been into each other for years despite all of the drama. This was just the first time either one of them had done anything about it. Janis brought (Y/n) closer to her climax, but didn't let her reach it yet. "I want you to beg me to let you cum." Janis demanded, her lips by (Y/n)'s ear, nipping at her earlobe. (Y/n) shuddered in pleasure at the feeling. She felt like she could collapse in Janis's hands as her legs shook.

"Please, Janis, you're making me feel so good. Please, let me cum." She cried out, her eyes fluttering close as her head fell back. Janis sped up but still didn't allow her to cum. (Y/n) felt as though she could cry. "Please, Janis, please. I'm yours, I'm all yours. Let me cum, please."

Janis's lips twitched with satisfaction as she finally allowed (Y/n) to climax. As (Y/n) came, Janis pulled the girl's shorts down, cleaning her up with her tongue. (Y/n) cried out to Janis, her hands tangling into her hair again as she felt herself coming up to her second orgasm in seconds. "Don't be shy, baby, cum again." And (Y/n) unraveled again and Janis continued to drink her up like she was water. (Y/n) felt weak in the knees as she caught her breath while Janis pulled her shorts back up. (Y/n) didn't object to Janis kissing her, allowing her to taste herself on Janis's tongue.

As the two mellowed out, (Y/n) looked at Janis for a long moment. "When we were in eighth grade, the reason I stopped talking to you… I shouldn't have done it, but it was because I was crushing on you. When Regina kissed you, I thought I was going to die. Instead of just being normal, I stopped talking to you, and that was my fault. I'm sorry, Janis." (Y/n) apologized as her chest still heaved and her lips remained swollen. She needed to get that out. She needed Janis to know why everything went down the way they did between them. She had been carrying that guilt for so long, and she knew she needed to apologize. Because Janis was right, she always did everything Janis wanted and stood beside her throughout everything.

Janis licked her lips, still enjoying the taste of (Y/n) on them. "It's okay, all is forgiven." She said honestly, taking (Y/n)'s hand. "I think the reason it hurt so much is because I had a crush on you, too," Janis admitted as the two took their time to process the information they shared.

"I'm not out yet," (Y/n) said sadly, not wanting Janis to be upset with her. She was worried about coming out. Not just because of Regina, but because she was worried about the world. She felt like she needed the time to come out when she was ready, and that time wasn't today or tomorrow. She didn't want to disappoint Janis, but this was information that she felt that Janis deserved to know.

Janis smiled softly, cupping the girl's cheeks and pressing a kiss onto her lips. "I know, it's okay. There isn't a specific timeline you need to follow." Janis said as she reassured (Y/n) that it was okay to not be out. "And, I'll be here to support you no matter what." Janis hugged her and (Y/n) accepted and returned the hug. (Y/n) felt safe in Janis's arms and in that moment, everything felt right.

[chimindity]

Waitress's guardian

Summary | Rafe being overprotective of his little sister when she gets her first job. Request by @/anon

Pairing | Rafe & sister!reader

Warning | Rafe being overprotective, a bit toxic?

A/N | Rafe icons by @marvelfanfics1 ♡ I love your request!! Thank you so much, I deeply apologize for the wait <3

⠀ ⌢ . ꒰ ⌢୨୧⌢ ꒱ . ⌢

You hate whenever your brother is getting too protective, it almost suffocates you, as if you couldn't have your privacy without Rafe breaking in.

-"Rafe! Stop it and give me back my purse!" you yell, trying to get it back from your brother's hands, who's raising it up higher and out of your reach, -"nah, let me check it really quick," he pushes you away while grabbing tightly your pink purse in his grip.

He pulls out a red lip gloss from it and throws your purse on the couch, staring at the lipstick in his hand -"the fuck do you need that for?" He brings it in front of your face, and you yank it out of his grip, -"none of your business, Rafe. I'm going to be late," you huff, tugging down a bit on your dress before stepping out of the house, ready to work for the first time at a coffee salon.

You roll your eyes as you close the door behind you and start walking to the coffee salon. You greet your coworkers and begin to work, welcoming the clients and taking their orders. -"Hi, you can sit at this table. I'll be with you in a few seconds," you say this to every client whenever you're busy cleaning the coffee machine filter.

You pick up the little notepad and go to the table ready to write down their orders. You walk to the table, smiling warmly, and you freeze when you catch sight of Rafe in the corner of your eye. You sigh and eventually walk to his table, still being professional. -"What do you want, Rafe?" you huff, folding your arms across your chest.

He pretends to act surprised when he hears the tone of your voice, -"Is that a way to talk to a client? Not very professional of you, huh?" His cheesy grin appears on his face, noticing the way you feel embarrassed at the current situation. -"Seriously, Rafe, I'm trying to work," you bring your finger to your mouth, biting your nail nervously, causing Rafe's smirk to grow wider. -"I'll have, uh, a beer and maybe I'll take some coke," he leans back in his chair, acting confident.

Your eyes widen at his request - "Rafe! Are you insane? You can't say that out loud," you lower your voice, furrowing your eyebrows, trying to reason with him. He rolls his eyes and motions for you to go away - "whatever, just do your job, I'll be watching," he crosses his arms against his chest. As you move to another table and take the client's order, you soften your voice and give them a warm smile before writing down their orders.

You walk to the counter and pick up an empty glass, pouring it with orange juice. Setting down the plate and the check on their table, as you are about to walk back to the counter, you hear someone whisper. You turn back and see your brother looking at you, waving his hand in the air. You sigh and roll your eyes as you get closer to him. -"You know you can't keep bothering me, right?" you say, wiping your hands on your waitress's skirt. His eyes land on it, -"That shit's too short, how do they even allow you to wear that?" He looks you up and down, eyes filled with disgust.

You clench your fists, trying to hold back your anger - "you are so annoying, Rafe," you whisper, trying to ignore his words and focus on your task. - "Remember that I ordered cokes, sweetheart," you hear him talk behind you as you go to the counter, fixing your hair a bit.

You take a deep breath before picking up your notepad and go to the next table, where an old man is sitting, almost making you uncomfortable with the way he looks at you. -"Hi, would you like anything to drink?" you ask sweetly, eager for his order to be over already. He doesn't take his eyes away from your thighs, -"I'll take two coffees, honey," he says, sending you a weird wink. You quickly go back to the counter to make two coffees.

Rafe on the other side keeps staring at the man, waiting for his next move. As soon as you set down the plate with his two coffees, the client brushes your hand as he picks up the coffee, -"Do you mind if you keep me some company?" His sleazy smile creeps you out, making you feel like you have no choice but to accept his favor. -"Aren't you too young to work at a coffee salon?" he asks, slowly trying to slide his hand on your thigh, causing you to jolt in shock.

Rafe immediately understands what's happening and stands up, walking to you, sending a death glance to the man beside you. -"Get the hell out of my sister before I slit your throat," he says, pulling his arm around your shoulders to protect you while grabbing the old man by his collar. Your shaking figure trembles around his arm as you watch the whole scene in front of you. -"I'm sorry—I didn't know she was your sister, man!" The man stutters as he is finally released from Rafe's grip.

You try to catch your breath, your brother sighs before his attention is back on you, -"Are you okay? He didn't hurt you?" He stares at you trying to find any discomfort in your eyes. You shake your head and look up at him, -"No, Rafe, thank you, I'm fine," you respond out of breath. He quickly holds your arm, refraining you from going anywhere, -"Let's go home, please. This place is not safe for you. What would have happened if I wasn't there, huh?" He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. The soft tone of his voice convinces you to listen to him. You nod and hold his hand as he leads you out of the coffee salon.

Taglist

@marvelfanfics1 @nemesyaaa @jjsfavgirl @mrvlxgrl @mylettterstoyou @wearemadeofstardust0 @jjssurferbaby

[vettelinyourarea]

lavender haze - toto wolff

genre: fluff, slight angst(?)

word count: 1,061

inspired by lavender haze by taylor swift

warning: s-word, age-gap, english is not my first language

this is the first fict i've ever written

Meet me at midnight

Staring at the ceiling with you

Oh, you don’t ever say too much

And don’t really read into

My melancholia

You have been seeing Toto for a couple of months now. Nothing official, just a little date here and there. One day though, when you and Toto went on a date in Monaco, you both were caught by a paparazzi and it’s messy from that point. 

Here you are, at 2:30 am, sitting in your bed, mentally debating whether to send the message you have typed to the man you have come to care deeply in such a short amount of time.

I don’t think I can handle this, Toto.

By 3:00 am, the man himself is standing at your door. You didn’t expect him to be awake when you send the message 30 minutes earlier. But here he is, hugging you in your bedroom. Holding you while you cried on his chest. 

You have come to realized how different your lives are. Him, being the team principal of a big Formula 1 team, he is used to the media and the press. He is used to all of the public attention. But you’re just a student. Taking your master’s degree, you are not used to the public attentions and the press. 

But he’s here, comforting you. He’s here, coming to your apartment at 3 am just because you texted him. He’s here, despite all of the crazy schedule he has tomorrow. And he’s here, hugging you, comforting you, whispering to you.

“You’re okay, love. I’m here, I will always be here with you.”

I’ve been under scrutiny

You handle it beautifully

All this shit is new to me

I feel the lavender haze creeping up on me

When you first agreed to go on a date with Toto, you knew your relationship would not be the easy one. Having a relationship with someone way older than you is not easy for anyone, let alone the fact that he is a popular Austrian billionaire that will always gather a lot of attention wherever he goes.

Slut, gold digger, you called it. You knew some people would call you those disgusting things the moment they caught glimpse of you two holding hands. But knowing the fact in advance doesn’t make it easier for you. But still, neither of you care about the public perceptions. Because you and Toto knew for a fact that your feelings for each other is real. Both of you have fall in too deep with each other. You both also knew for a fact that the relationship you both have currently would become official in no time. 

The hate, the criticism. Those things only make you fell deeper for the man who is currently sleeping besides you.

All they keep asking me

Is if I’m gonna be your bride

The only kinds of girl they see

Is a one night or a wife

I find it dizzying

They’re bringing up my history

But you aren’t even listening

Going out on a busy weekend night is definitely not your smartest decision. But do you care? Not really. You do get annoyed when paparazzi started to follow you and ask questions about your relationship with Toto. Even though the guy is not even with you at the moment. You would have no problem to talk about the man you have grown to love, but not with them. Not in the situation like now.

You and Toto have officially been in a relationship for 6 months now and the press knew it already. But all they keep asking you is when are you and Toto going to get married. As if marriage is the only kind of romantic relationship. Of course, you grew tired of it, but you held on, not telling Toto about how uncomfortable you are.

But when the press starts to bring up your past relationships, all hell break loose. Toto was the first one to found out about the articles. No, he is not mad at you, of course. “I’m not mad at you, love. Why would I be mad at you because of your past? You are mine and I am yours now,” he said when you asked him.

And that is the truth. He is mad, no scratch that, he is furious at the media because why would they dig deep into your past life? You are not a public figure. You are in the public light because you love him. “I’m sorry that you have to go through these because of me,” he said one night while holding you. “Why would you apologize? I chose to love you first,” you had answered. And he kissed you softly as a reply, and you feel one single tear from his eyes, drop on your cheek. 

Talk your talk and go viral

I just need this love go spiral

You and Toto were having dinner at his house when he first asked your permission to talk about your relationship publicly. People knew about your relationship, of course, but neither of you have ever talked about it to the public. It was one year after your relationship become official. With his age, you knew your relationship with him would get serious very quickly. 

You also don’t care if your relationship become public or stay private, really. You just want to love him and be loved by him. And you already knew how in love he is with you, even without announcing it to the world. You don’t care about what the public thinks of your relationship. With that being said, of course you let him to talk about it.

So, on the next day when he has an interview, he openly talks about your relationship for the first time.

“Yeah, she’s everything I need and she’s the one who keeps me sane in this crazy world.”

That lavender haze

I just wanna stay

I just wanna stay

In that lavender haze

You are sitting with Toto in your shared house. After 4 years of dating and 2 years of marriage, he somehow still managed to give you butterfly. After all those years together, he somehow still managed to take your breath away when you looked at him. Even after all those hard years together with him, you both are still in that lavender haze.

[bloodlust-1]

The Consort ₊⁺જ⁀➴

NSWF | Explicit 18+ | Angst | Blood | Ascended Astarion | Spawn Tav | Dark | Smut | Trauma | Stockholm Syndrome | Violence

Ascended Astarion x fem Tav

Chapter: 9 | The Break of Dawn

Summary: In a tumultuous tale of love, power, and betrayal, Tav finds herself entangled in a complex relationship with Astarion, a heartless vampire lord who will stop at nothing to maintain control over his newfound spawn. As Tav witnesses Astarion’s transformation and descent into darkness, their love is put to the ultimate test amidst love triangles, drama, and the pursuit of world domination. Redemption seems like an elusive goal while Tav grapples with the realization of who her lover has truly become.

Notes: hi hi!!! I wanted to give a short update about my life rn! Recently I got an internship (congrats to me :D) So I'm not sure if I'll be able to necessarily update every Monday, but I'll try to keep it on a weekly update, just can't say a specific day. ^^ That's all, Enjoy ~ Unedited atm

AO3 LINK | MASTER LIST

Lovely photo by @astarionposting

"....For fucks sake!"

~

Astarion hastily wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbing an extra one and dashing threw the palace corridors. He followed the trail of wet footprints left on the carpet.

Holy hells she is SO impulsive.

There she was.

Completely naked, water still glistening on her skin.

Arm stretched out, her silhouette illuminated the glow of the sun's rays. Her face was lost in the streaks of sun. She hesitantly extended her hand towards its warmth...If she could just...touch it.

The light’s warm embrace tickled Tav's skin. There were no burns. No pain. Just the soft touch of warmth as her fingers dance in the shadows.

Nature is - beautiful.

There was a ringing in her ear, and in that moment she felt alone - in her own wonder of something so simplistic.

....

...

..

..

.

“Tav! You’ll flash the entire city!”

Astarion spat out, hurrying swiftly to shield her from prying eyes. Embarrassment, annoyance, and amusement read clearly on his face. He darted towards Tav, protectively wrapping his arms around her shoulders. The towel covered her breasts before whisking her away from the revealing view.

Astarion practically dragged Tav before shielding her in the nearest room. And when he did, Astarion cracked into a chuckle, although he was still very much annoyed.

“I forgot how reckless you can be when given the slightest chance,” he remarked unamused, giving her body a tight squeeze before peering down at her face.

Tav, still caught in complete disbelief, whispered in awe, “I can see my reflection…I can touch the light…” Her childlike wonder tugged at Astarion’s heart, reminding him of old times. How her reckless choices used to always keep him on his toes.

And they still do.

How he loved her so deeply.

With a sway of his shoulders, “Gods, I hope no one saw what I can only see,” he sighed, grateful she didn't make it past the front doors.

Tav snuggled into her towel, a slight sadness crinkled her eyes, "So that's how you felt when you could feel the sun again."

Astarion stiffened at her words. An uncomfortable feeling washed over him at the thought of his spawn days. But there was a strange comfort in understanding how he must've felt.

He shook his head like he was drowning out the statement, quickly changing the subject with a mischievous look on his face.

"How about we stroll the city, hm?" He tilted his head with smirked lips.

Tav gasped, "Yes!"

~

Excitedly shaking her head while stuffing her face with a smile, cheeks full of food, she indulged in grilled pork strips. They were on a long wooden stick being sold at a small vendor in the city, and Tav had a handful of them like it was lollipops.

“I knew you were excited but darling, is this really necessary?” Astarion teased as he watched her enjoy the street food.

“Duh, this was the best grill I’ve ever tasted!” she exclaimed between bites, savoring the pork

“You and Karlach have horrible taste,” he remarked playfully, clearly enjoying their banter by the sway of his shoulders.

“If having good taste means agreeing with you, then I’ll happily stick to being tasteless,” she retorted with a mischievous grin before taking another huge bite of the delicious pork strips.

Tav knew eating would never give the real strength she needed, but Gods who cares when it tastes this good.

“I’m sooo hurt,” he joked back. “You little devil, I didn’t think you had it in you, really.”

Suddenly, Tav playfully waved the savory pork stick under Astarion’s nose, a fangy grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

She teased him, “Come on, Astarion ~ just a bite won’t hurt.”

Astarion jumped back, shaking his head continuously with a gross expression on his face, "By the gods, no!"

Tav giggled at Astarion’s dramatics and simply shrugged, "Suit yourself."

I feel more confident.

Free.

I love the outside world.

How contradictory it was, but really, she couldn’t be more happier with her favorite food and lover by her side in this bustling city.

No one can take this away from me.

Astarion leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on Tav's forehead, his lips barely grazing the skin before Tav darted off, leaving Astarion momentarily stunned.

"Always one step ahead, aren't you?" Astarion mumbled to himself, admiring the sway of Tav's hips in the distance.

Tav weaved through the bustling marketplace, a sharp voice pierced the air, "Hey! You ought to pay for that, thief!" The hafling man pointed directly at Tav.

Astarion's gaze snapped toward the commotion, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

Tch.

The vendor's voice rang out again, more insistent this time. Without missing a beat, Astarion sternly intervened, stepping forward with quiet authority. His piercing red gaze locked onto the cowering halfling vendor, who visibly wilted under Astarion's intimidation.

"Don't ever point those grubby fingers at her again."

Astarion pulled a small pouch of gold from his pocket, dropping it down at the man's feet before glaring at him a moment more in deathly silence. The halfling thanked Astarion profusely, and Astarion left to follow Tav.

~

The sound of bells filled the air, accompanied by loud cheering. Astarion frantically scanned the area, searching for Tav amidst the crowd until his eyes landed on a nearby sanctuary where a wedding ceremony was being held.

Pushing his way through the swarm of guests, he finally spotted Tav standing at a distance, her gaze fixed on the couple exchanging wistful smiles in their best suits.

As Astarion approached her, he noticed the somber expression on Tav's face. Standing side by side, he discreetly peeked over at her, curious about her thoughts.

What's the long face for?

Tav tilted her head slightly, her eyes distant, and let out a dreamy sigh. "I always wished to be in their position as a little girl," she confessed softly.

Astarion raised an eyebrow in surprise, his tone teasing yet affectionate. "Darling, really? I didn't know you still cared for mortal activities like that," he remarked with a click of his tongue.

With a thoughtful expression, Tav replied, "Hmm... I always thought it was sweet."

Astarion quickly averted his head away from her, a slight blush of insecurity burning his cheeks.

Fuck.

Am I doing something wrong?

Astartion peeked back at Tav's fingers. Noticing the absence of a ring. He bit down at his inner cheek, guilt gnawing at his stomach. Tav clutched her hands together, her eyes lost at the ceremony.

The sun perfectly kissed her skin so radiantly.

Astarion calls Tav his consort all the time, yet he never really popped the question per-say. The "will you be my wife," kind of question.

Shit, maybe I am doing something wrong.

To officially call Tav my wife? Just the thought made his darkest desires flutter deep in his chest.

Astarion reached out to catch Tav's hands in his, and he pulled her close. A kiss pressing against the softness of her knuckles made her giggle at his affection, "S-Star~..ahah...are you okay?"

"Just fine, love." He smiled against the cervice of her knuckles.

Tav's heart skipped, a softness in his eyes as they stared at her.

Maybe it was just love in the air.

Tav’s heart was pounding like crazy, feeling this sudden urge to just leap into Astarion’s arms. The air was so joyous, and before she even knew what she was doing, Tav found herself closing the gap between them.

Without even thinking, she pulled Astarion into a searing kiss in a fiery moment that made sparks fly.

Astarion was caught off guard by the unexpected move, stumbling back a bit, but his hands naturally found their place around Tav’s waist.

Tav wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss with a passion that felt like a thousand blazing suns.

Everything else around them seemed to fade away, locked in this moment of pure love. The only thing they could hear was the sound of their breathing mixing together, drowning out all other noise until all that mattered was the symphony of their racing hearts.

I love you, Tav.

The distant echoes of wedding bells rang in their ears, Tav and Astarion were lost in each other, bound by a force stronger than fate itself.

-

With bags full of treasures and clothing from their shopping spree, Astarion brought Tav back to their home. The exhaustion from the day weighed heavily on Tav as she sank into the plush carpet of their room, the soft fibers cradling her body.

All she wanted to do was sunbathe in the days of dwindling light.

The only sound breaking the stillness was the gentle sound of Tav’s snores, painting a picture of pure bliss.

Astarion walked into the room, his eyes falling on the soft rise and fall of her body. He chuckled for a brief moment before hesitating.

ASTARION'S POV

In his hand, he clutched onto a velvet box, the feelings of all kinds mixing deep into the pit of his stomach.

When Tav was practically running out of Astarion's sight, he managed to sneak off himself. And what he was able to easily snatch from the jewelers, made his lips crinkle into a smile.

It's just perfect.

That smile soon faded away when he pulled the velvet box out of his pocket. Opening it up to reveal two gold bands with an incrusted filigree.

He felt a shiver run down his spine as he gazed at the jewelry before turning his attention to Tav’s sleeping figure.

Deep breaths.

This is no biggie

just -

ask the question....

Astarion dramatically puffed his cheeks, while his hands were a nervous jumble, clutching tightly as he ran them frustratingly through his hair. With a deep, exhilarated sigh, Astarion tried to shake off the tension that gripped him.

"Gods!" He whispered with a growl in his throat.

Astarion paced back and forth, his fingers anxiously kneading into his hair. With a hand firmly planted on his hip, he clutched onto the small box.

By everything powerful, I never saw this day coming.

Cowering like a weakling over a question!?

This is more interesting than the time I found out Gale's mother, pet, and Whithers all hang out together...

A shudder cringed Astarion's face - Hells it still weirds me out today. Like...Why?

Astarion was just about to wake Tav up when his hand stopped mid-gesture.

No.

She might like something else better.

Astarion rubbed his chin before scanning the room. And an idea popped into his head. Astarion stuffed the velvet box into his pocket before retreating to a storage closet.

He swiftly grabbed a soft blanket and two plush pillows, tucking them securely under his arms as he made his way to the backyard of the palace. Placing the blanket and pillows neatly on the soft green blades.

Oh!

He also brought wine, of course.

Astarion was so critical of everything, but this must be perfect. Nothing more, nothing less.

This is giving me flashbacks when I met Tav in that forest. I wanted to pick the perfect tree to devour her on.

The sky fell dark and the stars twinkled in a blanket of crystals. Astarion wanted nothing more than to watch the stars until dawn broke with Tav.

She would like that.

Astarion hung his head back and let the wine flow down with a quick gulp. When he pulled away he signed out with nerves tingling his skin.

By image, Astarion was an all-powerful Ascendant. Behind closed doors, he was a regular elf with real-life emotions for his beloved.

Astarion wanted to fix something in their relationship. To take it that much further and devote himself, to giving something no one else could have.

A weakness he knew all too well himself. It bothered him, of course.

But love was hard to understand. He only knew he felt it.

END POV

~

Astarion went to go wake Tav, but he found Tav sitting with her legs crossed, staring out of the large window.

Softly, "They look better outside of a window." Astarion peeked behind her silence.

Tav turned towards him, their eyes locking in a silent exchange. Her lips parted slightly, and her piercing pearl eyes seemed to pierce Astarion like daggers.

"The stars I mean." Astarion reached out his hand towards Tav, who responded with a gentle smile as she grasped it. With a graceful pull, he lifted her onto her feet.

“Come with me,” he whispered softly. Their bodies illuminated by the moon's glow. "I want to show you something."

Tav simply nodded her head, her eyes still heavy with sleepiness, as he gently guided her through the courtyard, leading her down a winded path to a meticulous picnic set-up.

The nerves stirred in Astarion again, and he fell quiet while Tav giggled under her breath, "Woow...Well done, my 'dark lord'." Tav nudged her head at him with a cheeky smile, "This is beautiful."

Astarion let out a soft, amused chuckle and sat down with Tav on the plush blanket. He instantly grabbed two glass cups and filled them with wine. "For you, my love," he murmured.

With a simple, "Thank you." Tav took a sip.

Astarion on the other hand was watching her every move. His eyes followed her gestures closely, capturing each smile and noting every direction her eyes wandered towards. 

With a clear of his throat, he spoke up confidently, "Let us stay together, till the stars fade and daylight graces us once more."

Tav playfully quipped with a slight tilt of her head, “How romantic.” She tenderly placed her hand on his cheek and let out a soft giggle, "Of course, I'll stay here with you."

“It feels correct, sharing this moment with someone as stunning as you,” he whispered softly, his eyes full of admiration. With a gentle clink, their glasses met.

The stars littered the sky, and they basked in it, their laughter filling the air. They were in high spirits, fueled by wine and the joy of each other’s company.

They playfully teased and bantered, their voices mingled with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Wrapped in each other’s arms.

Astarion gently pulled Tav close to him, wrapping his arms around her, smoothing down the locs of hair cascading down her back, "Your hair has gotten longer."

"You think? I haven't noticed ever since i lost my reflection."

"You should grow yours out." Tav twirled one of his white curls around her finger. In a sultry voice, "You'd look so handsome."

“Hah - of course I would. I’m beautiful,” Astarion flashed a playful grin.

Tav rolled her eyes at his teasing remark, “Yeah, yeah, before I take it back.” Tav, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, leaned in and playfully nipped the tip of his nose. Astarion let out a surprised giggle as he shook his head in chuckles.

As the giggles died down, Tav averted her gaze. A look of worry crossed her face and Astarion narrowed his eyes. She was still on edge about what had happened just earlier.

It was a lot to sink in.

"What's on your mind?"

Tav anxiously bit down on her inner cheek, shrugging her shoulders, "You...and what had happened earlier..."

She paused for a moment before speaking, "That was - scary. Astarion we should really talk about it. Why would you see a hallucination?"

In a moment of complete and utter vulnerability and honesty, Astarion closed his eyes and spoke. He was too prideful to admit, but she was right. It was a conversation worth discussing.

With a single sigh, "Cazador has taken everything from me. And the only thing I've ever had is you. By letting Cazador's influence take over me, I felt you slipping away."

His arms tightened around Tav's waist. She could physically feel Astarion's muscles stiffen under her. "As for the hallucination...I don't know."

Tav nodded to his every word, gently tracing the veins in his arms for comfort. Her eyes glossed over as he poured his most vulnerable feelings, "He's gone. It's just you and me now. It will be for a very long time."

Astartion's lips chuckled softly at Tav’s heartfelt testament. The sound of his laughter was like a melody to Tav. His laughs were like a pool of lifetimes spent searching, yearning, and hoping for this very moment.

And I'm happy it was me.

As he gazed into Tav’s eyes, Astarion felt a surge of warmth in his dead heart. The kind that makes you question the simplicities of life - how rewarding it can really be.

“I have waited lifetimes to find you...” Astarion whispered, his voice soft yet brimming with sincerity.

Each word he spoke carried the weight of all the years he had spent praying of this moment, of this perfect hold he had around her.

How I prayed to every god for someone like her. Yet it was chaos that brought her to me.

“In every universe you are mine,” he continued, his gaze unwavering.

Astarion reached out a hand, trembling slightly with emotion, and gently brushed Tav’s cheek with his fingertips. She noitced him swallow hard.

Astarion was being truthful.

The pad of his thumb grazed over Tav’s bite marks on her neck, “For eternity.”

"Well, I'm glad to share this with you. Everything." Tav gave a fangy grin with her eyes crinkled and nose all scrunched up.

She cuddled into his arms, both feeling relaxed apart from Astarion with nervous jitters here and there. He traced small circles into her back dimples to edge off the nerves.

When should I ask?

Is now a good time?

What the fuck - how do people even do these kinds of things.

Mortals. ~Eye roll~

~

As the night sky stretched endlessly above them, Astarion and Tav found themselves nestled in each other’s arms. They lay side by side, fingers intertwined, gazing up at the twinkling stars that peppered the sky. Time seemed to stand still in this moment.

Hours slipped by unnoticed, their whispered conversations fading into a comfortable silence as they simply enjoyed each other’s company.

Astarion's ears perked up when he noticed the first hints of dawn began to paint the horizon in soft hues of orange and pink, "Tav!" Astarion softly shook Tav from her drifting off.

A soft glow of colors started to cast on them. Tav felt her cheeks flush with fever at the sight of Astarion’s eyes reflecting the light.

The sun on his face looked so handsome.

She turned away momentarily, staring up at the sky. Tav was looking waay too long because her eyes started to gloss over. But she couldn't look away, not when she was this excited to see the sun once again.

When she turned back to him, her breath caught in her throat at the sight before her.

Astarion was on one knee, a purple velvet box cradled delicately in his hand. The lid opened to reveal a golden ring that sparkled in the early morning light.

His face flushed a deep red in his cheeks and she had never seen him so nervous.

“Will you be my wife?”

Next part here

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

“I have waited lifetimes to find you. In every universe you are mine.” No matter the player and their looks, when romancing Astarion they will always be his love :] I thought it was sweet. BUT YES ASTARION. MAKE IT OFFICIAAALLL! i love soft Astarion

v-v to a fault.

[voidedaurora]

Sorry if this is annoying. But I've always known you as Mel's close friend, what happened between the two of you to prompt a seperation? I read the part where Mel apparently falsely accused you of pressuring her into yknow. But where's the proof of her accusing you of that?

Sorry if this sounds like i'm defending her or that i'm skeptical of your story. I'm just extremely confused, feel free to ignore this. (I have a bad experience with Mel too sooo TT)

I haven't actually spoken publicly about the circumstances of why our friendship ended (mainly because she'll cry and piss herself saying it was meant to stay private) but in SHORT, Mel and I's friendship ended because of me venting to friends about her (in simple terms), The venting admittedly did get into pretty spiteful territory at times but it was only that bad because mel had been treating me like garbage for the past few months, swapping back n fourth from treating me like her best friend in the world to completely ignoring I existed. Aswell, not that this EXCUSES anything I was saying but I do have really bad BPD and one of the main triggers for it was whenever mel would ignore me randomly, I let her know time and time again that it was a trigger and that I couldn't handle her doing that and she'd reassure me, but ofc she never accommodated for that but expected me and everyone else to work around her own issues. Additionally I'd like to mention from early April (4th) until the day she left (04/30/2024) I'd been on narcotics, these really didn't mix well with my BPD but I needed them since I was in horrible pain from the surgery, they made me quite emotional, irrational, "out of it", and generally just got rid of any filter I had up

The friendship was honestly doomed to fail with her refusing to communicate EVER, she likes to talk about how she has communication issues but there's a difference between an issue and refusing to do it period, I tried time and time again to talk about any problems we had with us or just our friendship with her but every time she'd either brush me off, make excuses, ignore me, or get mad. To get back on topic, The venting or "shittalking" became a huge problem when the 2 ex friends I'd been venting to decided I was evil or something and went to go show mel all of what I'd been PRIVATELY venting about and frame everything to be that I hated her or something, obviously once I caught wind of this I tried my best to talk to her about it, apologizing, etc. But she simply ignored me, Shortly after all of that the two Ex friends had cut me off, preaching how "shittalking is horrible!! ur mentally ill and that's a crime" . It's notable to mention that throughout the whole thing if any of the two were uncomfortable, thought I was doing/saying too much, etc. they could've communicated and told me so. After the two Ex friends left ,Mel stayed around to get her Pastel VRchat model from me (since I was the one who'd set the thing up for the most part), then she ignored me for a while longer before dropping me after I'd dmed her to ask to just talk about everything. She then apparently went to her friends trying to convince everyone I was some psycho?? aswell one of the Ex friends was cherrypicking screenshots and tried to frame me for blackmail? (as in they were trying to say I was trying to blackmail Mel)

Obviously I have my parts in contributing to our friendships end but alot of it is on mel and her refusal to communicate with me, I didn't even touch on the way I'd been treated very deeply either. 🧡

And with that other part asking where she accused us of pressuring her, It's stated here "Mel felt she was repeatedly asked to engage in sexual interactions with Clovxr & Voided." Which in fancy words is her saying she felt pressured

I'm just going off of what's publicly available since she wouldn't talk to me about it herself, though do remember she didn't actually write anything in the PDF I'm using the screenshot from, It was written by her "unofficial lawyer" aka Gaia

[thesubtextis]

Hi hi! Congrats on the baby! (Though I guess it’s been a while) I just found Conquered by Love and have been absolutely obsessed for the past couple of days, and was wondering if you had plans for the next chapter? I literally CRIED over the last chapter, they’re so tragic and I am unbelievably invested. Your writing is insane. Of course take the time you need, don’t let me be a dick, but I would love to see an update if you can!!

Thank you!!!!!!!!! I was so optimistic about when I was going to post next, but life has gotten away from me! I ended up writing a LOT during the second half of my pregnancy, but my ability to maintain focus on a single project was... not good, let's say. So now I have half a dozen more WIPs (some of which promise to be quite long), and a good amount written for the next chapter of CBL, but I'm missing pretty critical chunks from the middle of the chapter, and the beginning keeps making me mad, so I kept re-writing it. I know exactly where I want the chapter to end, but more things keep sneaking in. And then my baby came! And now I am so stupidly happy all the time, because he is the BEST, but I'm back to having no time or energy. I'm writing every day, but's sometimes it's literally like, a paragraph. I think I'm getting close? Like, I was within two or three weeks of posting pre-baby, but I've just slowed down so much that two weeks has turned into several months. Also, I have a lot of guilt about not responding to asks on here, or comments on A03, and I'm resolved to work my way through those, because they really do mean so much to me. All that being said, this made me super happy when you sent it, and I've been meaning to respond for ages.

A Sneak Peak:

Slade cuts his own palm, much more deeply than he had Dick’s, and then squeezes their hands together. It’s uncomfortable, but Slade’s cut was precise, his knife sharp: the pain is so minimal that Dick can ignore it easily. Their blood, mixed together, drips onto the floor between them. As the first drop falls, Slade begins to chant. 

Dick knows a little magical theory, but his knowledge stops far short of any practical understanding of runes or the tongues necessary for spell work. He thinks he recognizes a word that might mean length, and as Slade continues, perhaps something else for movement, but he’s just as likely to be wrong as right. 

Slade’s ring vibrates against his hand, in perfect sync with the gold on his wrists and ankles. For a moment they all appear out of focus, even though Dick is looking directly at them. He shuts his eyes tightly, and when he opens them again, there floor is smoking slightly, where their blood spilt, the cuffs have returned to their usual stillness, and though he can pinpoint no specific difference in the patterns engraved on their surface, he feels certain that they have shifted in some indefinable way. 

Slade lets out a breath and loosens his grip on their joined hands, turning to examine the cut on Dick’s palm. His own cut has stopped bleeding, and as Dick watches, he can see the skin beginning to close. 

“I didn’t bring anything for this,” Slade says, clearly annoyed at his own lack of foresight. 

“Did you forget that I don’t heal like you?”

The sour look Slade sends him is confirmation enough, and Dick smiles even though he still feels uneasy. He shifts back, and Slade lets him pull his hand free. 

[aquadestinyswriting]

By Any Other Name

Summary: Meredith finally loses her temper after a Lord on the Fangthane Council continues to us a name and title she is deeply uncomfortable with after being told not to

Words: 624

Tags: @druidx @homesteadchronicles @sparrow-orion-writes-orion-writes,@warriorbookworm, @odysseywritings, @blind-the-winds , @thesorcerersapprentice ,@writeblrcafe , @ashirisu, @flashfictionfridayofficial

Warnings: None.

Notes: this is more or less directly followed by 'What's in a Name?'. This just gives more context as to what Yoruk is despairing about there.

"Lady Copperheart!" I freeze and glance around for the tell-tale jangle of jewellery or a snide remark from somewhere nearby before I finally realise that the call was, in fact, meant for me. I take a breath to calm the flare of annoyed anger in my heart before turning in the direction the voice had come from. 

The middle-aged dwarven merchant now standing before me is gazing at me with a befuddled confusion. I take another moment to school my expression, lifting the glare from my face a little. Despite my repeated requests not to call me by that accursed name, several members refuse to discontinue old habits. Actually, I'm fairly certain the man now asking me some inane question about the budgetary report for the Church Inquisition is one of those who take great delight in deliberately ignoring such requests. I listen, politely, and answer his question in the same manner. I'm just about to take my leave, when he decides to make one last comment;

"In future, High Inquisitor, you would do well to acknowledge the other members of the Council the moment they call for you." He remarks, "I'd also advise you to refrain from glaring at them as though they've done wrong." He adds with an imperious sniff.

It takes all the willpower I have not to punch him, never mind keeping my expression as neutral as possible. I manage a tight smile,

"My apologies, Lord Stenskärare, but I am quite sure I have previously requested that the Council refer to me by Gruksdottir where possible." I tell him. The nobleman scoffs and shakes his head, sneering at me,

"Refusing to acknowledge the prestige of a House you now belong to is a dishonour to your husband." He snaps, "Then again, I wouldn't expect a peasant girl like you to know anything about that." 

It's a very good thing for Lord Stenskärare that we weren't the only people still in the antechamber of the meeting room. I dread to think of what might have occurred were we alone. As it is, I do finally lose my temper. I’m not really all that aware of what I yell at him, I only know that I’m swearing in at least four different languages and he doesn’t understand the majority of them. I only stop when Captain Bloodvein finally shoves me out one door and gets one of his guard to shove Lord Stenskärare through another. I’m still fuming even as I apologise to His Majesty, Her Highness and Captain Bloodvein and storm out of the palace.

It's not that I don't want to acknowledge the honour and legacy of the Copperheart name – by all accounts, the late Captain Copperheart was a highly regarded Kingsguard – but I cannot rid myself of the memory of her every time I hear that name and title in combination with one another. There are just too many bad memories associated with it. Especially given everything she did during her relatively short reign of terror, which the entire Council are aware of. I did go into great detail in my report to King Storri once all was said and done. It's ridiculous, she's gone for good, locked in the deepest recesses of the Pit for the rest of eternity. By all rights I should be glad to reclaim the honour that the title deserved this whole time. And yet.

It's no good. I'll either have to talk to Yoruk about changing the name, or just learn to live with the dread that climbs up my spine every time I'm in a damned Council Session. In the meantime I think Uncle Snorri's boiler needs bashing back into shape, I can practically hear the thing chugging and sputtering from here.

[ellieloves2read]

tell me about you ocs 🔫 (if you want to)

:0!!!!!!!! OKAY SO i got a few of em but right now im thinking about two old dnd characters of mine so youre getting the lore on those!

(ID: a page of busts of a tiefling with fluffy black hair, backwards-pointing horns, long eyelashes, sideburns, and a lip scar. his expressions, top to bottom and left to right, are: serious, amused, laughing, angry (and looking as if he’s losing a fight), confident, annoyed, shouting, terrified, shocked, smiling warmly, and uncomfortable. end ID.)

first we have (drumroll) sylver, aka the guy who’s been my tumblr icon literally the whole time ive been here. sylver was originally a concept for a dnd version of sylv from dq11, and then i watched the entire potc series in one week. also he’s trans :]

sylver was an indentured servant on a merchant ship that was then attacked by pirates. the pirates kept sylver as a poorly-treated cabin boy. about a year later, he challenged the captain to a duel for his freedom, which. Did Not Go Well. at all. he stayed on the ship for a few years after that, until eventually he jumped off the ship in the middle of a storm. surprisingly, he survived and got picked up by a pair of bards. he traveled with them for a while (mostly as security. my boy cant carry a tune). however, he was still deeply messed up from his experiences aboard the pirate ship and had a desire for revenge, so he started traveling around and honing his skills until he could beat the captain in a duel.

(ID: four colored drawings of a tiefling with dark grey skin, short white hair, forward-pointing ramlike horns, and round glasses with red lenses. in the first drawing, theyre wearing a red bandana with a white buttoned shirt, which has been tied at the bottom. they have their hands in their pockets. in the second drawing, theyre wearing an orange blazer, a black binder, and red and black striped pants. their arms are spread out to the sides. in the third drawing, theyre wearing a yellow bandana and a red flannel jacket. theyre sitting at a table and are leaning their hand against one hand. in the fourth drawing, their wearing a red vest, a white shirt and bow, and yellow-tinted glasses. thsyre sitting with their hands resting on the table in front of them. end ID.)

second, we have (drumroll) jack! originally a oneshot character, jack is a bard who started as marius from les mis if marius stayed in the “empty chairs” number instead of getting married at the end. as with sylver, jack’s aesthetic and personality was influenced by a film i watched while making them; in this case, moulin rouge.

jack was a spy for a group of rebels in their hometown. they were very good at their job and thought victory was assured, until the rebellion was swiftly and brutally ended in one night. yikes. jack survived and escaped, but has since become extremely jaded. they make a living off of their fiddle and skilled storytelling.

bonus drawing of both of them together, because i recently opened my eyes to the idea of them interacting and i have not known peace since

(ID: a pencil sketch of sylver and jack sitting at a bar. jack is leaning against it with their elbows propping them up, and they are loosely holding a cigarette in one hand. they're wearing a frilly white shirt with long sleeves and black pants. sylver is leaning forward against the bar and is holding a beer glass close. he is wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black pants. there are a variety of glasses and champagne flutes on the bar. both sylver and jack are looking towards the camera, sylver looking tired and jack looking annoyed. end ID.)

[ekho-ekho-ekho]

So come to find out, if more than a few of your joints bend backward more than a teeny tiny bit, that probably means you have a hypermobile disorder even if you’ve never (to your knowledge) dislocated anything.

Who knew?

Certainly not me! And very definitely no one I know irl . . . which makes it kind of frustrating to talk about this when my friends and family are so used to the idea that I’m “out of shape” because I “hate exercise” and yet still get to be “thin for no reason.”

Look, I get that fatphobia is difficult to live with and makes it hard to buy clothes and feel good about yourself — but also so many people who struggle with their weight have internalized the “Thin = Healthy” brainworms to such an extent that, if I mention that living in my body is in fact deeply unpleasant, most people I know, most of the time, will openly laugh at me for saying so. Whatever, your joints are backwards, so what? What does that really affect in your life? At least you can find clothes in your size.

That kind of thing hurt even before I knew why my body was so weird in so many little ways. And now that I DO know why, it’s making me flat-out angry. And I have to keep reminding myself that most people just don’t think about their joints very often — hell, I’ve known about hypermobility disorders for years and STILL didn’t realize I had one, because I didn’t think about my joints much, either. It’s hard to even recognize the problem until you see a direct, side-by-side comparison of how a “normal” body holds itself together vs how yours doesn’t.

That said, I’m still annoyed.

So, if you don’t have hypermobile joints and you don’t quite understand why they’d be a persistent issue for someone, I’d like to ask your help with a demonstration.

If at all possible, stand up for a bit. Yep, just stand normally, feet a little less than shoulder-width apart. Try to hold regular-good posture. Pretend you’re at a wedding reception and there’s a photographer lurking about. Back straight, chin up, knees and shoulders at rest.

Now, hold up one hand, fingers together. About how wide is your palm, horizontally? Three-ish inches? Therabouts?

Okay, keeping that distance in mind, bend your knees forward about that far.

Got them bent? Alright, good. Posture check. Feel how bending your knees changed the way you’re holding your back/shoulders/ head?

Now: without unbending your knees — OR bending them any farther — correct your posture back to how it was before. Helps if you center your weight over your heels. Straight spine, chin up, shoulders back and relaxed. Poker face. You want nothing from the hips up to indicate any level of strain.

Do you have your phone, or a watch or something? Set an alarm and hold this position for two minutes. Make sure you keep track of what your knees are doing the whole time. Also your spine. Also your neck and shoulders. If you need a short rest, you can rock your weight forward to the balls of your feet for a second. If your arms start to feel heavy, try crossing them. But it’s vitally important that you do not let on in any way that this is uncomfortable for you. Come back when your two minutes are up.

...

Hi, you okay? Feeling a little shaky? Yeah you might wanna hydrate. Better? Okay cool — so you probably get where I’m going with all this, and some part of you might already be thinking, ‘Okay, well, I get the point, but that’s probably a little dramatic, I mean living with hypermobile joints can’t possibly be THAT bad.’

And you’re right! It’s way worse!

See, what you just experienced is how it feels to stand straight with hypermobile knees. When you started off standing normally, with your knees relaxed, that was comfortable because the ligaments holding your leg bones together were passively supporting your weight. You barely noticed. When *I* “relax” my knees, however, they bend backward about three inches — or, the full width of my hand — before my ligaments catch them. That throws all the rest of my balance out of whack. And since all the connective tissue between all of my joints is at least a little bit loose, that means everything I do to maintain my balance is then also compromised. My hips tilt forward, my spine goes into a deep arch, my feet flatten and collapse inward. Then my shoulders lock up from the effort of holding everything else (more-or-less) upright. You know Shaggy from Scooby-Doo? That’s what my version of “relaxed” posture looks like.

So, if I’m going to mimic “correct” posture (say, if I’m in a nice dress at a wedding reception), that means bending my knees forward a good three inches just to make them look “straight” and then leaning my weight ever-so-slightly backward to balance the whole tottering Jenga tower of my skeleton on an axis with my heels.

And that’s standing. That burn you feel fading in your thighs, in your calves, in your abdomen, in your back and wherever else right now — that’s how much effort a hypermobile person puts into just. Standing up straight for a couple minutes.

Now ask yourself: if standing “normally” is that much more difficult with hypermobile joints, involves that much compensation and constant adjustment . . . what must it be like doing anything else?

See the problem yet?

[darkobssessions]

Bipolar Disorder: What does a hypomanic episode feel like?

by Haylen Hatter

"So I used to not qualify for a diagnosis of bipolar II because my hypomanic episodes only last 2–3 days tops. It took me a long time to recognize these states for what they are because they don’t align with the typical depiction of hypomania/mania many are familiar with, mainly in that I rarely get “euphoria” and all things considered they are very mild and short.

I have no idea what sets them off but the changing of seasons seems to have something to do with it, especially around this time of year where we’re moving into fall. I can kind of feel it creeping up and that is making me nervous.

I usually first notice it when I’m trying to fall asleep, my brain will just go go go and I’ll toss and turn but when my alarm rings in the morning I feel fine even though I’ve had like 3 hours of sleep. They make me feel like I am full of restless energy and it is EXTREMELY uncomfortable, like, crawling energy you can’t get rid of that makes you want to scream. Think of the worst boredom you’ve ever felt, how you feel that aching need for stimulation but nothing is really scratching that itch. Or like being ravenously hungry, but for experiences. I need to do SOMETHING constantly but I don’t know what that something is and no matter what I engage in the feeling doesn’t go away. Nothing is moving fast enough, I am impatient, irritable, and quite annoying if I’m being honest with myself. The only things that seem to feel good are socializing, getting drunk, and walking.

I’ll walk for hours just to feel the forward motion. I’m a homebody and an introvert usually but when I’m hypomanic I want to go to bars, talk to everyone, sleep with strangers (very out of character for me). I want to take risks and run my life into the ground. Literally my impulse is to self-destruct.

Self harm happens, cause I want the terrible energy out and any negative thought or feeling feels much worse/more important/threatening than normal. I can drink like 10x more than usual without getting negative aftereffects or even really feeling that drunk.

Eating is difficult, like food is glue in my mouth and hard to swallow.

I have a lot of new ideas and want to be creative so my phone fills up with notes about, like, youtube videos I want to make but never will lol. I’m kind of like that normally though so it isn’t such a deviation from my baseline.

Then the next day I realize I’m tired, I go to bed and sleep normally, wake up and I’m back to normal. Because they are so short nothing seriously bad has ever come of them (knock on wood). Now that I understand what is happening I usually just walk around all day/night because that is the least harmful impulse I have and I reach out to friends who know what is up to hang out with at night cause they’ll be able to keep me distracted and out of trouble.

I don’t like hypomania. It doesn’t make me feel good, they make me feel like my mind is a bullet train and my body is being dragged behind it. Like being stretched really thin. It is disruptive and deeply uncomfortable."

[mermaidchan05]

Apprenticember Day 3

“Give a short summary of their relationship to the other characters!” 

✨ Asra ✨

Asra is family.

And it's both as simple and as complicated as family can be. Even before their amnesia, Asra was one of the first people that Chimalus could feel comfortable around and open up to, and they greatly appreciated that Asra was happy to offer silence whenever they didn't want to talk. The two of them love studying magic together (even if it devolved into sibling-style arguments sometimes), they're both happy to share quiet moments together, and they both love the thrill of discovery. On the other hand, the two know exactly how to annoy and tease each other, they get into petty, food-related arguments all the time, and Chimalus steers more towards staying home while Asra is always eager to travel. In the end, though, they care about each other deeply, and would do anything for one another. 

♣️ Julian ♣️

Chimalus started off wary of Julian (for obvious reasons), but quickly figured out that his "dark spooky villain" thing was a front. Once they got past that, they found Julian to generally be a nice guy. They genuinely appreciate his kindness and admire his skills as a doctor, and they're certainly amused by some of his stories and antics. But gods, they wish he could be a little less stubborn about magic sometimes. 

Chimalus very strongly believe that magic and science are both incredibly useful, and Julian appreciates this practical mindset. But he does try to get Chimalus to loosen up a bit too often. He'll figure out that they aren't one for rowdy bars eventually. And then profusely apologize for ever trying to drag them into places they're uncomfortable in the first place. It's alright, though; Chimalus isn't exactly great at telling people when they're uncomfortable. Eventually Chimalus and Julian will learn how to communicate a little better. But they do both get along in the end.

Now they sort of have a sibling relationship, but they both think of themselves as the older sibling. Also Julian is 110% supportive of the whole Portia x Chimalus x Nadia thing. 

🐾 Muriel 🐾

Chimalus’s closest friend among the main cast. The two of them have more in common than they would ever say aloud... not that they need to say anything aloud to be close.  They’re both very comfortable with one another’s silence.  Despite coming from vastly different backgrounds, both Chimalus and Muriel carry scars from their past, both physical and mental. Even though Chimalus doesn’t remember who they were before Asra brought them back, there are some things that never truly fade. Chimalus doesn’t know Muriel’s full story yet, but they don’t need to: they’re happy to meet Muriel where he is, and Muriel has grown to appreciate Chimalus’s quiet sort of caring.  Chimalus takes pride in the fact that they can, on occasion, actually make Muriel smile.

💎 Lucio 💎

Honestly? The best way to put it is a line from Chimalus themself in a fic I wrote a while ago. For context, this is halfway through Lucio’s redemption arc: 

“When I died... I lost everything.  Even after I came back.  I still don’t have any memory of my past.  I have no idea who I was before Asra brought me back. Lucio took everything from me. And he hurt so many people... so many that I care about. But I’ve moved on. In time... I may even be able to find it in me to forgive Lucio.  But I don’t have to like him.” 

[ollieblogs-stuff]

Stuck.

All the cool kids want to go to the haunted playground. They enter the place of historical tragedy sniggering and pushing each other in the rough-and-tumble way children do. They don’t acknowledge or even notice me, of course. I’m not one of the cool kids. Unbeknownst to them, I’m a regular here, for reasons far beyond their comprehension. It’s all a group dare; a chance to show off; to prove how grown up they are. The cool kids think they can laugh off their genuine fear and return to school the myth-busting heroes. 

All the cool kids are idiots. 

It always follows the same routine.

Their laughter staggers to a stop as the first of them, typically the largest one - in both personality and stature - passes quite rudely through an unnaturally cold patch. Their face and body shutter and slump as they withdraw into themselves. The others mill around, placing concerned arms over their shoulders and sharing worried glances with others above their head. The gaggle of them utterly baffled at the mighty change in their leader. 

Then, the annoying ‘comedic’ sidekick, uncomfortable with silence and being stuck with their own self-deprecating thoughts, takes the lead. The fool will use a funny voice and stumble up the nearest piece of playground equipment. 

This one today clambers up the short rock wall and stands, far too tall and triumphantly, within head-whacking distance of the plastic spires. Before any witty commentary can emerge from their mouth, however, they go still. Their eyes stare unseeingly above and past their friends below. Their mouth opens silently in terror. They are seeing the ghost-equivalent of a burglar alarm. Cosmic and nightmarish horrors rooted in real history. Real history that happened right here, you insensitive fucks. 

Depending on the individual group, there may be other characters that appear and have a go at conquering the ‘urban myth.’ At the very least, every group of cool kids that come through swiftly make a dramatic exit after their leader and fool have been made victim of the site. 

I watch this group of kids leave from my sedentary position on the only functioning swing. Good riddance. Thankfully, I won’t see them for another week when the new school year commences. Now I can actually go about my usual business in peace. 

Standing from the aged plastic seat, I stretch my arms above my head before heading over to the flaking yellow spiral corkscrew ladder. As I move closer, the bright, amorphous blob sharpens into a ghostly apparition. At least this one is human. Animal ghosts are always so difficult to communicate with, and there are only so many hours in a day for me to squeeze in a childhood around these liaison jobs. 

This ghost is a kid younger than me. Maybe about 9 or 10 years old? Briefly, I acknowledge and swiftly mourn the appearance and disappearance of the existential crisis within my mind upon the realisation I’m talking to a dead child younger than me. As odd as it may sound, I miss the days when interactions like these would lead me down an extended existential spiral. Now, those feelings are fleeting, then disappear in a heartbeat. Surely this apathy is far more concerning in this situation for a 15 year old such as myself. Not like I can talk to a mainstream psychiatrist or general mental health professional about this. Over many generations of tragedy, my family has finally learned that to stay safe, our talents cannot be known by anyone else, no matter how genuinely and deeply we may trust them. 

Anyway, dead kid. Younger than me. My brief, fleeting emotions of existentialism have long since disappeared, and I’m ready to be a professional. I cast my eyes over the figure to analyse the situation and client. 

The kid’s leg is hooked unnaturally (go figure) over and under two of the metal spirals. His dark, cropped hair has been buzzed on the back and sides. I note with some amusement the flame decals shaved around the area. Now, THIS is a truly cool kid. He wears a long-sleeved Minecraft tshirt of what might have originally been yellow colour? The outfit is completed with generic cargo shorts and bare feet. The shirt and sweet hair immediately place him in our modern era, and not part of the mass stabbing incident from the late 1980s. He is also decidedly not from the sandpit-spiking of the mid 1990s, or the icecream-van shooting of the early 2000s. 

Jesus Christ. I often wonder how the public would react if these regular tragedies were general knowledge. Even I’m surprised that this spooky playground is still in existence and open to the public, and I’ve been talking with the dead since I was 4. 

Nevertheless, Minecraft… I can work with that. That’s a good place to start. 

“So,” I begin, my voice nonchalant. “Minecraft… the main guy is Steve, right?” 

The kid tears his eyes away from where the cool kids from earlier disappeared, turning instead to face me. 

“Yeah!” he exclaims. “You know Minecraft?” 

“Not really,” I confess. “That’s pretty much the extent of my knowledge. Other than: you shouldn’t dig directly down, and defeating an Ender Dragon wins the game, or something?” 

The kid huffs and rolls his eyes. Really not in the mood to be sassed by a dead 10-year old on my Friday night, I continue. 

“Look, I’m here to help you. It’s not good for you to stick around one place like this,” I say, ignoring another eye roll. “Where’s your tether?” 

The kid crosses his arms petulantly, “I know where my tether is. I’m not a baby! I’m 10!” 

Yes! I get better and better at guessing the ages of dead children with every case! 

…That… really isn’t something I should be celebrating. Oh well. 

“Okay, okay,” I concede. “You’re a big 10 year-old boy. It’s time to move back to your tether, kid.” 

Said kid produces a new combination of non-verbal responses: huff, arm cross, eye roll, huff. 

“Look, kid, my curfew is in like half an hour. I don’t have all -” I huff. 

“Alex,” states the kid. 

“Huh?” comes my idiotic reply. 

His crossed arms relax into a loose hold of his arms. It looks like a loose self-hug. Poor kid. Adjusting to life without physical contact with other beings must be so alienating. I wonder whether he has any relatives near his tether. Surely they’d be wondering where he is. 

“I’m Alex,” he repeats. “Not ‘kid.’”

I inhale deeply. No need to lose my cool. This is a little kid. A dead little kid. For whatever reason, he’s hanging around here today and not wanting to return to his tether for the night. I’m here to help. 

“My name is Violette,” I share. “I’m here to help you. How can I help you get back to your tether?” 

Alex is now avoiding my eyes. This is highly suspicious. He looks guilty. 

I purposely soften my voice and take a step closer, “Alex, what’s going on?”

When he finally talks, his voice is so small, I almost miss it, 

“I’m stuck in the ladder.” 

“Stuck? You’re a ghost! How do you get stuck?!” I screech. 

Alex’s face crumples, and I immediately regret my reaction. He folds into himself, leg sticking out awkwardly in its laced positon between curved rungs. To my absolute horror, he begins to cry. 

Great job, Violette, you’ve made the dead kid cry. ‘Best Paranormal Liaison in Your Family’s History.’ What a joke. I don’t know what afterlife-substance Great Great Great Aunt Edna was on when she made that declaration. The best ANYTHING wouldn’t make a dead kid cry minutes within meeting them. 

“I - I don’t know!” Alex wails. He’s an ugly crier. Unashamed to crumple his face entirely and hang his bottom jaw low as he does so. “I don’t know! I don’t know all the ghost rules! I’m just a kid! It’s not fair!” 

This, we can agree on. No-one deserves this, especially small children. Alex’s head tips back in his grief, and I watch in professionally-disguised horror as it tips at an unnatural reflex angle. Ah. So some sort of strangulation or blunt force trauma shattering his neck was the cause of death. Lovely. 

Unlike my existential crises, I have never managed to move past my stomach-turning bodily reactions to certain gory clues to ghosts’ deaths. Not all gore. Not ‘clean’ gore. I’d be utterly useless at my job if my stomach went weak at the sight of blood, a cleanly severed head, or something simple like that. It’s always the ‘unnatural’ clues. Suggested gore. ‘Half-way there’ stuff. Hacked limbs dangling by meaty threads. Cracked necks or inverted limbs that bend backwards. Internal organs made external, but still connected to the person… urgh. Even just thinking about it makes my shoulders shudder, stomach roll, and skin goosebump. 

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. It isn’t time for me to freak out. I’ll make sure to give myself time to process at the dinner table tonight, where I can vent honestly to my parents about this whole thing.

Right now, I need to get Alex calm. Then, I need to figure out some way of getting his ghost unstuck from this bloody playground.  

Okay Violette, we need to get this kid to calm down. 

“Alex,” I call gently. “Buddy, I’m sorry. That was unfair of me to say.” 

He doesn’t reply, but he does right his head (thank fuck) and sniff twice. His loud wails cease, though his lips continue to tremble. He’s listening. 

“It is so unfair for you, being a ghost and all,” I agree. “It’s not your fault. It is absolutely not your fault, and I didn’t mean to blame you. I’m sorry for that.” 

He wipes his nose on his striped sleeve, and I kindly pretend not to notice. Upon realising that Alex still has absolutely no intention of talking - backed by the suspicious glare he is now channelling at me - I decide to settle in for the long haul. After kicking the sand around at my feet, because one can never quite trust playground sand after helping 31 spiked kids from the mid 90s through to the afterlife, I sit in a cross-legged position facing my new, stuck friend. 

I lean my head against the peeling metal bars behind me, hoping desperately that they’re peeling due to age and not frequent urination. I sigh and close my eyes. 

“Alright dude, I can tell you’re not the biggest fan of me at the moment. That’s fair, I guess. But if I’m going to help you out of here, you need to relax.” Opening my eyes to stare at the kid, I continue, “What do you want to talk about?” 

Alex shrugs. I don’t know what I expected, really. Clearly, expecting the dead 10 year-old to follow polite, if meaningless, social interaction rules and respond to my conversation starter, were standards set far too high. Looks like I’ll have to do this myself. I close my eyes and get into character. 

“Well, Violette,” I say in a far-too chipper voice, only slightly mocking Alex’s unbroken pitch. “I’m wearing a Minecraft shirt, so obviously my only personality trait is my interest in this game.” 

I feign an interested vocalisation, “Oh! Is that right? Well, Alex, I may not be an epic gamer like yourself, but I too, have my own interests - outside talking with stuck ghosts in playgrounds on Friday nights, that is.” 

I open one eye just wide enough to glance at Alex. His mouth is agape in an expression of outrage. I swallow my laughter and continue. 

“Wow! More than one interest! I’m glad I made myself part of this conversation!” I chirp in my falsetto. “Tell me more about yourself.” 

“Thanks for asking, Alex” I respond. “I’m 15, I’ve been talking to ghosts since I was 4, and I’ve got a soft spot for reptiles. I think snakes and lizards are really cute. My favourite colour is red, and I’m an only child. Unfortunately, I go to school with that group that was here earlier. I’m sorry about them, by the way. They pretend I don’t exist, so I couldn’t move them away, but I’m sorry they were rude. I saw the one with the mullet climb up next to you and get a bit too close. I’m sorry they got in your space.” 

I open both my eyes now and stare openly at Alex. This is about as honest as I can be with an unfamiliar dead kid on a Friday night. I hope it’s enough to earn his trust. 

He’s regarding me in the silent, observant, and unnerving way only young children can. I’d say it’s spooky, but the point is pretty moot. 

Finally, finally, he speaks. “It’s okay.” He says. 

I wait. I just held a trust-earning, two-sided conversation from one mouth; this kid can elaborate on his two words independently.

“It - It was nice to be around people again,” he shares. “Even if they’re bigger than me and being stupid.”

I snort at this. Keen eye, this one. 

“I miss people,” Alex whispers. There’s a heavy sadness in his tone that is entirely too cumbersome for someone who only saw 10 birthdays. His eyes meet mine, and I see them watering. 

“My mum had to bury me in the backyard. She found me after she came home from work and I wasn't there. She couldn’t get in trouble again, and she couldn’t pay for the graveyard, the coffin, or the cre- creme- cremo-” Alex’s eyes meet mine searchingly. 

I correct him softly, “Cremation.” 

“Cremation,” he repeats. “She moved. No one lives here now.” 

Alex stares at the sand unseeingly for a few moments. I use the time to inhale deeply and will away my tears. For some reason, the fact that Alex knows all of these things after his death is so much harder to handle than if he’d been confused about the ordeal. 

“I used to play here,” he states. I look towards him to see his face upturned and gazing lovingly at each of the playground equipment pieces around us. “I remembered that this morning. I wanted to play here again, so I came over.” 

Alex pauses, staring directly at me. 

“I was climbing up this curly thing when I remembered that I also died here. I was walking back home. Mum was at work. It was night time. I should’ve stayed at home,” he whispers. 

I stand and walk towards the crestfallen child. “That might be why you’re stuck,” I whisper. “Sometimes, when we remember something really important or scary, our ghosts can get ‘stuck’ in place. I usually see other ghosts frozen in place, like their feet are glued to the floor, instead of stuck inside things like you.” 

I smile at Alex. It is a pitifully small smile, but all I can muster. “This isn’t your fault, Alex. And I think I know how to help you now.” 

Quickly patting my pockets for my phone and keys, I then grab out my utility knife. An effective paranormal liaison never leaves home without one. Alex looks at me quizzically as I squat and begin sawing off the very end of the final spiral at the bottom of the ladder. I explain, 

“We’re both going to walk back to where you’re buried. We’re going to take a piece of the ladder with us, which will keep you stuck to it until we’re back to your tether.” 

Alex looks at me silently with wide eyes. I can’t tell whether he thinks I’m insane or just unstable. 

“Trust me, dude,” I attempt to soothe. “We’re going to do this together. We’ll walk to your tether, and I can help you reconnect. I’ve done this before.” 

His face crumples once again, “But I don’t want to go back!” he wails. “I don’t-” 

“You don’t want to go back,” I agree. “Look, for tonight, you need to go back, but I’m going to talk to my family tonight and we’ll get some sort of plan in action. Whether we relocate your remains to the graveyard, or find some other way to relocate your tether, we’ll figure something out.” 

In my most honest moment of the evening, I smile encouragingly at Alex. 

“You won’t have to be alone anymore, I promise.” 

~ O.M.A

All the cool kids want to go to the haunted playground.

[writefightandflightclub]

Hugs: Nathan blurb

Hi. Not even gonna tag / describe this properly, sorry. Nothing elaborate. Just a short, comforting Nathan blurb with hugs because that’s what I was feeling (and about all I can manage) 🙈 OMG I luff him, your honour.

You quickly fumble away your tears as Nathan enters the lab, sitting up straight as a rod before your screen.

The last thing you need is for your boss (and crush) to see you crying. Thankfully, you think you’ve hidden it reasonably well.

“Are you crying?”

Shit.

“Maybe.”

Nathan frowns. “Why are you trying to hide it from me?”

You shrug. “You know. You’re… you.”

Nathan frowns more deeply. “I am, insofar as we can perceive of the concept of the ‘self.’ Unless we’re subscribing to the antirealist philosophical view and-”

You look at him tiredly. “-Nathan.” You rub your temples, and to your surprise your small plea actually shuts him up. He clamps his mouth abruptly into a thin line, and crosses silently to the desk, perching one ass cheek on the edge, and calmly folding his hands into his lap.

Then, he begins, much more softly. “That’s a bad thing in this scenario? To be me?”

You look up at him through a blur of tears, emotion swelling again. “You’ll think I’m all… pathetic. And human.”

Nathan scoffs, with a flash of white teeth. “Wow. I will, will I? Let me tap your brain for that sexy algorithm, honey. Didn’t know you could predict thoughts.”

A deep sigh leaves you, and you haphazardly scrub the tear tracks away from your cheeks. “You know. Your sarcasm isn’t helping.”

He actually looks a little put-out then, as though he genuinely might have believed his sarcasm to be a magic cure-all. “You’re wrong, anyway. I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

You look up at him in light surprise -and mild suspicion- as he reaches across the surface to offer you a box of tissues. Gratefully, you pull the tiny sail from the opening with a flourish, and sniffle into it. “Well. What are you thinking?”

“I think you’re snotty and making me uncomfortable.” Well, you asked, and Nathan’s blunt enough to tell things how they are. You look up at him again, ready to chide him. However, you spot a tiny smirk beneath his beard which reveals he’s teasing. Then, as your gaze travels up further, you find his deep, dark eyes have become uncharacteristically soft, the care present in them stunning you into silence. “What do you need?” Nathan asks softly, ever the one for solutions.

You shrug.

Nathan looks perplexed at that, his head tilting to the side, and his mouth drawing into a stern line. “Well if you don’t know, honey, I can’t help you.”

You simply look at the floor. You don’t know what you need, and that’s part of the very multi-faceted problem. Nathan deals well with complexity, typically, but not the emotional kind - nuance be damned. In fact, from what you’ve seen of him, he has five very distinct states: horny, arrogant, sarcastic, drunk, and pissed off. Currently, he seems to be leaning towards the latter, and it’s the last thing you need. In fact, you don’t think any of them would do you much good right now.

So, you’re honestly about to tell him to piss off when a tentative, broad hand settling over yours takes you by surprise. Nathan looks at you earnestly, softly, and in this new context, his perturbed attitude makes a little more sense, you think. You realise that he’s annoyed when he doesn’t know the solution to meet his goal - he doesn’t enjoy feeling unsure or outdone, after all. And, his “goal” here, you realise? Only to comfort you. For once, you don’t think he has a single other agenda.

You peer down at his hand, Nathan’s warmth blooming pleasantly through you. You trail your gaze up his bulked, sculpted arm, over the sleeve of that flattering black polo, and flit it around his singularly handsome face, brow still locked in a stern portrayal of concern.

Suddenly, you think you do know what it is you need. Not to solve anything, no; but to feel just a little better? You think so.

“Can I have a hug, Nathan Bateman?”

Nathan stiffens tellingly in his perch. Clears his throat emphatically. His throat bobs with uncertainty. He’s hardly a tactile person. Not affectionate.

But then, as soon as you submit your request, he is shifting. Extending his arms out willingly towards you. “Come here then. Just don’t snot all over me before my 3pm with the board, understand?”

Nathan’s words and expression remain harsh, but, when his arms envelop you, they are nothing but tender and gentle. All of his strength and his bite reined in; for you.

He wraps you up in him, shuffling his butt forward to the desk edge so he can plant both feet, allowing you to nestle comfortably between his thighs. To lean yourself into his chest and be thoroughly cocooned by his warmth.

For a moment, you breathe deeply, sucking in the scent of him, your chests rising and falling in time. The pleasant, dull, slow thud of his heart sounding against your ear.

Nathan is almost entirely still - and yet, after a deep breath, he seems to melt into it. His hands begin to smooth a slow path up and down your back.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Why are you famous for code, Nathan? You should be known for giving the best damn hugs, I swear to God.”

Given how Nathan usually riles you, you feel unexpectedly at peace wrapped up in his arms, and a whole different kind of emotion swells within you.

“Yeah?” he asks, and you feel him shake lightly against you as you earn a gruff little chuckle. “Well. You smell great.”

The compliment reverberates through you along with the deep thrum of his voice, and you smile bashfully into his chest.

You think you could stay here all day, lost in him, but you know that Nathan -for his part- has other plans. More important things to do; namely that board meeting at 3. You stiffen as you catch a glance at the clock, and, reacting to you, Nathan releases his arms, creating an open loop around you, his face carefully examining yours. “What is it?” he says with an animated concern, even if his eyes now look hooded and content, his posture far more relaxed.

“Your meeting, Nate.”

“C’mere,” he says, softly shaking his head, drawing you gently back into him.

“But what about-“

“-They’ll wait,” he says confidently, as though the matter is settled. They’ll wait.

This embrace though? Apparently, this is something which can’t possibly be bumped until later.

And, to your utter shock, Nathan stays there, holding you tenderly - until you opt to let go.

You don’t though; at least, not for a rather long time.

Not until you’re feeling much, much better.