#paired with 'character who is very much not over the breakup and does not want to show how much they still care'

[suddencolds]

the urge to write morally gray f/f enemies to lovers h/c...

[dottores]

ROMANTIC HOMICIDE | IL DOTTORE

pairing: dottore x reader; implications of future tartaglia x reader

summary: in which you’re with dottore’s youngest segment when he makes the deal with the dendro archon.

warnings: heavy angst, character death (dottore’s segments), very heavily implied breakup but it’s not made explicit, dottore does not know how to deal with emotions, the youngest segment (referred to as iota segment) was literally like reader’s son, was very liberal with what little we know of dottore’s lore/background.

notes: wow this was the most emotionally intense thing i’ve written in a hot minute. ever since i learned that dottore had a 10 y.o. segment i’ve been distraught—he is my son #real keeping dottore in character for his pov was honestly a rlly big writing challenge n i had a lot of fun w it. i think i did pretty well. as always, rbs for boost are appreciated! praying that this stays in the tags n it’s only the tighnari tags glitching again

wordcount: 7.3k

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you murmured, a small smile pulling to your lips as you watched a familiar pair of eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep and exhaustion. Dottore’s Iota segment only let out a noise of complaint as he rolled onto his side, burying his face into the pillow. You hummed quietly, running your fingers through the soft curls as his expression slowly went lax again, drifting back off to sleep. “You have to wake up sooner or later, I told you not to stay up all night reading that book.”

“I choose later,” his voice was muffled by the pillow, thick with sleep and you tried to bite back a laugh, not wanting to encourage his behavior. Instead, you leaned down to press your lips against his temple. 

“I made you breakfast,” you tempted, watching as one of his eyes immediately peeked open, watching you curiously. “Strawberry crepes,” a recipe you had learned to make during the few months you had been stationed in northern Fontaine, on the Snezhnayan border, a recipe that Dottore and his segments particularly enjoyed even if the Iota Segment was the only one that was obvious about it. Their fondness of sweets was something they liked to keep hidden.

“... Fine,” he finally agreed, pushing the blankets off and sitting up. You watched, a fond smile pulling at your lips as he stretched, yawning and rubbing at one of his eyes until he froze mid-yawn, catching sight of you watching him. “Don’t look at me like that,” his voice was sharp but he was flustered, cheeks pink as he turned away from you.

You rose to your feet, holding a hand out toward him and you turned away before he could catch your smile as he reached out and took your hand, small fingers curling around yours as you led him from the bedroom. 

Your relationship with Dottore’s segments varied widely--from the Theta Segment, who could barely stand to look at you but would still throw himself in front of danger for you if it came down to it, to the older segments, Beta, Gamma and Delta, who were as adoring and obsessive as Dottore himself was. You liked to think that you didn’t play favorites, but you knew it was a lie--how could you not have favorites when the Iota Segment was just right there. 

The youngest of all of Dottore’s segments, the Iota Segment was frozen in time at the age of ten, why Dottore had felt it necessary to create a segment this young was a question in itself. But you were not one to cut your blessings short, so instead you took advantage of the situation, being able to dote over a far younger and more vulnerable Dottore, before he had become cold and sharp and cruel. 

No one was born evil, you liked to believe, and the Iota Segment of Dottore was surely proof enough of that. Dottore never told you much of his past, but you knew enough to figure out exactly when this one had been made--the scar crossing over his nose and the top of his face was fresh, so he had to have been frozen in time right after he had been run out from his village, hailed a monster and heretic and scarred by his parents the night they chased him out. 

Sometimes, you wondered what Dottore’s life would have been like had he not been shunned and kicked to the streets by the people that were supposed to love him. You spent enough time with the Iota Segment to know that his interests back then were nothing like the older Dottore’s. But Dottore had been from a devout and traditional village down south in Sumeru, so the moment that he had sparked interest in ruin guards and comparing humans to archons, it had been his downfall.

It was only after the first rejection in his hometown, from the people that were meant to love him unconditionally, did Dottore’s mindset begin to spiral into the one he had in the present day--uncaring of human life, ruthlessly ambitious in pursuit of his goals, sadistic and cruel and tunnel-visioned onto his research. 

But the Iota Segment had yet to be cemented in that mindset--and maybe that was why Dottore had created one so young. He was still hurt and stand-offish after the events in his hometown, reluctant to get close to people but he was not cruel or sadistic, he was young enough to still be able to see the aranara of Sumeru but old enough that he could still devote himself and focus on research.

Curious and clumsy, the Iota Segment usually was found following after the older segments like a lost duckling, with them watching over him to make sure he didn’t find himself in trouble, as he usually did. But the older segments were all busy these days, with three down south with Dottore himself in Sumeru, overseeing the God Creation project, the Theta Segment continuing Dottore’s research into Irminsul until he could take back over, and the rest scattered throughout Teyvat still trying to advance the Archon residue project after the setback from two years back. 

So it was up to you to keep an eye on the Iota Segment, and as much as you loved the boy, you swore you were on the verge of pulling your hair out. The amount of times you had to go out in the freezing winters of Snezhnaya to go searching for him, having to warm the both of you up with fire and blankets and hot cocoa, was too many to count. 

It was both a blessing and a curse that Tartaglia had come back to Snezhnaya because he was willing to keep you company while you watched over the boy but the Iota Segment despised Tartaglia, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because the older segments were whispering in his ear about the fellow Harbinger. It was very much common knowledge that there was no love lost between the older segments of Dottore and the Eleventh Harbinger. 

“Do you think Master Dottore will let me work with live ruin guards when he gets back?” the Iota Segment asked as he sat down at the counter to shovel the crepes into his mouth. Your stomach lurched at the question, very much aware of the dangers that came along with working with live ruin guards. Dottore had been hesitant to let the Iota Segment anywhere near the live ruin guards. He didn’t like to restrict the curiosity of his segments but he was young and there was little reward and too much risk if something were to happen to him.

But the Iota segment had been working overtime while all of the other segments were gone, studying all of Dottore’s notes, reading over the research papers that Epsilon wrote on ruin guards and ruin hunters--if there was a piece of research on it, the Iota segment had read it to the point where he could recite it word for word if asked. 

“With all your studying?” you smiled, nudging him gently with your shoulder as you passed by him. “How could he not?” 

“He never stops the other segments from doing what they want,” he complained, and you watched as he twisted his food around with his fork, resting his chin on his palm. “Only me.”

“Mmm, that’s not true,” you said off-handedly, not even really processing it before you spoke, thinking back to the many times Dottore had put a stop to the Beta and Delta segment trying to get it on with you when they thought he wasn’t around.

“Yeah? Well what did they get stopped from doing?” he demanded, turning to face you and you froze, realizing what you had said.

“You know I don’t care to listen when they prattle on about their experiments,” you tried to blow off the question. “I don’t remember exactly what it was.”

But your chest tugged when you watched his shoulders slump over again, a frown pulling at his lips. You pouted softly, moving to stand closer to him, you cupped his cheeks in your hands and lifted his face so he was looking at you and you hated how frustrated and upset he was. “You’re young, s-”

“And I’ll never get older,” he snapped, trying to look away from you but you only smoothed your fingers over his cheekbones, tracing the lower half of his scar. “I don’t even know why he made me. I’m useless compared to the rest of the segments.”

You leaned down, pressing your lips to his forehead before letting out a soft sigh, “You are not useless,” you said, smiling as he huffed, hiding his face in your shoulder. “In fact, I think you’re the most useful of them all.”

“Now you’re just lying,” his voice was muffled into your shirt but you could hear the way it cracked. 

“I would never lie to you,” and it was the truth, not that he would ever believe it, having been burned too many times by the people that were supposed to love him.

He made a noise, barely even acknowledging your words before he tilted his face up, and you forced yourself not to coo, catching the way he blinked up at you through his lashes, cheek still pressed to your shoulder, red eyes wide and searching your face.

“You’re so strange,” he murmured, and you raised your eyebrows, not sure if you should be offended or not. You could feel him shrug. “You just are. Nobody chooses us.”

You swallowed thickly, playing with one of the thick curls laying against his ear. “I’ll always choose you.”

“I just don't understand,” he finally spoke louder, pulling away from you, staring down at the plate, and you cocked your head to the side as you waited for him to continue. “I’m not stupid, you know? I know the Jester has been coming here, offering you a high ranking position in the Fatui—why do you keep turning him down?” 

And you smiled, cupping his cheeks and tilting his face up, pressing your lips to his temple once, then twice, and then a third time. “Now why would I ever want to become a Harbinger when I can simply spend my days with you, silly boy? I told you, I’ll always pick you.” 

Your smile softened when you noticed that his red eyes had welled with tears—and it really was a reminder that the segments were stuck in the mental state Dottore created them at. No matter how many times you told the Iota segment how much you cared for him and that you would never leave him, he would never believe you or understand it—too stuck in the betrayal of his mother and father. “Do you mean that?” he asked, voice wavering. 

“Of course I do.”

His bottom lip trembled and you hummed quietly, reaching out to pull him to your chest. He flung thin arms around you, pressing his face against your skin and you could feel his shoulders shaking and you could feel the way he was desperately trying to blink away tears. The words that had slipped out when you had woken him up from a particularly bad nightmare rang through your head:

“Father said I’m not allowed to cry.”

“S’okay,” you said softly, cupping the back of his head and holding him close, remembering how he had been shaking, terrified at the prospect of crying that night because of what he thought waited for him after. “You can cry.”

The noise that escaped his lips was caught between a sob and a wheeze, you could feel his hands clutching at the back of your shirt, blunt nails digging into your back. You did your best to soothe him, running your fingers through his hair and rubbing soft circles against his back--he was reaching the end of the cycle again, where he fought back all of his emotions until they exploded. It was something that every version of Dottore dealt with--the Theta segment was prone to bouts of rage at the end of his cycle, Epsilon and Delta tended to close themselves off, and Dottore himself got cold and sharp, to the point where it was hard for you to convince yourself that he didn’t mean some of the particularly harsh words he spoke. 

You could hear the muffled apologies against you as he tried to calm himself down. The Iota segment had yet to compartmentalize and funnel his emotions in the way the older segments did, so instead of being able to force the emotions into one that was easier to handle--like cold or hot anger, which was how Dottore frequently described it--he was forced to deal with tears that only made him more anxious and frustrated, a spiral that he couldn’t control.

“Hey, look at me,” you said, waiting for him to look up at you, and he did--lashes wet, eyes rimmed red and bottom lip wobbly. 

“Come,” you said, holding out your hand for him. “How about you come tell me about the research you stayed up reading last night? So you can get ready to show Dottore how much you have learned while he was gone. He’ll be impressed if you’ve taught me some, that’s a feat that not even he’s been able to achieve yet.”

His eyes were still welled up with tears even as he perked up, taking your hand and all but dragging you in the direction of the library. He was already waving his free hand around, voice still cracking as he explained something about cores and autonomy that made little sense to you, but he seemed to be pulling himself out of the spiral before it could worsen, and you supposed that was worth the headache that was bound to come from trying to understand what he was talking about.

---

“You need to bathe, why must this always be an argument?” you were exasperated calling him for the hundredth time, hands on your hips as you paced up and down the hall. This was the third time this week that he refused to interrupt his studying for basic necessities and you were tired of chasing him around to haul him into the tub or force feed him. 

“I will in a minute!” he shouted back from down the hall, locked in his room. “I just need to finish this page.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” you told him loudly.

“I did not! It was five minutes,” he argued.

“Check the clock then.” You could practically see the way his brows were furrowed, searching for the clock in his room, and you couldn’t help but notice that he did not, in fact, talk back this time. “Well?”

“... it was nineteen minutes ago,” he said, rather petulantly before going quiet again. “Just this last page, I mean it this time.”

You sighed heavily. “The water is running. Get in there before it goes cold. I’ll be in the other room.”

You turned on your heel to walk back down the hall toward the library, intent on curling up on the sofa and reading that book that Dottore had left behind for you, claiming you would enjoy it. You hadn’t got the chance to look at it since he left, too caught up in handling little Iota--but you knew if you didn’t at least get through a good portion of it before he got back, he would be disappointed. Not that he would ever show it outwardly, but his gaze would linger on the unmoved book in a way that you knew was him second guessing himself if the way his fingers tapping steadily against his thigh had anything to say about it.

And you didn’t want him to think that. Dottore was never the best with verbal or physical displays of affection but he was phenomenal when it came to things like that---thinking of you and things you might enjoy, and bringing them for you to appreciate. He was observant and attentive unlike anyone you had ever met before when it came to figuring out what you like and don’t like. 

He had been hesitant about it during the beginning of your relationship, but as the years went on, he became more and more comfortable bringing you stuff. But Dottore, as much as he would deny it, was rather sensitive when it came to his emotions. Or maybe sensitive wasn’t the right word--he was closely-guarded, and one little thing like you brushing aside something he had gone out of his way to bring you because he thought you would enjoy it could set him back quite the distance.

You smiled softly, shaking your head as you looked down at the ground as you reached the end of the hall. You didn’t even get a step into the library before you heard the Iota segment’s door slam open.

Familiar footsteps dashed toward you and alarm began to shoot through you, turning around just as he barreled into you. You let out an oof, stumbling backward as you wrapped your arms around him, cupping the back of his head. Panicked, you lifted his head, turning his face up toward you so you could search it, make sure he was okay.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, throat closing up at the way his red eyes were glassy with tears and you worried if something set off the spiral again--anxiety eating at your stomach because you thought you had averted it and couldn’t think of anything that would have sparked it again. He buried his face into your stomach. You stroked his hair as soothingly as you could, trying to calm him down and keep your own voice steady. “Are you okay? Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“He’s getting rid of us,” he cried, voice catching on a sob. “He’s getting rid of us, he’s killing us for the gnosis.”

Your world stilled and shattered at once, hand freezing midstroke against his head, “What?”

“He’s getting rid of us,” he was repeating it over and over again but you simply could not comprehend what he was saying because it just couldn’t make sense to you.

Why would Dottore ever do that? The segments were difficult, nigh-impossible to make now that some of the resources were all but inaccessible and Dottore was strong, obscenely strong, he was the strongest man you knew and you knew that the Dendro Archon stood no chance against him, why would he not just take it by force?

You wanted to assume that the Iota segment was wrong, that he had just misheard something, but the way he was clinging to your shirt tightened and his weight went dead in your arms.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he gasped. “I can’t feel them, I can’t move my legs.”

You eased the two of you down to the floor, arms shaking, barely able to process what was happening as you cradled the boy in your arms holding him to your chest. “It’s going to be okay,” you said, trying to stop your voice from shaking, pressing your lips to his forehead, “It’s okay, everything is going to be okay.”

“I don’t want to die,” his voice cracked. It was happening too fast. You felt sick to your stomach, nauseous as you noticed how his fingers were no longer clutching at your shirt, arms limp next to him. “He’s going to regret this, he will, I don’t want to die. I can’t feel my legs or my arms anymore, I can’t-I’m scared-”

“It’s okay,” your vision was blurred, and this time you couldn’t stop the way your voice wavered as your arms tightened around him, as you buried your face into the top of his head holding him tight. “Everything’s going to be okay. Don’t be scared, I’ve got you, Zandik.”

“I don’t want to die,” he repeated, more desperately this time, voice shrill. “I don’t understand, I don’t understand, why is he doing this? He’s going to regret this, he’s-”

The following silence was louder than his cries. You stared at the wall in front of you, praying, begging, for him to speak up again but he didn’t and you could barely even process what had happened. Not even two minutes had passed since you told him to get in the tub before the water ran cold and now-

Now, he was limp in your arms, the weight felt obscenely heavy compared to the amount of times you had carried him around when he got himself hurt--it was a different sort of weight, you couldn’t feel him toying with your hair as you propped him up on your hip, you couldn’t feel him squirming in your arms as you held him bridal style, you couldn’t feel his chin resting on the top of your head as you carried him on your back around the house while he was immersed in whatever book he was reading. 

It was deadweight in your arms now, and it crushed everything within you all at once. You wondered how the night had turned so fast--how you had been chasing him through house as he screeched at you to leave him be to him using his last moments to rush into your arms; how he had been excited at the prospect of actually being able to study live ruin guards to crying against your chest afraid to die. 

You wanted to cry but everything felt cold and empty and numb and you thought, just for a moment, that you might hate Dottore. 

---

He half thought that he would come back to the estate and you would still be sitting there holding the youngest segment’s body. You were not. And he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried that he came home to an eerily empty and cold house. 

His throat had been tight when he had first arrived, the book he had left you untouched in the library and the halls of the estate absurdly uncomfortable when he realized you weren’t there. A bit of anxiety pooled in his stomach at the thought of you leaving without a word but your clothes were still in your shared room. There were still mementos on your dresser that you wouldn’t leave behind, so he figured you were just busy doing something else.

A grave had been dug, was the last thing he had noticed looking out the window of his bedroom, before Pierro had called him to the Zapolyarny Palace for a status update on what had happened down in Sumeru. The soil was still fresh, and Dottore considered, just for a moment, digging up the grave and trying to scavenge whatever materials he could from the segment’s remains--it wouldn’t be enough to create a new one, but it would be a start at least. 

He ended up deciding against it as he twirled the familiar blue earring inside of his pocket--you had left it on the dresser for him to see as soon as he had noticed the grave. An offering, he supposed, asking him not to disturb it. He figured that he could acquiesce to that much at least. 

The more time he had alone to think about it, the more perplexed he became--he had been certain that he would come home and you’d still be there, clutching the Iota segment to your chest. He had been prepared for the tears, he had been prepared for the anger; he steeled himself for the sharp words and shoves against his chest when he tried to draw close. He had expected it and it didn’t happen, and all of the walls he had built up to brace against the aggression crumbled in confusion.

Dottore didn’t like being wrong. It threw him off when he was prepared for something to happen and then it did not, in fact, happen. His mind was running at the speed of light, bouncing around all of the other options as to what might happen next. You didn’t leave, you weren’t there to yell at him, you weren’t there crying, so where were you? Were you planning something sneakier? Revenge?

No, he shook his head, revenge wasn’t your way. 

He paused, or maybe it was, you had always been cold and spiteful, just never to him. 

Would him killing the segments really change that?

He didn’t like that he couldn’t be confident in his answer. 

Dottore inhaled slowly, keeping his gaze trained forward and his lips pressed tight, fingers tapping steadily against the side of his thigh, a tactic he had learned while at the Akademiya to keep himself calm and thinking straight when he found himself in a predicament that had him second guessing himself. 

It was something he had to worry about later. For now, he had to get to the debrief before he had to waste time listening to Pierro make snide comments about him being late again, as he had the dozens of times he or one of his segments had gotten caught up in research before a meeting. 

He tried to push you out of his mind--a difficult task, he realized as he approached the meeting room and you just would not leave the forefront of his mind. Questions and options raced behind his eyes as he tried to figure out where you were, what you were doing, and what he should expect when he inevitably ran into you. 

He did not have to wonder for long.

He entered the room while Pierro was talking with one jab in his direction at his lateness, as he predicted, but the words didn’t fully process through his head. Dottore could hear him but Pierro’s voice sounded distant and muted even standing next to him. He couldn’t focus on his words--not on what he was asking, not on what he was explaining, not even when he was being addressed directly because he was too focused on you.

You, who was standing right between Pulcinella and Sandrone, eyes iced over and unfriendly in a way that Dottore had never expected you to direct toward him. 

You were angry over the segment, that much he could put together from the cold fury in your eyes trained solely on him. He knew you would be angry. He expected that. But what were you doing here? In the meeting with the Harbingers?

Pierro had mentioned bringing people up to replace Signora and now, he supposed, they would have to replace Scaramouche too, but-

But you? 

Shouldn’t this have been something mentioned to him? At least in passing? When was this even discussed? How long had Pierro been trying to get you to join--why hadn’t you said anything to him? 

What was going on? 

“Dottore,” the voice was harsh and sharp, Dottore’s eyes dragged from you to land on Pierro, who was watching him with a frustrated expression. Rather absently, Dottore noticed that all of the Harbingers were looking at him, and he played back the last few minutes in his head trying to figure out what he had missed. 

Ah. The debrief on the events in Sumeru. 

His voice sounded empty and robotic even to his own ears as he recounted what had happened down in Sumeru from the beginning of the God Creation Project, to the arrival of the Traveler, to Scaramouche’s developments and progress in the experimentation, to the interference from the Traveler and that group, to the meeting with the Dendro Archon and the two deals that were made with her.

He couldn’t help but notice the way Tartaglia’s eyes had drawn toward you when Dottore mentioned his segments, the way his body had twitched to move toward you. What was that? He was still looking at you, even though Dottore knew that Tartaglia knew he was staring right at him. Tartaglia’s brows were knit together in concern, and instead of meeting Dottore’s gaze, you looked at him. Tartaglia. A silent conversation that Dottore couldn’t understand—something green and ugly tugged at his chest, he forced it away. 

Pierro wasn’t pleased with the loss of Dottore’s segments or the information he had offered up to the Dendro Archon, but he was more focused on the successful attainment of the two gnoses so Dottore was able to redirect his attention toward you.

You weren’t looking at him anymore, gaze trained on Pierro as he delved out orders to the rest of the Harbingers. He was angry--well, it was more than anger, but he couldn’t place what the second emotion was yet. He didn’t understand why you hadn’t consulted him about Pierro’s offer before taking him up on it, he didn’t understand why you hadn’t even mentioned it to him, and he did not like the way that Tartaglia was watching you, completely tuning out all of the discussion around him. 

Hot anger. Dottore liked to differentiate different types of anger between hot and cold, it was easier for him to digest and figure out how to handle that way. Hot anger needed coolness, otherwise it would blow up into an explosion. Cold anger needed warmness, otherwise you would freeze each other out. Dottore was more adept with handling hot anger as he himself was rather cold.

And with him, you had always been hot anger, like his younger segment--Theta. You had been hot anger, he had been cold. A messy situation for when the two of you got into arguments, but not as messy as it could have been otherwise—you worked well with each other even when arguing. Why were you cold now? Where was the shouting and the aggression? The pushing at his chest and telling him to leave? 

Dottore did not know how to handle your cold anger. He needed your warmth to balance out his cold. Once again, he felt anxiety yanking at him. He pushed it away. He had until the end of the meeting to figure out how to approach you and fix this mess before it escalated too far. 

But the end of the meeting came too fast for him to process. Logically, he knew it had been a decent amount of time, but it had only felt like seconds had passed between him giving the rundown of what had happened and Pierro dismissing everyone. You were going to Fontaine with Arlecchino, that’s what Pierro had said right before ending the meeting. Fontaine, not to the outskirts but instead deep into the court of the Hydro Archon who hated the Fatui and everything they stood for. 

Another unfamiliar emotion--more intense this time. He couldn’t push it away. 

He didn’t have to ask you to stay. As all of the others left, you lingered. You were looking at him again but Dottore was more focused now on Tartaglia, who hadn’t left, and was staring at you, hesitantly. Rage. He funneled the unfamiliar emotion into rage as he turned his head to the lowest-ranked Harbinger, who had the audacity to raise his chin and meet Dottore’s gaze head on--or meet his gaze as best as he could, at least, with his mask on.

“Ajax,” it was your voice that drew him from the anger, but only momentarily. The familiarity that you spoke Tartaglia’s name had Dottore’s blood boiling, his delusion rattling against its mold. Since when- “Go.”

Since when was Tartaglia, ‘Ajax’? It had taken Dottore months to finally tell you what his real name was—an act that had been one of the most difficult decisions of his life considering it meant reviving a part of him that he had killed off years before.

It had taken him months to tell you and it had taken you months to get used to it—how were you saying Tartaglia’s real name so casually and fondly like that?

Tartaglia only listened to you when you looked at him, nodding once before turning and walking out of the room. He didn’t go far, Dottore noticed, he was lingering outside, ready to step in as if Dottore would do something to hurt you. As if he would ever, Dottore thought, trying to bite back the rising anger. And even if he did, it wasn’t like Tartaglia could hope to stop him. 

“What was that about?” Dottore asked, voice tenser than he intended for it to be.

“What business is it of yours?” your voice was sharp, icy in a way that it hadn’t been with Tartaglia. That green feeling returned, ugly and intense, along with something else—something that had his chest feeling heavy. 

“What business is it of mine?” Dottore questioned, tone laced in disbelief as he stared at you. “You’re my-”

“I’m your what?” 

He didn’t like how you cut him off, how you were waiting for him to say something. He had heard you take that tone with associates of the Fatui before--associates who had gone back on their word and you were often the one sent to whittle the answers out of them before one of the Harbingers, usually a segment of Dottore, was sent to remove them. This was the tone you took when you had won, waiting for them to deliver the sentence that would damn them. 

Dottore stayed quiet, only for a moment. Instead of answering the question, he asked another, “When did you and Tartaglia become so close?”

“He has been around the past three months. You have not.”

Dottore especially did not like that. He stared forward, mind whirring as he tried to process what you had said and the implications of it. Dottore had never made anything explicitly clear between the two of you but he had figured-

“Not like that, Dottore.”

Any other thought he might have had was gone, mind focusing on how you had addressed him. By his Harbinger title, you had never addressed him by that. It was always Zandik, you were the only one allowed to call him that, you were the only person he would revive that part of himself for. The name was dead to everybody else in the world except you. 

“Why did you call me that?” Dottore asked before he could stop himself. The coldness, the way you addressed him, your familiarity with Tartaglia, Dottore didn’t know what was going on. It couldn’t just be anger over the lost segment--it was just a segment, a piece of him but he was still there, there had to be more that he was missing.

“Because Zandik is dead,” you said, and yet again, Dottore was grateful for his mask because his brow was furrowing and his eyes were squinted as he tried to figure out what you meant. “You killed him.”

Were you referring to the segment?

Dottore’s lips parted, he shut his eyes briefly as he shook his head, trying to clear his mind before speaking. “I am Zandik,” he spoke a sentence that he hadn’t spoken in years, and the forced acceptance ripped open a part of him that had long since been sealed away. Dottore tried to keep his breath steady, trying to split his attention between clearing up whatever this misunderstanding with you was and trying to close the reopened wound before it could cause serious damage. 

“No, you’re not.” It was like you weren’t even listening to him and Dottore could feel the frustration seeping onto his face. 

“I am,” Dottore snapped, but his anger would only fuel yours--he knew that from experience--so he tried to calm himself down. “I am Zandik,” he said it again. The wound ripped open more, too much for him to try to put back together while at the same time trying to figure out what he was missing. He would fix this with you, and then he would fix the wreck that had become his mental state. “What is going on? Why-”

“You killed him!” Your hands slammed down against the table, your voice a shout so loud that it echoed across the chamber the two of you stood in--outside the room, he heard Tartaglia draw closer to the door, alert. Dottore paused, staring at you--there was the anger, the hot anger that Dottore had expected from you, but he couldn’t find himself relieved at it. Instead, he only found himself even more stressed.

“You are talking about the segment,” he realized quietly, and your eyes flared at his words, angrier. But Dottore was lost because he expected you to be angry but he didn’t expect it to be like this. He didn’t expect it to-

“You killed him, Dottore,” your voice cracked over your words, and Dottore tried to step around the table toward you but you drew back as soon as he started to move. His throat felt tight at the rejection but he tried to ignore it--impossible, the wound tore more, gaping and open.

Dottore shook his head again, slowly this time, as he tried to figure out what to say to calm you down. “The segment was me,” he tried to keep his voice soft, but Dottore was not a soft man. “I’m still here. He was just me, but younger, and-”

“He was not-”

“He was-” His voice rose, anger and frustration, and maybe just a hint of desperation to get you to listen to him as he realized what exactly the issue was. You had never considered the segments as extensions of him. They had been individuals, separate people. He should have realized it from the way you spoke about some of them but he was never around enough when you were talking to the segments to have the pieces to put it together and he was so set in his own mindset that they were simply extensions to realize you felt differently. “He was me. I’m him. Let’s-”

“He was you before you turned into this,” your words were sharp and venomous, acid dripping into the open wound. Dottore drew back, not speaking for a moment as he watched you, waiting for you to elaborate on what you meant. 

You did not, chest heaving and eyes welled with tears as you stared at him. If Dottore wanted an explanation, he would have to ask but he didn’t even know if he wanted an explanation.

“And what is ‘this’?” Dottore couldn’t stop himself from asking, time seemed still around the two of you as he waited for an answer. 

“Look at what you’ve turned into, Zandik. All of these odd experiments and heretical ideas, you’ve become a-”

“A monster.”

Dottore stared at you and internally he was scrambling, trying to get control of all of the unwelcome emotions before they could become visible on his face. The wound that had been opened had torn past the point of being able to close back up, it had torn through all of the other closed wounds and ripped all of them open too, leaving him bare and vulnerable and bleeding out and there was nothing he could do. He had to leave, or he had to get you to leave so he could get himself under control.

“I see,” he said, his voice was colder than he intended for it to be, maybe that was for the best. “I never should have let you get attached to them.”

Logically, he could rationalize it—how you had managed to get so attached, that is. Parts of Dottore had died over the years, the parts of him that had been softer and vulnerable. Or he supposed they hadn’t died if the reopened wounds he was struggling to patch back up had anything to say about it, but they had been locked away so deep that they might as well have been dead.

Segments like the Iota segment, and even the Zeta and Theta segment, to some extent, did not have the same high walls that the older segments of Dottore had. You were able to access a part of him through those segments that you wouldn’t ordinarily be able to through himself. Dottore had been hesitant about the idea at first but it had kept him from having to open up his own old wounds so he figured it was for the best. 

Logically, he could rationalize it but he simply could not understand it. Because if it was just a matter of being able to access that part of him, Dottore would figure it out. He would, for you, if it meant this argument would end. 

But it didn’t seem as if it was just a matter of being able to access that part of him. It was deeper. It was the segment itself, not its connection to Dottore. And Dottore couldn’t understand how an artificially made clone of his younger self was causing this to happen. He didn’t understand why you had gotten so attached to it when he was right there.

Right there? His mind flew back to all of the times he had left you with the Iota segment, or the Theta or Zeta segments. Separate bodies, almost completely different personalities from him—you didn’t have the same mental connection that he had with his segments, was it really so hard to believe that you started to view them as individuals rather than extensions of himself?

You scoffed almost instantly at his words, drawing him back to the conversation at hand, and he knew he had spoken wrong but he was already overwhelmed piecing together just how much he had misunderstood between you and your relationships with his segments that he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge the mistake. 

Dottore was not a master of deciphering emotions, he was far from it in fact. But he remembered the nights he’d come home late from the labs to find the Iota segment curled up asleep in your arms, how you would dote on him in a way no one in Dottore’s life had ever done before. 

The pieces had been laid out for him but Dottore just hadn’t realized it.

“I can think of a lot of things you shouldn’t have done,” snide and derisive, Dottore’s jaw tightened at your words, and you were watching him. You were searching for something but Dottore didn’t know what it was--Dottore had never been the best at reading people, but he was usually able to make up for it just by using sheer logic. This would not be the case here with you. He didn’t know what you were looking for, and he didn’t know how to make this better--not for himself, and not for you, or the two of you together.

Evidently, you did not find whatever you were looking for and Dottore’s lips finally parted from the thin line he had them pressed in as you shook your head and walked away without another word. He tried to force the words past his lips but they got caught in the back of his throat.

Dottore had always been a prideful and arrogant man but he thought he’d be able to set it aside for you, just this once. But maybe it wasn’t a matter of pride or arrogance, he realized, because his heart was erratic in his chest as you walked away, eyes wide beneath his mask. It was a matter of not knowing what to say. 

Dottore had never been someone who found himself at a loss for words. One way or another, he would always be able to talk his way out of a situation—but now, staring at your back as you made your way out of the room, not even bothering to shut the door behind you, his mind was blank. Numb.

He felt numb. 

Your words mixed with his parents, his parents mixed with the other villagers in his old town, the villagers mixed with the students at the Akademiya and the students mixed with the scholars. And then it was your voice again, loud, damning, finally calling him for what he was after all of the years you had spent with him. 

He was not Il Dottore in that moment, he was Zandik--the child that was run from his hometown and scarred by his own parents for showing interests that were considered heretical to the traditional village elders; the student at the Akademiya who had tried, at first, before giving up and throwing himself into his research when he was faced with the same rejection again and again and again and again; the student who had decided if he couldn’t be accepted, then he might as well go to whatever lengths necessary to at least be successful.

He watched as Tartaglia peeled off the wall to walk with you, he watched as his fingers grazed your back--a sort of reassuring gesture that seemed too natural to be of any comfort to Dottore, and he watched as you turned your head to the side to look at Tartaglia, speaking quietly before the two of disappeared down a different hallway. You didn’t look back once. 

And when he finally looked away from where you had left, eyes falling on the dark window that led to the palace courtyard, Dottore swore that it was his youngest-self staring back at him, vindictive and satisfied, his last words echoing in Dottore’s head louder than all of the rest of them. 

[0daylighthours0]

My Mother's Unbiased Byler + Milkvan Opinions - Viewing ST for the 1st Time!

(UPDATE)

My Mama has now witnessed Stranger Things in its entirety. Her favourite season was the third, her favourite characters Hopper and Joyce, her favourite pairing would be those guys too, and her most disliked pairing? Can only assume.

I wanted to write out her thoughts on the second to last episode previously, as she'd held many, but before I knew it we'd finished the whole show and I was forced to an income of NEW opinions which ruled out my memory of any old ones. Shucks. But boy did this lady have much to say. The only way I can break it down is by providing a sample of quotes she'd delivered, in order, a day after having finished the series.

All are just things she said about milkvan and byler, as they're this post's main focus. There's simply much to say about these relationships too, being so up in the air over where they ought be expected to turn out. These are all direct quotes too (as I typed as she talked, unkown to her) so you'll have to excuse the natural way in which some lines come off as unfocused, being written after real time conversations. Let's get into it:

Ok I really don't know whether she likes Mike very much. She actively disliked the guy earlier on, and now her feelings appear to be more mixed. A lot of her discussion was solely around this guy's actions.

"It's almost like he's [Mike] forcing himself like- ok Hopper he was kind of very passionate and kissing, you know he sort of instantly- with Mike, from being obsessed and spending so much time with her [El], suddenly he starts cooling off more and more and suddenly- they even separated right? I mean yeah that was out of his control but he, but he didn't really seem like he missed her you know it's like he just got on with it."

This point caught me off guard. I don't know how much I agree with my mother on this. It made me realize that during Mike and El's separation, there weren't many quiet Mike moments in which he expressed worry for her, beyond a couple that blend into him simply having breakup concerns. Any time Mike mentions distress for her whilst she's away, his talk evolves into him simply anxious over the state of their relationship. As a group, everyone in our Cali gang clearly wanted to save Eleven, but Mike really should have gotten more heartfelt moments in solitude (that means without Will you suffer bros) in which it is demonstrated to the audience that he really does miss her, as someone who is in love. Her being away shouldn't simply come off as a writing excuse for him to vent to Will. There wasn't enough of that tenderness milkvan desperately needs, and if anything I watched was an attempt then it really wasn't translated well - never trumping everyone else's familial or close frienship-like fret for El, never showcasing his concern to come from a more personal place. I mean how hard is it to have him in her room, staring longingly at a photo of hers, with a background composed of soft music. Then literally leaving it at that. I mean that is it. No Will rushing in there to insist, "you can tell her that thing when you see her k? It'll all work out trust me ight, you're the heart you're the HEART!" que affectionate gazes, constructs a byler scene for no reason I guess .

"I mean how do we know that he missed Will? He articulated it. Why didn't he articulate this the same way to El?"

True. I mean the fact that I can't remember a moment after they find El in which milkvan ask oneanother how they are, and communicate how much they missed eachother, does indeed say something. They shared a hug and touch when they first reunited, which was gladly interrupted by Will. That pineapple + pizza thing was not long enough, or sensitive enough, to be their moment. There was clear bonding, but it didn't breach a level of romance and chemistry nearly decently. It's good that they got at least that, I mean we need to know that these guys are at LEAST really close friends. And then the camera just felt like panning over to Will about to burst into tears in a corner. Like huh? Bruv you've now made it so that milkvan's pizza bit leaves a bad taste in our mouths. If I were a milkvan I'd be furious.

"You know what, I think it's done purposefully to create that sort of cold, distant, confused, you know they wanted to make people say he's [Mike] bisexual. For people to question. They want to get people to think that."

My Mama believes writers intentionally soured milkvan for viewers to "confuse" audiences, build up anticipation, make them question milkvan's relationship and wonder if our main man will spin to Will. I agree. They want that good ol' triangle comeuppance.

"They really are trying to bring that across- so that people start thinking Mike, you know he doesn't love El, he loves Will. They're really trying to, make people think that. Giving them [milkvan] a really nitty gritty relationship."

Yup.

"When you're gay. Coming out like that it's- it's terrifying. You have to be very careful. And Will could, he could tell. You know when someone is attracted to you. I think, things became sort of- sort of complicated. And Will sensed, he could feel that Mike is attracted to him. And that's why he could open up like that. Because you can always tell. You know, you just know, so that's why Will was able to confess these things to him [she sees painting scene as a confession, whether Mike realized it or not, and so do I]."

Well damn Mama. And there you have it folks. My.. I'm not gonna call her the h word but.. my- notabigfanofgaythingsandwouldbehappytopretendtheydon'texist mother, perceives Mike as a homosexual kid, and just that. Well bloomin heck that's all the confirmation I need.

I didn't expect this as a turnout, I mean so particularly. My Mama actually didn't like byler - I think. Well. Bloomin heck. She actually enjoyed Vickie x Robin, and this shocked me to my core. I don't know whether this is simply due to her being a fan of Vickie's actress (recognizing her from Anne With an 'E'), but I do know that my mother has a bias in gay relationships and sees ones involving females as more "pure" than that of two males. So her language when describing Will has changed since her realization that he loves Mike for sure (which became undeniable in the van scene). She describes him as being 'obsessed' with Mike, and says writers really wanted to get that obsession across. I agree with Will having been one note during season 4, him hopefully having more time to shine in the approaching season, but I thoroughly disagree with him coming off as obsessive. I suppose our camera man displayed the guy's little glances at Mike so often that my Mama felt it was overdone, and unable to be ignored. I also think she's just avoiding use of the word 'love' when describing anything homosexual.

She still doesn't think Mike demonstrates how much he loves El enough to leave no room for debate. According to her, his moments with her seem surface level. Just as a reminder she does not know my thoughts. She watched that entire 'I love you' thing and still isn't secure in any genuineness of the guy. I believe she supposes that we're intended to acknowledge milkvan's romance, but also probe it.

I now wonder whether my Mama was good enough representation for the average audience, because she actually does own a bias - this being that she usually actively dislikes gay things. So I puzzle over whether her brain overanalyzed any of the boys' highlights, wanting to "expose" their homo intentions. At first things were up in the air, but it became clear that Mike did not pass her gaydar, he was simply too intimate with Will to make that pass. And this wasn't the case in other seasons, she never questioned their friendship til now. She also hasn't acknowledged any supposedly queer relationships besides rickie (vobin?) and byler, meaning that other fan favourites such as elmax, steddie, ronance and such else didn't stand out as gay to her. This doesn't signify those other relationships to not have a chance, I'm elmax's personal cheersquad, it's plainly clear that my mother didn't have a tendency to point at every same sex relationship and yell suspicious. Byler was purely undeniable. You can thank Will's love being canoned for this, otherwise noone would have a need to read into Mike.

I don't know whether she supposes byler to have a chance moreso than the milk in the van, even with Mike's ambiguity. It would seem that as of right now her guess is that watchers are intended to second guess both relationships in order to build up interest. However, she doesn't know how unlikely Will's love life is to turn out negatively seeing as those damn writers manipulated crowds into consistently sympathizing for him. Dunno about the rest of you but that sounds like good news to me.

I have no idea how to close this analysis. Is it an analysis? There's much more I want to say, much more she said, but I fear this to be too jam-packed and aimless as is. I'm writing a third part to my most recent milkthevan failing relationship deep dive, and that'll possibly consist of thoughts I wish to input after gathering so much data from my mother.

[anulithots]

So I found this on bird app :

"i only like ge/go when it’s doomed and they have no longterm future

same with go/ge. they’re about the same to me but i think gojo bottomed more and was a total pillow princess about it in their teens. as adults they probably switched equally. i can see gojo developing his experience more with topping as an adult

either way they’re better as exes. gojo deserves more from a partner than someone who would leave him to start a cult "

Can I ask your thoughts, please?

………… I don't ship them sexually. Because I'm not comfortable with it.

(I have aroace spectrum satosugu headcannons I'm quite fond of. So basically I ship them queer platonically and semi-romantically and flip flop between the two.)

Sorry about that!

But in terms of are they better off being okay with being apart, or if they should stay together regardless…

Complex answer. Depends on the context really.

They loved each other a lot. And I disagree with 'Gojo deserves a better partner than someone who left him to start a cult'. Like… he does but also… that's not the entirety of the situation?

If Geto loved Gojo, why didn't he try to recruit him? by @ellionwrites

How much Geto canonically loved Gojo by @ellionwrites

These two analysis's explain it very well. Also there's a fanfic called Carry me home that is just 100/10. Character analysis interwoven and it perfectly explains this part of Geto's motivations.

Geto COULD NOT go on for much longer without coming to a breaking point. His cursed teqnique requires him to go through painful experiences over and over and over again. The very coping mechanism he prided himself on ('I do this to protect non-sorcerers') has fallen to pieces and Gojo isn't there (for his own reasons). He's grappling with his entire sense of self and it's been repeating in his head for A YEAR.

And Geto did not want to confront Gojo during the whole 'kfc breakup scene'. (Again, analysis above explains it really well.)

Shoko called him there. For good reason. I don't think either Shoko or Gojo had a good idea of just how bad it was getting because Geto (a) didn't tell anyone (b) Gojo was doing 'okay' (he wasn't) and (c) Geto's strong in morals and in resolve. He'll be okay.

(Gojo especially believes this. Strong sorcerers stay safe. Especially Geto. I have… a lot of posts talking about how Gojo depends on Geto to be around him when interacting and just… existing in general.

Gojo gets so fixated on being stronger so he wouldn't make the same mistakes like with Riko. He isolates himself to do so. ~~~ Backstory ~~ explains this.

The Gojo clan isolated Gojo, told him he's the strongest, and gave him rules and responsibilities for that - along with safety and confidence. So - in Gojo's mind - the only way to get stronger is to double down on these things. More responsibility. More isolation. He'll be able to take care of things once he gets stronger. )

LONG STORY SHORT -

Geto's ideal was fixing the world - partially for Gojo as the strongest, partially for himself because he was struggling and didn't have any foothold.

And… listen… sometimes you have to take priority over your partner. I don't think the way Geto went about it was right, by any means, but… at least he did something, he had to.

At the end of the day, the system is to blame. It's the system that drove them both to this and it's the system that let it perpetuate.

But let's say they met right before JJK0-ish and decided to forget the world for a little while and escape from it all together.

It would be… strained to say the least.

Because they are canonically soulmates. A pair. Do not separate. But they have and it's been going on for ten years despite the fact that they both very much still love each other.

Gojo just couldn't leave the society that gave him meaning (other reasons too), Geto couldn't leave the thing that gave him meaning.

Does that indicate that they do not love each other/shouldn't be together because they both value their respective ideologies? No.

(We're going to ignore Geto's whole 'kill the monkeys' thing for a second and pretend like it's just an opposing idealogology for the sake of the argument <3)

The circumstances, their respective coping mechanisms, and the system, very much the system, makes it so they went their separate ways. Just because their ideals got caught up in this thing and they went for their own paths does not mean they don't love each other and wouldn't jump at the chance to have a 'perfect world' with the other in it.

(the sunset scene, Geto's death scene… need I say more?)

If the society decided that "… maybbeee we shouldn't put all this traumatic pressure on children and say that the only answer is isolation and acceptance and instead give them the help and support they need" then Geto and Gojo would've stayed together.

But it wouldn't have been JJK then, would it? Without the friendship that haunts the narrative?

Sorry if I'm rambling, what I'm trying to say is - it's complicated. The story itself drove them apart and canonically they never got back together while mourning their separation the entire time.

And Gojo never moved on, never let go. If you wanted to - and this is something I played around with in my head - and if JJK miraculously got rewritten as a slice-of-life post hidden inventory, then part of GOjo's arc could be about letting go of Geto, as painful as that may be.

But honestly? Comfort people are hard to find. Geto and Gojo were specifically created to be a pair. Gojo was so detatched from the world that Geto tethered him to it. After Geto left, Gojo went on to be a teacher and do what the Suguru he remembers would've wanted him to do, and he 'doesn't feel lonely anymore'…

Gojo loves his students dearly, but he can't ask his students to understand him. And more than anything, Gojo wants to be understood and loved for it. The only one who fit that criteria was Geto.

(Gojo's whole sentiment about 'not as a human, but as a living creature' is Gojo saying that he (a) didn't feel human without Geto there (b) didn't let himself feel human and instead made himself a tool, gave himself the role of the strongest.

Because otherwise Riko happens all over again.

ANNNDDD I'm going off on a ramble.

Last point!

Narratively, should Gojo and Geto be a tradegy, where they never get back together? (AKA, as it is in cannon)

Yes. That is a huge part of their characters, along with being a huge draw to JJK in general. There's something about the separation exemplifying how much SatoSugu loved each other that gives it nuance and the possibility for lots of fix it fics.

So I can understand why the bird poster thought that SatoSugu works a lot as a tragedy, it does. But if SatoSugu had a well-written redemption arc, that would also be extremely compelling I think.

But alas, this is JJK we're talking about.

Thank you for the ask! This was fun to ramble about at 2am.

[an-j8]

what would have happened if Sophie wouldn't have had match problems? Would she have stayed in a relationship with Fitz? I will answer it.

as you know, Sophie and Fitz's relationship was very complicated. their breakup is due to this match story but there are a lot of issues behind it like TRUST and LOVE

let's forget this match story and start with their love. Sophie's love for Fitz is like a puppy loving his master, a fan loving a celebrity. " Perfect ! He is perfect ! She likes the idea of ​​him but not his character. We can see this love when Sophie starts dating Fitz. She regrets because she doesn't really love him. She denies it, running into Keefe's arms as "friends" although she feels "trapped" when Fitz sees her with Keefe (because she feels like she's cheating on Fitz but she can't get away with it). prevent you from going towards Keefe without realizing it). But why does Sophie cling so much to Fitz? It's a syndrome (I don't have the name anymore) Fitz was the first person who "rescued" her from the human world. Sophie is not in love with Fitz. She is in love with the perfection that elves represent. And she sees this perfection through him because he is the first elf, the first person like her that she meets in her life.

Would she have stayed with Fitz? No

Why ? simply because their love was fake. Fitz loved the idea of ​​the prestige his pairing with Sophie could bring to the vacker family. Sophie loved perfection and beauty in him. I remind him that Sophie regretted dating Fitz in book 8. She constantly denied being his girlfriend, regretted the time when she and Fitz were just friends. which is again different from when Sophie WANTS to be Keefe's girlfriend. She's ready to take the plunge no matter the damage (kisses him a second time to confirm that she's his girlfriend)

But how would they be separated? well Sophie would have realized that she loves someone else. Keefe would get closer to another girl/or just Sophie would realize his true feelings over time, Sophie would have been lost, Fitz would have noticed, and then they would talk about it. Sophie would deny it (as in book 8.5 when she tells Fitz "Keefe and I are friends" in a strangely high-pitched voice). Then Sophie would have realized her feelings for Keefe (like volume 9 with the letter) Sophie would have tried to forget Keefe at first (because she was with fitz) but her memory came back to her mind every time. Session cognates and Sophie burns Fitz's neurons thinking about Keefe. Then bam! dispute then separation. Sophie and Fitz were destined to crash when they got together.

Sorry for my english loves

[bambirex]

It's A Game We Play: Chapter 4

Pairings: Geraskier, Yennskier, Radskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Radovid, original female characters, Essi Daven, Priscilla, Ciri of Cintra, Valdo Marx

Additional tags: inspired by Mamma Mia! (movies,), crack, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omega jaskier, alpha geralt, alpha yennefer, beta radovid, awkwardness, jaskier is a good parent, protective jaskier, weddings, found family, post mpreg, fluff and humor, alternate universe- modern setting, jaskier is having the worst time of his life, valdo is here to make everything worse, confusion, banter

Rating: teen and up audiences

Full word count: 10,713 words

Chapter word count: 3,324 words

Chapters: 4/?

Summary: Jaskier's daughter is about to marry the love of her life, and she decides she wants both her parents at her wedding. Only problem is that Jaskier has slept with a little too many people in his youth, so the identity of the other parent is a mystery. That does not stop the bride-to-be from inviting three potential daddy candidates and unleashing absolute chaos in the process.

*

Otherwise known as Jaskier's terrible horrible no good past decisions leading to terrible horrible no good outcomes. Also known as the Mamma Mia! AU nobody asked for, but I wrote it anyway.

Chapter summary: Running into familiar, unwanted faces and meeting weirdly eager strangers.

Author's notes: Chapter title speaks for itself, since this question will pop up during this chapter many times. I liked the suggestions in my comment section about Geralt, Yennefer and Radovid knowing each other so much, that I decided to work that in, thanks for the idea!!!! I am also bringing you all a beloved beloathed character, and Amaryllis's big meeting with the "daddies" as well.

Read on Ao3

*

If someone told Yennefer just a week prior that she would literally drop everything and get herself an emergency sabbatical from the bistro, and she would force herself through a nearly four hours long ferry ride, all because she received a mysterious letter from someone she's slept with twenty years ago, she would've called them a fucking moron.

Yet, there she was, staring at the waves licking the side of the ferry as they made their way over the sea. Yennefer put her elbows on the railing with a deep sigh. She closed her eyes as she breathed in the salty air. Twenty years ago, she was traveling across the sea just like she was doing it now, full of youthful energy and hope. She had none of that now. She was just anxious as all hell, because seriously, what could Jaskier possibly want from her? How was she even supposed to react when she saw him standing on the docks, waiting for her? How was she supposed to greet him, what should she ask? How was she supposed to cope with the fact that she had to face someone like that from her past?

"Yennefer?"

As Yennefer turned around fast, the wind blew all of her hair into her face. She cursed and sputtered as she tried her best to remove it from her mouth and eyes.

When she finally came face to face with the person who called out for her, Yennefer suddenly felt the urge to throw herself off the ferry and into the water.

“Geralt,” she hissed, her eyes widening, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

Geralt cleared his throat awkwardly, a habit that he seemed to never have abandoned since Yennefer last saw him. Her and Geralt had dated about ten years ago, and for a while, Yennefer was convinced that maybe he could be the one. She was wrong, like she always was, about every person she dated. Geralt wasn’t a bad person, not by any means, and Yennefer did love him. But maybe two Alphas were just never meant to work out; their too similar personalities soon led to constant fighting, which lead to a not very nice breakup, during which Yennefer told Geralt he was a ball-less coward who really needed to get off his high horse, and Geralt called Yennefer a control freak with anger issues.

And now, to make this already weird and frustrating situation ever worse, here he was, staring at Yennefer with that constipated look on his face.

“It’s nice to see you too, Yen,” Geralt grumbled, arms crossed over his chest. Yennefer scoffed.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I was hoping we could have a civil conversation, but clearly, I was wrong. I just wanted to say hello.”

“Okay, you did. Goodbye.”

“Yennefer,” Geralt sighed, “let’s not be childish, okay?”

Yennefer gripped the railing again to stop herself from committing a crime that would’ve earned her a life sentence.

“Oh, yeah, says the man who’s allergic to commitment, and drops everyone like a hot potato the second things turn serious!”

“Yeah, because you handled everything so maturely,” Geralt growled, “you were only looking for flaws in everything, of course you found them!”

“Did you come here to antagonize me?” Yennefer spat. “You should have just ignored me.”

Geralt deflated at that, somewhat. There was a small, barely-there smile at the corner of his lips. Yennefer hated to admit, but it was still stupidly attractive.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Geralt said, his voice much softer. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same. So, what are you doing here, Geralt?”

Before Geralt could answer, a teenage girl rushed over to them, knocking into Geralt so hard it looked painful. Her ashen blonde hair was mussed from the wind, and her grin was mischievous.

“Dad,” she called out with a giggle, and Yennefer’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Dad!?

“I’m gonna drive a Bentley!”

“What?” Geralt turned to her with utter confusion. Yennefer was pretty sure she was going to pass out and into the sea.

“I never said that you could drive it!” Came a voice from behind the cackling girl. “I just said that you could see it if we reached land!”

A tall man with long, reddish-blond hair approached them with a huff. He looked utterly miserable, which might have had something to do with the seagull shit that covered the shoulder of his clearly expensive silk shirt. He looked familiar. Yennefer narrowed her eyes as she stared at him, trying to figure out where she knew him from.

Geralt blinked at the man with a similarly confused expression. “I’m sorry, do you know my daughter that you’re offering her a car show, or should I call the police?”

“Did you just accuse me of… rude!” The man huffed. “She walked up to me and asked me if the Bentley was mine! I wasn’t gonna send her away!”

“It’s a nice car,” the girl chirped, seemingly uncaring of the adults’ impending brawl. “Can I get a driving license, Dad? I’ve driven your car before, I’d do good!”

“I’m sorry,” Yennefer interrupted them, “Geralt? She’s you daughter?”

Geralt gave her a wounded look. “Yennefer… she’s Ciri. My daughter.”

Yennefer opened her mouth then quickly shut it again before she said something that wasn’t meant to be heard by a child. Geralt used to insist he could never have a family of his own. That he would be a shit dad, and children were too much hassle. He clearly found Yennefer’s desire for kids weird and unnecessary. And here he was, with a kid- a kid that was clearly a teenager. Holy shit, he had a kid while he dated her, he must have had a partner he cheated on with Yennefer, then. He made her into a homewrecker. Yennefer was going to kill someone today.

Ciri nodded towards her with a grin. “Nice to meet you! I like your dress!”

“Thanks…”

“Wait,” the blond guy turned towards Yennefer, “I know you!”

Oh, no. Now that Yennefer took one more look at him, it became obvious where she met him. It was the evening she officially ruined her career as a chef, and she was pretty much exiled to cook at a cheap bistro. She had to cater at some expensive business party, and she was so nervous around all the stuck-up suits, that she messed up the meal, big time. And that guy was there, his stubble was a little thinner and his eyes were a lot less stern back then, but Yennefer recognized him. He was the first to spit out her stew, which then drew attention to the mistake she’s made.

“You put sugar in the stew instead of salt,” the guy said, “it tasted like cake smothered in grease.”

“It wasn’t as bad as you all claimed!” Yennefer snapped. “But your spoiled ass had to make such a frenzy about it! You’re the reason I’m still cooking at a shithole bistro!”

“Oh, thank the stars, that’s better for everyone.”

“Wait,” Geralt said, cutting off the mighty string of curses Yennefer was about to throw. “I know you, too. You have that company. And a tarantula.”

“Huh?” The man turned to Geralt. His eyes widened. “Oh, wait, I remember you too! We met at the vet. Your foal tried to eat my shirt and it also jumped out of your hands and started wreaking havoc in the waiting room!”

“And you were so convinced that your tarantula was more important than my sick horse that you ran in before me! It probably wasn’t even sick, you just didn’t know how to take care of an animal properly.”

“You leave Franz Joseph out of this!” The man yelled, pointing a finger at Geralt’s chest. “He was very sick!”

“Who’s Franz Joseph?” Ciri whispered to Yennefer. Yennefer shook her head, which was quickly growing dizzy.

“Okay, alright,” Geralt sighed deeply. “Your pet has nothing to do with your own arrogance. How’s, uh, Franz Joseph, by the way?”

“He’s dead.”

“Shit. Sorry about that.”

“Alright, will anyone tell me what the fuck is going on?” Yennefer huffed. “Geralt, have you had a kid all along? While you were dating me? Was that why you said you could never have one with me?”

“Maybe not in front of Ciri,” Geralt tried. Ciri narrowed her eyes at him.

“You two dated?”

Geralt released a long-suffering, deep sigh. “Yeah. Some time ago. Yennefer, I adopted Ciri four years ago. She is my daughter, but we haven’t met while we were together. Okay?”

“Okay, and why are you headed to Thanedd?”

“Why are you?”

“I… I got a letter from someone, it’s an emergency, or whatever, I had to drop everything at home, I’m really fed up already, and you are not helping!”

“What,” Geralt’s voice wavered slightly, “a letter? You too?”

“A hand-written letter?” The other guy chimed in, his face turning pale. “From someone on Thanedd? About… a life and death situation?”

“Yes?”

“Who wrote to you,” Geralt asked, his eyes widening with panic, which made Yennefer’s nerves even worse. Yennefer grabbed the railing again, this time to not faint.

“An old love… I mean, someone I knew. Is this an interrogation?”

“You started it,” rich guy reminded her. “And this someone, who sent you a letter… he’s not called Jaskier, by chance?”

“How do you know him,” Geralt growled dangerously as he turned towards the other man. They were about the same height, but he still seemed to tower over him. Yennefer could feel the angry Alpha pheromones oozing off him. It made her feel even more snappish, not to mention that possessive flare upon hearing someone else knowing Jaskier. Her Jaskier.

“Control yourself,” the man warned him, “your child is standing right there next to you.”

“Don’t bring me into this!” Ciri huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in a way that was so similar to Geralt’s. “I have zero idea what’s going on, I’m just enjoying the free show.”

“Why would Jaskier write to you,” Geralt continued, lowering his voice slightly. “Who are you to him…?”

“Radovid,” the guy helped him out with a sigh. His eyes narrowed to slits. “And how do you know him?”

“He wrote to all of us!?” Yennefer asked in horror. “What… why the fuck would he do that?”

They all stared at each other. Geralt chewed on his lip, his brows furrowed in distress. Radovid stared at his feet, stiff like a statue. Ciri looked from one to the other, both confused and clearly entertained by the mess she ended up in the middle of.

Yennefer turned back towards the sea and groaned. It wasn’t enough that she had to worry about what Jaskier needed of her after all this time, now she had to face the fact that her ex, and a random guy was also here, and they all got the same letter, apparently.

She really should have thrown that letter away.

--

Probably everyone thought Amaryllis was insane, what with the way she was pacing up and down on the docks, muttering to herself to calm her nerves. She couldn’t possibly know if her plan worked at all. There was a chance their address changed, and none of them received her letter, or if they did, they could have just ignored it. After all, twenty years have passed since then, what were the odds they would leave their homes so abruptly to come see Jaskier?

Amaryllis could only hope that her Papa left a mark on them deep enough that they would want to find out what he (well, Amaryllis) wanted. She knew her father was a remarkable and loveable guy, but she didn’t know how the other three were. She could only go off on the descriptions in the diary, hence why she was nervous if she would recognize them at all.

By the time the ferry arrived, Amaryllis was a hair’s breadth away from passing out. She watched the cars roll down, then the people walk off, her heart beating at an abnormal speed all the while. What was the chance she would get a heart attack right now? She pressed her fingers against her neck to feel her pulse. Oh, God, she was going to explode from anxiety.

Amaryllis craned her neck to see over the crowd that milled around the docks, trying to find faces similar to the descriptions. She really did hope no one went through a drastic style change that made them look entirely different.

The crowd cleared a little, and Amaryllis noticed a shiny white car- a Bentley.

He is literally blonde Prince Charming, not on a white horse, but in a white Bentley.

Amaryllis’s breath hitched in her throat as she approached the car slowly, her palms growing clammy with sweat. What were the chances the car was the same, that it was Radovid’s?

Once she reached the car, she was greeted with a girl somewhat younger than her, who grinned at her brightly.

“Nice car, isn’t it?” She asked proudly. “It’s mine!”

“No, it isn’t… whatever. Let the kids have fun.”

Amaryllis turned towards the voice. She gasped at the sight of a tall, lean man, with blond hair, dressed in expensive clothes there were only somewhat dulled by the smear that suspiciously looked like bird poop. It had to be him.

“Radovid,” Amaryllis breathed out. The man’s eyes widened comically.

“Do we know each other?”

“It’s you…”

“I’m sorry, how do you…?”

Amaryllis wobbled on her feet when a broad, white-haired man stood next to the teenage girl who declared Radovid’s car her own.

“Geralt…?”

“What? How do you know my name?”

“Okay, I genuinely don’t know what’s going on, but…”

Amaryllis turned towards the female voice, and yes, indeed, there was Yennefer. She couldn’t believe her luck.

“Yennefer,” she whispered, causing the woman to stare at her like she just massacred her entire family.

“Do you know my name too?” The young girl laughed. Amaryllis sent her an apologetic smile.

“Alright, this is strange,” Geralt noted, “how do you know us?”

“I… huh. Lord. This is weird, I know. Bear with me, okay?” Amaryllis bit her lip, trying to hold back an excited squeal. “My name is Amaryllis Pankratz.”

“Pankratz!?” They all yelled in unison. Amaryllis grinned. They remembered her Papa.

“Yes. I’m Jaskier’s daughter.”

She had never seen faces turn so white all at once. Geralt practically wasn’t even breathing. Radovid closed his eyes. Yennefer’s jaw literally dropped. The teenage girl grinned in delight.

“Jaskier has a daughter,” Yennefer whispered. She looked Amaryllis up and down, recognition lighting up in her eyes. “Shit. You look just like him. I should have known.”

“Yeah, do you know how many times I got the ‘oh, did Jaskier went back in time and turned into a girl’ joke?” Amaryllis chuckled. She swallowed in embarrassment when no one laughed. “Erm…so, yeah, Jaskier is my father. And I know you guys all know him, and I know you don’t know me, but… ugh, this is difficult! We gotta get to know each other a little better before my wedding.”

“Before the what?” Geralt asked. Amaryllis chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, so I’m getting married and I kinda need one of you to be at the wedding, but first I need to figure out which one of you should be there, because I think one of you is… shit!”

Amaryllis turned pale when she spotted Jaskier in the distance. He was luckily not facing them as he was walking towards the market, but she couldn’t risk him seeing his old lovers there before Amaryllis had a chance to talk to them.

“Trust me,” she practically begged the bewildered group, “and follow me, okay?”

Before any of them could protest, Amaryllis practically shoved them all towards the cars, away from Jaskier. The teenage girl went with them, and while Amaryllis wasn’t sure who she was, she kind of liked her already.

They would all have plenty of time to get to know each other, if everything went well.

--

Jaskier was contemplating which watermelon to pick when he felt a hand brush his side gently. He jumped, dropping both melons on the ground. They smashed on the asphalt, coating his new shoes in juice.

“Thanks for this,” Jaskier groaned as he stared at the mess on the ground, “I will not be paying for these, but you will!”

He looked up to see who touched him. The breath caught in his throat, and his head started swimming right away. He wobbled on his feet for a second, before he let out a mighty “what the fuck are you doing here, you ghoul!?”

“Oh, Jaskier,” came the snarky laugh in response, “you did not change one bit.”

What terrible sin Jaskier must have committed against the gods that they brought Valdo Marx, the bane of his existence, his formal rival, his archnemesis, the curse of his life, to the peaceful little island he lived on!?

“What are you doing here,” Jaskier huffed, hands on his hips, “I thought you were in jail for being a sex offender or something.”

“You wish,” Valdo grinned. He raked his eyes over Jaskier with an appreciative hum. “Look at you. You look lovely, still. Gained some weight, but that’s par for the course after having a child, isn’t it?”

“It takes me approximately one second to grab one more melon and bash your head in with it,” Jaskier warned him. Valdo laughed heartily.

“Oh, come on, now, Jaskier, don’t be so hostile! It looks good on you. You look gorgeous, was what I was trying to say, and yet, here you are, threatening me with assault.”

“Stop with the fake compliments,” Jaskier spat, “what the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be playing shit music with your band of disgraced theater kids?”

“Another thing that didn’t change: your deaf ears. We’re playing plenty, don’t worry. That’s actually why I’m here.”

“What?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Valdo grinned mischievously. “A certain Mrs. Cooper is best friends with our manager. And he offered her a lovely band, ours, to play at her daughter’s wedding.”

“No,” was all Jaskier was able to say when he realized Valdo was talking about the mother of Amaryllis’s fiancée. Valdo laughed again, enjoying the horrified look on Jaskier’s face.

“Congratulations! I’ve heard Sara is marrying your daughter! Can’t wait to meet the lovely brides.”

“You. Are. Not. Playing. At. My. Daughter’s. Wedding!” Jaskier growled, emphasizing every single word. Valdo tutted at him condescendingly.

“Oh, don’t be like that! It’s going to be lovely! You can give your daughter away to the sound of my beautiful singing, doesn’t that sound good? You’ll get to watch me bask in the glory while you cry in the background. Just like old times.”

Jaskier let out a scream as he grabbed another watermelon off the stand. Valdo ducked away just in time before his head collided with the large fruit.

“See you around, Jaskier,” Valdo chuckled. The bastard had the audacity to grab his hand and kiss his knuckles, making Jaskier let out a sound that he didn’t realize he was able to make. He rushed away before Jaskier could attempt to murder him one more time.

“You’re gonna pay for all the melons you smashed, I hope you know that!” The clerk yelled at him. Jaskier nodded with a sigh of defeat.

His hands shook as he fished his money out of his wallet. This couldn’t be real. He must have been experiencing a terrible nightmare, and he would wake up soon.

He would have to come up with a plan to make sure Valdo wouldn’t get to make a mess at Amaryllis’s wedding. Jaskier won’t let that happen, that was for sure.

At least things couldn’t get worse in the meantime, he reassured himself as he walked home.

[punch-love]

conflict anon here again and im SO GLAD you agree man. i think what really gets me about it is that i was specifically searching for conflict-packed fic and that's why i was so let down. i also feel like authors are entitled to write whatever they want forever but it just FEELS to me when im reading their fics like they would be happier writing something more domestic, and i want to find something where they're more feral.

i want the ID reveal and the relationship-confirming to cause MORE problems, hell i want them to get together and blow out into a massive argument and breakup then have breakup sex and get back together and then realize the sex didn't actually fix anything and then break up again but they can't stop being obnoxiously in each others space either way

but it feels like fic im trying to find like this fights the very concept of conflict so hard and wants one singular plot point to fix everything as quickly as possible without even walking me through the characters' insight as to HOW that fixed anything other than "problem over, let's be together forever now!" let alone the level of conflict that'd be so engaging like that with a million curveballs

im so aware its a personal taste thing its just been frustrating reading fic after fic after fic and finding so little of it. its no ones fault i can't find fic perfectly tailored to my tastes specifically, i just tend to ramble about my frustration. you and oprime and sci and a couple other authors are my favorite for writing it the way you do, she's not gonna die today will always be one of my favorite fics of all time because it gave me that ever persisting conflict driven by their obsessive need to stick together even when they're fighting every step of the way. i just always get into a longwinded ramble when this comes up and i was hoping youd like to share your thoughts so thank you for answering 🙏

I think this pairing kind of presents a unique challenge to writers (at least it did for me) that action and conflict is such a huge, borderline essential part of their canonical dynamic. If you're not used to writing/utilizing both physical and emotional conflict, your stories can often fall so, so flat for these two, specifically because that's the fuel that makes the engine run. The first true action scene I ever wrote was chapter two of love-punch, and I like, now I'm an action writer for life now (editing an action sequence as we speak) but I had to get out of my comfort zone because I realized that type of stories I wanted to write about them required them to beat the shit out of each other to work.

These two are definitely not problem solvers so much as shit starters. I feel like for them, the problems they actually have to solve are the ways they perceive each other (because both of them heavily project onto the other) and what that means long-term for their relationship - every other form of conflict, to me, is up for grabs forever when it comes to their relationship. The shit talking, ass kicking, and fire starting is what makes them, them.

I've said this before, but a lot of people write fanfiction as an exploration of their own ideal relationships. (which is absolutely fine) I think spideypool is a difficult sell though, for that specific fantasy, because their relationship operates on instability and violence primarily. I think most people aren't looking for a relationship where your communication consists of name-calling, beat downs, and moral differences so severe it makes you almost kill each other a lot. That, does not make a good, a good or healthy real world relationship but SUCH a fun fictional one. People are going to write their fantasies out, though, and that fantasy is that one kiss/one fuck/one confession creates relationship fueled bliss forever because many people, hate conflict - both experiencing and reading it. It sucks, if you're a reader who likes problems. I also always say this, but I encourage you to channel that energy into writing your own work. It's what I did, and it paid off so great for me because now I have 12 works specifically catered to my own personal needs exclusively. Fandom is always going to suck, but you can be the change! (and if you don't want to write, that's cool too, sometimes it's good just to get your qualms out into the world and find people who agree)

tagging @primewritessmut again so she can read your praise straight from the source.

It's a tough fandom if you really like their canonical dynamic more than their fanon one, I feel you man. I am always holding a prayer circle that more writers who like problems more than they like easy resolutions joins in and starts writing some real fucked up shit.

[yamayuandadu]

First post about the Inanna story in a while, introducing a key character in the first arc, Ninimma, Enlil’s court archivist. Since there are no identified depictions of her, and she has no distinct iconography beyond presumably beind a scribe, I wanted to check if combinging the huge eyes of the Tell Asmar votive figures with the "iconic" Early Dynastic monobrow results in something passably glasses-like. As for everything else, see under the cut.

In terms of personality, I want to stick pretty close to the quirks of the two known Ninimma hymns: over the top "academic" style, rare synonyms, in one case also seemingly purposely avoiding names of other deities in favor of descriptive phases - i think it makes for a reasonably coherent personality. irl Ninimma was a popular deity among scribes (at least in Nippur - in one sample set of texts there are more names invoking her than Ninlil which is remarkable seeing how Ninlil was, you know, essentially the city goddess via marriage); she was herself some sort of scribe in the employ of Enlil - i've seen her title translated as terms like "scholar" or "librarian" - so i will stick to that too; my version is specifically going to be in charge of organizing the data pertaining to Enlil's ancestors. She regularly gets fed up and reorganizes it, as a nod to the notably inconsistent character of the real lists of these deities; irl only the first pair was locked, in my version obviously a bit more needs to be during to Enmesharra being a central lore figure, but more on that on another day; as a side note, Ninimma does NOT respect Ninisina, who believes there is some central model of divine evolution, and asserts gods evolved from lahmus, as evident in comparable inner ear structure and other such details. This is, obviously, the product of a deeply unserious discipline (from Ninimma's pov, at least). She does not think "but lahmus are still around" is that good of an argument, though. Yeah, this is a creationism joke. The idea to connect her with divine ancestors is based on the theory that her name and Nammu's are cognates; I thought it would be funny. Note Ninimma is actually MUCH better attested than Nammu though. In-universe Ninimma's origin is not particularly well known (so, just like irl). Nisaba just brought her to Enlil's court some day and everyone went with it (the connection is based on both having similar profile and appearing in god lists together; I didn't find any evidence for actual biological relation between them hence making her a protegee of some sort only). Whether her earlier brief career as one of the Šassūrātu predated her "discovery" by Nisaba or if she initially dropped her off there is a matter of occasional gossip among other courtiers but since Ninimma is not a thrilling or polarizing figure it is not discussed all that often. Due to her vital importance from ideological point of view, Ninimma occupies one of the top spots among Enlil's underlings, and for all intents and purposes is treated as a family member (this is a nod to an obscure real text too), similarly to Manungal. However, while other of the lead underlings have multiple lesser ones under them, Ninimma is a solo act. She did develop a sense of camaraderie with some of the other courtiers, though. In the actual story Ninimma will appear in the very first arc, as the section of Enlil's temple complex under her care is precisely the place Inanna wants to steal something from to Make A Point after a sore breakup with one of Enlil's children.

[neowonderland]

Mean || l.hc

Second part of: The Friends of Lee Jeno

Part one: Suffocating || n.jm Summary: You take up the entirety of Haechan's thoughts. But, Haechan hates how much he likes you Pairings: University Haechan! x reader Warnings: 18+, dark content, noncon, bullying, degradation, toxic relationships

Dark Content, Minor please DNI

Disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. I do not condone the actions of any characters in this story and the actions do not reflect the idols in any way.

Haechan isn’t entirely sure when you started crowding his thoughts.

Was it when you made him Kimchi Jjigae when he was sick at you and Jeno’s apartment? Was it when you comforted him after another one of his messy breakups? Or maybe it was when he first met you and heard your voice, how you said his full name instead of his nickname.

Either way, you crowd his mind, thoughts of you taking up too much space in Haechan’s head. It doesn’t matter who he’s with, his thoughts no longer cohesive when his thoughts drift back to you. Haechan doesn’t bother to decode his feelings or emotions, never reading too deep into them. He’s a hedonist, chasing after the high of relationships and the pleasure that comes with them, ‘‘The Dreamies’ always making jokes about his high body count. 

But Haechan hasn’t felt the rush sex usually gives to him, each hookup has left him feeling dull and thinking about you. Orgasms are never as intense as when he does them himself, fucking into his first while he thinks about you.

Haechan feels pathetic for lusting after someone who doesn’t turn heads, so unlike his previous conquests. Someone as attractive as him fantasizing about someone like you. He’s used to bragging about who he just scored, loving the admiration and jealousy he gets when he gets someone attractive and you’re nothing to brag about. In his opinion, you’re nothing to look at, too plain, too messy, too quiet, too soft for him. Haechan tells himself that he doesn’t like you, he bets he wouldn’t even look your way if he saw you in university. 

And, Haechan unfortunately makes that very clear towards you and ‘the Dreamies’. Nothing is off limits for Haechan to insult you on, from your clothing, to your body, to your face, to your personality, and even the way you talk, Haechan manages to insult it all. Haechan can always see the discomfort on your face, the way that you shift in Jaemin’s hold, the way your eyes start to water, the way you look down, and the way your whispers of Jaemin to let you go increase whenever he starts. Jaemin never relents though, tightening his grip and shushing your protests, valuing you being there with him over your clear discomfort. You always stay and it’s common for Haechan to keep insulting you, until Mark or Renjun tell him he’s gone too far or change the topic. 

It’s comfortable like this, Haechan can be as mean as he wants towards you and you stay there and take it. You’re there for him and ‘the Dreamies’, cooking for them when they need you to, offering a shoulder to cry on when they need you to, doing anything they need you to because of your bleeding heart. 

It doesn’t hit him that you won’t always be there for him until the day he takes it too far, calling you, “Jaemin’s lap pet” and Jaemin follows you into your room. 

Haechan feels his blood boil and jealousy curl in the pit of his stomach when he goes back to his place, replaying the sounds Jaemin was able to pull out of you. The soft whines, whimpers and moans Jaemin caused when it should be him, Lee Haechan. In hindsight, Haechan should’ve seen all the signs of Jaemin wanting you, the possessive grip over your body, the shower of compliments Jaemin gave you, the fact that you were always around Jaemin and not Haechan, but that doesn’t stop Haechan from flying into a rage, breaking everything in sight. Haechan convinces himself that he’s upset because Jaemin is too good for you, that Jaemin is too pretty, too smart, too better than you in every way compared to someone like you. You’re just some slut that sleeps around with whoever gives you attention, that you managed to lure in Jaemin with your crocodile tears and sweet words. Haechan even thinks that he's too good for you, he’s too attractive, too smart, that you should be happy to even be in the presence of Lee Haechan. It doesn’t take long for Haechan to come to the conclusion that if you don’t understand that ‘the Dreamies’ are too good for you, he’ll make you understand.

It’s harder than before to get you alone.

After you had presumably fucked Jaemin, Jaemin somehow became clingier towards you. Jaemin follows you to your room more, when you get up to get water or use the bathroom, Jaemin is waiting outside just outside. The splotches on your neck fade with time while Jaemin continues to add new red ones to cover the fading ones, sucking new ones into your skin right in front of ‘the Dreamies’, shooting them a grin whenever anyone takes notice. 

Thankfully, Haechan has your schedule memorized and with the frequency he’s been coming over to you and Jeno’s apartment, it only takes a couple weeks for him to catch you alone without Jaemin or ‘the Dreamies’ present. 

You’re chopping vegetables when Haechan lets himself into you and Jeno’s apartment, sparing him only a glance before going back to chopping. Haechan grits his teeth at your indifference and “disrespect” towards him, storming over to grab your wrist and dragging you to your room. He can feel you stiffen in his grip, your stumbles as you try to fight against him, pleas for him to let you go falling upon deaf ears as he manhandles you onto your bed. You’re pinned underneath him, laying on your stomach while Haechan rests his full body weight on you, your arms pinned behind your back and his tongue on your neck, licking your skin. 

“You’re such a fucking slut, fucking Jaemin like that? Did you think we wouldn’t notice? The way you go after anyone who gives you an ounce of attention?” Haechan spits out, squeezing wrists harshly. 

You’re crying when he pulls your face to the side to kiss you harshly, tears slipping down your cheeks and sobs racking your throat as his teeth bump against yours. It’s sloppy, full of your tears and spit as you two kiss, Haechan harshly biting your lip and drawing blood before shoving his tongue into your mouth. Haechan savors the taste of you before pulling back, turning you on your back so you face him.

“Jaemin is too good for you. Jaemin could pull anyone he wanted, and you? You’d be lucky if anyone ever looked your way.” Haechan says, unbuckling his belt and fixing it around your wrists. “You’re such a lucky slut that I’m generous enough to teach you a lesson this way. You’re so lucky we even tolerate someone like you”

Haechan towers above you, sitting up and keeping your lower body pinned against his weight. You’re shaking when Haechan pulls your bottoms down and your shirt up to expose your stomach and chest. 

“You’re below us. Don’t be delusional and think anyone like us likes you.” Haechan says, gripping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him before kissing you again. 

Haechan tugs at the end of the belt as he opens and bends your legs. He opts to keep his shirt on, pulling out a bottle of lube and removing his bottoms. You’re panicking now, pleading for him to stop, that you haven’t had any penetrative sex yet, that you don’t want this and that he can still stop. Haechan pauses, rolling his eyes and then glaring, saying that he’s “not going to fuck your disgusting hole,” and that he “doesn’t even want to touch that thing.” 

A sick sense of relief washes over you as you let out a sigh. 

The relief doesn’t stay for long when you feel the cold lube hit your thighs and Haechan’s fingers spread the lube. Haechan squirts some on his hand, lubing himself up and angling himself to fuck your thighs. Haechan lets out a pitchy moan as he feels your thighs around him. He starts off rough, jostling you and pushing you up the bed with his thrusts as he fucks your thighs. You can see Haechan fighting with himself not to close his eyes and savor the pleasure, his eyes fluttering as his groans.

 You close your eyes, not wanting to see what he’s doing to you. Staying silent and trying to ignore Haechan’s pitchy moans and pants. Haechan doesn’t seem to care that you’ve closed your eyes, making no comments on it as he continues to chase after his own pleasure. It doesn’t take long for him to cum, Haechan painting your stomach white.

“Ah, fuck… I didn’t know your thighs would feel good.” Haechan pants out, his face flushed and bangs sticking to the sweat on his forehead. Haechan smears his cum over your body, stopping when he’s satisfied and bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick clean.

You think he’s done when he pushes his hair back and presses his hand against his cheek to cool the heat, only to have that thought be taken away when he applies more lube to your thighs.

You let out a sigh. You’re stuck with Haechan for a while. 

Previous part: Suffocating || n.jm

[absolutebl]

You've probably answered this before, but here goes anyway! Which BLs are your absolute top 15? Any country, any pairing, any tropes! I really wanna hear your list :)

Also, top 5 for absolute worst BLs!

Absolute Top 15 Best (and Worst) BLs

To be perfectly honest I hadn't done this yet because I've been patiently waiting for 10 BLs to exist in the universe that i've rated 10/10. It hasn't happened yet so...

Absolute Top 15 BLs

No particular order, these are all my beloved babies.

RATED 10/10

1. Seven Days (Japan 2015) 

One of the best live action yaois ever made, with perfectly structured angst, fantastic characters and acting, and no problematic tropes (rare in Japanese BL). The leads have excellent chemistry although it’s low heat there’s still some really cute mutual kisses. 

Popular first year Seiryo has a policy of going out with any girl who asks… for one week. On a lark, third year Yuzuru tests to see if that policy also applies to boys. Seiryo agrees that it does. Along the way they accidentally fall in love, although each is convinced the other one thinks it’s just for a week. 

Full review here. Last I checked could find it on DramaCool in 2 parts Seven Days: Monday - Thursday, Seven Days: Friday - Sunday) sometimes it shows up on YouTube. 

2. Color Rush (Korea 2021)

A unique paranormal twist elevates this classic high school drama into a pitch-perfect allegory for the queer coming out experience and one of the best BLs of all time (I will fight you on this). 

Monos can only see in grey scale, until they meet their probes. But when they do, monos can turn into obsessive monsters over the one person that turns on the world color. When Yeon Woo meets his probe, however, that boy seems a  lot more obsessed with him. 

Full review here. I did not like the 2nd season as much. Color Rush is on Viki. Watch the movie version.

3. Light On Me (Korea 2021)

Korea does an elegant pastiche of traditional live action yaoi but all tropes are cleverly deployed to bolster one of the most riveting love triangles ever put on screen… and I don’t like love triangles!

TaeKyung is a bit awkward and introverted and has never really wanted friends, but suddenly he thinks that might have been a bad life choice. So he joins the student council where he meets, among others, two very different boys who both want more than friendship from him. 

Light On Me is on Viki.

4. To My Star (Korea 2021)

It’s is a touch quirky to get into, but utterly charming once it hits its stride. This is the ultimate grumpy/sunshine pairing plus the most appealing light-filled kitchen of our dreams. 

Famous actor (adorable bundle of neurosis) takes refuge in the house of a reserved chef and is immediately smitten by Mr Tall Dark & Glowering. The chef is also smitten but refuses to admit it to himself or anyone else. 

Full review here. (I did not like season 2 as much.) To My Star is on Viki. 

5. We Best Love 1 & 2 (Taiwan 2021)

WBL is composed of two parts: We Best Love: No 1 for You & We Best Love: Fighting Mr 2nd. The 1st season is a short run classic university set BL combining the best of Korea & Thailand’s modern takes on genre. The 2nd season moves into the office, and employs Japanese style in terms of setting, obsession, and mature concepts. WBL thus successfully managed to pick up and combine the best features of Korean, Thai, and Japanese BL as it exists right now. Couple that to the insane chemistry from the leads, and we have one of the greatest BLs of all time, cooking to a recipe I doubt anyone else will ever be able to replicate since only Taiwan is this flexible. 

Story wise it’s pretty classic: Shi De has been in love with Shu Yi since childhood, but Shu Yi has always seen them as rivals. In university, events finally conspire for Shi De to make his move. It’s the ultimate tsundere uke versus the ultimate pining seme. Part two follows them into the workplace after a breakup. 

I love this show so much, odds are I’m currently rewatching it as you read this. WBL is on WeTV. 

6. Until We Meet Again (Thailand 2019)

Thailand’s only entry in my 10/10 category (from the BL mass producer). This is non BL trope reliant fated mates (AKA soulmates) romance that just happens to have the right setting and age of protagonists to fit the BL genre. UWMA is a work of narrative genius, and all the actors all turn in stellar performances, it is the best Thai BL from a storytelling perspective. Possibly the best BL story we’ll ever get. It also takes full advantage of Thailand's signature full treatment, never dragging despite 17 full episodes. 

Timid sweetheart Pharm meets older serious Dean on his first day of university and is both irresistibly drawn to him and inexplicably sad. Dean starts an intense slow courtship but they both begin to realize they’ve been through this all before and one of them, 30 years ago in a previous life, made a terrible mistake. Can their current selves survive the sins and betrayals of their past? 

UWMA can be seen on YouTube. 

7. Semantic Error (Korea 2022) 

Korea hits it entirely out of the Parks (pun on the actors’ last names intended) by doing a university set BL with everything we might expect but done exactly right, their signature quality executed perfectly, and added bonus good story, great pacing, and fantastic chemistry. This one is actually flawless. You cannot ask for more from a BL, let alone a KBL. 

Talented graphic artist Jaeyoung (emotional agro older seme) discovers Sangwoo has outed him as a slacker which means he’s not graduating this year. He sets out to find out who Sangwoo is and get revenge, accidentally develops a big o’crush. Sangwoo is a morally grounded strict routine based reserved programmer (logical uke) who’s world is entirely shaken by the chaos that is Jaeyoung. I love “the only one who can bully him is me” trope especially when said bully melts into all over whipped for his boy. 

Jaeyoung pined like a master. Like Park Seo Ham took lessons from Sam Lin. And Sangwoo crumbles into complete submission like he’s been waiting for Jaeyoung his whole life. It’s an absolute pleasure to watch these two on screen together.

Full review here. Semantic Error is on Viki. 

8. Our Dating Sim (Korea 2023)

This is a perfect short form KBL, an office set reunion romance featuring geeks that really suits 8 eps with no fluff and no chaff. I adored every aspect from the casting to the pristinely simple premise to the quietly smooth execution. Sure it’s low stakes, but that makes it high domesticity and extremely warm and gentle.

This is a fuzzy blanket of a story - a cozy BL. It lives in my rewatch pile and you know what’s best about it? Every single episode is in that pile. There’s no skipping with this one, it might be good natured and calmly sweet but it’s tight and the pacing is excellent. Full review here.

On Viki. You want the series NOT the movie version.

9. I Cannot Reach You (Japan 2023)

AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai

This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen.

Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way.

This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters (and all of the sides) and I felt almost honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen. (Full review here.)

Kimi ni is not widely available. Some Netflix have it. It's indie subbed.

These are the only 9 BLs (of over 600+ watched & judged) that I've rated 10/10.

I consider Absolute BL 1 & 2 (Japan 2021-2022) mocumentaries and not true BLs. But I also gave them both 10/10. 

But you asked for 15 so here are 6 more (again no particular order). 

RATED 9/10 

HIStory 2: Crossing the Line (Taiwan 2018) - Taiwan’s best example of classic BL with a sports romance foundation using some of the most prototypical (but fortunately least offensive) yaoi tropes (Viki)

Be Loved In House: I Do (Taiwan 2021) - a cute classy office set BL with a few plot raised eyebrows, but no other concerns, plus ALL THE TROPES and a general sweet softness that’s pretty rare from Taiwan, who usually prefer to go hard (Viki)  

Utsukushii Kare AKA My Beautiful Man (Japan 2021) One of the best most traditionally live action yaoi to release in the last decade. It used seriously old school manga derived problematic and kinky tropes, like whipping boy, for a truly classic piece that also manages to hit up modern themes of communication, consent, and self acceptance. It’s a wonderful BL, uniquely dirty and harsh in the best possible way. (GaGaOOLaLa)

Bad Buddy (Thailand 2022) - GMMTV’s flagship BL started 2022 on a BANG (okay no actual banging but you know what I mean), starring heavy hitters Ohm & Nanon in a pitch perfect university Romeo & Romeo masterpiece that will give you domesticity meets pain whiplash throughout and jet lag at the end. (YouTube)

Cherry Blossoms After Winter (Korea 2022) - Korea took on early Japanese sweet yaoi but gave it their signature softness and precise production style with a STUNNING color palette (beautiful pastels, sun-saturated over-exposure), manga framing style, some traditional BL character archetypes, that tiny edge of bullying roughness and out-of-control seme, plus FINALLY a palatable take on the stepbrothers trope and it was, in a word, classic. Sophisticated and understated CBAW is not slow, it’s just subtle. It's dream-like and atmospheric, as if the whole thing took place under cold water on a warm spring day. Is there plot or peril? Not really. Do we care? Also, not really. Look, I can’t help it, I’m old school and so is this show. I grew up reading sweet yaoi, and this was THAT YAOI just on my screen. There’s no objectivity with me and CBAW. It’s a beautiful pastiche and I loved it for how it made me feel and what it reminded me of. It’s not flawless, but it is a wonderful quintessentially BL experience. (Viki) 

Takara-kun and Amagi-kun (Japan 2023) - Reserved cool kid who must lean to communicate to keep the tiny disaster nugget he’s madly in love with. It is beyond charming: soft and gentle, packed with cuteness and high school angst. Did anything actually happen? No. Was it emotionally tense and paced well enough for me not to notice? Absolutely. Was there plot? Not really. Did I enjoy the hell out of it, anyway? Oh yes. Full review. (Viki)

I have quite a few more 9/10 ratings then these but I tried to pick the ones that were the MOST BL-ish of the BLs. (Which is why Old Fashion Cupcake - my beloved - didn’t make the cut.) 

Further Reading? 

Here a list of my Favorite BLs From Each Country

More Top 10 Lists!

Top 10 Cutest BLs - sweet and fluffy for the win (low angst, no grit, and shiny happy) 

Top 10 Most Romantic BLs - yummy sappy goodness that even non BL fans might enjoy 

Top 10 Most Underrated BLs - the ones no one seems to know about or watch

Top 10 Cozy BLs - the ones least likely to hurt you

10 BLs with the best stories (foundational narratives) 

10 BLs That Are Honest to a Queer Experience

10 BLs with the BEST Chemistry

Best High School BL from Each Country

Best University BL from Each Country

My Top 60 BLs (of 600 watched) - The Elite 10%

Prestige BL - for the fancy pants among you

Top 10 BLs Out of China

Top 10 BLs Out of Japan

Top 10 BLs Out of Korea

Top 10 BLs Out of Taiwan

Top 10 BLs Out of Thailand

The 15 Absolute Worst BLs

This is me, the OCD completest, so these are gonna be a bunch of 1/10 rated BLs that no one has (quite rightly) bothered to watch. I also have 15 dnfs to my shame, but I don't rate what I didn't finish so...

You asked for 5, but I happen to have exactly 15 1/10 rated BLs, so you're just getting all of them (no particular order, they all suck, by which I mean: bad story, poor acting, low production, and/or very depressing ending). These all come with all the trigger warnings. 

A Round Trip to Love (China 2016)

Lost Love (China 2016)

The Male Queen (China 2016)

Sei no Gekiyaku (Japan 2020)

No Regret (Korea 2006)

A Frozen Flower (Korea 2008)

Some (Korea 2014)

The Boy Next Door (Korea 2017)

In Between Seasons (Korea 2018)

Red Wine in the Dark Night (Thailand 2015)

Grey Rainbow (Thailand 2016)

My Bromance the series (Thailand 2016)

Dew the Movie (Thailand 2019)

Love Machine (Thailand 2021)

The Shortest Distance is Round - Noir (Japan 2019)

Top 10 Most Disappointing Thai BLs

(source) 

this post subject to change as my taste does, and as new BLs appear, however tumblr has a bug where it will stop me from editing old posts suddenly and without warning. So at some point I may have to redo it.

So this is dated Nov 2023 - not responsible for great BL after that point.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

White Lies and Warm (Sweet)hearts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader (She/Her)

Summary: Spencer's overactive daydreams lead him to a date with Reader, the love of his life, expect for one thing, it's completely fake.

CW: Spencer gets drunk on Peppermint Schnapps

Word Count: 6,400

Prompt: chasing a daydream

Author's Note: Well, here’s at least one of the two fics I have planned for the Christmas/Winter Season! I really hope that you enjoy this. I also appreciate if you reblog or comment. It’s very encouraging for writers to know that their fics are loved.

White Lies and Warm (Sweet)hearts

The little bookshop on the corner of Norfolk and Speevy is 10 blocks away from Spencer’s apartment. The nearly two mile walk wouldn't have been considered out of his way if there weren't three other independent bookstores nearby. Spencer does consider himself lucky to live so close to the bookstores, even though he never goes to the ones that are more local. He’ll do anything to avoid admitting why he chooses the furthest bookstore, even though that little bookstore is the only thing he can think about. Or rather, the owner is the only thing he can think about.

Y/N, who inherited the store from her late grandfather, fits perfectly into the homey bookstore. From her quiet demeanor to her sweet disposition, she seems like she was born to work in a bookstore. Or maybe she’s just so wonderful in Spencer’s eyes it’s as if she walked out the pages of a book. He’d venture to say, if he was a more confident, self assured man, that he’d be a perfect fit for the bookstore too. But that seems too much like a fairytale. And fairytales are only found on bookstore shelves, conveniently out of Spencer’s reach.

His walk to the bookstore does give him enough time to contemplate his current predicament. Fed up with Penelope and Luke’s good natured teasing, Spencer finally snapped and told them that he didn’t need them to fix him up with one of their friends because he was already seeing someone. And in true love-stricken Spencer fashion, his mystery partner is the one person who he actually wants to date.

Y/N.

He spilled the highly fictionalized details of their relationship to Luke and Penelope over stale donut holes and terrible coffee. Spencer hates lying to his friends, but he’s positive he hates their nagging even more. And now he’s stuck in his lie after he told them he’d bring Y/N to Penelope’s Christmas party. He doesn't even think she’d know his name if it wasn’t for him giving her his credit card every time he comes in to get books. Maybe he’ll pretend to get sick and stay home. He was never one for Christmas parties anyway. Someone always gets too drunk and loud. And the lights and music are a little overwhelming. Maybe he can come up with a tragic breakup story.

And just as Spencer’s supposed to be fantasizing loving Y/N, he’s thinking about what their heart wrenching breakup would be. Right person wrong time? She sleeps with her socks on, which is a dealbreaker in Spencer’s book? Anything that he comes up with sounds trite and curated. Something that Luke and Penelope would see right through.

Lost in his thoughts, Spencer hardly realizes he’s reached Y/N’s bookstore until he’s greeted by her waving at him through the picture window. Christmas decorations litter in the window. She’s made a miniature town, with all the buildings made from different books and the little people characters in famous stories.

Spencer waves back excitedly, forgetting for a moment that he told his co-workers/best friends that they are “dating.”

Laughing, Y/N opens the door and sticks her head out to talk to Spencer, “Are you coming in? It’s freezing out here,” she asks, letting the door swing open for Spencer to walk through.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, quietly to himself as he follows her through the door. He rubs his hands together, seeking warmth from his frosty walk. Even after leaving the dusty desert of Las Vegas and the balmy beaches of California years ago, Spencer still isn’t used to the cold winters native to the Eastern United States.

“Coffee?” Y/N asks, not waiting for an answer as she hands Spencer a cup of steaming hot coffee. He doesn't even have to taste it to know that it’s going to be perfect. It amazes him that she can know so little about him, but make it feel like she’s known him his whole life. He wonders if that’s what love is.

“Are you okay?” Y/N questions, taking in Spencer’s rosy cheeks and lost look in his eyes. He takes a sip of the hot coffee and shrugs his shoulders.

The noncommittal answer seems to be the less painful route. He isn’t sure how Y/N would respond if he told her that he basically told his co-workers he wanted to marry her, when in reality she doesn’t even know his middle name. It’s a recurring problem for him. Falling too fast and too hard with people that are just kind to him. Someone smiles at him, asks him how his day is or is just nice and Spencer can hear wedding bells. It’s happened before. With Lila and that became his first heartbreak. With Maeve and that ended tragically. With Max and that just fizzled out like flat soda. But with Y/N it’s different, even though there’s technically nothing with Y/N, except for the scenarios that play in his mind.

“Spence,” Y/N says, looking concerned at his lack of answer, “Are you okay? You seem out of it today,”

“I’m fine,” Spencer says, sighing as he sits down on the vintage armchair in the corner of the store. Y/N’s cat, Chester, sleeps peacefully in the windowsill, until he notices Spencer. He jumps up on Spencer’s lap, curling up to get closer for warmth, “Hey, Chest,” Spencer murmurs, scratching behind the cat’s ears as he purrs happily.

“No, you’re not,” Y/N counters, her eyes narrowing at Spencer with determination, “I know you, Spencer. Something is going on in that beautiful mind of yours,”

He wishes it was sunset. If it was sunset then he’d be able to hide his blush. It’s little things like calling him beautiful and giving him coffee just how he likes it that makes Spencer love Y/N more and more. Loving her isn’t like tripping over his feet, it’s more like tumbling in slow motion. There’s no chance to catch your breath during the free fall, only time to enjoy the rush. No hi I

Spencer looks over at Y/N, who’s working on a new book display for the New Year. She’s occupied with her work, but Spencer can tell that he mind must be going a million miles a minute trying to figure out why he’s acting skittish. Petting Chester, Spencer thinks to himself that it just might be easier to come clean and tell the truth.

“I told Penelope and Luke that I have a date to their Christmas party,” Spencer says, letting the words rush out without much thought. He brings the hot coffee to his lips, letting it burn his tongue so he has an excuse to not talk.

In his energy to not let Y/N know his true intentions, Spencer misses her important nonverbal cues: the split second look of shock and disappointment, the collecting herself as she aggressively creates a magical Winter Wonderland display in the picture winder. Spencer is too inside his own mind to realize what’s right before him.

“Oh really, Spencer. Who’s your date?” Y/N asks, her clipped tone completely lost on Spencer, who pets Chester trying to think of how he’s going to navigate this situation, “Do I know them?”

“The thing is, Y/N. I don’t have a date. I lied. Kind of,” Spencer says, leaving out the most important detail that his date, at least according to Spencer’s wildest dreams and now Penelope’s event calendar, is Y/N.

“Why did you lie about a date, Spence? You know that anyone would be the luckiest person on this planet. In this universe, in all of the universes and multiverses to date you,” Y/N says, dropping the paper figurines and walking over to Spencer. She places her hand on the back of his head, rubbing her thumb against his skin gently. In a strange way, it eases his tension. He must love her an awful lot if the bane of his tension is the only one that can relieve it.

“You’re too nice to me, Y/N,” Spencer says, brushing off her compliment because if he doesn’t he just might start to believe her, “Now you gotta help me come up with a plan for this disaster because I’m going to show up to this date single and I don’t want to deal with Luke’s teasing and Penelope’s meddling and…”

“Take me,”

His heart drops to his ankles. Spencer swears, if he were to look down at the floor, he’d find his bloody heart sitting right next to his feet.

“What?” he asks, even though he heard Y/N perfectly. He needs to hear it again. One, for confirmation that he’s not finally losing it and two, it just might be the first and last time he can take her on a date so he’ll milk it for all it’s worth, “Y/N, you’ll…”

“Be your fake girlfriend for the night? That’s literally the easiest and best job in the world, you dork,” Y/N says, playfully clapping his shoulder, “I mean it, Spence,”

“That you’ll be my fake girlfriend,” he repeats, whispering it because it’s a secret and you don’t want to say secrets too loud otherwise they’ll never come true.

“That I’ll be your girlfriend,” she repeats, “It will be easy! And fun, besides, I’ve been dying to meet Penelope,”

“Y/N, are you sure that you want to do this? We’re dating, I mean they think we’re dating. So, I just don’t want to make you uncomfort-”

Suddenly, Spencer loses all ability to speak. He feels a pair of soft lips brush against his cheek. She leaves the lightest pressure and yet her lips sting him like a thousand bees. He brings his hand to his cheek, ghosting his fingers over the spot where her mouth just was. Spencer hasn’t been dumbfounded many times in his life. Hell, the Riemann’s Hypothesis makes more sense than Y/N wanting to kiss him. Yet, her lips against his skin is a feeling that he’ll have etched into his mind long after he’s tired of equations and math.

“I just had to get that out of the way,” she whispers, talking quietly too. Maybe she’s thinking the same thing as Spencer. Maybe she wants their secrets to stay a secret, “Now you only have to worry about mistletoe at Penelope’s,”

“That’s good. Good. That’s good. Getting it out of the way,” Spencer stammers, forgetting how to talk when all he can think about is the feeling of her kissing him, “I’m gonna go. I have to get things ready for tomorrow. Penelope wants me to pick up icing. And uh, I’ll get you around 5:30?” he asks, scrambling to get up and get out of the bookstore before he does something foolish like kiss Y/N on her lips.

“Sounds good, Spence,” Y/N says, grabbing him a hat that she shoves on his head, “you know if you wait like ten minutes, I’ll drive you home, maybe we can stop for pizza or something and tell me everything your girlfriend would know about you,”

He doesn’t say much, just nods his head as he watches her clean up the supplies from the window displays. Spencer was never smooth around people he liked. He falls in love too fast and usually scares them off, but it doesn’t seem like Y/N is scared off by much, even if their relationship is pretend. Spencer’s so nervous around her, he wishes that he could send her a message in a bottle. He’d write down all the warmth and love and worthiness she makes him feel and bottle it up for only Y/N to open. He could only hope that it would get to her as he’s left on the sidelines hypnotized.

“Ready?” Y/N asks, looking towards Spencer as she shuts off their lights, scoops up Chester and places him in his pet carrier, “We can get take out and head to my place. And you can tell me all the embarrassing stories a girlfriend should know,”

“That sounds…..”

Like all he’s ever wanted.

“That sounds great, Y/N. I’ll pay,” he adds, waving off her protest, “You’re doing me a huge favor, Y/N. It’s my treat. Besides, you’re like family anyway, you know all the embarrassing stories,”

They walk out of the store, the fresh snow on the ground crunching under their shoes. Spencer looks over to Y/N’s bright face and lively eyes, a stark contrast to how huddled he is in the brisk winter breeze. Y/N loves the snow and the cold. Spencer likes the dryness and the heat, but standing there hoping that his message in a bottle makes it to her, he’s never felt warmer.

“Ooh, like the time you knocked down that display because you were so distracted,” Y/N teases, her smirk peeking through her scarf. Spencer shakes his head as he reaches down towards the ground. He scoops up some snow in his hands, balling it up into a sphere and launching it towards Y/N.

“Spencer Walter Reid!” she shouts, faking anger as she secures Chester on her elbow and scoops up some snow to throw a snowball at Spencer.

The cold snow hits Spencer's face, making him shiver. He can taste the icy particles as it stings his kiss, not unlike Y/N’s kiss on his cheek, even though that made him feel all warm inside. And as it turns out, she does know his middle name.

Spencer doesn’t even realize it’s nearly freezing until he sees his breath in the air. He hates the cold and hates the snow even more, yet he found himself digging his car out of a layer of ice and snow. But, he supposed that an unhealthy level of unrequited love will make him do things he hates gleefully. In the end it just might be all worth it, but until then Spencer sits in his powder blue Volvo rubbing his hands together for warmth.

Out of the corner of this eye, he catches Y/N walking down the steps to her apartment complex. She carries a tray of what appears to be Christmas cookies in both her hands as she navigates the icy steps. Spencer, in an effort to help her, flings the car door open. The cold air nips at his nose, but it’s all worth it when Y/N smiles and waves a gloved hand at him. He returns the gesture, nearly slipping on the icy.

“Hey, boyfriend,” Y/N teases, walking down the rest of the stairs as Spencer meets her half way. His feet are freezing in the layers of old and new snow. Wearing Converse probably wasn’t the smartest idea with so much snow on the ground. But his freezing feet and soaked socks pale in seem like the silliest problems when Y/N calls him her boyfriend, even if it’s all pretend.

“Hi, Y/N,” Spencer says, smiling as he takes her appearance in. She wears a dark green peacoat and has a lavender scarf wrapped around her neck. Unlike Spencer, she thrives in the cold. Words can’t quite help him anymore. He feels his face flush and knows that it has

Everything is so overwhelming with the wind nipping at his nose, the snow soaking his feet, and Y/N staring into his eyes and stealing his heart. Spencer’s tempted to think about how easy it is to pretend to be her boyfriend.

“You really didn’t need to bake anything, Luke makes amazing chocolate chip cookies and Penelope is having the whole thing catered so they don't have to cook,” Spencer says, taking the tray from her hands. They’re sugar cookies with pretzels on the top that look like reindeer antlers. He smiles, finding the cookies just as endearing as the girl who made them.

“It’s something a girlfriend would do for her boyfriend’s friends, besides I’ve been dying to meet Penelope,” Y/N says, rambling nervously. Spencer only recognizes it because he’s constantly stopping himself from doing it around her, “I’m freezing, let’s go,”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, following Y/N to his car. She slides into the passenger seat, shaking off the snow from her shoes before shutting the door. Spencer hands her the tray of cookies, sticking his head inside his car. And as he exits, he slams his head against the doorframe.

“Oh damn it!” He shouts, feeling the white hot pain on the top of his head. Spencer rubs the bump on his head, trying to chase away the pain.

“Spence!” Y/N says, reaching up to his head. She places her hand over his, rubbing against the spot. Suddenly, the pain in Spencer’s head is gone. As much as Spencer likes magic, he knows that it’s impossible for his pain to dissipate even if Y/N’s touch is the most magical thing he knows. Before he can react, Y/N pulls his head closer to her face. He keeps his gaze downward, silently terrified for what’s to come next. Spencer thinks that he’s having a stroke because for a split second he feels the tiniest of tiny kisses on his head.

“There,” she says, her hands leaving his neck as quick as they came, “All better,” Y/N whispers, stroking her thumb against Spencer’s cheek in an affectionate way that makes Spencer want to do more than call her his fake girlfriend.

“I-I,” Spencer says, the words failing to materialize in his mind, “I-I think we’re going to be late,” he stammers, finally able to string the words together. His head still stings, but he knows that it’s not because of hitting it against the doorframe.

Y/N nods, looking over at him. He tries to play it cool, but it’s harder than it seems. It’s not just his head that tingles with anticipation and buzzes with love, but his entire body. Spencer starts the car, turning the heat up high as he backs out of the parking space and heads to Penelope’s. As they drive, Spencer reminds himself that this whole thing, no matter how much he wants it too, will end when the sun goes down. He never considered himself a Cinderella, but then again happily ever after looks different than he thought.

Penelope’s house is always warm and bright with the faintest smell of cinnamon. Spencer walks right next to Y/N as they make their way through the doorway. He swears that he’s having heart palpitations because Y/N hasn’t dropped his hand yet, even though they are well through the door and have slid their shoes off. Spencer knows that she'll have to drop his hand to take off her coat, but he’s reluctant. He’ll milk this for all it’s worth.

She does drop his hand, but not before giving it a tight squeeze as she shrugs off her peacoat. He can spend forever thinking about what that squeeze meant, but right now all he can think about is how cold his hand is without holding her hand and how her eyes sparkle in the fairy lights.

“So this is Y/N,” Penelope says, bypassing Spencer completely to hug his “girlfriend” as Luke stands to the side, holding two glasses of champagne and the plate of cookies Y/N brought over, “Spencer talks about you so much. He’s so smitten, it’s adorable,”

Penelope, clearly more than half way to drunk, leans over to pinch Spencer’s ever-redding cheeks. He ducks his head, feeling the embarrassment fill his entire body. It’s hard to swallow, but even harder to look over at Y/N, whose eyes are glued to him.

“Is that right, Spence,” Y/N says, linking their arms together, “It’s a good thing that I’m smitten with you too,” she adds, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s quick, just like the one she gave him back at her bookstore and it leaves Spencer’s skin tingling. His blush is authentic, almost too authentic, so Penelope squeals with delight. Part of him feels bad for tricking Penelope, for the 15 years she’s been trying to set him up and now he’s pretending to be happily committed when he's actually fooling her.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, fidgeting with his thumbs. He feels his throat get scratchy with a mixture of nerves and guilt. But then Y/N’s soft hands come to cover his. She squeezes again, that little gesture doing more than a defibrillator could ever do for Spencer’s heart.

“You too are the cutest!” Penelope shouts, clearly unable to hold her alcohol. Endeared by her antics, Luke smiles as Peneloep drags Y/N towards the living room when Tara and Emily sit by the fireplace, “Tara! Em! She’s real,”

“I’ll be fine, Spence,” Y/N says, waving as she laughs along with Penelope. He watches her leave, his hand a lot colder again. Luke studies his face and it’s like he can read his mind. They’ve only known each other for a couple years, but in that short while Luke’s carved a very special place on the team.

“You’re so whipped,” Luke says, handing Spencer the glass of champagne as they walk back to the kitchen.

“I love her,” Spencer whispers, his throat growing dry again. He drinks the champagne, chasing the light and airy feeling it gives him. He remembers drinking too much of it at JJ and Will’s wedding and doing magic tricks for Penelope. It seems like a lifetime ago, he’s so different now, but somehow exactly the same, “I love her, a lot,”

“It’s painfully obvious,” Luke quips, smiling widely. Like Penelope, he’s clearly thrilled that Spencer has finally found someone, which makes Spencer feel all more guilty, “I mean look how you look at her. It’s all in the eyes, man,”

“Actually Luke, that’s scientifically impossible. You can do that with human anatomy,” Spencer says, bashfully. His face is a perpetual shade of pink as he drinks the remainder of champagne. Luke opens the oven, checking on the various appetizers and hors d’oeuvres he and Penelope made.

“Spencer, you are in love. L-O-V-E. Love,” Luke spells out, “And you know what, I’m glad. You deserve it more than anyone I know,”

Spencer wishes that he could believe Luke. He wishes that he was 4 years old again and believed in the magic of shooting stars. He wishes he didn’t have to pretend to pretend to not love Y/N all while loving her in the same breath. Licking his lips and nodding, Spencer doesn’t answer Luke. Maybe it’s too painful, maybe he’s too vulnerable, whatever it is, Spencer isn’t sure. But what he is sure of, is that he’s sick of bottling up all the love he has for her. He wants to let it go and watch it ooze out.

“Come have a drink with the girls,” Luke says, clapping Spencer on the shoulder. He leaves him alone in the kitchen, letting him stand there with his thoughts. Spencer can hear laughter and jokes from the living room. If he strains his ears enough, he’ll be able to pick out Y/N’s giggles from the lot.

Looking out the window, Spencer watches the snow fall. It’s fresh and light and airy as it falls to the ground, joining the gray slush from the previous night. Spencer feels a lot like snow. He was once a clean slate, falling to the ground aimlessly. But now? Now he’s not too sure. But like how he can pick out Y/N’s laughter in any crowd, Spencer’s pretty sure he’s murky snow.

“Spence! I’ll ice, you put the candy down. We’ll make a red and green pattern with the peppermints?” Y/N asks, excitement in her voice as she draws scalloped edges on the Gingerbread House roof.

“Sure,” Spencer says, keeping his words clipped and short, “Whatever you want,” he adds, unable to stop himself. Apparently, Penelope went a little heavy handed with the eggnog and Spencer had discovered Peppermint Schnapps. He knew it was a recipe for disaster; drinking like a college kid when he’s nearly 40. And on top of it all, pretending to keep their little act up.

“You having fun?” Y/N asks, inching closer to Spencer. They sit in two separate chairs, but she’s so close that she’s practically sitting in his lap. Suddenly, Spencer’s grateful for the Peppermint Schnapps and chocolate syrup that gives him the courage to stay, even though it probably won’t agree with him in the morning.

“I’m having a blast,” Spencer says, unable to control the smile that covers his face. Y/N is so close at this point that Spencer can smell her citrusy perfume. Staring at her, Spencer’s eyes flit down to her lips. For as long as he has loved her, which is nearly 946 days, Spencer hasn’t looked at her lips. How could he have been with her for all this time and not realize that her lips look like they’d fit perfectly on his.

“A blast?” Y/N asks skeptically, but a playful pulling on her incredibly distracting lips. Lips that kisses his cheek, lips that smile at him whenever she sees him, lips that tease him over a Gingerbread House, “Oh, wait,”

She reaches her thumb out to his face, grazing along the corner of his mouth. Y/N turns her thumb to face him, showing off the bit of chocolate syrup leftover from the Peppermint Schnapps and chocolate syrup drinks Luke made. He feels his breath hitch and his face blush even more when Y/N brings her thumb to her mouth, cleaning off the chocolate syrup. Her lips are shiny and glossy, proving to be even more tempting.

“There,” Y/N says, her gaze not leaving Spencer’s and Spencer’s gaze not leaving her lips, “You had chocolate sauce on your lip,” she explains, darting her eyes down to his lips for a millisecond, but it’s enough for Spencer’s quick eyes to catch it.

“We should decorate the roof,” Spencer says, breaking free from a spell that he wants to be forever enchanted under, “Before the icing hardens,”

“You’re the engineer,” Y/N replies, shifting through the candies on their plate. She takes a red gumdrop, alternating between red and green on the roof, “So, are we fooling them,” she whispers, reminding Spencer that he’s still living a lie, not the fantasies of his daydreamss.

“Oh,” he says, catching himself quickly, “I think so. I mean, Luke was teasing me because I apparently look at you like I love you,”

“Oh,” Y/N says, holding on tightly to the gumdrop, “Penelope said the same thing to me,”

“That I look at you like I love you?” Spencer says, sticking his tongue out as he concentrates on placing the candy down. Y/N draws icicles with the icing on the Gingerbread windows.

She pauses and then says, after what seems like two lifetimes,

“No, that I look at you like I love you,”

The plate of candies drops to the floor, ricocheting around on the hardwood floor. Spencer scrambles to the ground, partly to clean up the mess and partly to hide his embarrassment. No, it’s not embarrassment, more like excitement. Or both. Maybe it’s both. It’s probably both.

“Sorry, Y/N. I’m clumsy, but you knew that already, I guess,” Spencer says, picking up the pieces of the candy with Y/N.

Spencer doesn’t even realize that his hands are shaking until Y/N’s hands cover his. They are soft and warm against his worn and cold ones. And just like thinks that their lips would fit together, their hands fit together like puzzle pieces. Spencer has the sneaking suspicion that nearly every part of him meshes perfectly with every part of her.

“Hey, Spence,” Y/N whispers, giving him, yet again, the tiniest squeeze of his hand, “It’s good that they think we love each other. Isn’t that the whole point,”

“Yeah,” Spencer whispers, the chatter of the party and the tune of the music in background, “I guess it’s the whole point,”

He licks his lips, a habit that becomes worse during the harsh winter when the wind nips at any exposed skin. It’s like time gets paralyzed when they’re sitting there on the floor with the plate of candy between them. And Spencer realizes, too late, that it’s impossible for him to not look at her like he loves her because he loves her.

“Say cheese!” Penelope says, sitting down on the floor with a camera in her hands. The flash of light blinds Spencer, etching Y/N’s features into the back of his mind. He was wrong, it’s not just her lips or her laugh that distracts him, it's everything about her.

“You two are the cutest,” Penelope shouts, happily snapping pictures of Tara and Emily in their matching sweaters on the couch.

“I need something to drink,” Y/N says, getting herself up from the floor with a sigh that sounds like it’s more than what appears to the ear, “What about you, Spence?” she asks.

“Maybe a water,” he says, stopping himself before he says it, even though he desperately wants to say it, “Thanks, sweetheart,”

He drops the bomb that he swore to himself that he would not drop. It’s the point of no return, calling Y/N a sweet name that he’s only said in his daydreams. Y/N, in her defense, doesn’t look shocked, but gives him another unreadable look. He can blame it all he wants on Peppermint Schnapps and his own heart playing tricks on him, but he’ll have to face reality come tomorrow morning when this is all nothing but an elaborate prank. And the only one who’s going to get hurt is himself.

Y/N returns, silently handing Spencer the water bottle before nearly slipping out of the living room. But Spencer, tired of letting everything good slip through his fingers, catches the arm of her cardigan.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice sounding completely earnest, even without the endearing name that threatens to slip from his lips, “Please wait, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if it’s too much–,”

“Spencer, it’s not you. It’s just. It’s…I need some air,”

And then she’s gone. Spencer understands what Jordan meant when she told Nick that big parties are private, because in Penelope’s small living room all eyes are on the madly in love couple— who’s just for show.

“You’re going to follow her out there, right?” Tara asks, appearing at Spencer’s shoulder with a drink and plate of cookies in hand, both of which are for Emily.

“What?” Spencer says, feigning ignorance, something that’s foreign for him, “Why would I—”

“Because you love her,” Tara says, rolling her eyes at Spencer’s naivety, “and she loves you, probably more than you love her if that’s possible”

“Do you really think she would want me to follow her out there? If you think she does love me. If she actually loves me?” Spencer asks, searching for an answer in the crowded room.

“Go!” Tara shouts, practically shoving Spencer towards the deck door where Y/N stands.

Spencer, unsure where this conversation may lead, closed the blinds on the way out. He can feel his heart thump in his chest and even though the snow falls from the sky in frozen rainy clumps, he’s not even cold. Y/N stands motionless, watching the snowfall and the Christmas lights twinkle.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N says, “I’m so sorry, Spence. I didn’t mean to freak out on you there. It’s just, I guess I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be pretending to be in love with you,”

He’s cold. From the tips of his fingers to all his insides and outsides, he’s cold. He feels the blood rush from his face as Y/N’s remark. Spencer shifts on his feet, unable to move closer to Y/N, but unable to leave too. In the seconds of silence, Spencer’s mind tumbles around and around trying to interpret what she meant.

Spencer settles on the only logical thing: he’s too much. It’s too hard to pretend to love him with all his quirks and oddities. He finds it a little sick and twisted that he fooled himself into thinking that Y/N would be different from the rest. But then again, there’s still that hopeless romantic part of him that, for lack of better words, is hopelessly hanging on.

“I’ll bring you home,” Spencer says, settling for his worst fears rather than his greatest hopes, “I’ll tell Penelope you’re feeling sick and I’ll bring you home. But I’ll have to have Luke call one of those Uber things, I’m not good to drive. But I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry I roped you into this,” he repeats, tasting the sweetness of the chocolate and the coolness of the peppermint on his lips. It tasted good before, but now it only tastes like regret and heartache.

“No,” Y/N says, reaching out to Spencer. And in a couple steps they’re standing eye to eye. She licks her lips, daring to continue, “It’s not that at all, Spencer. What I didn’t realize is how hard it is to pretend to love you, when it’s all I’ve been doing for the past 2 years,”

It’s like watching a movie in slow motion. Or maybe in reverse. He’s played it so many times in his head that he’s not sure how it ends or begins.

“I–”

“You don’t have to say it back. I just, I can’t live my life without you knowing how I feel about you. How much I feel for you, how much you make me feel. And then you called me sweetheart. God, Spencer, I dreamt of that. I dreamt of the day that you’d look at me like you love me. I dreamt of being yours, even if you could never be mine,” Y/N says, her voice as breathless as the wind, “I’ll still love you if you don’t love me back, Spencer. I’ll understand if you don’t,”

“No, I–”

“I’m going to get going,” Y/N says, a tear trickling down her cheek as she drops his hand. He didn’t even know that she grabbed his hands, but he certainly knows when they’re gone, “Please don’t let me being foolish ruin what we had. I can’t bare to lose you,”

“Sweetheart,”

“Please don’t go,” Spencer whispers, rejoining their hands. He squeezes Y/N’s hand, like she did before. He feels his belly fill with a sudden warmth and a smile play at his mouth, “Please, Y/N. Let me have my turn, let me tell you all that you mean to me,”

With a slight nod of her head, Y/N gives him permission. He’s not quite sure how to string the words together. Words can’t quite seem to do their story justice, even though, ironically, the love of words on pages and pages of books is what brought them together.

“Remember the display, the one that I knocked down?” Spencer asks, getting a look from Y/N that tells him she has no idea where this is going, “You know that happened because you’re so distracting. Everything about you, Y/N has me doing summersaults. I tried to convince myself that being in your life was enough, even if we never breached that boundary. But it wasn’t, Y/N. It wasn’t enough, I don’t think I can ever go back to loving you in secret,”

“Spence,” Y/N says, like she’s said it thousands of times before because she has. And she’ll say it a thousand more. He’ll never grow tired of hearing his name from her lips, in her voice, calling him closer and closer to her.

Spencer, lacking the words, steps closer to Y/N. They’re so close that he can feel her heart beating against his one. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her impossibly close and tries to not lose his mind at the whimper of relief she makes. Spencer’s other hand cups Y/N’s face. She’s cold in the winter wind and his thumb draws shapeless shapes around her skin. They have forever to memorize each other, but know he really just wants to kiss her.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Y/N whispers, sounding braver than Spencer feels, “Because I’d really like for you to kiss me,”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Spencer says, brushing a piece of her hair from her face as he lowers his head to hers. The silence makes his heart race with anticipation of what’s to come. He’s been daydreaming of this moment ever since he knocked down the display of books. And despite the cold, the warmth in Spencer’s chest spreads throughout his entire body.

“There it is again,”

And it’s actually like it seems to be in the movies. The distance between their lips grows shorter and shorter. Spencer can feel the vibrations ricocheting off their bodies as they meet, closing the gap. Before, when he would dream of kissing her, Spencer thought that he would be too nervous for it to be good. Yet somehow, he’s not nervous at all. Somehow, when his lips glide across Y/N’s lips he’s calm. Maybe it’s her uncanny ability to understand him or maybe soulmates are actually real, but whatever it is, Spencer knows he’ll spend the rest of his life chasing it like he’s chasing a daydream.

Y/N, growing restless, breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against his. Spencer’s breath mixes with her’s and their heartbeats thump as one, it’s impossible to tell them apart. He’s grateful for her for many things, but he never would think he’d be grateful for her breaking the kiss before he grows hungry for more.

“How I got you to love me back, Y/N. It’s beyond me, sweetheart,” Spencer whispers, his eyes scanning over her face with nothing but love in his eyes. He’ll still chase his daydreams, but now, at least he’ll have someone to squeeze his hand and dream along with him.

TAGLIST (still open, shoot me an ask)

@reidslibrarybook @reidsbookclub @shemarmooresfedora @reidsacademia @strawberryspence @pastelbabygirl19 @folkreid @doctorspenceryeet @the-chaotic-cow @alexrosex99 @emilyprentisswif3 @jswessie187 @muffin-cup @fbivestreid @fandomfriend33 @reidslovely @alexontheinternet @navs-bhat @mimischaos @xoxospencerreid @gspenc @reidsmilf @ssa-uglywhore27 @cncos-baby @drayshadow @nomajdetective @alexxavicry @spencerreidat3am

[hairrington]

My dream pairing for s5 would be Steve and Robin with the party doing their their thing. Like I need Steve and El interactions bc we haven't got any of those and I just know they would love each other okay. And a scene where Steve comforts Dustin and Lucas. I want to see him grieve Max, the guilt he feels for not being able to protect her and just be there for Lucas. I just want Steve to be the best babysitter again, without getting borderline annoyed or angry bc your ex is there. Plus him and Robins relationship was watered down so much for Stancy agenda, they deserve to have way more screentime together and talk about anything else than relationships. I still stand by the fact that Robin should have been the one who should have jumped after Steve first but didn't bc of Stancy, it was purposely done so Eddie could give his true love speech to Steve later.

Jonathan and Nancy can do their investigation shit they always do in every season and talk to each other for once. Even in s1 when she started dating Steve Jancy was paired up for most part of the season so if they want to go full circle do that. Tbh I just want them to stay far away from Steve lol, even as friends bc Steve's clearly hurting over their relationship (at least from the glimpse we got at the end of s4). And I need Robin to STEP UP and talk some sense into him instead of pushing for Stancy. I still think it was gross from the writers that she encouraged Nancy to persue Steve even tho she is Steve's bestie so she knows how fucked up their breakup was. Like very ooc of her in that moment. How can you wish happiness for your friends when their relationship was toxic and your bestie needed almost a year to get fully over the damage their ex gave him. But then again the writers completely ignored s3 and Steve's development.

Also after Nancy rejected him twice now he should find some dignity, if the writers really make him take her back after everything I'll commit a fellony lol. Like how worthless does he feel to let everything slide? Nancy didn't even apologize for cheating and yet he still thinks it's all on him because Nancy is just perfect and never wrong. I'm so tired of this even the actors don't really want this lol. Natalia wants Nancy to be single which I strongly agree with. She should move out of Hawkins go to college and do her thing without guys.

FACTS. throughout some of the character interactions in s4, i was literally thinking "i waited so long... for this?" they barely do the characters justice if at all and i agree that robin was VERY ooc for pushing stancy. it's such a mess and left me with a very bad and empty feeling

[silversatoru]

Hi, I just finished burdens and OML 🥺🥺🥺

May I request some sort of megumi x reader continuous where the reader ends up becoming a powerful sorcerer (or a cursed spirit👀 whichever you’d like tbh) megumi and the reader somehow cross paths again a little while after the break up and he witnesses her fighting for the first time? I just know that boy would fall in love all over again but she’s moved on and he feels guilty and just angst? And maybe fluff idk. I’m new to requests so I hope I did this right, thank you so much❤️❤️

burdens pt. 2

a/n: hello, part two of this not-so-lovely story is finally here. every single one of you is allowed one free punch to my face for taking so long to write it,,, i’m so sorry. this is its fourth rewrite and it got a little darker than expected but it’s finally done,, i hope you enjoy <3

fushiguro megumi x f!reader

synopsis: you finally see megumi again at the kyoto sister school goodwill event

tags/warnings: angst, some graphic depictions of violence, character death

word count: 3k

“Do you know how tired I am of watching the people I love die? Things would be so much easier for me if you just stayed the fuck away”.

Megumi’s bitter words were on repeat in your head — the harshness of his voice leaving a hollow feeling carved into your chest. Tear-stained cheeks and shaky breathes had become your new normal these past few days. Tight, sharp pains filled your empty stomach, waves of nausea coursing through your body.

You’ve had no motivation to get out of bed lately, nevermind to shower or cook yourself a proper meal — honestly, for all you cared you could rot away in your blanket filled bed. You checked your phone like a fiend too, thinking that eventually, a miraculous text from Megumi would appear and make everything better. It never did.

He’d completely ghosted you since that dreadful day, and that hurt more than anything. You’d held onto a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't meant what he said. But as the days continued to pass, your hope quickly dwindled.

To say your current state was shameful was putting it lightly, and you were embarrassed at how poorly this was effecting you. You liked to think that you were strong, motivated, independent — that you didn't need some douchebag just to feel happy. But truth be told, breakups are fucking hard, and it's okay to not be okay for a while — or at least that's what you kept telling yourself.

So when you were trudging miserably down the street to your local convenience store and you saw a familiar pair of jujutsu sorcerers, you wanted desperately to sink into the ground. You made a quick turn to head to a different shop, but it was too late, you were spotted.

“y/n! hey!” Two lighthearted voices sang through the air, filling your ears and making your heart clench in your chest.

You turned around and anxiously approached them, your unkempt hair and baggy eyes sending looks of concern across their faces.

“Hey girl, you good?” Nobara shot you a sideways glance, Maki raising a suspicious eyebrow.

“Yeah, uh, ice cream,” You croaked, speaking for the first time in a couple days, “I’m here for ice cream, that’s all”.

“Yeah, but why do you look like a fucking zombie?” Maki pushed her eyeglasses further up her nose, her sharp eyes looking you up and down.

“Ah, he didn’t say anything to you guys, did he?” You shook your head, heavy eyes falling to ground as you refused to meet theirs.

“Don’t tell me…” Nobara’s face contorted, “Did he break up with you?”

You nodded, a pitiful chuckle falling from your lips, because if you didn’t laugh, you’d start sobbing right now.

Maki threw her arm around your shoulder, pulling you to her side and ushering you into the store, “It’s okay, men suck. Hang out with us today”.

Meanwhile, Nobara trailed quickly behind the two of you, anger seething from her teeth and steam practically billowing out of her ears.

“That fuckhead! I swear I’ll fuck his shit up big time, he won’t even know what fucking hit him. I knew that boy was stupid but shit, this is a whole new low for him! I-,” She continued to ramble and rant as Maki led you through the store, picking out drinks and snacks to help ease your pain.

The three of you ended up in a nearby park, sitting around a small picnic table and gorging on the massive array of snacks. Lighthearted conversation and lots of food make your chest ache a little less, and you even found yourself laughing and chatting as if things were normal. You’d told the two of them all about that day, about Megumi’s irrational words and his tragic breakdown that led to some kind of fucked-up break up sex.

“So, how are we gonna get back at him? Egg his car? Put bleach in his shampoo? Bugs in his food? God - it’s a shame his dad is dead because from the pictures I’ve seen that man was FINE and revenge sex—,”

“Nobara,” Maki shot her idiot girlfriend a dirty look, and the orange-haired girl quickly shut her mouth, “As much as I support any idea that revolves around ruining a man’s day, I don’t think revenge is the healthiest coping strategy here”.

You were tracing your eyes around Maki’s face as she spoke, and you found yourself carefully inspecting her purple glasses that rested softly on the bridge of her nose. And that’s when it clicked, the light bulb ignited in your head and you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

“Maki,” your voice was urgent, “You don’t have cursed energy, you can’t even see them without your glasses!”

Her face twisted and her nose scrunched, a look of distaste in her eyes, “I know?”

“So, you could teach me, right? You could help me learn how to use some cursed weapons?”

“Yeah! You have to Maki, then she can beat his ass with me,” Nobara chimed in.

“That’s not a bad idea actually,” Maki’s mouth formed an evil grin, “Could you imagine his face after watching you exorcise a curse?”

The three of your conversed for a bit longer, speculating and potting about training, weapons, and your very own pair of curse-seeing glasses. By the end of the night you had a plan, and a pretty good one if you say so yourself.

From that day on, teary eyes and achy hearts were a thing of the past, not because it was that easy to get over Megumi, but because Maki didn’t even allow you the time to feel dismal anymore. You met her everyday after classes without fail, and everyday she would train you until you thought your arms would fall off. After months and months of sore muscles, sweat, and the occasional injury, you were convinced that Maki was incapable of feeling pity or remorse for other living things. Every time you speculated about quitting, she’d set a fire under you, unafraid to remind you how weak you still were.

The green-haired sorcerer had ultimately decided that you worked best dual-armed -- a long, lightweight blade in each hand. On your final day of training, she officially gifted the two swords to you, as a “graduation” gift.

Skill-wise, you were by no means as incredible Maki, but you definitely held your own, and the progress you’d made in a mere 8 months was astronomical. They’d introduced you to a strange silver-haired man at some point, Gojo, who had taken not only an interest in you but also your plot against your ex-boyfriend. He cackled to himself when you told him why you were here, going on and on about how priceless Megumi’s face would be when he saw you.

Your appearance was highly anticipated, so why not debut at one of the biggest jujutsu events all year? The Kyoto Sister School Goodwill Event — Gojo thought it was the most perfect idea.

You tried hard to exude confidence as you walked at Nobara and Maki’s sides, but behind your arrogant facade your stomach was twisting itself into knots. Truthfully, you were scared to see Megumi again after so long.

And when your eyes met with his as you walked into the meeting room, you thought you just might pass out. You thought you were ready for this — but the look of complete shock, fear, and anger on his face as he looked you up and down almost made you regret all of it.

“What’s going on?” Megumi’s words were incredibly calculated, an edge on his voice.

His question was pointless, however, because judging by the fact that you were wearing a jujutsu tech uniform and had two swords sheathed at your sides could only mean one thing. Your hair was longer now too, and your frame was wider with an extra layer of muscle from all the training — you almost looked like a different person.

“I’ve been training with Maki, I-,” You spoke up to explain yourself, but you weren’t even granted the opportunity.

“No, no, Maki, what the hell did you do?” His eyes were shaky and laced with concern.

“I only did what she asked me to. I’m not the one who gave her a complex about being weak, you did that,” Maki shrugged, “and she’s not your girlfriend anymore dude, what do you care?”

Absolute confliction flashed through his eyes, uncertainty and madness swirling in his irises, “You’re right, I don’t care. Let me know when the event is starting”.

He took a sharp turn out of the room and let the door slam a little too hard behind him. The sound of his icey voice and the door shutting with unkind force was all too reminiscent of the night you broke up. Burying every emotion you had deep into your stomach you gave Maki a small, reassuring smile and plopped down on one of the couches.

“Alright, so when does this thing start?”

after the start of the event

Fighting the Kyoto students was proving to be much harder than you initially expected, but you were holding your own at Maki’s side. The two of you had easily taken down a small, kind, blue haired girl named Miwa, and now you were watching an emotional battle between Maki and her sister unfold.

Wait here, she’d told you, I want to do this one myself. Take some notes on my form and watch our backs, okay?

Okay, you’d said, a little confused but ultimately finding a nice spot up in a thick tree to carefully observe from. Maki was truly a force of nature, and it seemed like the other girl never actually had a chance of winning. It was honestly only a few minutes before the small black, haired girl was slumped against a tree and Maki was making her way back to you. Things were looking good, two of Kyoto’s student’s were down already and adrenaline was pumping through your veins.

You couldn't quite shake the awful feeling churning in your stomach though, and Megumi’s face was haunting your thoughts. You hadn’t seen him since before the event started, when an odd, pink haired boy jumped out of a box and freaked everyone out. Nobara had later explained who he was and what had happened, and you wondered how many awful surprises Gojo had planned today -- first you, then that.

A small rumble rippled under your feet, and Maki grabbed your arm as you watched a giant brown vine lurch it’s way out of the ground a few hundred yards in the distance.

“That technique doesn’t belong to anyone from Kyoto,” She shot you a look of concern and determination, “let’s go check it out”.

You gave her a firm nod, the two of you making your way towards the horrifying wooden vines. By the time you managed to arrive, Inumaki was already down and so was a dark-haired boy from Kyoto. A muscular, white curse with black markings and wooden branches for eyes was moments away from taking Megumi on all by himself — thank god you got here in time to help.

Megumi, however, was horrified when he saw you jump over the tall roofed building with Maki at your side. He’d just watched two incredible sorcerers get their shit rocked by this curse, there was no way you would stand a chance against this thing. But before he could even try to stop you, you and the green-haired sorcerer were flying through the air and taking shots at the curse. The two of you worked perfectly in sync, the months of daily training finally paying off.

He watched with intent glazed over his eyes, his heart threatening to lurch up his throat. You were a spectacle, and he always thought you were beautiful but seeing you now with dirt and blood stained clothes, cursed weapons gripped firmly in your hands, you truly were ethereal. He hated it though, he hated that he was falling in love with you all over again, especially under these circumstances. Guilt and anxiety was eating away at him — why did you have to get involved? Why couldn’t you have just stayed away like he told you to?

He was quick to join the two of you, sticking close to your side to protect you if need be — but, even with all three of you together the curse still had the upper hand. Maki had been swatted to the side, her back slamming hard against one of the tiled roofs and knocking her unconscious. It was down to just the two of you now, beads of sweat causing your hair to uncomfortably stick to the back of your neck. This was something that Maki’s training could have never prepared you for.

Megumi was getting tired, taking one wrong step and losing his footing momentarily. The curse saw this as a perfect window of opportunity, sending a spiral of vines and branches hurling for Megumi. It was fast, but the adrenaline coursing through you helped you to move faster, launching yourself through the air and intercepting the attack. The barky, wooden vines twisted violently through your stomach, shooting clean through your back and ripping a violent scream from your throat.

It hurt so bad, feeling the plant wriggle through your organs and tear you apart from the inside out. The curse retracted his vine a few moments later, leaving your mangled body to fall helplessly to the roof. Tears rippled from your eyes, your body shaking and seizing as you coughed up a few sprays of blood.

A long, strong pair of arms scooped you up instantaneously, and your head was resting against a firm chest — probably Megumi, but you didn’t quite have the energy to open your eyes to check.

“We’ll take it from here, get her to Ieiri!” You heard a pair of deep voices yelling to Megumi, but it was too foggy and far away for you to understand what they were saying.

Megumi was seething with anger, moving as fast as his feet could carry him and he ran through the school. As you waved in and out of consciousness, you batted open your eyes, stealing quick glances at his twisted features and — were those tears on his face?

“I- I’m sorry Megumi… I think I finally understand what you were so afraid of all this time,” Your voice was barely a croak, “when I saw it coming, I couldn’t stomach the thought of having to watch you die. I suddenly just thought I would do anything to keep you safe”.

Yeah, those were definitely tears, you could see them a little clearer now. His eyes were red and his cheeks were dried with salty streaks.

“You’re so thick-headed,” he mumbled, his grip around you tightening slightly as he picked up his pace, “I wish you would have made that realization before there was a giant hole in your stomach”.

“Me too,” You hummed, but you weren’t really in any pain anymore. The pain had subdued to a sweet warm sensation inside your stomach, and an intoxicating sleepiness was washing over your head, “I was angry for a long time, but I’m not mad at you anymore, Gumi. I hope you can forgive me too”.

You offered him a tiny smile, but the blood leaking from between you keeps made it anything but sweet.

“There’s nothing to forgive you for, you never did anything wrong,” He spoke quickly, his voice quiet and cracking.

“No, but we’re not gonna make it to Ieiri, I know that and so do you,” You fell into a violent fit of coughs again, sputtering red splatters all over the front of his uniform.

“Shut up”.

“It’s not your fault, none of it was ever your fault,” you choked out once the fit of coughs subsided — and you weren’t just talking about yourself, you were talking about all of the unfortunate tragedies he’d witnessed throughout this life.

“And you’re allowed to be selfish sometimes, you know? I hope that when you meet someone, your soulmate even, you can allow yourself to love them with every part of you”.

The words painfully left your lips, but you meant every single one of them. You were starting to realize that you and Megumi were never meant to make it to the end. You weren’t his soulmate, you were here to help him grow, so that when he did finally meet them he’d be ready.

“You deserve to be loved, Megumi,” You looked up at him with big eyes, but his face was starting to get really fuzzy now.

Your fingers were going numb and your mouth felt like it was filled with sand. You were so tired, letting your eyes flutter shut and your head rest softly against Megumi’s chest. You felt him stop running, you could even hear him screaming at you — but it was too far away for you to hear. You drifted closer and closer to eternal sleep, your soul swollen with love for the boy who broke your heart.

Megumi didn’t even feel sad when you stopped breathing in his arms — he just felt hollow. More empty and broken than he’d ever thought possible. You were the most incredible person he’d ever met — someone with extreme motivation, who acted with no fear or hesitation, who always had love to give, even when he didn’t deserve it. He’d never forget you, not for as long as he’d live anyway.

Even when he did meet a new girl a few years later — a compassionate, brave girl, who reminded him a lot of you — he wouldn’t forget. He wouldn’t forget your words and for the first time in his life he’d let his walls down for her. He’d allow himself to truly love, and be loved in return.

And maybe you were right, maybe he did deserve to be loved like this, because god, he finally feels whole again when she’s around. He just wishes you were still here so he could say thank you.

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay Chapter 4: Breach

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Angst; Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse; Betrayal; Lies; F!Reader’s Age Kind of Finalized; Specific Reference to Age; Blackmail; Crying; Slight Panic Attack; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: Even the truth can’t set you free.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3

Notes: And we’re back to pain. My outline got derailed for this chapter so bear with me, sometimes revelations need to be hammered in. No smut here for now but I also needed to get this arc finished so I can start on the next.

Also I know I keep jumping forward — I swear I will write about their relationship growing.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The air is…

Shifted.

Shifted enough that the whole office notices, avoids yours, avoids the glare Steve Rogers fires at them the moment they approach the door, avoids your eye. Shifted enough that you miss the before, the pressure of his presence demanding your attention, the smugness in his endless eyes you denied looking at.

Shifted.

Counsel.

What?

We need to talk.

Is that not what you’ve been avoiding doing all morning, Captain?

You swear you can hear his molar crack in the dead silence, but your eyes never flit upwards from the contract you’re poring through, red pen in hand.

Focus.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it, the presence of him, the pressure of him. It’s a job, and he calls on you to do your duty and you do but no one has ever asked you to be kind and no one has ever asked you to smile as you bear it so you don’t.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it.

You. Are a part of it.

Counsel.

It’s a bark, an order, an annoyance and you shouldn’t let his stubborn fury be the thing that derails you. This is your domain. Your palace of glass and steel, remember? New York buzzes behind you and you surge forward on the tightrope of his affections, teetering dangerously close to his temper and always, always daring him to pull you down.

Try it again.

Fine, with a sigh and a setting down of your papers, You’re closer to the door.

And in your defense, he is, seated on your couch as stiff as a board, scrolling through his phone on occasion and — previously, at least — deftly ignoring your inquiries about the status of his office and why he needs to spend his morning in yours.

He fixes you with a look you do not name and proceeds to stand anyways. The door clicks shut and stays that way — both of you have learned.

Do you still talk to him?

Excuse me?

The Senator. Are. You. Still. In. Contact.

He spreads out every word like an accusation and every word turns you a little colder. You’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding him, distracted by work, the both of you but now you are back in each other’s orbits and this…

This cannot be avoided.

I haven’t spoken to him beyond to tell him I returned home safe that night.

Not. For lack of wanting.

If he’s hurt you, just say the words.

There’s nothing you can say.

It’s been a week. Almost two.

He’s been kind, stayed away, kept his distance but that… that will not last. Only as long as whatever conference has his office busy and then you know what comes next and then you know what comes after.

The bruising may have faded but the memories remain, after all.

They always do.

Steve Rogers is not Andy Barber, is not warm-eyed concern or a soft-voiced invitation, is not trying to save you from the horrors you cannot name, is not to be trusted but Andy Barber is also not Steve Rogers, is not exactly the man you expect, is not the answer to your dilemma, is not the devil you know and you…

Are still testing your wings.

Get up.

Get up and walk away from the prison of your desk, see how far you can get before you shackle yourself to your own ambition. Get. Up.

Blue eyes watch you like he’s calculating the next angle of his attack and technically you know that’s exactly the case but let’s pretend a moment he doesn’t have his claws out and you aren’t trapped in a cage for him to batter.

Delude yourself into the power you think you have, and keep him there, across the room where he cannot show you how effortlessly he strips you of it and how deeply you enjoy it.

Don’t.

You may be in bed with the mob but you are not asleep to his crimes and this is just an interim, a plan, a moment.

You stood me up, Counsel. After we made our deal.

It was a week ago and you ever-so-kindly taught me my lesson — don’t wince as you speak, don’t let him know you remember, don’t let him think you actually learned from his hand, hard against your body.

He hasn’t since, after all.

He says your name.

He says your name and your blood runs cold and you freeze by the coffee machine you keep in your office and you turn. Senator Barber is a friend.

A dangerous friend. I won’t even ask if you know his stance on —

On the Syndicate? Oh I know. I know who he shakes hands with.

Then you know why I’m asking.

Are you loyal?

Are you?

Is it loyalty that keeps you here?

Don’t let your hands shake when you look at him. Don’t let him see the slide of your eyes, the glance outside, the wondering how long before your window would be a portal and that tightrope would snap.

You are not a fool.

This. Is not loyalty.

I keep to my ethical duties, Captain.

You’re sleeping with your boss.

Oh that one makes you laugh, sharp and cruel and you do look at him then, fix your eyes onto him and raise an eyebrow and watch. All that power, all that smugness, wrapped up in one body and how does he contain it, do you know?

I believe the actual term is serving at your pleasure.

It’s back to the game, the dance, the ruse, the steps you take around each other, the blades he digs into your chest the reminders he gives you you are a whore you are a whore you are a whore and you lift your chin up, dare him to look at the bruises his lips leave on your skin and ask him in the silence and what will you do about it.

You could hate him. You do, technically. You hate that you could love him in the early hours of the morning, when his eyes seek you out and soften at the reminder you’re still here. You hate that his invasive presence in your office is a shield as much as it is a virus, a comfort in the silence and you hate most of all that the way he looks at you with that open desire women might normally have just dreamed was possible makes you want to return it.

You hate that he is dangerous. That he has bound you to him like this, chained you to the idea of his warmth and that there is a sick sort of safety in the binding.

You hate that he looks at you now with something like hope, with something like obsession, with something like vulnerability and you hate that it strips you of that cold armor as effortlessly as his hands strip you of your resistance.

And he could hate you too, in the whispers he leaves on your shoulders when he thinks you’re asleep. He could hate that you are soft, that you are sweet on his tongue that you…

Are his.

Could hate that he has thought of nothing else but the very theory of your betrayal and you know none of these things but his eyes are not so inscrutable as he thinks and so—

He twists the knife.

I talked to your Judge, by the way.

You did what?

You heard me. Interesting conversation.

Excuse me?

You really sold yourself to me for a lover’s spat, Counsel? I thought you were better than that — woman of the law and all.

A lover’s spat? That’s what he told you?

Just what would you call it, if not that?

He’s daring you, back to somewhere between smug and angry, as if disappointed you made him waste his time and all you can do is feel your heart sinking, feel yourself back in that place again, the decade-long sting of control over your body, the painful reminder of the girl you once were.

Where is he?

Did you think I’d clean up your dirty laundry for you? I’m not a breakup counselor, and you nee—

You left him alive!? The panic in your voice is so palpable it stops him in his tracks all over again, suspicious and surprised and you step back to reach for something — steady yourself steady yourself steady yourself you are not safe you are not safe you are not safe.

I’m not killing your ex-boyfriend without a good reas—

I was nineteen!

The world tilts, shifts, your knees are buckling, that’s tears in your eyes and you.

Are that girl again.

Too small, too scared, too naive to know better, too easy to mold and break and manipulate and you promised you’d never be her again, you promised you’d get her justice and you promised it wouldn’t be like this over and over again, promised he wouldn’t sink his fangs into you a third time.

What? He sounds smaller. Or is it faraway? You are too busy trying to stand, trying to still the shaking of your hands, the cold chill in your veins, too busy feeling your knees surrendering, too busy sliding to the floor and staring blankly into your memory.

Counsel. What. Did. You. Say. He repeats himself, and then he’s crouching before you, holding your chin in his hand and when did you start having tears on your cheeks for him to wipe away?

I was nineteen, you repeat, blank and broken, not seeing his brow furrow, not seeing the regret flash over his expression, I didn’t want it. I never wanted it.

What are you saying, sweetness? How dare he sound so soft? How dare he sound like he actually cares, when he’s the reason you’re here, on this floor, barely resisting your breakdown yet again?

You know better.

I was nineteen, a third time, I needed a job, something to give me experience, and he — he used me. That was my experience.

He’s starting to understand, but it doesn’t matter to you, not when you’re staring too far into the past, into a sneering face and cruel hands.

(I can ruin you or I can help you, Intern, so you make your choice. You need me.)

It never stops. Not after the first time — but you know that.

But you know that. That’s your knife, the one you twist into his chest and the realization sinks in heavy as an anchor, the thing he’s done.

The thing he’s done to you.

So why wait until now?

I would have waited forever.

You hid the letter. Hid it well enough even he wouldn’t have found it rifling through your things. Hid the threat in those typewritten words and the casual signature swept across the stationary, unaffected.

Men like him never face consequences. Only you, only the women they make use of, the ones they turn into commodities for their enjoyment. Who would care if you’d made it public, if you showed the world the kind of man he was — he was appointed for life, he was friends with the Governor, he was powerful and you were never going to be strong enough.

(You wouldn’t want anyone in the District Attorney’s office knowing just the sorts of things you’re willing to do to get your way. I can still help you be an exceptional lawyer, Intern.)

What are you? Ambition and drive and skill but what does it all mean when it can be reduced to plaything and pet project and whore.

I helped him get appointed. He helped me get into law school. Introduced me to… To Andy Barber, who calls you Sunshine and watches out for you and comes to New York despite having no power in the state just to see you again because he worries, because he cares.

You pay.

And sometimes that payment bounces back.

You pay and you pay and you pay and you struggle but what is the culmination of your strife is it the sight of you finally broken on the floor, is it the moment he’s been waiting for, dragged off your pedestal why couldn’t he have left well enough alone didn’t he know the horse was for your protection and not his pride?

No.

They never do.

They never do, do they, always so wrapped up in themselves and even now he kneels in front of you and wipes your tears but he has no words to say to atone for what he’s done and you know he can never.

I need you to leave.

The words come out without your control.

You know what you are. You are fury made flesh and you will not be manipulated again, not by the pressure of his hands on your face, not by the way he almost hugs you, he lied he lied he lied he lied.

Sweetness…

No. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.

You could have tolerated it. You could have accepted it you could have let yourself become the prize he took, owned his defeat by defeating you, you might even have enjoyed it but no.

No.

I held up my end of the bargain.

[swiftgronmasterpost]

The Swiftgron Timeline Remastered

Hey Guys!  It’s Cam from @whatiwillsay

It’s high time the Swiftgron Masterpost was updated with more content and a cross reference of the Achele timeline and other newly learned information.

Now if you’re just looking to prove that Swiftgron is real to your friends click here for a more succinct summation of proof.  But if you want to read the sad, beautiful, tragic (no that’s not a Swiftgron song) story of Swiftgron, to go through the ups and downs, from the Hunger Games to SNL this is the place for you!

I was inspired to do this partially by this conversation.  TL;DR is there was some lively discourse in the fandom about who the breakup songs on Red are about.  

Personally, it doesn’t make sense to me for them to be about Dianna when the falling in love songs are obviously about her (mentions of green eyes, her name in the 22 liner notes, ect.)  For one quick example: the songs The Last Time and Come Back...Be Here were written and recorded right around the same time.

I’m sorry but I just cannot fathom those two songs being about the same person.  One is about the softest start to a relationship you’ve ever imagined - pining away and missing someone you barely know but are already infatuated with and the other is a gut wrenching heartbreak song about someone you’ve been on and off with for a long time.

Furthermore the Swiftgron masterpost and timeline was laid out by either Kaylors or general Gaylors, but no one who seems to have an in depth knowledge of Achele or even of Taylor’s relationships before Dianna, other than Emily which by all accounts ended in 2008.  

So I wanted to fill in all the blanks left open on the original Swiftgron masterpost to see if it’s possible that it missed anything.

Plenty of this data will still come from the original Swiftgron masterpost and shoutout to them for building such an amazing document!  It’s a great primer but it does gloss over a lot of events such as the Glee tour in the summer of 2011, the circumstances around all the early Swiftgron meetings, and the obvious Achele interactions through early winter 2012, and of course it’s missing all the weird late stage Swiftgron social media shenanigans.

I wanted to make this masterpost to be able to stand alone so I ripped some gif sets and other info (mostly on Achele) that I didn’t personally build because I don’t ever want anyone running into dead links.  If you see an edit or content you made that I haven’t credited please let me know and I will credit you or remove it if you really want me to.

The other reason I made this was I wanted to have one succinct and chronological place to store every single Swiftgron photo, video, or media of any other type.  If it’s Swiftgron related I will find it and add it here.  If I missed something you can let me know by reaching out to me on my usual blog @swiftgron-get-married. 

For those of you that are new to Gaylor here’s a few notes:

1.  If Taylor seems fruity to you it’s cause she does to everyone else.  Welcome.

2.  Swiftgron is the pairing of Taylor Swift and Dianna Agron.

3.  Achele is the pairing of Dianna Agron and Lea Michele.  It happened before Swiftgron (I think summer 2009 - Early 2012).  Achele was real 100%.  Go to Achele References on Tumblr for more info but just know I have reason to believe Achele actually dated beyond public information.  Take that with a grain of salt of course and look at the evidence for yourself.

4.  At some points in this document I reference a forum called The L Chat - that place is a wasteland of biphobia, transphobia, and other gross things but they did closely track Swiftgron and Achele.  I don’t recommend going there as it can be very triggering to some.  I have gone and pulled out relevant data so you don’t have to go there.

5.  There is a notion in the Gaylor fandom that Dianna was toxic, a serial cheater, and I’ve even heard the word “abusive” thrown around due to the fact that the breakup songs on Red do seem to be about a toxic relationship - Taylor has said as much.  

Given what I’ve heard about DIanna from people who have actually had contact with her - this would be incredibly out of character.  She does have the reputation of being a bit of a player but is literally famous for how kind, giving, compassionate, and amiable she is to fans, coworkers, and friends alike.

I believe that this document proves that due to events on the timeline that although Swiftgron definitely had their ups and downs (Babe definitely suggests at least one instance of a lack of faithfulness, and I’ve clocked at least two obvious breakups before Taylor commits to Karlie and the Swiftgron romance is over for good) however the idea that it was a completely toxic mess is just not supported by actual public data, gathered evidence, and Taylor’s own music and words.

With that enjoy!  The pandemic has done some weird things to people hasn’t it?  This what I did instead of going outdoors.  (I streamed Folklore six billion times while building this, honestly it was a blast!)

Click here to keep reading!

Orrrr 

If you want to skip all the preamble of Achele and Tayliz click here to jump into the Swiftgron Spring!

Table of Contents

Early Stages - Ships Passing in the Night

The 2011 Vanity Fair Oscar Party

Spring 2011 - The Achele of it All

The 2011 Met Gala Klossgron Extravaganza

Glee Live Tour Part 1 - Achele is ON

Glee Live Tour Part 2 - Rivergron in Paris

Glee Live Tour Part 3 - Seriously what the fuck was Shirtgate

Glee Tour Part 4 - Dianna’s Gay Panic Shirtgate Essay

Let’s Check In With Taylor - Speak Now Tour and Tayliz

Fairfax Flee Market - Finally Some Swiftgron!

Fall 2011 - Red and Achele winds down

Winter 2012 - Achele sunset / Swiftgron dawn

The Swiftgron Spring - Everything Changes

Shirley MacLaine’s Birthday

Dianna’s 26th Birthday

The Swiftgron Summer Part 1 - Dominick’s and The Glaad Awards

The Swiftgron Summer Part 2 - Hyiannis Port and The First Breakup

Fall 2012 - They Reuinte in Paris and Haylor Rises

Winter 2013 - The Beginning of the End

Spring 2013 - Fall 2013 - The End?

Winter 2014 - Taylor is Clean but then Swiftgron never goes out of Style

Late Stage Part 1 Spring 2014 - Winter 2018

Late Stage Part 2 Spring 2018 (Babe!) - Fall 2019 (SNL!)

Late Stage Part 3 Folklore Shenanigans 

Late Stage Part 4 Evermore!

[zi-i-think]

Practicing

Pairing: Jade West x fem!reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: 1800+

Warnings: mention of drugs

Request: no

AN: I know I’m still not done with requests, but I just really wanted to get in a Jade West oneshot. I don’t think Jade is out of character all that much, but I’d love feed back.

          Things sucked. Like. They royally sucked.

         When Beck and Jade broke up for the second time, it felt like a dark, ominous was looming over the group of talented teens. No one needed to be a genius to realize that both Jade and Beck with miserable. Not just because they were no longer together, but the breakup was emotionally draining.

         And despite it all, y/n couldn’t help but feel a little bit hopeful. She and Jade had been friends since middle school when Jade pushed a boy off his seat because he was bullying Y/n. They were pretty different. Actually very different personality-wise. Y/n was what Jade described as a hippie fairy. Which contrasted Jade’s vampire personality completely. 

         But there were just enough similarities to keep them together. Their hatred for the patriarchy. Interests in a feel-good green herb. They both started practicing Wicca together. And they were killer on the mic.

         It was a fine balance. 

         And over the years, Y/n couldn’t help but fall for the girl. Snarling personality and all. 

         She still recalls when Jade and Beck started dated. How at first she just thought she was annoyed at how Jade didn’t spend as much time with her but later realized that she was indeed feeling jealous.

         She knew it was terrible to be glad they’re no longer together, but she couldn’t help it.

         The first thing she saw when she approached her locker was the dark clothed girl waiting for her; standing cooly against the wall of lockers.

         “Morning.” Y/n greeted her with a smile. Jade hummed her greeting in response, waiting for her friend to get her things from the locker. “How you doing?” Jade sent her a glare, knowing that Y/n what trying to get her to talk about the breakup.Y/n mumbled a “nevermind” and closed the locker.

         “Do you have plans later?” Jade grumbled as the two started to walk to Sicowitz’s class.

         “Uh, yeah. I’m finishing up my script for my play.”

         “The one about the girl who turns into a dragon and then the prince who’s supposed to save her kills her on accident.”

         “That’s the one,” Y/n finger-gunner. “I’m trying to figure out how to make the finally really pull at the heartstrings.”

         “Make it gruesome,”

         “I’ll make a note of it.” 

         The class was already about to start by the time they entered and most people were engaged in their own conversations. Y/n saw Jade and Beck make eye contact. The same longing look on their faces. But stubbornness kept either of them from saying anything.

         “Hey, uh do you want to come over? Help me with the play?” Y/n asked, getting Jade’s attention again.

         “Sure. It’s not like I have any plans.” Jade shrugged before taking a seat upfront.

         Y/n smiled and took the seat next to her friend. A nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach grew as she already started to expect her friend’s arrival.

         “Good day, class!” The eccentric teacher barged into the room. “Your a pack or wolves engaged in a dance party!” He announced, prompting the teans to get up from their seats and act out the prompt.

         Knock Knock Knock

         The front door of Y/n’s house sounded. With a furrowed brow and her hair still wet, the girl opened the door revealing Jade with two coffees

         “You’re early,” Y/n stated the obvious.

         “Only cause I got bored. Now you want your coffee or not?” The dark haired girl outstretched her arm to hand her the tall cup.

         Y/n smiled appreciativly, taking the cup and stepping to the side.

         “Alright. So what does your play need?” Jade asked, already getting down to business. She walked straight to the living room and plopped herself on the blanketed couch.

         “Well, uh. It's mainly the last scene. Where the dragon turns back into a maiden and the prince realizes what he's done.” Y/n described, sitting next to Jade and grabbing the laptop from the coffee table.

         “Ah, so it’s angsty.” Jade smiles and leaned closer to Y/n to get a look at the document with the script.

         “Yeah.” Y/n’s voice cracked as she tried to compose herself over her friends close proximity. “So, I was thinking that once he realizes his mistake, he holds her close. I want him to have a monologue. Describing how he'd never get the chance to talk to her, see her, you know typical human relationship things.”

         “Alright so what's the problem?” Jade asked, not seeing why Y/n needed her there. Not that she was mad, she loved being around her. And truthfully, she missed hanging out and not having Beck in the back of her mind.

         “It just feels like it's missing something. You know.” Y/n said with a tinge of frustration in her voice. “Like. There's something that isn't making the plot complete enough for him to have that monologue. He loves her, but it doesn't feel like he does enough.”

         Without warning, Jade took the laptop from her lap.

         “I’ll read it.” she grumbled. “You go dry your hair or something.”

         “Good idea.” Y/n agreed, leaving the couch and beading back to her bathroom.

         “And order a pizza!” She heard Jade shout.

         It didn’t take long for Y/n to dry her hair and put the pizza order in. And by the time she got back into the living room, Jade was finished with reading over the script. Instead, she was now holding her new pair of scissors and examining the blades.

         “Figure anything out?” Y/n asked, getting the girl’s attention.

         “Yeah.” Jade put down the scissors and turned her body to face Y/n as she came in and sat down. “Your characters don’t kiss.”

         Y/n month dropped and she bit her bottom lip awkwardly.

         “Well, I was thinking about putting one in, but I thought it would be better if there weren’t one. Think about the symbolism behind it. Without the action, it’s expressing how the two never truly experienced being together.” She explained.

         Jade hummed and nodded as if she were understanding.

         “That’s stupid.” she said. Somehow both calmly and aggressively. Y/n furrowed her brow and tilted her head. Asking without words for Jade to go on. “Y/n the script is good, the storyline is paced well, blah blah blah. But the only thing that isn't good is the way you're presenting that they are in love. You want the audience to be heartbroken for the guy, show them that he loved her.”

         “Okay, so, where do you recommend it goes?” Y/n asked, grabbing the laptop and scrolling through.

         “Obvious. Scene 4, during the confession, I think after she falls from the tree.” Jade said. Y/n quickly went there and read it over, thinking about how to go about it.

         “You don't think it's a little fast?” Y/n asked, twisting her face as unsureness creeped into her mind.

         “Course not. You've already presented their infatuation for each other, and after that scene their relationship is already escalating more quickly. If anything it makes more sense.”

         She was right. Y/n knew it. But she couldn't shake the fact that having this discussion with Jade felt unreal. Perhaps because Y/n was crushing on her, but also because while Jade was very knowledgeable in entertainment, relationships were more of a ‘on the surface’ knowledge.

         Typing quickly the placement of the kiss, Y/n let out a heavy breath.

         “And it’s in.” She announced mainly for herself.

         “Good.” Jade nodded, now smirking at her friend. “You wanna see how it flows with the scene?”

         Y/n kept scrolling down the document to the ending, avoiding looking at the vampiresque girl.

         “Uh, ” She cleared her throat to avoid cracking her voice. “What do you mean?”

         “Well do the scene, me and you. As then you can make the final choice on whether you like it or not.” Jade explained casually.

         “Yeah, okay. We can do that.”

         Despite sounding calm and nonchalant on the outside, Y/n was screaming on the inside. Surely Jade wasn't actually intending on kissing her right? They’d work up to it and then stop, right? No kiss?

         “Cool, I'll be the guy and do you have it all memorized?” Jade started, grabbing the laptop and placing it on her lap.

         “Yep, it's all in my noggin.” Y/n knocked on her head awkwardly, receiving a disapproving look from Jade.

         “I’ll start at the beginning of the confession.” The dark haired girl announced, reading the lines. Then she looked up, right into Y/n’s eyes. “Tell me, Ayleth, do you feel what I feel.”

         “Why, I'm not quite sure what you mean, my prince.” Y/n continued, swallowing her nervousness.

         “When you look into my eyes, do you as well feel that fire? The one raging inside of your heart and coursing through you. Making you think illogically, wanting nothing more than to be consumed completely by you.”

         “One shouldn't think illogically. One must think about their duties, their-”

“That wasn't the question.” Jade acted, her usual roughness and anger dropped as she said her lines. “Do you love me?”

         “I suppose it would be unwise to try to divert the conversation.”

         “Most unwise. Especially to your prince.”

         “Well. Yes. I believe I do.”

         There was silence between the two. This was where the kiss was written. In the quiet, they both seemed to be questioning whether they would actually kiss or not. They both leaned in, slowly but surely. Y/n’s heart sped up and she wondered whether Jade was feeling the same. No, of course not. It's part of the scene. She's just acting, obviously.

         The inches between them soon turned to fractions of an inch. And their lips were so close to meeting.

         Knock knock knock.

         They were interrupted by the door. “Y/n pulled away immediately.

         “Pizza. I’ll get it.” She chuckled nervously and got up.

         “They can wait.” Jade said instead. She grabbed Y/n’s wrist and pulled her back down on the couch.

         Before Y/n knew it, Jade placed a firm kiss on Y/n’s lips. Though shocked, Y/n quickly reciprocated the kiss. Jade placed her hand on Y/n’s cheek, while the other girl’s hand went to Jade’s waist. By now, Y/n’s heartbeat was going a million miles per minute and both girls forgot about the person waiting at the door.

         Until they knocked again.

         “Give us a minute!” Jade shouted angrily before turning back to her, uh friend? Y/n was giggling at her rage over small things like that. Jade noticed not only that her dark blue lipstick had smudged onto Y/n’s face, but that she also had a deep red blush that covered her face almost completely.

         “Should we practice again?” Jade asked instead of bring it up. And when Y/n nodded, she didn’t waste another second to lean in again, kissing her with more depth than the one before.