#the squandered potential keeps me up at night

[luxwing]

Danny Phantom was such a stupid and frustrating show because they'd use a weird random moment to dump some of the wildest lore on you and then NEVER touch it again. Oh yeah there was a group of ancient ghosts strong enough to seal away the literal manifestation of war and brutality but anyway here's a fart joke. Sure there's a syndicate of living (?) eyeballs that manipulate existence from the sidelines and also a ghost that's a literal god of time but who cares about that when we can joke about being a vegetarian. A billionaire made his fortune because he literally got ghost powers in college in a horrible disfiguring accident and he's making clones of his ex-friend's son because he so bitterly alone but whatever here's five jokes about the Green Bay Packers and we're gonna turn that dude into a running gag now.

The Ghost Zone is alluded to be fucking alive but we're never gonna talk about it because uh

[brokenmenswhore]

betrothals & brothels | aegon, aemond, & jace

part 2

pairings: aegon targaryen x stark fem!reader, aemond targaryen x stark fem!reader, jacaerys velaryon x stark fem!reader

series summary: aemond targaryen tells the realm that you, the lady of house stark, are to wed him and secure a partnership in the north. in protest, you agree to marry jacaerys velaryon, affirming the north’s allegiance to rhaenyra. when the news hits king’s landing, aegon decides it’s better to have you under his watchful eye until the political partnership is solidified, but doesn’t realize you have a life away from your duty as a stark

chapter warnings: slightly violent aegon?, angst (from jace & aegon)

a/n: thank you for the ridiculous amount of support on part 1??? i think it’s my best stuff yet so thank you sm. a few people have commented/dm’d to be added to a taglist, so let me know if you’re interested in that!

series masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

It was three days of solitude before anyone had visited your chambers. Guards stood outside your door day and night, ensuring you remained in place, and the window was much too high to jump without injury, potentially death.

The door had only opened for a particularly selected group of handmaidens who were tasked with bringing you meals and libations. You stared at the fireplace, not even bothering to turn your head when you heard the familiar noise like clockwork.

“We are to begin wedding preparations in the morrow,” Aemond spoke.

The voice was unexpected. You shifted in your chair until you were twisted enough to see him. He had left you in here for three days, alone, bored, and for what? You had tried everything to find a way to escape, but every inch of your chamber’s portion of the Red Keep was watched constantly, and there was not much in the room with you.

“You bore me,” you hissed, “even after three days with no one speak to, you manage to find a way to expunge any chance of titillating conversation with one single line.”

Aemond sighed and bowed his head, his hands clasped behind his back. “I ask you to please make this less difficult, My Lady.”

“You do not have the right to call me My Lady,” you said, standing up and walking over to him, “you have imprisoned me. You seem too noble to do such a thing to someone you think a lady.”

Aemond’s nostrils flared in frustration. A portion of his hair fell from behind his ear, landing in front of his face as he dipped his head even further. “My apologies.”

You did not expect him to say such a thing. “You think yourself sorry?” you asked.

“Despite your preconceived notions,” Aemond started, lifting his head back up to look at you, “I do not wish to offend you.”

Without wasting a single second, you responded, “then allow me to take leave from this room.”

“No.”

“And why not?” you protested.

“Please, Miss Stark, do not make this more difficult than is necessary.” He was growing tired of your quick wit and temperament. He did not think you would be such work.

You scoffed. “My most impactful talent is making everything more difficult than necessary, My Prince. Tell me what I have to do to persuade you to let me out of this room.”

“I am under strict orders from The King to ensure you maintain your position,” he told you.

“I thought the fearsome Aemond Targaryen would not allow his manhood to be squandered by his own brother,” you said, “but I see I was mistaken.”

“Despite your attempt to poison me against him, he is my brother, and he is the King. I will remain loyal to his cause.”

“As your wife, I would hope you remain loyal to me.”

“You are not my wife yet.”

“So do not force me to be,” you said, ending the conversation and walking back to the fireplace, taking your all-too-familiar seat.

“You give up too easy, Miss Stark,” Aemond spoke, clearly unsatisfied with the conclusion to your conversation.

“I do not give up, My Prince,” you responded, “I am simply tired of the sound of your voice.”

Aemond sighed. He understood why you were so cold toward him- he had begun to burn your home, he had forced your hand in a betrothal orchestrated by his brother, and now you were secluded to guest chambers for three days with no explanation.

“My brother fears for your safety, if you were to take your leave and wander the Keep,” Aemond spoke after a moment.

You laughed. You laughed so ridiculously audibly that Aemond did not have to question if it was genuine. “You expect me to believe that The King has any concerns for my safety? I am in here because he fears me, that much I know. I only wish to know when he intends to let me out. I cannot be quarantined forever.”

“What is it you wish to do with all this freedom you so dearly wish for, hm? You wish to wed your bastard prince?” Aemond retorted, beginning to grow annoyed with your constant protestations.

“And how would I return to Winterfell, or even travel to Dragonstone? I do not ride dragons, Aemond. I cannot sail, I cannot ride horseback- I was never taught to do anything but run. I cannot run all the way back to Winterfell. What do you think me capable of if you let me out? You think me capable of returning home? If it is such, you are not as intelligent as you portray yourself.”

“You cannot ride horseback?”

You were growing angrier and angrier. “That is the portion of my statement that you clung to?”

Aemond felt bad. He did not realize you were never taught things that he assumed were basic- he realized he did not know much about your upbringing. He knew that you and your brother were the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, which means your father must have passed away when you were young, and it seemed as if the man had sheltered you from learning. He sympathized with why you seemed to eager to leave your room.

“I will only let you out with your agreement to an escort,” Aemond spoke, holding his head up high and returning to a proper, formal stance.

“I do not wish to be babysat.”

“You do not have a choice.”

“And who is to escort me?” you asked, “yourself? The King? Will that allow him to keep an even closer eye on my whereabouts? Was locking me in a room and ensuring I cannot leave not enough?”

“I will escort you myself until I know you can be trusted,” Aemond responded.

“I assure you I cannot be.”

“Must you be so combative?”

You shrugged your shoulders casually. “If you think me combative now, a marriage between us would kill you.”

Aemond remained stoic, attempting to calm your temper down with his gentle demeanor. “Where do you wish to go?”

“I wish for you to take me to the Street of Silk.”

Aemond was completely bewildered. That was perhaps the last place he anticipated- what could you possibly want there?

“I will take you no such place.”

“You agreed to let me out on the only condition of an escort just moments ago,” you fought, “you cannot retract your word, unless your cock is truly as small as they say it is.” It was a low blow, but you were eager and annoyed, and you simply wanted out. You didn’t care if you had to bruise Aemond’s ego to get what you wanted.

“What do you need in the Street of Silk?” he questioned, refusing to drop the subject.

“It is no business of yours.”

Aemond contemplated his options, an idea popping into his brain. “If I do this, you will agree to acknowledge our betrothal and renounce your betrothal to my nephew.”

“Then you will allow me to inform him via raven myself. And you will not intrude on the contents of my writings.”

“You truly believe yourself to be in a position of negotiation?”

“And you will not intrude on the contents of my writings,” you repeated, drawing his attention back to responding to you.

You exchanged an intense glance, searching each other’s eyes for any signs of weakness that the other could exploit. You stood your ground, just as he stood his.

“It is too risky to allow you access to ravens without allowing anyone to read what you intend to send,” Aemond tried to level with you.

You stood up to him, getting directly in his face. “You will not intrude on the contents of my writings, or you will have to drag me down the aisle, kicking and screaming.”

“You negotiate quite a lot for someone I could easily leave in here to rot,” Aemond fought back.

“I will not beg you, Aemond,” you warned, “but I will ask you to please accept the terms of this deal.”

“Okay,” Aemond finalized, “we have a deal.”

“Then we best get going,” you said, stepping aside and walking away, not bothering to turn around to check that he was following you. The moment you were out of the room, you did not need him, and you did not care if he truly accompanied you. You knew he would, and he did, swiftly catching up to you and walking directly beside you. You desperately wanted to remain in control of the situation, but you were unsure of your current whereabouts, and you did not know your way around.

You and Aemond did not speak. He escorted you out of the Red Keep and through the streets of King’s Landing, denying any guards who attempted to remain by either of your sides. He did not need to clarify when you had arrived at your desired destination, for the sudden abundance of moaning, cups, and nakedness alerted you as such.

“You may tend to your business now,” Aemond said.

“I thought you were hellbent on sticking by my side?” you said, more a question than a statement.

“I must attend to my own personal business,” he told you, “if I am not to inquire upon yours, I should hope you will extend me the same courtesy.”

You nodded your head slightly, but enough for Aemond to notice. “Who is to say that I will not run the second I am out of your sight?”

“Do you wish to be here or not?” Aemond snapped, “meet me back here by dawn, lest you risk not only my brother being alerted of your empty chambers, but your freedom ceased entirely.”

“Fine,” you replied, “go on, then.”

Aemond gave you a nod, turning away from you and entering a brothel a few doors down, walking through the street as if the path to the specific place was second nature. You looked around, attempting to decide on a building, when you realized you could have just followed Aemond.

When you entered the whorehouse, you were taken aback by how different it was from that of Winterfell. There were seldom any candles, the rooms remaining dimly lit. A woman sat behind a bar, tending to the cups of the men who were not exploring their own pleasure. You approached the bar with confidence, seating yourself.

“Rare I see a lady who doesn’t work for me in here,” the woman spoke, “what will you have?”

“Employment, if possible,” you answered, “under certain terms, of course.”

The woman chuckled. “And what makes you worthy of employment?”

You looked around the vicinity, ensuring that no one around could hear your next words as you leaned over the bar. “Give me 10 minutes with any of your most valued customers, and I guarantee you they will speak well on my behalf.”

The woman smiled. “You got a name?”

“Not when I am here.”

“I don’t do none of that,” she responded, “even if my customers don’t, I am to know the names of those I employ.”

You leaned even further over the bar, lowering your voice to an almost-whisper. “I am a Stark, ma’am. That makes my cunt worth more than anyone in here put together.” You didn’t mean the words, not believing in placing a value on women, but you knew it would strike a chord with her.

She looked at you in admiration and confusion. “What would a Stark be doing in King’s Landing, asking the likes of me for employment?”

“That is her business alone,” you replied, “but she is here, and she is ready to work.”

Her smile widened, her expression changing from uncertainty and skepticism to acceptance. “I’ve been looking for a headstrong girl like you,” she told you, “what are the terms you speak of?”

“I wish for you to be the only one who knows my true name. I do not wish to be a Stark when I am here,” you began, “and I intend to only satisfy the clients who not only satisfy my desires in return, but who do not question me on my house. If one may recognize me, I wish for you to keep them from me.”

“Ah, you want selective clientele?” she clarified, “I only do that in special cases. Some of these girls have been here for ages without such a privilege. If you fuck in my whorehouse, you fuck under my rules.”

“I will give you larger portion of my earnings than your other girls do, should it ensure that my ‘selective clientele’ remain truly selective,” you bargained.

“You would be willing to do such things?” she asked.

“I come to you for employment for myself, not for the coin,” you assured her.

She looked you up and down, top to bottom, assessing every part of your body. “You have yourself a deal.”

She reached her hand over the bar, allowing you meet her hand with your own as you shook briefly, a gesture finalizing the terms of your employment.

✶

Jacaerys,

I am sure my brother has made you aware of the events in Winterfell. Your uncle threatened to burn my home, and when he proved good on his word, I had no choice but to appease him.

I am not sure what news you will receive in Dragonstone, but Aemond and I have come to an agreement that I will renounce our betrothal and acknowledge a betrothal to him. It is imperative that he believe me good on my word.

I wish for you to know that my words hold no true meaning. I will discover an escape from your uncle, and I intend to return home to wed you. I hope you will still have me. Please do not believe any word that is not mine.

You sent the raven first thing in the morning, Aemond assuring you could trust his word that he would not read or alter its contents. Something about the way he carried himself had you believing him, despite your better judgement.

Jacaerys was furious when he received the letter, storming off to the council room to confront his mother.

“They have kidnapped her!” he yelled, slamming his fist on the table as soon as he approached it, “they have kidnapped my betrothed and intend to force her hand to Aemond. Should we not act?”

His mother sighed. “We cannot afford to act on such a minute thing.”

Jace looked at her in confusion, turning to scan the faces of everyone else present, growing even more confused when they met him with pitiful stares. “How is this minute? I am your heir, and this is my betrothed they are exploiting. This is your future queen!”

“When dragons fight, everything burns,” Rhaenyra spoke, tone never breaking, “we cannot risk such a catastrophe over someone who is not even a Targaryen.”

Jace was livid, his face turning red with anger. “If we allow them to do this, we lose our allies in the North.”

“We do not need them, should Daemon be successful in his ventures in Harrenhaal.”

“How could you possibly be so blind?” Jace asked, no longer holding back, “we need the North, mother. I cannot fathom how you could disregard my future bride in this way.”

Rhaenyra sighed, “should Lady Stark wed Aemond, you may marry Baela, Jacaerys. ‘Tis not the end of the world.”

Jacaerys realized that it was impossible to win this argument. He slammed his fists on the table once more before storming off to his chambers, dropping onto a chair and placing his head in his hands.

He missed you. It was almost the date you two were to wed, and he was growing affectionate toward you, as you were with him. He was thrilled to receive correspondence from you, but the contents of the letter only added to his misery. He understood the position you were in, and he appreciated that you had no true intentions of wedding anyone but him, but he knew his uncle. If Aemond wanted her, and she was with him, Aemond would find a way to take her.

He was worried for you. He knew exactly who his uncle Aegon was, and though you could take care of yourself, you never had to do as such around Aegon. Aegon was forceful and cruel, and Jacaerys feared for what he may do to you because you could take care of yourself. Aegon did not take well to women who did not succumb to his will.

“Jace?” Rhaena said, opening the doors to his chambers slowly, afraid to overstep and upset him further.

“Rhaena, hey,” Jace said, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, “what is it?”

“Are you okay?” Rhaena asked, approaching the fireplace and taking the seat next to him.

Jacaerys controlled his breathing, forcing himself to cease crying. “I am just frustrated is all.”

Rhaena gave Jace a pitiful smile. “You quite fancy her, this Miss Stark?”

Jacaerys let out a small chuckle. “Yes, I believe I quite do.”

“If she is all you speak that she is, she will be just fine,” Rhaena assured him, “if she can handle Aemond, she can handle anyone.”

“It is not Aemond I worry of.”

Rhaena sighed. Aemond was noble and his first priority was duty. He remained loyal to those he believed worthy of his loyalty, and despite how cruel he could be with a blade or with Vhagar, he would never hurt anyone for his own enjoyment. Aegon, on the other hand, spilled blood for the hell of it, and had nothing and no one who could calm him down when his fuse blew. He was ruthless, mean, and as king, he was capable of taking whatever he wanted, and burning anything he didn’t.

“I cannot see why Aegon would have any reason to bother her. They have taken her there for Aemond, after all.”

“Have you forgotten who Aegon is?” Jacaerys said, tears threatening to spill again, “he does not do well with those who do not show him favor. I fear for her safety.”

“She will return to you, Jacaerys, she wrote it so herself,” Rhaena said, attempting to remind Jacaerys of her written promises in an effort to calm him down.

Jacaerys took hold of Rhaena’s hand, showing his friend appreciation for her council, as his breathing calmed down and he watched the fire dance.

✶

“You let her send a raven to Dragonstone?” Aegon questioned, turning to Aemond in a fury, “tell me you read it, brother. Tell me you did not allow her to perpetuate this war by promising herself to Jacaerys again. Tell me you were not so stupid.”

“We have come to an understanding,” Aemond tried to explain, “and access to one raven was part of such.”

“You idiot,” Aegon sighed, walking away from his brother and pouring himself a drink.

“She remains here, with us. I do not see the issue. Regardless of her writings, our nephew does not have the confidence to dare try to enter King’s Landing. She has given me her word that she will acknowledge our betrothal.”

Aegon lifted his head up, cup in hand, as he turned back to Aemond. He lifted the cup toward Aemond’s chest, a finger pointed out, asking, “where were you last night, dear brother?”

“I know not of what you ask of me,” Aemond responded.

“You see,” Aegon started, taking a sip from his cup, “one of the large perks of being King, is that I may employ who I choose in such positions such as the King’s Guard. Quite nice having friends around, really. Only, just this morn, I was informed that you had not only visited our captive, but you let her out until sunrise.”

“That is quite the story,” is all Aemond said, monotone, his facial expressions remaining stoic so as not to give anything away.

“What reason would my King’s Guard have to lie?”

Aemond stepped closer to his brother. He would have been in Aegon’s face if they were the same height, but instead, he looked down upon his brother. “That is a question for them, brother. I know not of what lies they tell you.”

Aegon nodded. He always praised his brother for his loyalty to the crown, and to his family, and Aegon was almost incapable of believing that Aemond would ever betray his trust, especially if only based on the word of his friends.

“I wish to speak to her,” Aegon said, returning to a casual state, “will you inform her as such?”

Aemond nodded. “I will return shortly with her.”

Aemond went directly to your chambers, swinging the door open with carelessness to whatever your current state may be. Luckily enough for you, you were simply watching the fire.

“The King requests an audience with you.”

“He knows about the raven, does he?”

“Please, Miss Stark, I am here to accompany you to the throne room.”

You sighed, “I do not wish to go to the throne room.”

“He is the King,” Aemond reminded you, “you do not have a choice.”

“I always have a choice,” you responded, “I refuse to live without one. If your brother wishes to speak with me, he may either come to me himself, or he may let me out of this dreadful apartment permanently. You may tell him as much.”

Aemond did not try to convince you to accompany him- he knew you well enough to know it would be useless. He walked back to the throne room, alone, much to his brother’s dismay.

Aegon did not speak, but threw his hands up in exasperation. “She refuses to come,” Aemond spoke plainly.

“Tell her she does not have a choice.”

“I did,” Aemond began, “but she refuses to not have a choice. She says you may go to her if you wish to speak to her.”

“She did, did she?” Aegon said, amused and frustrated. “Very well, then.”

Aegon stood from the throne, walking past Aemond as he moved toward your chambers, Aemond close behind him.

He also had no regard to knock or announce his arrival, swinging the door open. “Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”

“What do you want?” you asked, standing and facing him.

“Well, for starters, I want you address your King properly.”

You did not speak. You did not move. You simply just stared at him, unwavering in your stubbornness.

“Leave us, Aemond,” Aegon commanded. Aemond wanted to protest, but he looked into Aegon’s eyes, and knew it would be in everyone’s best interest to depart.

You folded your arms across your chest as you stared at him, refusing to speak to him until he made conversation worthwhile.

“My guards tell me you had quite the escapade last night with my brother,” he said.

“How am I to have ‘had quite the escapade’ when you quarantine me to this cell?”

“Aemond let you free, did he not?”

You scoffed. “Aemond is holding me prisoner just as much as you are.”

“Now, what did I do to deserve such combative spite from you?” he teased, “is this room alone not nicer than the entire kingdom of Winterfell?”

“Winterfell is my home, and you instructed your brother to burn it down if I did not accompany him back here,” you reminded him, “you are a coward. If you want an allegiance with the North, are you not capable of orchestrating such a thing yourself?”

Aegon tsked, stepping closer to you, “but you’re so much more fun.”

“Let me out of this room.”

“No.”

“Let me out of this room, Aegon.”

Aegon swiped his arm across the drinks table, knocking everything to the ground with a dramatic clash, glass breaking and shooting across the floor.

“Address me by my title!” he bellowed.

“You are but a whiny little baby,” you spoke, no sense of fear in your voice whatsoever.

Aegon took a deep breath, unable to hold back his rage. “Don’t you dare speak to me like this. I could have you hanged.”

“Hanging would be great relief from this conversation.”

Aegon was growing more and more furious by the second. He got in your face, spitting, “you are nothing. You are simply just a pawn in my game. I pity my brother for having to put up with you.”

“As you should,” you replied, “so long as you hold me hostage, I shall make you pity your own existence.”

Aegon’s face was turning red, his breathing quickening in anger the more you spoke. His fingers were curling and uncurling into fists, completely unsure of what could be an outlet for all this rage. He was mad, mostly at your stubbornness, but he did not want to seem irrational.

One of his hands moved upwards to grip your throat, pushing you back against a wall and holding your neck in place.

He kept his face close to yours for a moment, the hand around your throat squeezing enough to hold you in place, but not enough to obstruct your breathing entirely. “I’m going to make your life hell.”

“My life is already hell,” you spat back, breathing the best you could, “I am forced to spend it with the likes of you and your family.”

Aegon searched your eyes for any sense of fear or worry, but he found none. You were more stubborn than he realized, refusing to allow him any true control over you. Even with a hand around your throat, and his body pressed to yours, you refused to show any signs of weakness.

“I could make you a whore, you know,” he nearly whispered, “you think yourself so strong? What will you do when I have you trapped beneath me, using you for my own pleasure? Will you be so headstrong then?”

You did not dignify his words with a response. You, instead, decided to add insult to injury, spitting in his face. His hand immediately left your throat as he used his shirtsleeve to wipe off your spit from his face, taking a moment to process what just happened before his rage grew even more.

“That was a mistake,” he spoke, low.

“Kidnapping me was the mistake, Your Grace,” forcing evident sarcasm on your last two words so that Aegon knew you did not mean them. You were patronizing him.

“I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon with the rest of the scum.”

“I am already imprisoned, I do not care if you decide to change the scenery.”

Aegon was more frustrated than ever. He could not seem to find an insult that would strike a chord with you. He did not know how to weaken you, and that killed him.

“I’ll fuck you into submission like the whore they say you are,” Aegon hissed.

“If I am the whore they say I am, I dare say myself capable of fucking you into submission should you try anything, and then you would only be weaker.”

Aegon screamed. He didn’t scream a word or a threat, but a genuine outlet of frustration and pent up anger, before commanding, “bend the knee and renounce the False Queen. Now.”

“No.”

“Get. On. Your. Knees.”

“No.”

You did not think Aegon capable of surprising you, but in the next moments, he did just that. His rage was overtaking him, causing him to lose control over his emotions as they heightened and heightened, and he began to cry. His tone remained angry, his face still red hot, but tears began to fall.

“Renounce Rhaenyra,” he pleaded.

“No,” you maintained.

He was having trouble catching his breath, but you remained still, an immovable object he could not knock down. He began to take in sharp, quick breaths as he tried to calm himself down, but he was unable. He plopped down on one of the fireplace chairs, unable to remain standing, for he felt like he could not breathe. He was crying so hard he was nearly dry heaving from the intensity.

“Stop,” you said, trying to keep your voice strong, “this will not wear me down, Aegon, stop.”

He did not turn to you. He could not respond or even think about speaking. He continued to break down in the chair, his mask of strength slipping away, and he could do nothing to stop it, his emotions completely intruding in on and overwhelming his senses.

“Aegon, relax.” You did not want to comfort him. You loathed him. The longer he was in hysterics, the more you realized it was not a game, but you desperately tried to stop yourself from being kind to him in any way. After all, he had not been kind to you whatsoever.

“I- I can’t breathe,” he stuttered out, panic setting into his features. His heart rate was rapid, and his body was becoming weaker and weaker as his heart and his mind raced.

“Yes, you can,” you said, breaking your strength a bit, “focus on calming your breathing down.”

“C- can’t,” he coughed out.

You took a deep breath, knowing you would regret assisting him in any way once he was okay again, but you kneeled in front of him anyway, taking his hands in yours. “Focus on calming your breathing down,” you repeated, meeting his eyes with your own.

His eyes were red and swollen, his entire face wet from the tears and the panic attack. His cheeks were still rosy, having never calmed down from when his hand was around your throat. He looked somewhat beautiful.

Aegon looked at you, staring into your eyes as he tried to catch his breath, watching as you exaggerated your breathing in-and-outs as a model for him to follow. He stayed focused on your breathing, matching his own pace with yours, until he was calmed down, able to breath again, no longer hysterically crying.

When you noticed he had returned, you immediately went to pull your hands away, but he gripped your wrists before you could do so.

He sniffled, all of his strength completely gone, as his broken voice spoke, “thank you.”

You nodded at him, your stubbornness still present, refusing to give him a small smile or speak.

You went to stand and walk away from him, but his grip on your wrists only tightened.

“Let me go, Aegon,” you said.

He didn’t respond, he simply pulled you back toward him until you were standing in front of his seated figure. In a split second, so as not to allow you room to leave, he removed his hands from your wrists and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his head to your stomach as he hugged himself into your body.

You wanted to make a comment about him being weak rather than strong, about how you hated him, about how he owed you leave from your apartment, but words escaped you. In the moment, Aegon was not the cruel, bloodthirsty usurper, but a lonely, scared little boy who was clinging onto the one thing that was currently bringing him comfort.

He stayed in place for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of your body and the comfort of the hug. After several moments, he opened his eyes and pulled away from you, shooting up to stand. You exchanged a glance, but he did not speak, he simply exited the room, leaving you alone and imprisoned once again.

────── ☾ ──────

taglist: @torchbearerkyle @dracaryxzs @hangmanscoming

[eliteseven]

Soft Shadowheart x Tav Cottage-core Hc’s

These are specifically brainstorming hc’s for my fics (ft. Human/ex-noble Tav) but I feel like most of them are general enough:

*potential for spoilers, obvs

Tav has a really good relationship with Arnell and Emmeline. I think Shadowheart was already in love with her by the time they rescued her parents, but seeing Tav interacting with them makes her fall all over again. Tav is extra gentle w Emmeline and never lets her or Arnell do too much labor around the grounds. Idk this is just very important to me

Before they find the cottage, Tav scouts ahead while Shadowheart cares for her parents in the city.

Tav buys a mount just so Shadowheart’s parents can make the trip out to the cottage they want to renovate.

Tav camps outside at nights and offers the warmest (and only indoor) space to Shadowheart’s parents while they build up the rest of the cottage. Naturally, Shadowheart is incredibly endeared by this and camps out with her :) it’s just like old times for them

Shadowheart taking lazy cat naps in the sun (with her cats!) on Tav’s lap on the sunnier, warmer days.

It is only suitable that they be in close proximity to a lake for nightly “swimming lessons”.

Shadowheart LOVES PDA. She feels she has squandered so much of her life, plus Tav is a human and she only has so much time to spend with her- so yeah Shadowheart is all over that!! All the time! Stealing kisses from Tav while they work in the garden, slipping her hands into Tav’s back pocket, yanking Tav behind the barn and Tav stumbling out with kiss marks all over her face lol. (And trips to the city!! Shart is 100% on go mode anywhere)

Tav was raised a “proper lady” noble and she SQUIRMS bc she does not want to get caught absolutely devouring Shadowheart in front of her parents! Shadowheart knows this and takes the utmost joy in making Tav uncomfortable like that (affectionately)

When they get around to decorating, Shadowheart realizes she’s never had a space of her own in the cloister (aside from her tent when she travels)! I think she takes a lot of joy in self discovery. Exploring what she likes, realizing she’s so into color and vibrance after so many monotonous years. She also likes the domesticity of just…seeing her items next to Tav’s atop the dresser, or their shared garments in the wardrobe. She can’t remember the last time anywhere ever felt like home.

Tav regularly wakes up to the last remnants of her body heat being siphoned away by Shadowheart, Buttons, some of their cats, and any of the other animals they care for. Sometimes she also cannot breathe bc her gf’s hair is splayed out (and Shadowheart has looooong hair) all over her face. It brings her immeasurable joy and she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Shadowheart tastes Emmeline’s apple and plum pie and it brings back strong memories of childhood, so Tav takes it upon herself to get all kinds of recipes from Emmeline. In her spare time, she tries to surprise Shadowheart with them. Sometimes they prompt memories, sometimes they taste awful and they laugh so hard they make new memories 💕

Shadowheart’s mark eases up, but once in a while it causes her flashes of pain. If it occurs at night, Tav refuses to sleep. Moonlit walks, curling up by the fire, anything to keep Shadowheart’s mind off it, depending on how much pain she’s in. But the best distraction is usually between the sheets tbh. Shar whom??

Tav regularly beefs with that squirrel. She swears it loves Shadowheart and hates her (it does).

[ryuzakemo128]

Duchess of Manchester

Pairing: Duke! Simon Ghost Riley x Duchess! Wife! Reader / Aelora Raengyreon x Duchess! Wife! Reader

Content Warning: Graphic mention of threats. Violence. Emotional distress. Failed Marriage alliance brought on by your husband. Aelora's temper. Royalty AU. Possible incest between Aelora and Aelor.

Masterlist

Credit for Dividers (And Template): @cafekitsune

Note: Someone gave me the idea of introducing a hotd type of thing for a royalty Au for COD.

Words: 1665

Summary: “Duchess, this is your first and final warning.” Aelora’s fraternal twin brother, Aelor, told you. “Do not mistake this as a mercy. It is a mere kindness in regard to your prior circumstances.”

“I will have you executed if you interfere with your older sister’s martial affairs. Regardless of their temperament and treatment towards you. You cannot and should not interfere with the martial business in her regard. Do not overstep or face the consequences. Keep your husband on a tight leash, duchess. Preventing a second marriage from your family does your parents or your sister no benefit. You are now of a place of privilege, girl. A duke would know of this. Yet he seemed in adequate in assessing the needs of others. Keep your slimy fingers away from the affair, or I will cut your fingers off myself with a rusty pair of garden scissors, you are ungrateful, moron. Keep your feelings away from the matter. Your feelings do not matter in this situation. I will, and I can have you executed if you continue to misuse your power.” Aelora to you, the wife of Duke Simon Riley. Her crimson eyes piercing through your soul.

“Duchess, this is your first and final warning.” Aelora’s fraternal older brother, Grand Duke Aelor, told you. “Do not mistake this as a mercy. It is a mere kindness in regard to your prior circumstances.”

“I am not afraid to make you a widow.” Aelora continued as Aelor finished. “I would rather not make you one. But I will not hesitate in doing so. Your trauma doesn’t give you the right to squander the potential of others around you. Duke Riley, your attempts to provoke a reaction will not go unnoticed either. Ruining the potential marriage between your sister-in-law and future spouses make me more inclined to believe you cannot control your emotions. A political marriage about to bloom can't be squandered, you inept child.”

“Maybe if her face didn't look so much like a sour lemon, she would have more luck.” Simon argued.

“Maybe if her brother-in-law knew how to shut the fuck up, she wouldn't have to look like she sucked on a sour lemon.” Aelora snapped back at him. “You overstepped not only once, but three times this evening. You have brought endless shame upon your family's name as well as your heritage, Duke Riley.”

You felt a sizzling tension in the air, and the room seemed to shrink around you. Your heart hammered in your chest as you took a step backward, watching the power dynamics unfold before you. Aelor's grip on his sister's arm tightened slightly, as if to hold her back from lunging at Simon. His eyes never left Simon, a silent warning that he would not tolerate any more disrespect.

You heard of her marriage to her older brother, Aelor, something your husband Simon had only whispered about in the dead of night. His words painted Aelora as a cunning and ruthless leader, feared and revered by all who knew her. Yet, in the brief moments you had spent with her, you saw a hint of vulnerability, a softness that did not align with the cold steel you heard so much about. It was as if she was two people in one, a complex dance of fiery temper and guarded emotion.

“You can't be serious, Simon.” you hissed. “That would be incest.”

Aelora's gaze swung towards you, and for a moment you felt the full brunt of her fury. “In our world, the royal world, such trivial matters are overlooked for the sake of alliances and power. The union of a sister and brother is not so uncommon if it secures the throne or prevents a war.”

'No wonder Soap wished for her to be wed to someone other than you,' You thought, looking at Aelor. 'Soap, bless his soul, was always too kind for his own good. Though with her own rumours of madness in the royal court. It is really that much of a wonder you would rather have my older sister wed without the interruption of either me or my husband.' You spoke with a calmness that belied the chaos in your mind.

'Now, if you'll excuse us, Duke and Duchess Riley, we have matters of state to attend to.' Aelora said coldly, her eyes never leaving Simon. 'Do not make us regret our decision to extend this olive branch tonight. It is not one we shall repeat.'

You couldn't help but notice the possessiveness in Aelor's touch on Aelora, the way his eyes flashed with a mix of anger and protection when Simon spoke. It was clear that the bond between the siblings was not just political, but deeply personal. As they turned to leave, you felt a strange sense of relief mixed with fear. The air in the room was thick with unspoken threats, and you didn't want to be caught in the crossfire of their power struggle. Strangely enough, you felt like you wanted to, needed to prove yourself to Aelora, to show her that you weren't just a pawn.

Simon prevented Aelora from leaving by placing a hand firmly on the door frame. “Hold your tongue, Aelora. You may be the crown's favourite, but do not forget who holds the purse strings here.”

“Your funds are not required for that wedding. You ruined it by your own choices, actions, and words. To act without thought of consequence. How would you feel if it was your older sister?” Aelora now calmer after Aelor had retired for the night.

“How would you know what I feel?” Simon replied, his voice laced with bitterness.

“Why did you think I asked in the first place? Do you not comprehend my questions, or should I ask for your wife to translate them in even plainer English for your northern ears?” Aelora countered.

Simon's jaw clenched at her words, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the door frame. “You think you're so clever, don't you? You and your fancy words. But let me remind you, I am the Duke of this land, and you are but a pawn in the grand scheme of things.”

“I am a grand princess, soon to be grand duchess, heed my warning.” Aelora reminded him with a raised an eyebrow at his temperament. “What do you think you gain from this?”

Simon took a deep breath, his chest puffing out as he tried to maintain his pride. “I want what’s best for my family. I want peace and stability, not a marriage that could ruin us all!”

“'Ruin us all?' or ruin your leverage over someone else?” Aelora questioned. “Your sister-in-law seeks a marriage alliance not a marriage complication. What she may or may not have done is not up for contention. Now or tomorrow.”

Her tone was cold and precise, cutting through the room's tension like a knife slicing through the stillness of the night. The candles flickered as if even they felt the intensity of the exchange. Simon's face reddened, his hand slammed down on the armrest of his chair.

“The decision has been made, Duke Riley. You will respect it," Aelora continued, her voice unyielding. “Your selfishness and spite will not dictate the future of my family. Her sister is not a tool for you to manipulate.”

Simon took a step closer to Aelora, his own anger now fully ignited. “And what gives you the right to make decisions for her? You're not even her blood!”

“Do you really think kindness should only be shown from blood alone? The term is Blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” Aelora countered again. “We will speak of this in the morn.”

Her words echoed in the corridor as she and Aelor left, leaving you and Simon in a room that felt colder than it had before. The silence was deafening, filled only with the distant sound of the castle's night watch. You stared at the spot where Aelora had been standing, her presence lingering like a storm had just passed.

A captured moonlight in a body of a human, porcelain, alabaster, as if the sun never reached her skin. Albino is the term you heard people use for her condition.Her eyes, a stark contrast to her pale visage, were a deep shade of crimson, so dark they were almost black, fringed with thick lashes that cast shadows on her high cheekbones. Her hair, like spun white, cascaded down her back in curls, a stark contrast to the crimson dress that clung to her slender frame. She moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, as if she was floating rather than walking. The room grew quiet as she entered, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and power.

Aelora took her seat at the head of the table, her gaze sweeping over the assembled nobility. You watched as the lords and ladies bowed their heads in respect, some with genuine fear, others with veiled loathing. Her brother, Aelor, took his place beside her, his own eyes a slightly paler shade of the same crimson. His posture was regal, his expression unreadable, yet his hand remained possessively on Aelora's shoulder.

Aelor's finger nails digging, biting into Aelora's flesh, reminded her of the gravity of the situation. She felt his tension, his silent support, his unspoken rage. It was a rare show of vulnerability from the stoic Grand Duke, and it sent a shiver down her spine. You saw it as a testament to their bond, one that seemed unbreakable even in the face of a potential political crisis. Though the placement of his hand seemed far more intimate for a sibling relationship.

You brought this up with your husband, the intimate touch from Aelor to aelora. When you got to bed, you couldn't help but bring it up with Simon. "Simon, why do you think Aelor holds Aelora so closely?"

Simon's eyes grew distant as he thought. "It's not just affection. It's more than that. It's a silent message to everyone here. A declaration of ownership, of protection. He's telling us all that she's his, and no one messes with his own."

[mortalpolykule]

Lay All Your Love On Me

Chapter 2: Middle of the Night

Bi Han confronts Liu Kang on his recent closeness with Shang Tsung, and Liu Kang prepares to break some bad news.

Warnings: None

Bi Han may have agreed to be less aggressive toward Shang Tsung, but he was finding it difficult to even be in the same room with him. His voice, his snarky comments, even his face angered him to no end. What irritated him further was that Shang Tsung had become inseparable from Liu Kang as of late. Liu Kang explained that it was to keep the sorcerer under close watch, but Bi Han couldn’t help but notice that the energy had shifted between the two of them. Had Liu Kang fallen victim to Shang Tsung’s spells? Bi Han had to consider all possibilities. If the God of Fire was compromised, earthrealm would be doomed and all of Bi Han and the Lin Kuei’s efforts would be in vain. To confirm his suspicions, Bi Han would have to speak to Liu Kang when he was alone, which was proving to be difficult. Whenever Bi Han would approach him, he was either supervising Shang Tsung, helping train the champions, or discussing upcoming missions with the monks. Bi Han began to wonder if he ever slept. He would never admit it, but the fact that Liu Kang never seemed to have time for him bothered Bi Han in a way he couldn’t quite make sense of. Out of desperation, he found himself sneaking around the academy in the dead of night. He imagined how insane he must look to an outsider, and what the monks would think if they were to catch him.

‘Traitor,’ His mind whispered to him. He felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle. The Shame that had followed him since the mission at Ying Fortress began to resurface. His frustrations with his brothers and his clan had reached a boiling point, and for a moment he had considered forsaking his vows and, if necessary, his family. For how could he stand by and watch the Lin Kuei’s potential be squandered following the whims of an elusive God? He had no choice but to strive for perfection. It was all he knew, and it pained him that Kuai Liang could not understand. Shang Tsung’s words played into his deepest desires, and Bi Han had nearly been seduced by them. He didn’t know what had changed his mind, but in the end he stood beside his brothers and took the sorcerer prisoner. They had not discussed the matter since.

Bi Han stood outside Liu Kang’s chambers, hesitant like an estranged lover. He felt stupid knocking at the door past midnight, but a curious part of him was also eager to find out if the God of Fire did, in fact, sleep. The ancient doors groaned in protest as they were pushed open. Liu Kang smiled warmly at him. Oddly, not a hint of fatigue was on his face.

“Bi Han, I’ve been expecting you. Please come in,” He said, gesturing to the inside of his chambers.

‘Expecting me? It’s 3 in the morning,’ Bi Han thought to himself as he stepped inside. He was pleased to find that Shang Tsung was nowhere in sight. Liu Kang moved to the center of the room and sat on a small cushion. His legs were in a neat cross legged position. Each movement was elegant and precise, Bi Han couldn’t help but notice. He moved in front of Liu Kang. There was another cushion on the floor, but he opted to remain standing.

“The sorcerer is not with you tonight?” He questioned.

“No. He is in another room. I can assure you that the night watch is keeping an eye on him,” Liu Kang explained.

“That is not what I am concerned about,” Bi Han said. Liu Kang raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. He looked good like that, gazing up at him. The thought sent a jolt of cold dread through Bi Han’s body. A Grandmaster must not have such thoughts.

“Oh? Then what troubles you?” Liu Kang asked.

“He is always near you, speaking with you. One might assume, considering his history, that he has begun planting his seeds of deception,” Bi Han stated. Liu Kang nodded with a hum.

“I understand your suspicions. In fact, I shared them for much of the time that Shang Tsung has been with us, but I really believe he can be redeemed given the right environment. I would not have allowed him to exist in this timeline otherwise,” Liu Kang confessed. That last sentence gave Bi Han pause. The idea that Liu Kang could, or used to be able to, just make someone not exist still left his head spinning. He had never considered that anyone could possess such a power.

Liu Kang’s words made sense, but Bi Han was not yet satisfied. His hatred toward Shang Tsung still burned hotter than Kuai Liang’s fire, and Bi Han was a man who held grudges. However, the feelings of shame and guilt reared their ugly heads once again. Could he really blame the sorcerer completely for the incident at the fortress? He felt like a coward for avoiding Kuai Liang after their fight.

“You’ve gone quiet again. Is there something else the matter?” Liu Kang spoke up, breaking him out of his spiraling thoughts. His voice was soft and full of concern. Bi Han bristled. He had no use for softness, nor did he deserve it.

“Nothing for you to be concerned about,” he replied curtly. Liu Kang frowned. Bi Han decided that he should leave now before any more unnecessary thoughts emerged.

“I merely came here to make sure the sorcerer has not seduced you. I see now that you don’t require assistance,” he stated before moving to exit the room.

“Before you go, there is something that I must discuss with you,” Liu Kang said, standing up. “And I fear that I may not get the chance to, tomorrow morning.”

Bi Han paused. He turned toward Liu Kang, crossing his arms.

“It is already tomorrow morning,” he deadpanned.

“Is it?” Liu Kang replied, his eyebrows raising in alarm. He shook his head, getting back to the topic at hand.

“I must travel to Sun Do to speak with Empress Sindel,” he continued.

Bi Han nodded with a grunt. “I will gather Kuai Liang and Tomas,” He said, but Liu Kang gently put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m afraid you cannot accompany me this time,” Liu Kang informed. Bi Han‘s eyes widened. Outworld had already launched a misguided attack on Earthrealm. Clearly, the Empress viewed them as hostile. Even if Liu Kang explained the situation, there was no guarantee he would be believed.

“Surely, you do not plan go alone,” Bi Han argued.

“It must be this way. If I am to win back Empress Sindel’s trust, I must go alone. Showing up with my champions would look like an attack,” Liu Kang explained. Bi Han’s face twisted in fury. Liu Kang held up his other hand, trying to ease his worries, but Bi Han jerked away from him.

“You may be a God, but even Titans can be destroyed! You proved that with Kronika!” Bi Han barked, pointing his finger at Liu Kang as he had a habit of doing when he was angry. A knot of confusion and shame twisted in his gut. His own concern for Liu Kang surprised him. Just moments ago, he was content to leave him and Shang Tsung to their own devices, but would he really have been content? Liu Kang’s eyes softened, but his gaze might as well have been poison to the Grandmaster. Bi Han tore his eyes away. The knot in his gut tightened even further. The Grandmaster had no use for softness.

“Bi Han, I must go. The fate of both realms depends on it,” Liu Kang said.

“So be it! Just know that I will not mourn you if you perish,” Bi Han growled, storming out of the room finally. As he made his way back to him and his brothers’ temporary quarters, a figure watched from the shadows.

‘Liar,’ Shang Tsung thought to himself as he listened to Bi Han’s rant.

1, 2, 3, 4

[vimesbootstheory]

Cobra Kai S6 Part 2 Thoughts

just a big ole thought dumb after the cut

THOUGHTS on 6x06-6x10

as with part 1, I tended to note down things that pissed me off; when things I liked happened, I kept my eyes on the show and my fingers off the keyboard. so expect some bitching, but I didn't HATE it.

lawrusso hotel roommates potential predictably squandered :\ I missed the hell out of chozen but c'mooon they couldn't have had ONE (1) night with just the two of them?

am I here, at this part-season, mostly for zabka being pretty? maybe. maybe so.

I did like that they drew explicit parallels between how johnny has responded to kreese's return and how daniel responded to silver's return, it's a low bar but I didn't expect them to clear it

I knew the new kids would pull focus and be boring and I was right, there were a ton of full-length fight scenes that I was just looking at my phone for, 'cause they were asking me to care about iron dragon or kwon or the… Dublin whatevers

zabka with the nunchucks was a special moment just for me and my ilk, thanks very much show

is the eunjangdo going to keep being a thing in the final ep drop? because that was a ton of lead-up for not a whole lot, like I was yelling "what does it MEAN what is it FOR" multiple times at my screen and then…? I'm gonna be so honest, I do not care that kwon shanked himself.

deeply funny scene at the rainforest cafe or whatever it was, all the non-americans bullying the americans. they're so Oppressed. on the same note, unintentionally hilarious line from Daniel when he's in the dog cage, "You can't do this! I'm an American!" oh ok ok dog cages are Not Okay for americans, noted.

not only Kreese's but ALSO silver's charges are just, poof, gone? what is this

I still do not have my talk between tory and johnny and I feel like it might be too late for that to land :((( disappointed

6x07 was ROUGH but that voice mail… leave me alone for some time with just that voice mail for comfort. "I need you, too"!!!! OH OK OK OK listen! it won't take much to bring me back to lawrusso, I can survive on crumbs and this is more than crumbs

the Dog Cage of Character Development is the best thing to happen to daniel's character since season 3. love him siccing hungry dogs on some guys. love him choosing a johnny-style exercise for their last practice session. LOVE the scheming with johnny and chozen to sic kreese on silver. yes we love an unhinged daniel! they even let him say fuck!

otoh the Miyagi plot continues to be very boring and predictable. I do not have time for it. except when it leads to dog cages.

I called baby complications back in the first ep drop of s6, thought they would be a more serious thing. ultimately disposable in terms of plot some really good acting moments from zabka and mariduena in this plotline, zabka is so good at the trying-not-to-cry face. and I loved them bringing back some bonding for johnny and miguel, that was really missed in part 1.

I had some high hopes for the plot development of robby dipping into drinking, they could have done something really interesting with that re: his family hx with addiction, but it just led to teen drama, blah.

I was not pleased at silver showing up -- I don't say much about it, 'cause I don't wanna yuck anyone's yum, but I'm not really a silver fan. didn't end up hating his role, though, it was fine. the only thing I didn't care for was that it turned kreese's role into an enemy-of-my-enemy thing, and tbh I was hoping for a more sustained villain arc for kreese. I don't want a redemption for him at all, although from some bts quotes it sounds like that might be where they're going. hrmph.

wolf ended up being kinda disappointing, making him a silver lackey is boring. so much for johnny/wolf.

I've already mentioned the voice mail but the scene where Daniel thanks Johnny for it was !!!! so much! the heart eyes from both parties in that scene, they were healing all my wounds

I had assumed that this ep drop would tie up the tournament. and maybe it did, idk, maybe that's the end of it right there. but I am a little worried they're going to draw it out more. I want them back in the valley with a more focused, personal mini-arc in the last five but them still being in spain at the end of 6x10 makes me think it won't be as tidy as that.

VERY annoyed that the johnny/daniel hug was in the BACKGROUND of a shot, come ON

laughed my ass off at cobra kai being eliminated and then immediately coming back. extremely funny.

it's the most manufactured drama that kim da-eun is apparently pissed just 'cause chozen said they ran into each other by mistake? they both agreed to keep their one night stand between them, this is dumb

the sekai taikai brawl was ehhh not the most interesting to me, felt like the show trying to recapture the school fight. the school fight was great because they felt like kids and the setting had nothing to do with fighting, it was like karate breaking into the real world. also we cared about everyone involved, and the kid who got hurt at the end was MIGUEL, not this one-note villain we just met. a lot of flash, no substance for this round. although I was SEATED for silver vs kreese and the silver vs johnny rematch.

if NONE of the rivals end up as lovers on the rivals-to-lovers show then what was the fucking point

overall, this was all over the place, some high points, some groan-worthy stuff, nowhere near what we had in s1-s2 but we knew this. still looking forward to the end.

[amaiguri]

Fantasy Nonsense & Self-Esteem Issues -- 3/19/2024

This last weekend, I filmed a worldbuilding cooking video with another Colorado worldbuilding/linguistics YouTuber and it was really fun! I was really nervous cuz it was my first time meeting someone from the internet before but I had friends there to ensure he wasn't a serial killer (he wasn't) and now I really wanna do more with him!

I've been playing a lotta board games the last few nights and doing a lot of conquering 👑 ...But very little winning. I've only been winning in my heart.

And I've been writing every day and I even got like 1.3k words down today, despite also having a shit sleep schedule (birds keep waking me up) so I'm proud of that! And it's like:

And you take pride in this because you cannot bear to look at the waste of your life and resent him -- because he has ensured you are all he has!

We got a lot of Feminine Rage tonight :D

But unfortunately, we also have a lot of rage towards ourselves too. See, recently, two separate people independently told me that I'm basically squandering my potential and this has wrecked my self-worth kinda.

But then we had a good talk with ourselves about how we want to judge ourselves and how we want to live our lives. It made me feel really safe and loved -- even if it's just by me. So, I hope things get better soon 🥺🥺🥺

If you're going through tough times, even though by all accounts your life should be happy, take some time to feel your feelings, acknowledge them, and then encourage yourself in kind, constructive ways. It makes a world of difference 🥰

[chenford-fan]

Chenford + friends with benefits

Hi Anon! Hope you will like this. This is my first time writing a Tumblr prompt. I tried to do this prompt justice, and hopefully, you will like it.

"Babe, let's watch Friends with Benefits, a 2011 rom-com. This is one of my guilty pleasure movies," Lucy says as she curls up on her couch and covers herself with a quilt. It was her third day following her last UC assignment. After her and Tim’s much-needed sincere conversation, a long bath, and a 24-hour long sleep, Lucy finally feels like herself. Sergeant Grey has given Tim and her a week off, and they've spent the last one and a half days having their desired sexy time all over the apartment as Tamara is on a weeklong study tour with her classmates. As much as Lucy adores Tamara, she needed this week alone with Tim, especially after such an adrenaline-charged week.

Tim appears from the kitchen, holding a bowl of popcorn, and kisses Lucy on the forehead before settling down next to her. This causes her to melt into his gentle kiss. She scoots towards him and rests her head on his shoulder as he takes his seat next to her." He quips, "Yeah, we'll have to make do with it since you have already watched the new season of Top Chef without me, and that too after you made me promise not to watch it alone." She swats his chest and squeals "no" as she raises her head from his shoulder. She looks incredibly cute doing so. Too irresistible for him, who is still in a haze after their mid-evening sexy time. So, he simply puts the bowl of popcorn on the table and takes her face in between his palms, kissing her passionately. It is filthy and has the potential to turn into another couch sex session, but Lucy stops and says, "Babe, nah, I wanna watch this movie now, and later we can continue this in the bedroom after dinner. Furthermore, this caramel popcorn smells too good to waste. So, Bradford, keep your mouth and hands to yourself." Tim takes a breath and makes an effort to school himself, but he holds onto her nonetheless, drawing her even closer.

Lucy looks up into Tim's eyes and asks in a fake stern voice, "So, are we watching this movie or what?" while still in Tim's embrace. He says, "Yeah, yeah, play your movie," making a conscious effort to focus on something other than her large, exquisite brown eyes. She smiles and presses play, wrapping Tim and herself in the quilt as she snuggles next to him, and Tim wraps his arms around her shoulder. They become engrossed in the film once it begins. She observes that the film appears to have succeeded in eliciting some laughs from Tim. He laughs throughout the scene as he watches Mila Kunis' Jamie and Justin Timberlake's Dylan negotiate the terms of their arrangement before having sex. During the flash mob scene, she also notices Tim rolling his eyes at the screen. But as the credits start to roll, a smile spreads across his face.

"So, did you like the movie?", Lucy grins and inquires. "You call this a movie! Really? We just squandered an hour and 48 minutes of our lives watching this when we could have watched classics like It Happened One Night or Breakfast at Tiffany's," Tim says with mock disdain. This, however, does not fool her, as she remarks, "Huh, stop lying, Grandpa; you know I can read you. Right? And we've already seen those movies, and we like them, but you liked this as well," she said, raising an eyebrow and tickling his side. He finally gives up and lets out a hearty chuckle before saying, "Okay, okay, okay. I agree that it was not nearly as bad as I had anticipated, and I had a good time. However, it might have just been you; perhaps your adorable popcorn chewing made the movie bearable."

They've been dating for almost nine months, and yet a single compliment from Tim still makes her cheeks flush like a rose. She then scrunches her nose in a cat-like manner and gazes into his eyes. She gently pushes Tim away as he is about to pull her in for another round of couch make-out and says, "Neah. We'll watch No Strings Attached now. Okay, time for some trivia: Did you know that this movie and Friends with Benefits were both released in the same year and essentially share the same plot? Additionally, the No Strings Attached actor Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis from Friends with Benefits are married in real life. Another interesting fact: In real life, these two began as friends with benefits and fell in love within months. Exactly like in the movie!"

Tim scoffs and says, "Fools, they already did these two movies and still tried something stupid like this. Seriously, actors are just dumb people." Lucy furrows her brow and mocks, "Tim, by your logic, no one but the cops are intelligent. Isn’t it?" Tim says, "Damn straight," in an earnest voice and straight face. Lucy titters and exclaims, "Babe, you're hopeless!"

"Okay, tell me, do you think we could have ever been friends with benefits?" Lucy asks before Tim can respond. "Nope," Tim says, popping his P. "So, you're saying that if we weren't in this relationship and were both single, and I offered you to be my friend with benefits, you would have declined?" she inquires, a little perplexed. Tim nods and shakes his head, signaling ‘yes’. "You found me attractive before we started dating, right?", with a perplexed look on her face, she asks as she turns entirely to face Tim."I mean, yeah, of course, you did. The way you ogled at me at Lopez-Evers' first wedding! You did lust for me, didn't you?" she continues, speaking more to herself than to Tim. “Okay, to answer your questions chronologically: First, yes, I did find you attractive even then. To be completely honest, I liked you before it would have been appropriate for me to. Second, come on, I was just checking you out respectfully. The third and most importantly I have never merely lusted after you. And that's why I'd never been your friend with benefits," he replies, pressing his lips together in a line to hide a smile.

Lucy's now puzzled, so she stands up and asks, "So let me get this straight: you were attracted to me, and that's why you didn't want to fuck me? How does it add up, Sergeant Bradford? Could you please elaborate? Sir, just enlighten me with your seer wisdom." She continues after recalling what John had said to her after their first run-in with the Feds about Tim's hook-up with a CIA agent: "And don't you dare pretend as if it were some moral code or something, because I know about your little hook-up with Katie Hall during your army days." "Nolan and his big mouth!" Tim mutters under his breath. "Huh, what did you think just because you sent me back under the guise of assisting Lopez? I won’t get to know. We still diss our TOs. And when I say ‘still," I mean "STILL NOW." Lucy almost yells the last part with a combined expression of mischief and exasperation on her face.

Tim extends his hands and tugs Lucy into his lap on the couch, and in a very serene voice, he says, "Officer Lucy Chen, this Sergeant of yours was always awestruck by your enchanting presence. And no, it has nothing to do with my morals or honor; instead, it is entirely about you. I knew after our first hug that if I touched you intimately, there would be no going back. If we had crossed the line, I would have made sure that you were mine and mine alone, so I could never have remained just your friend who occasionally fucks you. I've always known that once I touched you, I'd kill anyone who even considered doing so. Lucy Chen: I had fallen in love with you long before I realized it."

Lucy looks up into his eyes, tears welling up in her own. They have both been aware of this since their first failed date, if not earlier, but they haven't had the courage to acknowledge it out loud yet. She doesn’t know how to respond because Tim proclaimed it with such nonchalance. So, she closes her eyes, cups Tim's face in her palms, and kisses him while stuttering, "I... I... love you too, Tim." As she opens her eyes, she drags a deep breath, and through her sobs, she declares in a whisper, "God, I'm not sure from exactly when, but maybe from the day I woke up with you reading Teen Rebel by my hospital bed," against his lips.

Tim gets up from the couch with Lucy wrapped around him, lifting her along as if she were a weightless bundle of clothes, and says with all the love in his voice, "Lucy, you have bewitched this hardass TO of yours since the day you set foot in my chaotic life. You brought me peace and stability. Baby, you made me a better person. And now I can't imagine going a single day without having you by my side." Tim then kisses her cheeks, wiping her tears away, and whispers, "Baby, now if you'll let me, I'd like to show you just how much I love you. Would you please allow me to worship you?" As the heat rises in her lower belly and her cheeks begin to flush, Lucy nods and gestures 'yes.' As Tim carries her into the bedroom, she thinks about how she never imagined that watching a mediocre rom-com would lead to a love confession. However, she simply closes her eyes and thanks the universe that it finally happened.

[sammys-stupid-stories]

5th January 2024

The worst part about getting into Dr. Stone is seeing my past potential squandered.

So many of the fan comics and fics like to use tired troupes to emphasize how smart Senku or Dr. Xeno are. The main occurrence is skipping grades / graduating early. Every time I read those I'm stuck staring at myself and hating what I see because that was me once.

I used to be so fucking smart. I prided myself on being top of my class and having the best grades. I kept jumping into the hardest courses and taking AP classes. I had so much pride in my accomplishments when I was accepted into my high school's early college program. There were like, i don't remember, seven or so of us. A very low number. Only me and one other girl actually stuck with it and finished the program.

...she was the only one of us to graduate with an associates...

I keep trying to remind myself that I was subject to some seriously shitty events during that time that took me away from my studies. Away from my ambitions and any possible future plans. (Future plans I say, as if I wasn't thoroughly convinced that I was going to die as soon as I left school. That's all I had ever been good for. That's all my parents ever needed me for. Bragging rights.) It's hard not to blame it entirely on my family for causing me so much stress. I still remember the videos I made sharing my weekly life with my friend and how often I had to retake them because I would burst into tears over all the small things that piled up.

I chose working dead-end jobs over finishing the last course to complete my degree. I left college as a drop out at the end of the second year. A large chunk of that is because I was asked to walk at the spring ceremony despite not having my last credit. We all figured I'd just get the one class and be on my way at the end of the fall semester that followed. My mother made a big deal out of how it was like lying and how I didn't deserve it. How despite EVERYTHING I had done up to that point: all the tests, the classes, the essays, the awards, the perfect GPA; I was never enough.

I left home after that and some other bullshit about not deserving food if I was never home. How I felt ostracized and forgotten about and how I clung to any freedom I could get. I remember taking over-night shifts and early morning events to cater just so I could stay away from home a little longer. So I could have money to buy step-one-home-necessities for when I finally left.

I remember hiding each dollar-store purchase of cheap plastic cups and cookware in my closet hoping and praying to a deity I didn't believe in that she didn't decide to trash my room looking for reasons to yell at me. To shame and belittle the child who was never enough. I remember the fear of my food stash being discovered or worse yet, the small cut in one of my stuffed animals that hid hundreds of dollars I squirreled away for when I finally could leave.

I remember having a bad fight and an early morning in my car, cold in my car waiting in the back parking lot for classes to begin. Crying myself rotten before a unit final in French and how I blanked during the test. I remember the teacher taking me out to the hall to do the speaking portion and how she showed pitty telling me she knew I was having a hard time and that we could revisit the test later if I needed. I remember crying in my car after failing yet another math test after a different incident.

I remember sitting on the cold bathroom tiles in the middle of the night, sobbing my eyes out as I attempted to end my life...

It's easy to blame everyone and everything for abandoning academia. But now, now I have to live with the pointless existence I survive in. Retail job after retail job. Shitty apartments, bad bosses, repetitive disappointment, and a depression I have never been able to shake.

I want to try again. I want to make something of myself. I want to work towards something amazing.

I like space. I like science even if it's confusing and I can't understand it. I want something where I can observe the universe and live life under an observatory telescope. ...it's a pipe dream but I want to be an astronomer. Or even an astrophysicist. Both seem insane and impossible for the person I've become. I can't even remember names anymore thanks to how bad my depression has ruined my mind.

I want to dream a little. Shut my eyes and think about how I could be in a remote location like the arctic or maybe some unnamed desert in Nevada watching the stars and screens and taking data to send out. That's a life I might actually feel pride in.

how lame am I to take so much inspiration from a random fan comic?

[cookingwithroxy]

"Honestly, I'm rather surprised you were able to track me down." The regal woman said from her throne-like chair, brushing back red hair that shifted to gold, that shifted to brown, that slid into pure black. "I mean, you had the one slight advantage over everyone else in this city, to know that You and I are very seperate people. I do say 'slight' advantage," She continued so casually, her own frame easing down from the exaggerated curves of her guest, to something slight and only vaguely feminine, making 'her' seem gaunt in the moment. "After all, they do call me 'Copycat' for a reason. People should have suspected that if they 'knew' who I really was, then they were dead wrong. And yet..."

The androgynous figure let it trail off, considering the woman on the other side of the desk. Poised and calm, even now, the faintest touch of a smile on crimson lips. There was something about her that had seemed so... perfect. A lovely disguise, because she seemed built to be a supervillain. It was a shame she was only some club owner, looks like that were potential squandered in the capes and cowls set.

Copycat would have killed to look like that naturally. And all things considered, they would kill to get that look every day. Oh, it might mess up the present scheme, but to be able to fill in that life...

"I should ask HOW you found me, Miss Dream, because it is important that I cut off loose ends. But I suspect you'd rather not share. Because we both know that this night will not end well for you..."

The woman laughed, a cold and humorless laugh, brushing that red hair out of her eyes to gaze at her 'captor'. She wasn't bound, but the pair of men standing beside her chair, the guns in their hands? Told everyone that she wasn't free to do as she saw fit.

"Yesss... I do suppose you're right. This whole year hasn't gone that well for me. Someone walking around, wearing my face as they commit crimes, always there when I'm busy with something else? It's been quite bad for me, every day. Once is an accident, twice can be chance... but it wasn't just twice, was it?"

The men flanking Sylvia Dream chuckled, which only made the gothically dressed club owner frown all the more, letting her eyes glance from one to the other.

"But if you want to know how I found you, that's easy enough. I have people keeping an eye on what warehouses are being rented, that's all. Someone new coming in, moving stolen goods through back channels, those things one keeps an eye on-"

"What, you're telling me that bar owners keep an eye on the black market?" Copycat said with a laugh, their goons chuckling along with the dark humor of the moment. "I'm sure you want to sound big and important, but let's be serious here dear. A civilian like you won't have a hand in something like ME."

Despite it all, the leveled threats and the amusement of her captors, all that drew out of the redhead was a deep sigh, one hand coming up again to cover her eyes. "You know, I wish I could say 'in my day, we didn't do things like this.' But that would really be a lie. So many were just like this, smug and self-important, waving death like it was a casual thing. This is why I got out, you see. Every time I had to deal with someone like you, I just had the building need to…"

The trio were growing less and less amused by the word, glaring at this woman, failing to give them the reaction they expected. The tension rose further as she again brushed her hair back out of her eyes, and more that the crimson was now touched with wide streaks of black.

Copycat froze at the sudden sound of grunts out of the guards, their men stuck still as the guns clattered out of their hands. Whatever had hit them, it wasn't apparent from the angle. All Copycat could see was the sudden jerking of their frames, the spray of crimson escaping...

No, not a spray. Oh, the blood dripped from those wounds, but it wasn't gushing from a pumping heart, it was flowing out over the sudden, twisted, jagged 'limbs' that suddenly had pushed their way out of the two men's bodies. Like crazed withered trees, coated in gore, holding those two up like limp puppets on tangled strings.

And the woman, Sylvia, she didn't look quite right anymore. There was that darkness around her eyes now, almost like a mask and...

"To just kill the young idiots who keep BOTHERING me with their theatrics. I'm rather sorry, darling, but you REALLY should have picked someone else to drag into your problems." 'Sylvia' stated as she rose from the seat, tapping one barren 'barb' that came out from a loyal man's eye, and Copycat watched with deepening shock as it twisted itself into a rose of blood for this stranger to pluck.

"Because in my day, people understood. You don't want the Gentleman Mage giving you her full attention. And you, little Copycat. You have every last bit of attention I have to give. Now then. Let's begin."

Due to a series of “unfortunate” accidents, everyone in the city believes you are the secret identity of an up and coming supervillain. In truth you are a retired supervillain who faked their death years ago and now this upstart is going to get a taste of what true supervillainy looks like.

[positivelybeastly]

For a moment, Hank considered where he could take this. Despite appearances - and, occasionally, actions - to the contrary, he was an emotionally sensitive man, and where others might take the escalation of volume to be an invitation to shout back, he knew it wasn't him that Johnny was truly furious with. Stars weren't angry at what they hit when they let off a flare of radiation and stellar matter, they were just doing what they did, burning - and all the more solitary for it.

There's a part of him that wants to bite back with his own pain, that wants to snap that the man isn't the only one who's had it rough. He at least has the excuse of tragedy, Hank's problems were almost all of his own manufacturing, of his own blinkered arrogance and overcompensation for being so much less than he wished to be.

But a dark thought occurs to him, that that's exactly the kind of thinking that had him screaming like a wounded child at every mutant who had ever loved him and rejecting their help, and he stops himself. He doesn't want that again. He really, desperately doesn't want that again. He hates that version of himself, that prickly, insecure, snippy and unkind idiot that can't see when people are concerned, or hurting, or in need.

That version of himself . . .

"Johnny, I . . . want to tell you a story. And I know that must seem frightfully insensitive and condescending, but I ask that you bear with me, and you let me say my piece. If you find what I have to tell you lacking, then I'll shut up, and I'll keep your confidence. I won't tell anyone what we've talked about, we don't even have to acknowledge we had a conversation. So just. Bear with me, yes?" Had he ever told this story to - anyone? All of it? Really all of it? No, he didn't think he had. Not his parents, not his friends, not Abigail, not anyone. This was going to be his first time really talking about this.

Saddle up, Johnny.

"When I was seventeen, I met Professor Charles Xavier. He saw in me a potential for good that I had been squandering - hiding, in fact. I wanted an easy life. I was, at the time, a mutant who could pass, and I liked it that way. I liked being normal. But the world was changing, and I was who the Professor needed - who, and perhaps this is egotistical, but it's relevant, the world needed - at the time."

"So I stepped up to the plate, and I was good at it. But before long, I started thinking, is this it? Is this going to be the rest of my life? Surely I should be doing more than this? Surely I can contribute more than this? A few months after my twentieth birthday, I left the X-Men. I have family. I have two parents who have supported me every step of the way, which is more than so many of my friends can say, but even still, the X-Men were family. I had been an only child, how could they not be? And even then, you, Ben . . ." His voice became very soft. "Reed, Sue. You know what it's like, facing danger day after day, relying solely on each other. You become as intrinsic to one another as a neutron to a proton."

"But I left. I had outgrown the team, I felt. I was a man now, equipped by age and intellect to do what I couldn't do on the X-Men, change the world. I joined the research wing of the Brand Corporation, and it was, oh, it was . . . heady. So many clever people, so many resources, so much time, what do you mean I'm getting paid to do scientific research? I met a girl. We became close. I was so sure of myself. I could do no wrong."

"Late one night, I isolated the hormonal extract that induces mutation in those with an active X-gene. Mutant Growth Hormone. The next step in human evolution, bottled. I thought to myself, there's no mystery left now, this is who I am, isolated in a glass. But someone threatened that discovery, wanted to seize it for their own ghoulish aims, and when I found out, I rushed back to my lab. I needed to act, but I couldn't do it as me, could I? I couldn't reveal myself to be a mutant, that would destroy everything I'd worked for. But if I mutated myself, and then imbibed the counter-agent, I would have a window where I could act as I would, without fear of reprisal." He fixed Johnny with a very solemn stare.

"I . . . drank it. No, I chugged the damn thing. And in an instant, this was me." He held up his furry arms, tweaked the pointed ends of his tears, rolled his jaw and showed off his fangs. Hank was quiet for a moment. "Johnny, I had been lying to myself. I could have just called security. I could have done any number of things. But I was so high on my own sense of self-worth that I wanted to do this. I wanted to prove I was so smart. I wanted to see the fruits of my labour made manifest, right there and then. It was so stupid. It was so obviously, damnably stupid! It's almost funny, isn't it, to hear me tell it? Literally drinking lab chemicals!"

". . . I stopped them from getting ahold of my research, but I nearly killed someone in the process - two, someones." It didn't matter that the Iron Man he had tried to kill had been illusory, the intent had been there. "I had lost control, and I was paying the price for it. I couldn't change back. I was stuck like this. I went home. I wandered the streets at night, hating myself. I slept eighteen hours a day, woke up, ate, went back to bed. I was so ashamed. I felt so stupid. I was such an obviously stupid, irresponsible, downright dangerous fool." He fixed Johnny with a look, quoting him. "The second my family was out of the picture, what did I do? Made a complete fool out of myself."

"But I came back from it, Johnny. It took me a while, and I had to confront some very unwelcome, harsh truths about the kind of man I was. I wasn't as mature as I thought. I wasn't as smart as I thought. I wasn't as good as I thought. But I came back. Do you know how? I decided I liked superheroing, even after what had happened to me. And I liked it in a group. I learned my lesson, and I became an Avenger. It gave me focus, it gave me purpose, it gave me new friends, a new family, it gave me a second chance. Will it be that for you? I don't know. But it could be. You don't have to be good to be an Avenger - you just have to want to be good. You aren't a joke. You never have been. And you still don't have to be."

Usually more perceptive than people tended to give him credit for, these days Johnny was prone to dwelling on himself, his own problems and screw-ups, too self-involved to really see the man standing before him clutching his own forearm with a white-knuckled grip.

His head snapped up from his feet at Hank's final comment, a sneer spread across weary features. He'd aged so much in the last six months — avoiding mirrors could only do so much when the dying wish of any tabloid was for a down-and-out celebrity to know how bad he really looked.

"I'm not good! I don't know if you've seen the tabloids lately Hank, but one week I'm getting banned from the Rainbow Room for being a degenerate, and the next I'm Captain America's boy? No, that's just-- that's not right." He seethed. The aggression wasn't aimed towards Hank, but it could have easily seemed that way. No, it was directed inwards. Because no one was more disappointed in him than himself.

Johnny took a breath before he continued, calmer this time. He brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "Sorry. Sorry. It's just-- I'm-- I wonder sometimes if I was only good because I had to be. I mean, look at me. The second my family's out of the picture what do I do? Make a complete fool out of myself. Push Ben so far away he literally went to space. Start seeing my ex's sister." A disdainful scoff punctuated the self reflection.

"And Crystal has been so good to me since I've been here and the longer everything goes on the more it's going to hurt everyone and I know it's bad but it feels like Medusa is the only thing keeping me sane right now and I'm just--" He paused, took a moment to collect his racing thoughts.

Another breath in.

Stop rambling, Storm.

And out.

"I just keep doing the wrong thing." He said finally. "How's that supposed to reflect on Cap? Me on his Unitity Squad? It'll just make the whole thing look like a joke. I'm a joke, Hank. Always have been."

@positivelybeastly

[palaceofpassion]

An Emerald in A Grassy Knoll

So I never did get to post this here, but here we go!  

It’s super damned rough, cause this first chapter was posted like two years ago?  I’ve been procrastinating cause of how long I made the entire thing and going back to fill in chapter 2 was always kind of looming over me.  But I’m doing it now, and I plan to finish the entire thing.  regardless, here ya go!  Warning, Emerald is in a bad marriage to start.

There was once a girl with a dream, a dream to rise above her station to become someone better than her parents. She dreamed of a future where she’d find love, where she could live a life free of worry.  Hoping, praying, and working her hardest, she strove forth to achieve that dream. However, as time went on she came to the realization that a few wrong choices could potentially alter her plans, crush her dreams, and ruin her life. She often thought to herself, how one different choice could have completely altered the failed path she found herself upon.

The young woman remembered when she was younger, when she lived a life of poverty with her parents only having the bare minimum to survive.  She remembered nights where all she had to eat were a few pieces of bread.  She remembered cold nights, where all she had was a simple sheet to keep her warm.  She remembered how little time her parents spent with her, too busy on their own.  She remembered how hard she had it, how much she hated it.  But… she also remembered a time when a small boy reached out to her, when a large family brought her into their own and made her feel loved.  She remembered them as the best things to enter her life, she remembered that time as the best of her life.  Then she remembered, when her family moved ‘A new venture!’ her mother said.  

Her heart broke that day, saying goodbye to the family and to the boy who held her heart in his hands.  If she had struggled more, if she had run away, would her life have been different?  Would she have been saved from the situation she found herself in?  She didn’t know, but she knew that one couldn’t turn back the clock.  Eventually though, she sprouted into her own and left her family to venture on her own path.  However, another mistake she came across, enraptured by the tongue of a serpent she met a man, nay just a boy.  She fell for his roguish charm, his striking good looks with hair of silver and eyes of grey as well as that that silver tongue.  She believed his nature to be rough around the edges, but she believed that he would turn from coal into a diamond as he aged.  However, she made a mistake; her feelings for him were true.  She loved this boy and hoped to help steer him into the right path, but no matter how hard she tried it proved uselessly difficult. 

She wanted to see the good in him, she knew that he had been raised in a harsh environment like her.  He’d been raised by an abusive father, without a mother, she knew that he could change, she really did!  Eventually they wed, it was unlike her dreams there was no fancy wedding, no friends filling the seats.  No it had been a shotgun wedding, she hardly remembered the event, the entire thing taking a total of 20 or so minutes.  Still she tried, however...

Every attempt at goodwill was squandered, he would ask her for money, she would hope he’d use it to change his life… he would gamble or… other things.  Her heart hurt, how had she fallen so low to fall for such a man?  How had she ended up marrying him, wedlocked for the rest of her life.  She had… she had thought of freeing herself from his chains, but she couldn’t.  Her funds had run dry, used and wasted by him for his more ‘carnal’ desires.  Even their love life had become strained, dry as a desert.  Over the last year or so she’d found that he wouldn’t look at her, not that she… she could smell it.  The scent of another on him, she tried not to think about it.  

She had to work two jobs to make ends meet, had to struggle to carry both of them while he went off and played.  She tried to get him to work, he said he would always come up with an excuse, and yet when he found a job he would only last a week perhaps only a day, never able to bring home a stable income.  So she struggled by herself, she should have left him, but her heart didn’t let her.  She knew how hard it was to struggle, yet… yet she… eventually they moved.  A new set of apartments were formed near them, made sturdy yet came at a cheap value.  They had to take advantage of it, she wasn’t sure she could afford otherwise.  The interview had been done online, she hadn’t even had to meet the landlord, but from what she could tell they seemed nice, polite even.  He understood her plight and was willing to accept them, building a relationship on trust.  

She felt herself overjoyed, finally something would go her way perhaps?  So they moved, things went well, she could handle the price, but… he saw this.  She knew she should have held her funds closer to her heart, she… she didn't have the strength to tell him no, when he begged… when he demanded she give him money.  She should have… she couldn’t… Why was she so weak?  Where had everything gone wrong?  The poor girl felt her heart would crash.  Eventually even living here became difficult, she barely saw her husband, and when she did he was drunk off his ass.  She didn’t get to enjoy the limelights of life, didn’t get to have her youth.  

And now?  Now she may have nowhere to go, she knew that she would have to pay the rent eventually, but she didn’t have the funds.  So… so she did what she had to do, she would talk with the Landlord, beg him for an extension and hope that he listened to her.  She… she feared what it may come to, afraid that… she would be forced to do something she didn’t want to.  But she couldn’t, she couldn’t allow herself or her ‘husband’ to be thrown out onto the streets.  So the woman made her way into the unknown, thankfully the Landlord lived within the premise, from the messages they’d sent one another she’d learned it was because it made it easier to help out when needed.  Something she was quite grateful for in the end.  

Eventually she found herself on the doorstep, her heart pumped against her chest as her worries began to spread.  She needed to do this, hopefully he wouldn’t think worse of her, hopefully he wouldn’t see about getting them kicked out.  KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK Her fist rasped against the door, “Coming!”  An almost immediate response, she hadn’t expected him to be so quick on answering her.  Eventually the door opened, revealing the man on the other side.  She felt her heart skip a beat, something it hadn’t done since she’d met her husband for the first time.  He had striking blue eyes, ones that were so full of life that she could practically see her reflection in them, a stark contrast to her husband's dimly lit grey.  He had golden hair, loose and free lacking in the greasy hair products she was used to seeing.  And he was tall, though she figured he was slightly shorter than… yeah she needed to stop comparing them… why was the young woman comparing them she wondered?  “Oh uhm!  Hello.”  He reached his hand out to her, pausing a good distance away as he waited for her to shake it.  

It took her a few minutes to fall out of her daze, “Oh!  I’m sorry.”  She took his hand as he gave her a firm yet gentle grip, a jolt of something she didn’t quite understand shot through her.  “I uhm… I’m uh… my name is.”  She was at a loss for words, her earlier worries amplified by the sudden shock of meeting the young man in front of her.  “I’m…”  

She felt his grip tighten slightly, then a quick release, “Hey it’s okay.”  His voice was soft, soothing, it made her feel warm inside.  “You’re… Mrs. Bl...”  The young woman noticed a pause in his voice, his eyes falling over her as a sense of recognition began to fall upon him.  She’d gotten ‘looks’ before, but never ones like that.  It was like he was playing something over and over in his mind, trying to remember something from the past, but just couldn’t help it.  She would have called him strange if she wasn’t getting that feeling as well.  “Have… have we met before?”  That was a pick up line she’d been used to, but something about it didn’t seem like a pick up line, not like what she’d expect anyways.  

Though the more she stared at him, and let things sink in the more she realized something.  Had they met before?  She wasn’t sure why but he reminded her of someone, someone whose name was on the tip of her tongue, “Ha… have we?”  

“I… well let me introduce myself.  My name is Jaune, Jaune Arc, short sweet rolls off the tongue.”  The smile he gave her was one only a full on dork would, and she would know she’d seen a lot of those… but then.  

“Ja...Jaune?”  That name, it had been so long since… then she saw his face change, various emotions running at once, finally falling on the form of recognition.  

“Oh my god Em?”  She wasn’t sure what had overcome her, in an instant the two of them had pulled one another into a tight friendly embrace, one used when finding a friend or family member you hadn’t seen in ages.  

“Oh Brothers, I can’t believe it's you.”  He’d invited her over for a bit of lunch, apparently he’d cooked something up for himself but had enough to go sharing around.  She had wanted to decline, but when he heard her growling stomach he’d made sure that there was no way he’d be leaving her behind.

To her surprise the meal was absolutely amazing!  When was the last time she’d had a home cooked meal?  When had she been able to just sit down at the table with someone, and enjoy talking?  She shook her head, those were thoughts for later, for now though, “No kidding, look at you!”  She took another bite of food as she eyed him once more.  He really was bigger than she’d remembered, he’d always been kind of sickly when they were kids so he’d been really small.  Or was he sick because he was so small?  She wasn’t sure, “When did you get all big and muscley?”  

“Ah well!  You know what they say.”  She watched him flex, not in the show offy way that she’d expect from someone as built as him, but in a goofy exaggerated way like she remembered.  “Gotta eat your veggies!  And I ate all my veggies!”  She eyed him for a moment, remembering a kid that absolutely hated eating his greens.  

A small smirk came to her lips as she couldn’t help but feel just a little bit warmer now.  “I can see that.”  She cocked her left eyebrow, “You’re not a green bean anymore!”  

“Hey now!  I wasn’t THAT small!”  

She put her spoon down into her meal, “Jaune, you were smaller than your youngest sister.”  

He smirked, “Nuh uh!  I’m no wear near as small as Viola!  She’s tiny even now!”  

Emerald paused, “Viola?  Wasn’t your youngest sister Ghlas?”  

“Oh right…”  He took a moment, as if he was thinking about something, “I’ve actually got five younger sisters now.”  

“Five!?”  He already had two older sisters!  “DO YOUR PARENTS NOT HAVE A HOBBY?!”  She nearly slammed the table as she jumped up in surprise.  How!?  How did they have so many kids, that’s insane!  

“Hah yeah well… they always wanted a big family, and 4 wasn’t enough apparently.”  Despite her awestruck nature, she couldn’t help but see the happy glint and pleasant smile on his face.  She felt something spur inside of her, as her heart thumped faster than it had in a long time.

“At least they seem happy.”  

“Yeah~”  She tried not to let her self pity get a hold of her as he sighed contently.  His parents had always seemed so much in love, and now that she knew they had eight damned kids, she just knew how in love they had been.  If only things had gone that well for her, she would have loved a big loving family… but… 

“So Em.”  

His melodic voice caught her attention, pulling her away from her self doubt.  “I’m assuming you wanted to speak with me about something?”  

“Oh.”  She had forgotten her entire reason for coming over… but as she looked at him, his shining expectations placed upon her, she wasn’t sure that she had the strength to do it.  Would he even agree?  Would he think that she was trying to take advantage of him?  That last thought wounded her in a way she wasn’t quite sure of just yet.  “I was… I was wondering if I could get an extension on this month’s rent.”  She closed her eyes as her fingers tightened around her blouse, “I’ll do anything you want.”   When the only response she received was Hmm, she felt her throat run dry.  

She hadn’t meant to disappoint him, “Look I’ll find a-” 

“Okay.”  

“What?”  

She drew her attention back to him, flinching as she noticed his stoic face.  “I said okay, but…”  There was a long pause as she felt his eyes practically roam her body.  “I’ll need you to do something for me.”  

“Oh… so it was going to come to that after all.”  She had hoped it wouldn’t, especially after learning that he had been the landlord.  She felt a pang of disappointment as she prepared herself, her image of her past best friend shattering almost instantly.  

“Okay…”  Standing up she reached for the hem of her shirt.

“Hold on.”  His voice forced her to pause as she brought it closer to her breasts.  “What the heck are you doing Em?!”  

“Wha?!  Isn’t this what you wanted?!”  She felt shocked, had he not desired her after all?

“No!  I was going to say I want you to take better care of yourself!”  

A translucent blush fell over her features as she slowly pulled her shirt back down.  Her normally dark skin unable to hide the deep crimson that currently flushed through her entire body.  “Uh uh…”  

“You look like you haven't eaten well in… well in a long time… I was going to invite you over to eat more often.”  He scratched the back of his head as he meekly looked away.  “Not that I don’t appreciate the show and all that, but…”  He paused, turning back to her, a shit eating grin hiding away the small rosy blush on his cheeks, “You’ve been watching too many drama’s Em!”  

Her blush began to shift, turning into a pout as she stomped her foot, and folded her arms together.  “You should have just come out and said that!  You know what you were doing!”  Refusing to look at him, she gave him one big, “hmmph!”  

“Hey now!  I wasn’t the one all super eager to take off her clothes.”  

There was another pause as he chuckled, “But seriously, I want you to take care of yourself, you look like you’ve had a hard time.”  

She fought back a small shiver as he drew close, the heat hovering from his body onto hers sent several chills down her spine as her hairs stood up on end.  “You even have bags on your eyes…”  There was another long pause, “I’ll tell you what, my family does this all the time, but I’ll help you out with the rent.  We can cut it in half for now, but I do need you to take care of yourself, it’ll do us no good if you hurt yourself.”  

The offer was too good to be true, but as she found her gaze stuck to his, she felt the honesty in his eyes.  “Besides, I’d like to catch up again, I miss my bestie.”  

Letting out a sigh of her own, she simply smiled.  She missed her bestie too… “Okay… thank you.”  When he pulled her into a soft yet tight hug, she found herself losing herself to his touch.  

“Anytime.”  

She wasn’t sure how long the two of them stayed connected like that, nor was she sure she wanted to stop all of a sudden.  But, he did let her go eventually.  “Hey, now come on your foods getting cold.  Let me heat it up, and I can serve it up again okay?”  

She nodded in response, “Yeah, that sounds good.”  

The two of them ate in a relatively peaceful silence.  Emerald honestly couldn’t remember the last time that she’d eaten something so… well delicious before?  Maybe when she was a kid… back when she was staying with the Arc’s and Mama Arc would co… “Oh my god… this is like Mama’s cooking.”  

“Snooort!”  She quickly glanced her way towards Jaune who’d ended up coughing up the rest of his meal  as he stared at his bowl trying to hold back a raucous laughter. 

“What?!”  

“You… you!  You still call her mama.”  A pout formed on her face as she crossed her arms and glared at him, ineffectively.  

The boy simply turned his attention towards her and smiled, “She’d  be so happy to hear that you know?”  And easily struck down any frustrations she may have felt.

“A...ah…”

“I’m sure they’d like to see you again.”

She would love to see them again as well.  “Maybe in the future.”  She tried not to look at him as she went back to her meal.  

He didn’t press the issue, simply turning his attention back towards the food as the two of them remained silent for the rest of the evening.  When Emerald went home that day, she did so with a full belly, and energy she had forgotten she even had at this point.  Though, like usual, she found herself alone in an empty room with no one by her side.   

The next time she saw her husband he reeked of booze… and of women.  She held back the gag and went about her day to get ready.  If only life could be as nice as it was the day before.  

The next time she saw her childhood friend was when she accidentally ran into him at her job.  It was during the night shift when most couples came in.  She was acting as the hostess for the night and greeting newcomers, when suddenly Mr. Tall, Sparkly, and Blonde showed up.  He was dressed really well too!  Not in the baggy clothing she’d seen him before either.  She found herself getting whiplash as he came in, dressed head to toe in a tux and tie.  She’d never seen him cleaned up so nicely, and well… she felt something burn inside of her core.  

Then that burning desire fizzled out as she noticed  a shorter young woman walk besides him.  She was… the woman was gorgeous… she was wearing a beautiful maroon colored dress, her hair was done well and even with the scar on her left eye she held herself in a surprising level of confidence.  Then there was the other thing, her dress was OBVIOUSLY custom made as it snuggly held onto the massive weights on the front of her chest.  Emerald found herself gawking for far longer than she wanted to admit when she realized that the woman was bearing watermelon sized breasts, a sudden feeling of inadequacy started to form in her heart as she stared at the two chatting away happily.   

When they finally approached her she found her voice nearly cracking, but her professionalism took over.  “H-Hello!  Welcome To Salem's Saloon.”  Despite the name of the dinery, it was still one of the finest places to find a meal, if Emerald said anything.  

It took Jaune a few seconds to recognize his childhood friend dressed in a really fancy suit as she waited for them at the restaurant's entrance, “Em!”  Emerald HAD to shut her eyes for a moment, Jaune’s smile was a dangerous weapon that she would never wish upon her worst enemies.  His brightness did things to her she wasn’t quite sure  about.  

“Hello Jaune.”  She kept her tone professional, eyeing both him and his lady friend.  “I see that you would like room for two?”  

“It’ll actually be three, we’re just waiting on another person.”  

Emerald nodded a bit as she began walking away.  She wondered what his relationship with the woman was, though she had a sinking suspicion that the two of them were incredibly close as they laughed and smiled together.  She could feel the natural tone of the way the two of them conversed together, the way that they chatted and kept a close proximity.  That wasn’t something you did with just anyone, and honestly?  She was a tad jealous, she hoped that the two of them would be able to be as close together as they used to.  Though… if the woman turned out to be his girlfriend, well… she wasn’t sure it would be ‘right’ to try to get close to him.  

Not like she was one to talk of course, she had her own troubles to deal with after all.  “I hope you both have a great dinner, one of the waiters will be with you shortly.”  She smiled at them, before making her way to depart.  She would have liked to have a chat, but she knew better and besides she was on the job.  

Though, even as she waited for several guests and continued to work, she caught glimpses of whispers and of shifting eyes in her direction.  That was strange, her curiosity was going to get the better of her if she wasn’t careful.  

At least it would have, but then something surprising happened.  A single woman entered the aboad, she was dressed rather lamely, loose clothing, a braided crimson hair and thick glasses with a hat on top of her.�� Emerald eyed her for a moment, but… and it took her longer than she liked to admit, realized who this woman was.  Despite her lack of any makeup or any form of discernment she figured out who she was.  It was Pyrrha Nikos, THE Pyrrha Nikos!  She was the NUMBER one MMA champion, something that Emerald had a HUGE interest in.  

It took ALL of her professionalism to not freak out then and there.  She was sure that no one else would realize who was in front of her if she didn’t scream.  Emerald WAS after all a HUGE fan, so it wasn’t a big surprise that she realized who THE Pyrrha Nikos was.  Keeping her cool she waited on the young woman to approach.  “Excuse me.”  

She had never heard the young Champion speak so calmly, and it caught her offguard.  But with a smile she simply nodded her head, “Yes Ma’am?” 

“I’m looking for tw-”  There was a pause for a moment as a TRULY radiant smile flashed across her face.  

Emerald followed the young woman’s line of sight until she found herself staring at Jaune and his lady friend who was currently smiling back in their direction.  Emerald blinked for a moment, then her world came to a halt as Pyrrha said, “Thank you, I found my seat.”  

Her childhood friend was friends with Pyrrha Nikos… friends right?  They were just friends?  When Pyrrha walked over to the duo, she greeted both of them with tight hugs and gentle nuzzles.  That wasn’t… wow, the affection between the three of them was something she’d never expected between JUST friends.  If there was one thing she could say about her childhood friend was that he apparently had the moves!  She WOULD have to ask him about that later.  

And as the evening came to an end, and everyone left she found herself heading on out.  “Bye guys!  Take care!”  She called out to her coworkers who gave her various cheers of acknowledgement.  

And as she made her way out, she caught sight of the trio from before, Jaune and his two lady friends talking together.  They laughed and cheered as if they were the closest thing in the world.  She was rather curious at what they were talking about, but then Pyrrha said something that just illuminated Jaune’s face in a deep crimson.  The young man simply looked down scratching the back of his head as he stared blankly at the floor.  

“Well now~”  Emerald couldn’t help the curiosity boiling in the pit of her stomach as she watched her childhood friend talk, joke, and laugh with the surprising duo.  She would HAVE to get the details from him later.  Still, despite herself, she couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.  She’d taken small glances here and there while they had been eating and they’d looked as if they had been having quite a bit of fun.  She couldn’t help but feel a sense of loneliness, maybe and hopefully she and Jaune would get the chance to catch up.  She’d like that a lot.  So, as the trio broke up their conversation and the girls headed out, she decided on making her way over to Jaune.  

“Hey there.” 

When Jaune nearly jumped out of her skin she nearly let out into a boisterous laughter, though being as polite as she was, she chose to simply giggle in response.  Rolling her eyes as her friend gave her a daggered look, she smiled.  “Soooooo~  Wanna tell me what that was all about?”  

He cocked an eyebrow, “What do you mean?  I was just catching up with some old friends of mine.”  

“Uh huh, and one of those friends happened to be Pyrrha Nikos?”  

When he flinched she knew that she’d guessed correctly.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  

“Sure you don’t.”  Taking a swift stride she took her place to his right, “So how’d you end up friends with Ms. Allstar?”  

She could tell he was considering staying quiet, but eventually he relented to her pleading looking.  “We went to school together, her myself and May were all really close.”  She didn’t miss the forlorn smile on his face.  “We’ve stayed in contact for quite some time, you know?  Even after Pyrrha became famous we still stayed friends.  We did everything together, they were my best friends.”  She caught the small tinge of sorrow in his voice.  

“Were?”  

“Mmm, we’re still really close, but you know people move on and things happen.”  She noticed him do that awkward head scratch of his, “And well, we can’t always stay close.  We still keep in contact, and get together whenever we can.”  A smile beamed forth, “They uh, hah, they actually asked me to be their Best Bridesmaid  for their wedding.”  

She blinked, then paused, then opened her mouth and shut it closely.  “Wait!  She’s getting married?!  They’re getting married?!”   

“Mmmhmm, they’d always been sweet on one another, it was about time honestly.”  

Anything else Emerald wanted to say just didn’t come out.  That was something alright, a lot to unload, then she noticed the way he looked longingly at nothing.  “And you?”

“Me?”

“Where do you fit in that little love wave?”

He shook his head, “Never really did, we were all close but I was always a proponent for the two of them getting together.”  This time his smile reached his face, “There were a lot of guys that ‘thought’ I was trying to get with one of them, but it was obvious to me from day one that they’d just clicked.  I wanted them to get together, besides.”  This time he scratched his cheek, “There had been a girl I DID like, but that didn’t go so well… kind of made a fool of myself a few too many times.”  

She nodded, able to imagine the little Jaune making a mistake.  “Well then, what are you doing to do?”

“Obviously I’m going to do it, and I’ll look damn good in a dress too!”  

That… had not been what she had expected, but now she couldn’t help laugh.

Like Emerald had hoped, her and Jaune had started to reconnect from that day forward.  The two of them had spent quite a bit of time together, and well she’d finally been able to get out and relax more.  Though, one of the best things about being friends with Jaune?  She got to eat a nice home cooked meal whenever she came over, he was such an amazing cook.

But more importantly she got to know him better, learning more about what kind of life he lived while the two of them were separated always amused her.  He had the strangest of friends, and what more they all kept in contact, though while it hadn’t bothered her at first she had started to feel… really annoyed with how many of his friends were women.  

It REALLY hadn’t bothered her at first, even after meeting them all for the first time.  They were lovely people!  All incredibly friendly, and rather welcoming of her to their little group.  But, their closeness had started to wear on her as time went on.  Though she’d spent quite a bit of time with Jaune, she’d always felt some form of distance between the two.  Created by her current wedlock, and inability to feel like she should get closer to him than she was now.  

Yet, and she really hated it, she just got so jealous with them.  They all knew a different him, someone that was better than she could have ever thought before.  It didn’t help that so many of them were just so- CLINGY.  

Especially the orange haired woman, who despite being married, always whispered something in his ears that made him turn just the reddest of colors.  She wasn’t sure WHAT Nora would tell him, often times leaving with a devious smile on her face and one that made him look away from her and her husband for some time, but she didn’t like it.  

She wasn’t sure when she’d gotten so overprotective of Jaune, but somewhere along the way she’d found herself staying close to his side whenever there were other women around.  During one group outing, which she had been surprised to learn she was invited to, Pyrrha had confronted her.

“So Emerald.”  

“Mmm?”

Despite herself Emerald still had a hard time keeping her cool when around Pyrrha Nikos, who to her surprise had been nothing like the woman often displayed on televisions and interviews.  

“You and Jaune are pretty close now right?”  

There was something about Pyrrha’s tone that just didn’t sit right with her.  It was an offsetting feeling, as if Pyrrha was trying to claim him for herself, which wasn’t fair because Pyrrha was already in a relationship… but so was Emerald… she’d also had issues with THOSE thoughts recently.

“Yes, I’d like to think so.”  

“Okay.”  

The Redhead woman smiled in a way that sent terrified shivers down her spine, causing her hairs to stand on end.

“Just.”  

She closed in on her, pressing her lips close to her ears, “If you hurt him, I’ll break you… and not in the fun way either.  I’ll make sure that no one finds out either, okay?”  

Well, she’d never WANTED to hurt Jaune before, but now she definitely didn’t want to! 

“A… understood.”  

Was all she could say, “Good!”  The chipper woman was back, banishing the absolutely terrifying form that had been there prior.  “Oh, and if your ‘hubby’ tries anything, I’ll make sure he ends up six feet under.”  

Emerald simply nodded, that was another road she felt she’d have to cross eventually.

Other than that terrifying moment, most things had gone well.  She and Jaune had even gone on a few ‘dates’.  Though they weren’t really dates, because neither of them called them such, and they’d chosen to simply spend time in each other’s company.  But, had she not been married, she honestly would have enjoyed them more.  

That left her at an impasse, she knew herself better than anyone, and with as much time she was spending with Jaune… well she realized that she’d been falling for him.  Which honestly hadn’t been too hard, it had of course explained the burning jealousy she’d gotten whenever Nora got close to him, or Yang liked to try to tease him, or Ruby nuzzled up close… she didn’t really get that one, or how Weiss looked as if she had missed out on something.  

She knew her feelings better than anyone, but she wasn’t in a position where she could rightfully choose to go forward with it.  She refused to put Jaune through anything that he could suffer, or have to deal with her stupid baggage.  She hated how terrible things were, and to make matters worse…

Her own home life hadn’t been getting any better, her ‘husband’ and she now used that term incredibly loosely, was nowhere to be seen most of the time.  He showed up even later than usual, and when he did, he didn’t even bother hiding the scent of another woman on him.  

She knew that something had to be done… and she hated it so much.  But she wasn’t happy, she wasn’t happy like she was when spending time with Jaune, or even just his friends.  

Even as she came to a mirror she found herself stumped, tears trickling down her eyes as she thought to herself on how bad things had become.  “When did my life get so bad…”  So she thought to herself, if he was going to be a problem?  If he was going to cheat on her?  Then why did she have to be the only one to take it.  

She’d already started seeing Jaune as something more, potentially something better, but she’d never acted on it because of her own morals.  But why did she have to deal with it?  So she came up with a plan: she would seduce her childhood friend.  She would seduce him to the best of her abilities damn it!  

Though, as she looked at herself in the mirror she realized something.  “I should go shopping…” 

[brywrites]

Gifted

Spencer Reid x Reader. Summary: All his life Spencer Reid has been told he’s gifted. And all his life he’s wondered what the point was of those gifts that felt like curses. Until her.

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Though he holds so many memories in his mind, Spencer Reid isn’t quite sure who the first person to call him “gifted” was. It was probably his mother, he thinks. Certainly not his father, who thought he was strange. Perhaps a teacher, or maybe even his Aunt Ethel. All he’s certain of is that he’s lost track of the number of times people have praised the so-called gifts he possesses. His eidetic memory, his autodidactism, his absurdly high IQ. His mind, they say, is a gift. But it’s felt more like a curse for most of his life.

Those same things that helped him skip grades and earn the praise of adults brought him years of bullying taunts and miserable adolescent trauma. They isolated him from his peers. His companions were library books and stories and mathematic proofs – nothing with a beating heart. They plagued his nightmares, for his mother had been brilliant too and what had that done for her? And those gifts came with a tremendous burden of pressure, they demanded use in a powerful way. Reid was always terrified he’d fail to live up to that impossible potential, proving himself unworthy of such great and terrible gifts.

By the time he’s thirty-six, he wonders why he was ever given such gifts in the first place. Clearly he’s squandered them, spent them on chasing monsters he thought might be human. They turned out to be hydras – for each one they catch, two more take its place. He’s let his mind waste away on drugs, on grief. In shacks and in prison and in grudges he just can’t let go of. He’s saved lives, he knows, but his team do that same thing without the gifts he’s been cursed with. What’s the point of him? Of any of the talents or tricks he possesses?

And it’s that question on his mind as he walks into a Virginia library to interview a witness to the latest in a string of serial arsons. Her name tag says Y/N. She’s clearly nervous, a little shaken, but she manages a smile when a child runs up to interrupt and ask her how to find The Magic Tree House books. And when she turns back to look at Reid, that smile still lingers – her eyes so bright it catches him off guard. She takes him back to the area of the library that was burned to talk about the crime scene, and she off-handedly asks if he has a favorite.

And when he says, “Oh I could never choose just one favorite. I love books too much for that,” that smile returns, unexpectedly bright.

“A man after my own heart,” she says. “Tell me a few then.” 

So he rattles off a handful, hoping at least one of them will keep that light in her eyes. They do. “Bradbury is one of my favorites, too. I just love Dandelion Wine. Sorry, I probably should focus on the fire. I try to distract myself when I feel stressed, and well, remembering what happened that night doesn’t exactly help with my anxiety.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. Or excited. Really, I think I just talk a lot.” Another smile, one that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Over the course of the investigation, the BAU has to ask her to come to the station twice. By chance, Reid finds himself interviewing her both times, and both times he finds himself rambling a little more than he means to – because he finds himself inexplicably a little nervous and a little excited in her presence. It’s that smile, the one that lingers long in his mind after she leaves each time.

There’s something about her, about the light she seems to carry, that draws him in. That compels him to say yes when he shows up at the library to inform her they’ve caught the unsub and she asks, “Could I buy you a cup of coffee to show my appreciation? If that’s not too much, of course.”

“I think that would be perfect,” he says. And as they sit at the café across the street with lattes in oversized mugs, he’s never been so grateful for his vast knowledge of literature. Each title is a start into a new conversation with her, and they swap stories about stories – the ones they have lived and the ones they have loved. When she disappointedly announces her break is over, she adds, “But maybe we could do this again sometime?”

“Yes,” he says. “Please.”

“How should I get in touch with you if you’re not showing up at the library to interrogate me, Dr. Reid?” she teases.

He hastily withdraws his cell phone from his pocket and offers it to her. She begins to type in her number. “You, um, you can call me Spencer,” he tells her.

She grins at him and something in his chest shifts at the sight. “I’ll definitely call you soon, Spencer.” He’s never liked the sound of his own name more. And he thanks that eidetic memory of his for allowing him to replay it again and again in his mind until he can see her next.

.

They get coffee again the first chance he gets. And then again. When she asks how he has time to read so much and he tells her about how his mind works – about his memory and speed-reading and quantified intelligence, all the things that have been called gifts – she thinks for a moment before saying, “That must be lonely.”

The relief he feels at her understanding is immense. “It is sometimes,” he admits. “But it’s felt less so lately.” They go to a park together. Then out to dinner. By the time he realizes he’s falling, he’s forgotten what it feels like to be on solid ground. Fortunately, he isn’t the only one at the mercy of gravity. She feels it too. And when she laughs at his joke as he walks her home from dinner, he just can’t help himself. He leans in and cups her cheek to pull her to him, pressing his lips to her still-smiling lips. The taste of wine still on her tongue. And though he doesn’t drink anymore, the sensation of her is enough to make him feel utterly intoxicated.

Slowly, his life fills up with her. His sabbatical arrives with the perfect timing to allow him evenings and weekends with her. He picks her up after work. She meets him for breakfast. He takes her to the planetarium. She falls asleep on his couch. He tells her it won’t always be this way and she assures him that’s okay. But it gives him the chance to build the foundation their relationship needs. It’s in that time that he begins to catalogue her smiles in his memory. The dazzling ones she sends his way when she spots him at a coffee shop. The soft, shaky ones she wears after a long kiss. The coy ones that twist the corner of her mouth when she’s teasing him. The nervous one that slowly grows when she meets his team for the first time – not as a witness, but as his girlfriend. A title she declares like a badge of honor. He holds each smile in his mind, picture perfect thanks to that eidetic memory. When a case has been particularly tough or he’s away for longer than he’d like, he flips through them in his mind, trying to remember the cause of each one, trying to hold on to that light until he can hold her in his arms again.

.

He surprises her with flowers on her birthday. “You remembered?” she gasps, her eyes wide. “And these – these are my favorite. How did you know?”

“I could never forget,” he laughs, but she stares down at the bouquet and clutches them to her chest.

“I don’t make a big deal about my birthday, so people don’t usually remember,” she says quietly. “And nobody’s ever gotten me flowers before. Thank you, Spencer.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

He grins from ear to ear. Forget the sound of his name, those three words are the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “I love you, too.” It’s a first for both of them. And one week later comes another first – witnessing her panic attacks for the first time. She’s shaking too hard to tell him what she needs, so he tries to do what would help him. He sits down next to her on his living room rug and wraps her in his arms. He rests his head on her shoulder and murmurs the words to her favorite poem. She seems to breathe a little easier and so he recites another one she loves, and another until her breathing finally steadies and she unclenches her fists to wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face in his sweater.

Suddenly it doesn’t feel like such a curse to remember everything he reads when it means he can give her the words she loves when she needs them most.

The first time they sleep together is only the second time he’s been intimate with someone and he feels more awkward than he wishes he was. But he commits himself to studying, to remembering what she likes and what she doesn’t, and the next time he proves to be the quickest of learners when he succeeds at making her come within a matter of minutes. He discovers a new smile of hers, one of dreamy bliss and kiss-swollen lips. He loves it. He loves her, adores every single part of her she’s shared with him and every piece yet to be found. And to his continued surprise and delight, she loves him just as much.

He tries every day to be worthy of that love. He makes time for her. He goes to meet her friends and he shakes their hands even though he hates touching people, even though she insists, “You don’t have to. They won’t mind.” He does it because she’s the only person in the world whose touch he actually craves.

When she swoons over a dress Penelope has shown her on Instagram, he makes a note of it. She’s utterly enamored by it by her smile falls upon checking the price tag. It’s far out of her budget. So the next week when he’s out on a case in Atlantic City, he swings by one of the few casinos that doesn’t have his picture framed on the wall of their security office. He wins more than the cost of the dress in an hour and leaves before anyone can get suspicious. The dress arrives at his apartment the same day he gets home, and he invites her over to surprise her with it. When she opens the box, her eyes go wide.

“Spencer, this is… this can’t be. It’s… do you know how expensive this is?” Y/N asks.

Bashfully, he replies, “Now might be a good time to mention I’m banned from casinos in almost every state for my card counting abilities.” It’s well worth the little effort he expended to see the way her face lights up at the sight of it. And though he’s never been a gambling man, when he sees her wearing it for the first time he considers trying his luck a little more often.

At times he worries he’s doing too much, but how could it ever be when the way she loves him has been so much more than enough? For the first time in his life, he feels like maybe he’s enough. When she says, “I love you,” he believes it. When she says, “I’ll be back,” he trusts her. He’s given another person more of his heart than he ever has before, and for once he’s not afraid of it breaking. She doesn’t mind the strange hours he works or heaviness he sometimes carries with him. When he wakes up from a nightmare, she holds him close and keeps him grounded. He sends postcards from each city he visits and she makes his favorite food when he comes home and home is suddenly a place they share. She moves into his apartment and it feels like it was never complete without her there.

.

Not long after, there is a case in Boston. Their terrifyingly intelligent unsub taunts Reid as he leaves the interrogation room. “Judge me all you want, Dr. Reid. But I’ve used my mind to change the world. You’ve done nothing with yours.” The words haunt him on the flight home. He sits on the back of the plane lost in thought. What has he done? Sure he’s saved lives, but could he have done more? Could someone else have used those gifts he’s been burdened with in a way that was better? Why does he have any of these talents? Why has he acquired any of these skills?

His phone chimes. A text from her. Brought home a new book from the library I think you’ll love! Can’t wait to see you, dearest. And it hits him.

It’s her. All along it’s been her.

The answer echoes in his head as he races home to her. Everything in his life has led him to her, has let him be the person she needs. He can memorize all her favorite songs and poems to recite for her when her anxiety gets the best of her. He can remember every date that matters to her and everything she adores. He can read her favorite books overnight to talk about them with her in the morning. He can profile from her body language and her microexpressions when she’s having a bad day and needs him to be there for her, even when she’s too afraid to ask for what she needs. When she asks absurd questions out of the blue, he can give her actual answers with the useless encyclopedia of knowledge he’s obtained over the years. When she needs a distraction his rambling finally proves useful. It’s all for her.

She’s the reason his mind doesn’t feel like a curse anymore. How could he ever think of it with disdain when it’s the reason he can picture every smile she’s ever let him see? When he can catalogue every wonderful word from her lips, every inch of her skin, every action that drives her wild.

Reid can’t seem to open the door to their apartment fast enough. When he finally steps inside, she’s sitting on the couch. She turns away from the book in her lap to smile at him. “Welcome back,” she says. Then, tilting her head, “Is everything okay?”

An unshakeable grin spreads across his face and he knows he must look like a madman right now as he crosses the living to sit beside her. “Everything’s perfect. I just… I had this epiphany. All the things I hate about myself, you love. And all the things I can do let me love you better. It just feels like everything – everything has led me to you. Even the bad things, I mean, being in prison forced me to take sabbaticals and if I hadn’t we wouldn’t have had that time together early on and maybe we wouldn’t have worked and I don’t believe in fate,” he says, taking a breath. “But I can’t help but feel like for the first time, I’m right where I’m supposed to be. With you. Like that’s where I was meant to be all along. And I… I just thought you should know.”

His long-winded rambling is rewarded with one of his favorite smiles from her – one that makes her eyes soft and puts sunsets to shame. The kind she wears when she is incandescently happy. Her fingers lace through his and they are a perfect fit in his big hands. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be,” she says, leaning in to kiss him.

All his life, Spencer Reid has been told he is gifted. But this time, he thinks it might actually be true. He holds the greatest gift the universe has ever granted him in his arms and knows that no part of him is a curse if he is loved by her.

[scarlet-streak-fanfics]

[Untitled] Pt. 1 (2.9k Words)

So, listen, listen. I was listening to World’s Smallest Violin by AJR and for some reason got Sherliam vibes, so now this exists. I’m so sorry, but I hope at least some of you enjoy it! Please give me title suggestions.

Sherlock allows his head to rest against the back of his chair, his eyes fixing on the smoke gathering at the ceiling from the cigarette perched haphazardly between his lips. He knows he should open the window—John has been trying to get him to quit ever since he moved in, and Ms. Hudson has threatened to kick him out of the flat over smoking indoors on more than one occasion. Apparently, the smell gives her a headache, and the smoke damages the ceilings and furniture; he made the mistake once of asking if the damage really mattered if he and John were the only ones who would ever live there. The rise in rent the following month was enough to keep Sherlock from pushing the landlady’s buttons for a good while. Still, he can’t bring himself to care about anything besides tuning out his older brother’s scoldings. Mycroft had stopped by for his weekly attempt at making Sherlock find more steady work and actually make something of himself besides a drug-addict “consulting detective”. He can hear Mycroft pacing the apartment as he continues his lecture, “It’s all well and good right now—your Lord of Crime is keeping you in enough work to pay rent. However, once he’s caught or slinks off into the shadows as criminals are oft to do, you’ll be out of a job. If Mother were still alive—”

“She’d be bloody disappointed at the failure she gave birth to.” Sherlock finishes bitterly, removing the cigarette from his lips and holding it between two fingers as he releases the smoke from his lungs. The older Holmes brother stops, all his attention focusing on Sherlock. “That’s not what I was going to say and you know that.”

“It’s what you meant, innit?” Sherlock stands up, stepping behind his chair to open the window and turning his back to his brother. He leans on the windowsill, tapping the ash from his cigarette to the streets below. “Ma always wanted us to be something more. That’s what all the fancy schoolin’ was for, right, Myc? Why you talk all posh and rub elbows with the nobility.”

“Yes, but I don’t expect that from you because I know that we are not the same person. However, that doesn’t mean you lack the potential for your own greatness. You have a brilliant mind, Sherly, and you’re squandering it.”

“Unlike you, pushin’ papers all day as the Queen’s lapdog.” Sherlock’s sarcasm is not lost on Mycroft—he finds himself being spun to face his older brother, cigarette falling from his fingers to the street below. “You know just as well as I do that one of us had to continue repaying the debt of our family—I took that burden so you could find a path of your own and this is what you’ve done with it!”

“I don’t recall askin’ you to make that sacrifice for me.” Sherlock looks his brother in the eyes, face and voice the picture of defiance. Mycroft studies him for a moment before letting the hand he’d used to turn Sherlock drop back to his side, a huff of defeat leaving him. “Just think about it, Sherly. I know you’re better than this.”

Sherlock doesn’t try to stop his brother as Mycroft departs from the apartment. He doesn’t bother to close the door after him, leaving it slightly ajar as he returns to the window and fishes a fresh cigarette and his lighter out of his pocket. Usually, he’d already be on his way to the nearest bar, but it’s barely sunset. John made him promise after one too many mornings where Sherlock stumbled in hungover, bloody, and bruised from whatever nonsense he’d gotten into the night before that he’d tell John when he was going out, what bar he was going to, and when he intended to be back so the doctor could retrieve him if necessary. He understood this rule in principle, but it was particularly frustrating on evenings when John was out with his fiancée Mary and wouldn’t be back until much later.

Sherlock is startled out of his brooding by a gentle knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice that makes his heart leap. “Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Holmes. Judging by your brother’s frustration and your own preoccupation, it seems that tonight may not be the best night for us to have dinner. Shall I come back another time?”

Damn it, he’d forgotten that he’d asked William to go to dinner with him to discuss a case—after all, that was his best reason for requesting the lord’s company without scrutiny. He turns, smiling stiffly at Liam as he stuffs the unlit cigarette back in his pocket. “Of course not, Liam! Just let me grab my coat.”

He moves towards the coat rack, a fake smile still plastered on his face. As he tries to pass William, the nobleman places a hand on his chest to stop him. “Please, sit. We can get dinner another time.”

Sherlock hangs his head slightly, shuffling to the couch like a scolded dog. Much to his surprise, Liam sits on the opposite side of the couch from him instead of in one of the armchairs near the window before tugging on his sleeve. Without thinking, Sherlock obeys the nonverbal request, allowing himself to be guided to lying on the couch, lanky legs thrown over the armrest and head resting in William’s lap. This had been a new development in their friendship—a silent understanding that they were both touch-starved and trusted the other to know when contact was needed. However, the close proximity is something he was still getting used to, and he can feel his cheeks heating up slightly. “What’s on your mind, Sherlock?”

He still finds it amusing that William will only use his first name when they’re in situations like this, like the barrier of physical intimacy needs to be broken first. “Nothin’, Liam, I promise.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” The statement leaves no room for argument, and Sherlock deflates, still trying to avoid eye contact with the nobleman. “Really, Liam, it’s just an argument me and Myc have been havin’ for a while.”

“About?” Sherlock snorts. “Him bein’ forced to have an unemployed drug addict as his only family member. Myc’s not too keen on the concept, never has been.”

He can feel Liam studying him and, not for the first time, wonders if this is how he makes people feel, like a bug under a microscope. He expects some sort of analytical response, some brilliant answer to this problem; he doesn’t expect William to pull his hair out of its usual ponytail before running his fingers through it. “Oi, Liam, knock it off. I’m not a little kid.”

The request is half-hearted, and he leans into the contact slightly, closing his eyes and ignoring the chuckle from the other man. “You feel inadequate.”

Again, a statement, not a question, and one that makes Sherlock's eyes pop back open with surprise. He knew Liam was good, but he’d thought it’d be harder to read that particular insecurity. Still, he tries to play it off with a lighthearted tone.  “Well, who wouldn’t next to Mycroft. He’s the golden child. I’m sure you get that all the time with Al, yeah?”

William stares at him, red eyes partially obscured by blond lashes as his fingers comb through Sherlock’s hair at a languid pace. Sherlock can tell that he isn’t falling for that answer. “What do you want me to say, Liam? That I agree with everythin’ he’s sayin’? It’s true, innit? I’m wastin’ my life on murder and drugs because I can’t find anythin’ else that can keep my attention.” Sherlock wants to add ‘except for you,’ but he feels that the nobleman might not take kindly to being listed among his more unsavory vices. “And Myc’s right, once the Lord of Crime disappears, I’ll be back to the occasional serial killer and petty crime. Neither pay enough for rent, and I’m no good at anything else. I’ll be nothin’ again.”

He hates that he’s spilling all his insecurities out in front of William, but he also knows that logically there’s no person he’d trust to understand him more. Even if Sherlock thinks all of this is stupid and petty, William will listen without judgment. “You are far from nothing, Sherlock.”

“How do you know?” He knows he sounds like a petulant child, but that’s far from his primary concern. William smiles slightly, obviously preparing to humor this stubborn mood of Sherlock’s. “Because I know you. A man who was nothing would have been of no interest to me on the Noahtic.”

Sherlock grunts in acknowledgment. “Still, you read all you needed to know about me at a glance, Liam, even the drug habits. There’s nothin’ more to me than what you’ve already seen.”

“Is that so? I find that unlikely, considering you continue to surprise and entertain me at every meeting.” Against his will, Sherlock can feel the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. “For example, I have yet to hear you play that violin piece you’ve been composing.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen for a moment before letting out a bark of honest laughter, propping himself on his elbows to look at William better. “How’d you know I was tryin’ to compose somethin’, Liam?”

“The sheet music on your desk–I’ve noticed it changing during my past few visits. Additionally,” he grabs one of Sherlock’s hands, pulling it up and forcing him to shift his weight fully to one side. William turns the hand over so the palm is facing up, gently pushing the sleeve down slightly, “there are inkstains on your hands and wrist–you aren’t usually a writer, and the sheet music is rather smudged. I’d suggest slowing down and allowing the ink to dry properly in the future, Sherlock. It’d be a shame if your work was lost before it was finished.”

Sherlock is almost dizzy with the sheer delight of witnessing the blond man’s deductions–in fact, he’s more certain than ever that nobody had ever truly seen him before William came into his life. However, before he can articulate that, their conversation is interrupted by someone awkwardly clearing their throat, and Sherlock suddenly remembers why he and William were supposed to go out that evening. He shoots his roommate and his fiancée a guilty, apologetic smile. “Sorry, we were just leavin’.”

John doesn’t seem to believe that for a second, but has the good manners to not argue. William, ever the gentleman, gracefully rises from his seat and crosses the room, offering his hand to Mary. She hesitantly takes the proffered hand, and William bows gallantly, placing a kiss on the back of her gloved hand. “Lord William James Moriarty, at your service, Miss..?

“Mary–Mary Morstan.” She supplies, and he straightens up, releasing her hand. “Miss Morstan, please take my sincerest apologies for this rude intrusion on your evening. We will take our leave at once.”

“We’ll be going to the bar down the road, should be back before too late in the evenin’.” Sherlock adds as he gets up to trail after William. John’s expression is one torn between gratitude at Sherlock keeping his promise and sheer mortification at the notion that his roommate is taking a nobleman to their local bar. However, William seems to misread this as concern. “I assure you, Mr. Watson, I’ll make sure he returns safely. Louis and Albert will be expecting me home in a few hours, after all. Do enjoy your dinner.”

The two men exit the apartment and are soon walking side by side down the street towards the bar in question in a companionable silence. Upon their arrival, Sherlock immediately orders his usual, claiming one of the bar stools. He intends to drink until he forgets his conversation with Mycroft. After all, Liam has never drunk before when they’ve gone out together, so he can be depended on to get Sherlock back to 221B in one piece. William takes a seat next to him, looking as elegant and confident as ever despite the rough surroundings. “D’you want anythin’?”

“No, but thank you for the offer, Mr. Holmes. I believe we had work to discuss, yes?” Sherlock groans, draining the rest of his drink and signaling for another. “Yeah, but I was hopin’ you’d forget.”

It doesn’t escape him that William has returned to addressing him formally, but he decides to push aside that disappointment and dive right into explaining the latest case that Scotland Yard had requested his assistance on. William listens patiently, occasionally nodding or making affirmative noises so Sherlock, who slowly becomes drunker as the evening goes on, knows he’s still listening. By the time he’s finished giving all the details, Sherlock has lost track of how many drinks he’s had, and, frankly, he doesn’t care. It must be enough since he doesn’t remember why he wanted to drink this much in the first place. William’s voice, probably giving his perspective on the case, vaguely registers in Sherlock’s ears as he drops his head on the bar, turning it just enough to look at the nobleman through half closed eyes.

Liam really is too pretty, he decides. It’s not fair of him to still look that perfect next to the wreck that is drunken Sherlock. William snorts, brushing the tangle of dark hair away from Sherlock’s eyes. “I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Holmes, but I believe this means it’s time for me to be escorting you home.”

“S’you c’n read m’mind now, huh?” Sherlock slurs his words slightly as William helps him up to his feet, the dark haired man slinging one arm around his blond companion’s shoulder and start out of the pub. Liam doesn’t respond until they’re fully outside, walking under the gas lamps that line the dark street. “There’s no need for mind-reading when you’re drunk enough to speak your mind, Sherly.”

“Y’know, I like when y’call me that, Liam.” He leans heavily on the other man, taking the excuse to enjoy more physical contact and honesty. To his chagrin, he can feel William’s shoulders shake slightly with repressed laughter. “I believe you’ve mentioned it before. Feeling affectionate, I see.”

“Only with you.” That gets a laugh out of the nobleman as they reach 221b’s doorstep. “I’m honored, Mr. Holmes.”

“Sherlock.”

“Sherly.” Sherlock knows the goofy smile on his face must make him look like an absolute fool, but he doesn’t really care. He can blame it all on being drunk tomorrow. For now, he’ll just enjoy this time. William helps him up the stairs, and they discover a note on the door: ‘Walking Mary home. Be back soon.’

Sherlock perks up slightly. “Does this mean I c’n get you t’stay until John’s back.”

“Well, I’m certainly not leaving you to your own devices in this state, Sherlock. I value your friendship far too much to risk your safety so blatantly.”

“Hey, ‘m not that bad!” William makes a dismissive noise, guiding him into the dark apartment to the same couch they’d sat on earlier. “I’ll get you some water. Stay put, alright?”

Sherlock grunts in affirmation, leaning his head against the back of the chair. While he waits for Liam, his eyes roam the room lazily, eventually landing on his violin. He’d left it leaning against his desk chair again, apparently–very irresponsible of him, but that’s not surprising. Then He vaguely remembers that William had mentioned that he hadn’t heard the song that Sherlock was composing. He staggers back up to his feet, walking over to pick up his violin before rifling through the papers on his desk. “Oh? What are you doing, Sherly?”

“Playin’ th’song for you.” He glances over at William, who looks like an adult trying to humor a very small child. “I’m sure that can wait until my next visit. You need the rest now.”

Sherlock waves him away with the hand holding the violin bow, returning his focus to the smudged sheet music. He expects more argument from Liam as he begins to play, but it never comes. A look in the nobleman’s direction reveals that he’s once again sat on the couch, watching Sherlock with relaxed crimson eyes. This is all the encouragement he needs to double down on his efforts, closing his eyes and allowing the muscle memory of his repetitive practice through the composition process guide him. It isn’t perfect by any means. More than once, he plays a wrong note and has to fumble to recover, but William never makes any comments on it. As Sherlock continues playing, his confidence grows, and that change in emotion is reflected in the song.

Once he reaches the end of what he’s composed, Sherlock opens his eyes again, suddenly embarrassed at the abrupt ending. “It’s still a work in progress. Still, not bad, innit?”

“I think it’s perfect.” The warmth in Liam’s voice catches him off guard, and suddenly Sherlock is glad that the only light in the room is from the gas lamps outside. He lays the violin back down on the table, stumbling through the dark room to collapse on the couch next to William. He leans against the blond man, letting his head rest on William’s shoulder as exhaustion starts to hit him. If he was more awake and sober, he’d be certain that, as he drifted off to sleep, Liam says to himself, “Just like you, Sherly.”

[heylittleriotact]

I think I figured it out. There are so many weird, irritating things (character assassination of Tamlin, the awkward and cringe pregnancy plotline, and just… *gestures broadly* Rhys), but The Thing. The one Thing that made me lose any immersion or investment in this story:

The fucking suicide pact.

I can play pretend and suspend my disbelief when consuming media in order to enjoy something that isn’t realistic - within reason.

SJM cannot seriously expect me (and other readers) to believe that a 500+ year old, insanely powerful, immortal being, with a huge amount of responsibility as a ruler, whom we’re supposed to love and adore and admire because we’ve had it rammed down our throats for so many books now how much he’s been willing to sacrifice (and actually sacrificed) in order to protect his land and his people, would consciously agree to a “when we go we go together” bargain which would basically guarantee the political destabilization of the Night Court within moments of it being put into play.

Oh no, Feyre choked on a meatball during dinner and no one knew the Heimlich, so Rhys dies too and now there’s no High Lord OR High Lady, leaving your beloved land that matters so much to you ripe for the plucking by anyone who wants it?

Rhys is cringe in a lot of ways. I think he could have been a way more compelling and interesting character if SJM wrote him with some actual nuance and complexity instead of a two dimensional fuckboi who can’t keep his hands out of his damn pockets. But even despite that, she’s gone out of her way time and time again to make sure we all know exactly how much his people mean to him, and the lengths he’s willing to go to (including being kept as a sex slave for 50 years) to keep them safe.

The fact that he would completely forget about ALL of that conveniently to make a romantic suicide pact suggested by his 21 year old lover is just asking way too much of me. My brain can’t take it. I can’t pretend this away - not even for the fact that I would never make such a stupid fucking bargain with someone no matter how much I loved them - but for the fact that it flies directly in the face of the “characterization” that has been so aggressively shoved at us. Rhys loves his people and will do anything for them? Great! Except he will absolutely not hesitate for a second about making a death pact with his mate because they’re *checks notes* so virulently codependent now that setting their people up for invasion by another court and abandoning their child/children by taking themselves off the board at the same time seems like a perfectly reasonable demonstration of love and commitment.

I think all of these things add up, and then with the stupid suicide pact on top of it, it makes me mad because there was a lot of potential for this series, but each book has gone progressively further and further down the rabbit hole of silliness that the potential feels squandered at this point.

Finished ACOSF and the first two books in the series were charming enough, but from part way through the third one onward I felt like reading them became the literary equivalent of continuing to open the door late at night for that one person you end up in a weird greasy situationship with and you both know you have no real chemistry together, but all your other methods of passing idle time have grown stale so you let them dick you down anyway because hey, what the fuck else am I going to do with my weekend? And when they leave you hope you never see them again, but you know when they text you again in a month you’re gonna reply.

[wood-white-writer]

"In the Land of the Blind" [Chapter V]

"In the Land of the Blind, the One-Eyed Man is King"

Pairing: Silco x Doctor Toxicologist!Reader

Summary: You strike a bargain with the Eye of Zaun

Read the AO3 version here | > Chapter VI

True to Sevika’s warning, Silco shows up a couple of days later, and as expected, he's not alone. You can briefly spot two of his hench people perched outside your front door as he walks inside, with Sevika being the one to actually accompany him inside.

She briefly meets your eyes past the edge of his shoulder, a reminder of your deal no doubt. You’ve already prepared some painkillers you believe will suit her woes, but you’ll have to go through some of her medical histories just in case.

Silco steps in front of the counter, looking neutral yet hospitable for now. A good sign, perhaps?

“I take it she’s responding well to the medication?” you cut to the chase.

He stiffly nods while procuring another bag of coins from his coat. “The night terrors have eased up, and she’s getting more rest. You know what you're doing; a quality few possess.”

“Good,” you say with a ghost of a smile, and what surprises you the most is that you mean it. It truly is good that the child is getting better, even if she’s not inherently of your concern. However, just as soon as it arrived, your lips falter back into their general disposition, masking any sense of contentment that might have been detectable. “Then I take it I’m not yet due for my execution?”

It seems that the humor is not lost on him, however small. Though the tug at the edge of his lips suggests he can appreciate it, it remains camouflaged among his other features to the point where no one would’ve guessed his face changed at all.

“It would seem that your usefulness has yet to expire, Miss Toxicologist,” the title rolls off his tongue like velvet, but the subtle undertones surrounding the word ‘yet’ leaves it up to interpretation whether he means for it to serve as a warning or a factual statement. He positions his hand on top of the wooden counter, inches away from yours, and leans in to look you straight in the eyes. Both the green one and the orange aimed at the same scenery. “If I should require your services for later, I’ll know where to find you. That is, if you do not have any reservations about keeping me as a customer?”

You’re almost tempted to snort in his face, the ludicrousness of his statement almost too much for you to keep a straight face through. Anyone with a brain between their ears would have reservations about keeping the de-facto ruler of the Undercity as a part of their everyday life.

You pride yourself on your ability to blend into the background, never stirring up any attention or notice unless it’s required to earn your keep.

Now, the Eye of Zaun himself is putting your willingness to abide by that into question. If he’s going to come over here frequently, it’ll no doubt catch the attention of whoever happens to be in the vicinity. He’s not exactly renowned for exhibiting an auspicious demeanor, and if it happens to pique the interest of any of his adversaries, it can quickly put your life, and clinic, in danger. He has enemies, and what are enemies willing to do but ensure that every speck of advantage on his part squanders beneath their feet?

You lack any interest in meeting the rest of the Chembarons. You’ve already had your fair share of encounters with at least two of them, the latter of whom provided you with a peculiar distaste for the flowers in your possession. Needless to say, you’re not in any rush to meet any new ones, but you don’t know how to convey that in a manner that suits this particular Chembaron’s refined tastes.

You spend a good portion of a minute pondering on a suitable answer before withdrawing your hand and putting it into the comfort of your coat, your eyes never leaving his asymmetrical ones as he awaits your response. “You are a businessman, just as I am. Surely you understand the potential peril my clinic could fall to if word got out that the Eye of Zaun himself was a regular?”

He reclines back a little, his hand remaining firmly placed atop the counter. Judging by the way his expression contorts itself between thoughtfulness and stoic deliberation with sharp precision not unlike the edge of the knife, he finally returns to your gaze, and his lip tugs a little upward.

“Yes,” he says. “I suppose I can understand your disadvantage in that regard. However, rest assured, no harm will come to you or your establishment as long as I remain a patron. You have my word.”

“I don’t need words,” you reply a little firmer than you intended, and cross your arms above your chest, hoping that it will strengthen your message somehow. “All I ask is that my name will never be linked with yours. We do our business, quickly and effectively, and our respective occupations will have no lingering effect on each other. You will demand nothing more of me than I’m willing to provide in terms of service, and I won't go out of my way to intere with whatever you commit to.”

“And pray tell, what other services could you possibly be referring to?”

If there’s a different context to his implication, it evades your notice by a few inches. In the Undercity, there are a plethora of ways to serve someone, and you’re interested in none of them save for the kind you’re currently making a living of with.

In your younger days, you might have applied yourself for work in one of the local brothels, as some women around here do when things get rough. You remembered watching childhood friends aspire to work for Babette as soon as they came of age, just so they could swindle money from rich pilties that come by for a bit of pleasure.

You don’t pass on judgment, and even applaud them for their willingness to put their own needs on hold to serve those of others, but you’ve never considered yourself adept in the art of communication, whether emotionally or physically. You indulged in a few short-lived affairs in your youth, but none of them lasted in a way that mattered. You like to call yourself a spinster, though you’ve never been married and you’re not even old enough to be considered one.

If that’s what Silco is referring to in terms of service, you’re tempted to muster a laugh his way. Taking your well-being into consideration, however, you merely tilt your head an inch to the side. “You tell me,”

The quirk of his eyebrow implies he finds your terms endearing in a condescending setting, but he makes no verbal jib about it. He reaches a gloved hand out for you to take. “It seems we have reached a mutual understanding, then.”

You’re not a bold person by nature, but even something as simple as a handshake suddenly weighs heavy on you now. It takes you a few seconds before you grasp at the glove, considering that it feels like making a bargain with the Devil himself, so to speak.

Surprisingly, through the glove, his grip feels warm enough to scorch you. There’s something about the look he gives you as you solidify your agreement. You can’t precisely explain it, but it isn’t disdain or disapproval, at any rate. It’s almost like … he’s pleased in some way. Inexplicably so, beyond the wins he receives in this situation. It feels predatory by nature. Entertained. You’re not quite sure what to make of it.

“Now,” he declares as he withdraws his hand, already making his way to the door. “I understand that you have an appointment with Sevika. Do make it quick, if you wouldn’t mind. We have different matters to attend to.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

He nods before Sevika takes his place in front of the counter, and you hear the bell by your front door ding to announce his departure. Your attention lingers on the fading view before it settles on your current customer, who looks nothing short of aggravated where she’s standing.

“You got the stuff?” she asks gruffly as she reaches to itch at the sore spot where metal meets flesh.

“I have a few options available. We’ll go through them and find something that suits you,”

“Good.” She drops a bag of money onto the counter, heavy enough to ensure that it’ll probably last you for a few weeks at most, but inconsequential by comparison to the sum Silco just granted you. “By the way, I can already tell you’re not due to be killed for a long time now.”

“How so?”

“That look he just had on him,-” she inclines her head to where her boss just exited from. “- It’s the same kind he wears when he’s won something, or if he’s got his eyes on a brand-new bottle of whiskey.”

“Clarify.” You press on as you reach for the samples of painkillers you keep locked in the drawer behind you.

She chuckles. “You really are dense, ain’t you, doc? Just know this, your life assurance has just been signed. You’re not going to die, even if you fucking try it yourself.”

---

When Silco returns to his office, he finds his blue-haired ward perched at the crawlspace space above his desk; a place of solace for her, he’s discovered. Especially when he’s not present, or otherwise preoccupied with work. He finds that he doesn’t mind it.

She’s looking healthier by the day, with adequate sleep and rest serving as contributing factors behind this recent development. Simply noting that is enough to put his internal turmoil to rest.

As soon as he sits down in his chair, she jumps down and seats herself atop his desk, legs crossed as she leans forward to inspect him. “Did you see her again?”

“I did,” he affirms and reaches for his cigars in the drawer. 

“Did she threaten to poison you?” she asks eagerly and adjusts her position to let him reach for the cigarette next to the ashtray. 

“She made no threats of poisonous nature, as far as I was aware.”

“Huh, that’s odd.” She puts a finger under her chin in a curious fashion, her braid swaying with the speed of her movement. “She threatened Vander at least twice whenever we went to her. Then again, she never did seem to like him much.”

He lights his cigar and takes a deep inhale of it before settling back in his seat, smoke expelling from his nostrils as he considers her words. “And are you aware of the reason behind this apparent dislike she harbored for him? Did he do anything in particular to antagonize her?”

She shrugs. “Dunno. She’s always been like that, and whenever we came to visit her, she always had this annoyed look on her face. Vander never badmouthed her, though, even when she was being really, really mean to him. He just looked … kinda sad.”

He couldn’t help but grow more curious about the matter. “Were they previously in a relationship, perhaps?”

She shakes her head defiantly at this suggestion. “As if. I mean, I don’t think so… He never said anything about it. All I can say is that whatever he did, it must have been really bad. Like, stealing-Sevika’s-bottles-and-using-them-as-target-practice-kind of bad.”

He grins a little. “And am I to assume you’ve been doing a lot of that as of late?”

She freezes up like a deer in headlights, having just been caught confessing to a very heinous crime that puts the kind he commits on a regular to shame. “Nooooo…?”

He chuckles. “You need to work on your lying, child.”

“Lying? Pfft, I’m not lying. I definitely haven’t gone through Sevika’s stash in the third closet by the backrooms. Noooo, not me.” She’s quick to jump from the desk and make a dash for the door. “I just remembered I had some prototypes to work on. See ya later, Silco!”

She exits the office with a loud slam by the door which causes the items stacked on his desk to rattle, yet Silco pays it no mind as he relinquishes his cigar in the ashtray and opens another drawer to pull out a bottle of scotch. While pouring a tumbler, he finds himself pondering on the previous subject for a little. 

As far as he knows, you were acquainted with Vander, but as you phrased it, ‘you weren’t friends’. Vander, even back in their youth, had been an amicable fellow, and popular with the crowd. He never went out of his way to antagonize anyone save for the occasional Piltovan, and if his memory served, he had been good friends with your clinic’s previous owner. It had been a reliable place to get stitched up back in the day, but with the recent upgrades to Zaun and rapid shimmer expanses, reliability has begrudgingly declined.

He will have to remedy that with time.

The matter at hand is unless you had been romantically entangled, which Jinx vehemently opposed, then he could think of little reason as to why you would resent Vander as you did. Silco could detect it in your words and on your face when Vander was previously mentioned in conversation. The subtle scorn, the bitterness, the liquid dislike that seeped through your words and your eyes like blood from an open wound. 

No amount of skill or practice can ever hope to vanquish that kind of antipathy, though he can already tell you're trying. Gods knows he’s attempted the same, and although he considers himself adept at masking his emotions, even he struggles to contain his own unbridled rage when it comes to his brother.

He takes a considerate sip from his drink and wonders whether he’ll ever attain the answer to his inquiry, or if he’ll have to let it pass. Regardless, only time will tell if you can be considered an asset to his cause, or just another pawn. 

If one thing’s certain, it’s that he won’t commit the same wrongdoings to you as Vander has. Not if he has any say in it.