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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

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do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.

You look at it.

And then you set your phone down.

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.

He looks good. Almost too good.

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head.

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully.

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.

You cover his hand with your own.

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know��it’s a false pretense.

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm.

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.

“Yes, please.”

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings.

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK.

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.

He knows.

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?

Maybe you have it all wrong.

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.

24 hours go by.

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence.

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans.

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown.

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration.

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute.

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment.

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry.

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!”

He knows.

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own��grunting as he comes all over his fist.

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding.

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more.

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.

“You regret your first time?”

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.

You want to scream bloody murder.

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse.

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.

“Goodnight.”

part five

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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xx-lemon-drop-xx · 8 days ago

Note

Twist characters (18+ please) reacting to their s/o saying “You're so crazy I think I wanna have your babies” excpt it's not a tiktok trend but jst something the user said

Warnings: Gn reader, short headcanons, a wee bit suggestive but not much, the characters may be a bit ooc.

Request: Yes.

Words: 1,148

My Kofi link is here if you feel like supporting me!

Trey Clover:

Almost dropped the tray of cookies he had been removing from the oven.

Swears his brain did a full recalibration as he sets the cookies down on the cooling rack.

"Now? I'm flattered you want to make me a father so soon but we're still in college. Let's wait a few more years, okay?"

His response was way calmer than what he was actually feeling.

Adjusts the glasses on his face to cover the growing redness blooming across his cheeks.

“Two or three children running around doesn't seem like such a bad thing to think about, however.” He said, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against him.

Cater Diamond:

Had been in the middle of taste testing a new Viral food to post on magicam. He choked-violently on the mouthful he had been in the middle of sampling.

Silently thanked the seven that he hadn't been live.

Red as a strawberry, he looked back at you, struggling for a moment to even formulate a sentence.

"Babycakes, what's this about? That's so out of context!"

Cater laughs nervously when you repeat that you'd like to have his Children.

"Ah Ah Ah! At least wait until we're out of college! we can practice for the making part tonight.”

Makes sure to cut out all of that while editing the video. Your mouth definitely isn't for the public.

Leona Kingscholar:

“Absolutely not.”

He doesn't even open his eyes or roll over from his nap. He just wraps his arms around you and pulls you against him further. He doesn't like Cheka but has to watch him at times anyways, wasn't that enough?

Despite having his eyes closed he could tell you were staring into his soul. “Herbivor, close your damn eyes.” He finally opens his own, looking down at you with a look of reluctant annoyance.

“And I'm not crazy.” He adds, tucking his face into your hair.

“Not even one?”

He opens an eye at your question, regarding you with a frown. “I’ll think about it.”

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil pauses from doing his nightly routine, glancing back at you bundled up in his bed through the mirror he was sitting in front of.

“I’m not sure whether I should focus on the fact you paired me with the words crazy, or the fact you want my children more.” He said after a moment, clearing his throat.

“Regardless,” He continued massaging the cleanser into his skin, “You could certainly work on that wording, little potato. Perhaps in a replacement you could've said: “You’re so pretty I want your babies.” or perhaps “You’re so handsome I want your babies.” Doesn't that sound more refined? I'm certainly not the crazy you describe.”

The entire talk shifts from babies to you calling him crazy for the entirety of his nightly skincare routine. Only after he'd settled down into bed with you did he turn to the topic of children.

“Regardless of the wording used we are both too young to have children just yet. Let's see what happens after we graduate.” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

Rook Hunt:

He thinks it's the best idea in the world.

“Merveilleux! A wonderful suggestion indeed!” He cups your cheek and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“I am beyond grateful to know you are willing to take our relationship to the next pillar.” Rook continued on to lavish you in compliments in the form of poems more than they were sentences.

“How many little bestioles (critters) would you like? Four? Five?”

It's go big or go home when it comes to Rook. He wants to get started right away, if that's alright with you. The thought of family overruns any thought about still being in college.

Idia Shroud:

His face explodes in a shade of red that matches his hair that's also consequently turned a vibrant shade of red. The music indicating he'd died in his game blares through the silence of the room as he stares at you.

Only after a few moments had he found his voice. “E-... Eh? What?” Either he didn't believe what he'd heard or he simply couldn't fathom what he'd heard. You, wanting a kid with a loser like him? You had to have been joking, right?

Somehow the shock only runs deeper when you once again repeat what you'd said. He completely somehow ignores the crazy part of your words, focusing on the other half of the sentence.

“Ah… em we still have a long way to go until… until that point! B-But if you're still serious about it in the future..” He trails off, but between the both of you it's clear he wouldn't exactly mind a kid with you.

The fact you want his kid and called him crazy in the same sentence definitely kept him away just a little longer than usual that night.

Malleus Draconia:

At first he's genuinely rendered speechless. Malleus doesn't know if it's an insult, a flirtatious remark, or an outright proposal of marriage. It's somehow the most mind boggling thing you've said to him so far.

“I do not believe I am crazy..” He brings a hand up to his chin, as if seriously thinking about your words. “However if you want youngsters I can certainly make that happen under the circumstances we are wed.”

“Tell me, child of man, are you trying to wed me?”

He stares at you hard, absolutely expecting an honest answer. He genuinely doesn't know if he should be annoyed or horny by your sentence. Perhaps a bit of both mixed into a potent cocktail?

He does certainly believe you could've used a more polite term than to suggest he was crazy.

He will be speaking to Lilia about this later. Perhaps it was normal of humans to request such things.

Lilia Vanrouge:

“Khee hee are you trying to jump this old man's bones already?”

Lilia definitely finds you extremely amusing though. Him, crazy? Yeah a little bit perhaps.

If you're genuinely serious about children though Lilia would definitely have to think about it. For his age he is a bit old to bring another fae into the world. In his eyes, at least. For now though, he'll let that thought wait until you both are back in Briar Valley.

“Fufufu~ You're just precious, you know that?” He presses a soft kiss to your lips before nipping the bottom lip in a playful manner.

You'll notice however over the next few days he's looking at Silver and Malleus with a bit of nostalgia, as if thinking about back when they too were young and he would cradle them until they fell asleep.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

Text

Canada’s ground-breaking, hamstrung repair and interop laws

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

When the GOP trifecta assumes power in just a few months, they will pass laws, and those laws will be terrible, and they will cast long, long shadows.

This is the story of how another far-right conservative government used its bulletproof majority to pass a wildly unpopular law that continues to stymie progress to this day. It's the story of Canada's Harper Conservative government, and two of its key ministers: Tony Clement and James Moore.

Starting in 1998, the US Trade Rep embarked on a long campaign to force every country in the world to enact a new kind of IP law: an "anticircumvention" law that would criminalize the production and use of tools that allowed people to use their own property in ways that the manufacturer disliked.

This first entered the US statute books with the 1998 passage of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), whose Section 1201 established a new felony for circumventing an "access control." Crucially, DMCA 1201's prohibition on circumvention did not confine itself to protecting copyright.

Circumventing an access control is a felony, even if you never violate copyright law. For example, if you circumvent the access control on your own printer to disable the processes that check to make sure you're using an official HP cartridge, HP can come after you.

You haven't violated any copyright, but the ink-checking code is a copyrighted work, and you had to circumvent a block in order to reach it. Thus, if I provide you a tool to escape HP's ink racket, I commit a felony with penalties of five years in prison and a $500k fine, for a first offense. So it is that HP ink costs more per ounce than the semen of a Kentucky Derby-winning stallion.

This was clearly a bad idea in 1998, though it wasn't clear how bad an idea it was at the time. In 1998, chips were expensive and underpowered. By 2010, a chip that cost less than a dollar could easily implement a DMCA-triggering access control, and manufacturers of all kinds were adding superfluous chips to everything from engine parts to smart lightbulbs whose sole purpose was to transform modification into felonies. This is what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business-model."

So when the Harper government set out to import US-style anticircumvention law to Canada, Canadians were furious. A consultation on the proposal received 6,138 responses opposing the law, and 54 in support:

https://www.michaelgeist.ca/2010/04/copycon-final-numbers/

And yet, James Moore and Tony Clement pressed on. When asked how they could advance such an unpopular bill, opposed by experts and the general public alike, Moore told the International Chamber of Commerce that every objector who responded to his consultation was a "radical extremist" with a "babyish" approach to copyright:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/science/copyright-debate-turns-ugly-1.898216

As is so often the case, history vindicated the babyish radical extremists. The DMCA actually has an official way to keep score on this one. Every three years, the US Copyright Office invites public submissions for exemptions to DMCA 1201, creating a detailed, evidence-backed record of all the legitimate activities that anticircumvention law interferes with.

Unfortunately, "a record" is all we get out of this proceeding. Even though the Copyright Office is allowed to grant "exemptions," these don't mean what you think they mean. The statute is very clear on this: the US Copyright Office is required to grant exemptions for the act of circumvention, but is forbidden from granting exemptions for tools needed to carry out these acts.

This is headspinningly and deliberately obscure, but there's one anecdote from my long crusade against this stupid law that lays it bare. As I mentioned, the US Trade Rep has made the passage of DMCA-like laws in other countries a top priority since the Clinton years. In 2001, the EU adopted the EU Copyright Directive, whose Article 6 copy-pastes the provisions of DMCA 1201.

In 2003, I found myself in Oslo, debating the minister who'd just completed Norway's EUCD implementation. The minister was very proud of his law, boasting that he'd researched the flaws in other countries' anticircumvention laws and addressed them in Norway's law. For example, Norway's law explicitly allowed blind people to bypass access controls on ebooks in order to feed them into text-to-speech engines, Braille printers and other accessibility tools.

I knew where this was going. I asked the minister how this would work in practice. Could someone sell a blind person a tool to break the DRM on their ebooks? Of course not, that's totally illegal. Could a nonprofit blind rights group make such a tool and give it away to blind people? No, that's illegal too. What about hobbyists, could they make the tool for their blind friends? No, not that either.

OK, so how do blind people exercise their right to bypass access controls on ebooks they own so they can actually read them?

Here's how. Each blind person, all by themself, is expected to decompile and reverse-engineer Adobe Reader, locate a vulnerability in the code and write a new program that exploits that vulnerability to extract their ebooks. While blind people are individually empowered to undertake this otherwise prohibited activity, they must do so on their own: they can't share notes with one another on the process. They certainly can't give each other the circumvention program they write in this way:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

That's what a use-only exemption is: the right to individually put a locked down device up on your own workbench, and, laboring in perfect secrecy, figure out how it works and then defeat the locks that stop you from changing those workings so they benefit you instead of the manufacturer. Without a "tools" exemption, a use exemption is basically a decorative ornament.

So the many use exemptions that the US Copyright Office has granted since 1998 really amount to nothing more than a list of defects in the DMCA that the Copyright Office has painstaking verified but is powerless to fix. We could probably save everyone a lot of time by scrapping the triennial exemptions process and replacing it with an permanent sign over the doors of the Library of Congress reading "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

All of this was well understood by 2010, when Moore and Clement were working on the Canadian version of the DMCA. All of this was explained in eye-watering detail to Moore and Clement, but was roundly ignored. I even had a go at it, publicly picking a fight with Moore on Twitter:

https://web.archive.org/web/20130407101911if_/http://eaves.ca/wp-content/uploads/2010/Conversations%20between%20@doctorow%20and%[email protected]

Moore and Clement rammed their proposal through in the next session of Parliament, passing it as Bill C-11 in 2012:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Copyright_Modernization_Act

This was something of a grand finale for the pair. Today, Moore is a faceless corporate lawyer, while Clement was last seen grifting covid PPE (Clement's political career ended abruptly when he sent dick pics to a young woman who turned out to be a pair of sextortionists from Cote D'Ivoire, and was revealed as a serial sex-pest in the ensuing scandal:)

https://globalnews.ca/news/4646287/tony-clement-instagram-women/

Even though Moore and Clement are long gone from public life, their signature achievement remains a Canadian disgrace, an anchor chain tied around the Canadian economy's throat, and an impediment to Canadian progress.

This week, two excellent new Canadian laws received royal assent: Bill C-244 is a broad, national Right to Repair law; and Bill C-294 is a broad, national interoperability law. Both laws establish the right to circumvent access controls for the purpose of fixing and improving things, something Canadians deserve and need.

But neither law contains a tools exemption. Like the blind people of Norway, a Canadian farmer who wants to attach a made-in-Canada Honeybee tool to their John Deere tractor is required to personally, individually reverse-engineer the John Deere tractor and modify it to talk to the Honeybee accessory, laboring in total secrecy:

https://www.theregister.com/2024/11/12/canada_right_to_repair/

Likewise the Canadian repair tech who fixes a smart speaker or a busted smartphone – they are legally permitted to circumvent in order to torture the device's repair codes out of it or force it to recognize a replacement part, but each technician must personally figure out how to get the device firmware to do this, without discussing it with anyone else.

Thus do Moore and Clement stand athwart Canadian self-reliance and economic development, shouting "STOP!" though both men have been out of politics for years.

There has never been a better time to hit Clement and Moore's political legacy over the head with a shovel and bury it in a shallow grave. Canadian technologists could be making a fortune creating circumvention devices that repair and improve devices marketed by foreign companies.

They could make circumvention tools to allow owners of consoles to play games by Canadian studios that are directly sold to Canadian gamers, bypassing the stores operated by Microsoft, Sony and Nintendo and the 30% commissions they charge. Canadian technologists could be making diagnostic tools that allow every auto-mechanic in Canada to fix any car manufactured anywhere in the world.

Canadian cloud servers could power devices long after their US-based manufacturers discontinue support for them, providing income to Canadian cloud companies and continued enjoyment for Canadian owners of these otherwise bricked gadgets.

Canada's gigantic auto-parts sector could clone the security chips that foreign auto manufacturers use to block the use of third party parts, and every Canadian could enjoy a steep discount every time they fix their cars. Every farmer could avail themselves of third party parts for their tractors, which they could install themselves, bypassing the $200 service call from a John Deere technician who does nothing more than look over the farmer's own repair and then types an unlock code into the tractor's console.

Every Canadian who prints out a shopping list or their kid's homework could use third party ink that sells for pennies per liter, rather than HP's official colored water that cost more than vintage Veuve Cliquot.

A Canadian e-waste dump generates five low-paid jobs per ton of waste, and that waste itself will poison the land and water for centuries to come. A circumvention-enabled Canadian repair sector could generate 150 skilled, high-paid community jobs that saves gadgets and the Earth, all while saving Canadians millions.

Canadians could enjoy the resliency that comes of having a domestic tech and repair sector, and could count on it through pandemics and Trumpian trade-war.

All of that and more could be ours, except for the cowardice and greed of Tony Clement and James Moore and the Harper Tories who voted C-11 into law in 2012.

Everything the "radical extremists" warned them of has come true. It's long past time Canadians tore up anticircumvention law and put the interests of the Canadian public and Canadian tech businesses ahead of the rent-seeking enshittification of American Big Tech.

Until we do that, we can keep on passing all the repair and interop laws we want, but each one will be hamstrung by Moore and Clement's "felony contempt of business model" law, and the contempt it showed for the Canadian people.

Image: JeffJ (modified) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Tony_Clement_-_2007-06-30_in_Kearney,_Ontario.JPG

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/

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bones4thecats · 2 years ago

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Adopting Their Fallen Enemy's Child (PT.1) ~ RoR/SnV x Child! Reader

Type of Writing: Poll Result Characters: Thor, Shiva, & Child! Reader Name: Adopting Their Fallen Enemy's Child (PT.1) Original Poll Link: Here Other Parts: (PT.2)

A/N: I actually really liked this idea on the poll I made, and I hope it turned out as good as I imagined it! Enjoy!!

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

🌩️ Your father was the Lü Bu, the Flying General himself, and when you heard from the Valkyrie named Brunhilde that he was set to fight in the first match of Ragnarok, you gave him the best support he could’ve asked for

🌩️ You sat alongside his army, with his strategist, Chen Gong, sitting next to you, trying to keep you from jumping down and attacking the God of Thunder yourself

🌩️ When Chen Gong and the others sacrificed themselves, stating their loyalty to you father, you stood there in shock and tear-filled eyes as Thor looked at you, seeing a child without anyone left

🌩️ He felt guilty, but this was what they wanted, they wanted to join their lord, and while he initially wanted to just leave the area, he walked up to you and shocked the Gods and Humans as he kneeled down and hugged you

🌩️ After that day, you stayed by Thor’s side, he reminded you so much of your father it would make you cry

🌩️ Thor may not be the best person when it comes to comforting, but he tries his best when it comes to you, Lü Bu was the one person who could stand a fight against him, and because of this, he would try training you to be just as strong as your father and him

🌩️ He honors your father with you. Every day on his birthday, and on the days of each of his soldiers, including Chen Gong, you would walk into a field in the forest located in the Chinese section of Valhalla, you would both hand off flowers and lay them on the graves you and him had made

🌩️ The words he said to you when he comforted you that day are words that you will never forget

“ Your father was an honorable man, I hope you know that. And because of the honor he possessed, I will take you in as my own. I believe it is something that your father would’ve wanted. “

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

🪩 He believed that Raiden was the one opponent he would remember the rest of his life, and when he saw the now-deceased rikishi stare at a young child with the two Valkyries, he froze

🪩 The man was a father, just like him

🪩 But while his child could handle loss of someone easily, you appeared to be around a young teen, this must’ve been one of the hardest things you ever had to witness

🪩 Shiva looked at you and back at the crumbling Raiden Tameemon, guilt filled his heart, which was something he hadn’t felt for such a long time, why did he feel guilty? He just won and brought honor to his pantheon!

🪩 Watching as you ran down and tried hugging the remaining pieces of your father just got him staring back at his wives and son, and when he saw how saddened their eyes were then they looked at you

🪩 The God of Destruction walked up to you and you jumped back when his one arm reached out to you, and that action made the Humans cry out for him to not hurt you

🪩 He kneeled down and since he was just on fire, the heat that radiated off of him made you hold your head away from him

“ Look at me, young one. “

🪩 You looked up at him and saw how his eyes shimmered with guilt, making you look at where your father once stood and back at the man who caused his demise

🪩 Shiva held is one arm back as you tried helping him stay standing when he slumped over in pain, after all, losing three arms doesn't exactly make anyone, including Gods, feel very good

🪩 Once you came to visit him with his wives and son, he saw how you carried yourself around him, not with resentment or fear, but with care and gentleness, making him smile

🪩 Whenever he rested, you laid next to him, you were like another child of his, and when he offered to take care of you in the Hindu Pantheon, it made you jump up and down and hug him and his wives as they agreed to taking you in as their own

“ Your father was one of the best fighters I have ever met in my thousands of years of life. And… seeing you look so painfully at where your father once stood, I just, I knew you had to have someone there for you. Would you do me, and my wives, the honor of joining our family? ”

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takes1 · 1 year ago

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asahi x feral reader w/ a size k!nk

this was indulgent for me. asahi is def a favorite of mine. idk where the kuroo's little sister idea really stems from, but it just came to me and worked with my prompt (mostly adding conflict/humor). thirsty lead-up to some pay-off smut

warnings. asahi thirst. eventual smut. minors DNI info. lite!nsfw to future smut / gentle giant!asahi / asahi appreciation / size kink / kuroo's sister!reader / kuroo cockblocking / 860 words / multi-part smut so reply to be added to taglist! haikyuu collection. more here. part two here. part three here. final part here. more links. masterlist. my ao3. requests/submissions: open

Great, hulking muscles slammed a ferocious serve through the other side of the court. An easy point for his team.

Screams of adoration from Karasuno supporters and his own teammates echoed in your ears: Asahi.

Yeah, that was a name you could get used to screaming.

Your jaw was on the floor. Your trembly hands seized the railing to keep your wobbly body barely upright. The sigh you gave felt like it lasted minutes, so when you went to gasp for more air, it sounded like a demented groan.

"I need him biblically," You heard yourself declare.

It may have been the show of force, but there was something about a kind face attached to that weapon of a body that set your senses on fire. You were already crafting plans to seduce him after the game, making fictional arrangements to ensure you could be under him in the shortest wait time possible.

"What?" Your friend laughed at you, a hand on your shoulder to jerk you back to reality.

You were on the opposite side of the court, after all. What you could see of him was through the net.

That was not your team by any means- you were connected to the one in front of you by blood.

"Number 3," You sighed, leaning against the railing. Maybe you'd fall into the court and he could catch you in his big arms. Then, you'd start making out and--

"Yaku??" She laughed.

"No!" You made a disgusted sound, "God, not-- Karasuno number three!"

Her laughter only made you feel like talking to him was as realistic as Nekoma winning right now. With a 7-point difference, it was pretty self-explanatory.

"Yaku's not that bad," She grinned at your eyes rolling all the way back into your skull, "Hey! You've gotta calm down."

Your head was on your arms, crumpled against the railing. There was no chance in Hell you'd let this opportunity slip from your fingers.

The energy pumping through you was straight-up biological.

It was the only explanation for a need that went this deep, so strong that it carried your legs down the stands and into the hallway behind the gymnasium after the game was over.

This deranged arousal only felt out of place when your brother stopped you from moving further down, to where Karasuno was packing their gear up.

"Woahwoahwoah," Kuroo narrowed his eyes at you and spun you around by your shoulder, "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

He knew something was up. There was a sick scheme playing out in your eyes.

He glanced from you, to the rowdy group of giants the next space over, then back to you with a harder look.

"None of your business," You spat, thinking him funny to try to get in your way like this in front of people. He usually acted like you were the dirt on the bottom of his shoe in public.

You only went to his games to spot cute boys, anyway. This time you were actually successful and felt so inclined as to approach said-cute-boy.

"Let go," You wrenched your arm out of his gross, sweaty hand and scoffed, walking off towards Karasuno's beautiful, meaty Ace.

There was a muttered, 'Whatever,' and you knew he didn't care enough to foil your plans again. They did just lose.

The thought crossed your mind to remove your Nekoma school hoodie only after it was too late. Karasuno spotted some enemy colors and quieted upon your approach.

Any confidence you had gathered shrank tenfold-- but you locked in on the subject of your desire and remembered your divine mission.

Get railed. This week.

That wouldn't happen if you backed down now or fucked up the plan.

He was in the center of his team, so you had to give some small 'Excuse me's to get to who you were here for.

Shocked, silent looks were exchanged all around when you stopped in front of him at last.

You were gathered in a sea of players, trapped to carry out the reason that brought you here.

"Um," You found it impossible to look at his face, so you looked forward at his chest while you gathered the courage, "That was a good game."

You tried to swallow the growing need to scream when you looked up. He had facial hair, you realized- his eyes were deep brown, his skin dark tan, and he was one of the two tallest on the team.

It occurred to you that you picked the biggest, baddest guy in this hall.

You grabbed his hand and deposited a piece of paper inside, "Call me."

Unable to look at his face again, you decided that was enough to get your point across and sifted through the gathered crowd of Karasuno's team members.

With your back turned, head swimming with regret at your forwardness, you couldn't see nor understand the strangled sounds of teenage boys celebrating their cowardly ace getting a cute girl's number like that.

Pushing, pulling, laughing, shoving, and other celebratory verbalizations were far behind you when you joined Nekoma once again- your home team beyond curious as to what you did to make their rivals even louder.

taglist.

none. reply to be added!

masterlist. taking requests.

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delusional-day-dreamer · 1 year ago

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First. Love. Part¹ - p.b

playlist. next part.

‣ paige bueckers x oc (reader?, tbh i'm not sure how it works!)

‣ wc: 1790

‣‣ synopsis: people say in life, you have your FIRST love and your first LOVE, but what if paige was both?

‣‣‣ a/n: y'all i'm SO SORRY for my inactivity, summer classes and morning practices are awful. i promise i will try to release more fics on a more regular basis. For the sake of the FICTIONAL story, pazzi simply does not exist, they are best friends but denied the rumors during azzi's freshmen year and she has a boyfriend. Songs that are underlined are linked to tiktok covers just because I love them!

Us Weekly : Tuesday June 13th, 2023

Just this friday, upcoming singer-songwriter Jenna Smyths performs her own song, Means Something and an instrumental cover of Holy Ground by Taylor Swift at BBC Live Lounge to introduce her soon to be released debut album, Eternal Us (not my most creative moment I know 😔). The young singer has just graduated from UCLA after completing her three-year Bachelor's Degree with a double major, her focus being Business Economics with a minor in Film, Television, and Digital Media.

This Friday was Jenna's first televised performance, and her constantly sold out small-venue concerts have been applauded all over social media and by celebrities for her vocal maturity, depth and intricacy within her song lyrics, and her ability to convey raw emotion through her performances. However, this song cover was announced by the singer-songwriter to be particularly special to her, as she mentions that this song "brings back specific memories".

The twenty-one year old kept her composure throughout both songs, yet fans on various media platforms have pointed out Jenna's seemingly tear filled eyes during Holy Ground. The artist addresses the emotions she felt during the song during her first appearance on the Jimmy Fallon Show after performing her first released single, Promise, which is prominently featured as it’s one of her most popular singles.

The Tonight Show: Monday June 12th, 2023 "Please welcome to The Tonight Show, Jenna Smyths," Jimmy introduced you as you walked onto the set of the show, the live audience cheering loudly as you took your seat on the couch.

"Thank you so much Jimmy, it's such an honor to be here, sitting on this sacred couch," you joked, bringing some of your recently curled hair over your shoulder in hopes of disguising any traces of anxiety the crowd or camera may pick up. Thankfully, it worked as you heard the stir of laughter on set, allowing you to relax further into the couch, it actually was quite comfortable.

"It's incredible that we have you sitting here, I mean almost two years ago you blew up on TikTok for your incredible song covers, and then you started playing live in a bunch of LA venues, then you started releasing your own music, and now you're a UCLA Alumni sitting here," as he summed up your rise to fame, the audience began another round of applause.

"Oh my gosh I know right," you giggled, overjoyed that the audience was showing so much support towards you and that your first big interview was going so well. "I swear it was like two weeks ago I was singing on TikTok and then freaking out about my notifications and somehow I just teleported here," you laughed off the slight tinge you felt in your heart.

College had gone by far too quickly, and you were constantly consumed with stress regarding your future. Up until a few weeks ago, you had no idea what you were going to do with your life. What if your album flopped? What if you never made it big? How would you move on and get a regular job from there?

"Yes yes, I remember seeing some of your earliest covers on tiktok. In fact," a smirk appeared on his face, he clearly had something hiding up his sleeve. "We just so happen to have a little video edited together of your old covers, for old times' sake just to show how far you've come," he laughed at the nervous expression on your face and the crowd's enthusiasm.

"Oh god, some of those are from questionable times," you mumbled, raising your right hand to slightly cover your mouth as the video played.

Clips of you singing in your old college apartment bedroom appeared, switching in between guitar covers and piano while singing Katy Perry's Teenage Dream, We Can't Be Friends by Ariana Grande (yes pretend it was out at the time), Bags by Clairo, to the Man Who Can't Be Moved, and a few others. You watched your younger self, heartbroken and healing, singing songs to post on the internet just for your friends to watch, and yet somehow your voice had reached millions of people.

"Well you can see it here clear as day folks, Jenna has clearly always had a knack for those gut-wrenching songs, the ones that make you wonder if you're depressed or the artist is just incredibly good at what they do," you knew he was introducing your live performance with this, sneakily rubbing your sweaty palms over your jeans. You weren't nearly as scared as your BBC performance, but the combination of fear and adrenaline before any performance was overwhelming compared to logic at times.

"So what do you guys say, because I think we need to hear it live to determine which one it truly is," the small crowd erupted at Jimmy's rhetoric, eager to watch your performance.

"Well when you ask so nicely how could I ever refuse Jimmy?" You grinned, standing up to make your way over to the performance area with the live band.

With your guitar in your hands, you let the unique sense of calmness and security wash over you as you adjusted the mic in front of you. Music had always been one of the biggest parts in your life, and even know it never failed you. Not in your best moments, and not even in your worse.

"This is Promise from my new album, Eternal Us, out June 30th"

***Post-performance part of the interview***

"Jenna, you know I have to ask you this, because so far the songs on your album, your covers, and even your performance at the BBC Live Lounge were all fairly depressing songs," Jimmy insists. The two of you had been joking and answering the interview questions with a sense of ease after the performance aspect of the show. The audience was eating up the playful energy the two of you seemed to have, despite the twenty-seven year age gap.

"Please, ask away Jimmy," you quipped, enjoying your time on the show. The steady laughter from the live audience had long soothed any remaining nerves. Growing up, you always felt as if you were born to perform, and this type of live interview was right up your alley.

"And I swear I'm being serious with this, but does the emotion in your music affect you the same it affects your listeners? Because after your cover of Holy Ground aired, you blew up on social media even more then you were before. But one of the things your fans noticed was that it looked like you were gonna cry?" Jimmy inquired, you could hear small murmurs from the audience section at his question, no doubt intrigued to hear your answer.

"You know Jimmy," you began, "Honestly it was just a heat of the moment kinda thing. Like obviously I changed the song in a different key and sang it that way intentionally you know? Taylor is known for her ability to write the most gut-wrenching lyrics and then syncing them up to a catchy beat in a pop song and boom, it's a hit," you explained to both him and the crowd.

"But when I was offered the opportunity to go on BBC Live Lounge and I was trying to decide what song to cover, the lyrics of the song just really stuck out to me in a personal way and I wanted to convey to my listeners the emotions I felt reading and experiencing the lyrics, not listening to it as an upbeat pop song. But don't get me wrong, it's an incredible song just the way it is!" You ended your ramble enthusiastically, trying your best to not delve into the deeper emotions laced within your statement.

"Of course, I mean it was your first televised performance and to a Taylor Swift song no less, but this song has a very meaning to it, unlike some of Taylor's other doctorate-level essay worthy songs you could spend hours analyzing," Jimmy jokes, lightening the mood as always before asking the hard hitting question you had been dreading the entire interview.

"Why did you choose to sing a song about reminiscing of a past relationship, an ex lover if you will. I mean, a good majority of your songs follow the heartbroken post-breakup theme, but the media isn't aware of any relationships you may or may not have had during your time at UCLA, was there someone before?" He questions.

"You're right, I didn't have any actual relationships while at UCLA. My only serious relationship was during my last two years of high school, and a lot of my songs I'm releasing now were written during that time or even earlier, I've just polished them a lot. And of course, my earliest covers are from my freshman year of college, so the wound was still pretty fresh you know?" You skimmed over the topic, keeping the discussion as light-hearted as possible.

"Oh my god, all of that was from one person?" Jimmy jokes, unaware of how hard his statement hits home for you.

"Yeah I mean, I guess your first love will just do that to you, you know?" You joked back. You refused, refused, to let Paige Bueckers affect you in this way on national television. It had been three years for god's sake, you needed to get a grip of yourself.

"Well, they must have been one heck of a first love to be such a long-lasting muse for you," Jimmy pried, and you could tell he was waiting for you to give more details about your relationship.

"Nah nah, cut the cameras, I think we're out of time for tonight right," you nervously laughed, jokingly leaning over to gesture in an over the top manner to the camera crew to stop filming, which roused hefty laughter around set at your antics.

"Don't worry Jenna, we'll leave that topic for next time yeah?" Jimmy chuckled at your immediate refusal, using his perfected charm to continue the interview without any bumps or awkward conversations.

Before you knew it, the interview had been long over and you were laying in your hotel's bedroom. In your opinion, the NYC suite was luxurious and was far too large for just one person to reside. But fortunately for you, you were used to the sense of loneliness you felt in the empty room. To think that you were only a few hours away from Paige, your first love, your first everything, and yet you had never felt more separated from a person you used to love with your whole being.

Thank you for reading all the way through! Part 2 of So High School will be out soon I promise, this series just happened to randomly inspire me and I want to finish it asap before I lose motivation or hit writer's block!

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mythrilthread · 1 year ago

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My magnum opus, the jewel of my Binderary round-up, the result of four months of hard work (that is to say, a lot of force applied over distance), the project affectionately known as The Motherfuckers (because it was rather unclear if I was going to finish these books or if they were going to be the end of me).

Force over Distance by cleanwhiteroom. It is currently also on AO3.

I was first introduced to this incredible story by a dear friend, who first sold me on actually watching SGU, and then said that they remember this fic since like 2011, which is always a promising sign. I went digging and found out I was in luck - the story was being rewritten and reuploaded on the author's blog. The next two weeks are described by the same friend as "one of the scariest moments in our cohabitation" as I'd spent literally every waking moment injecting the story directly into my eyeballs, and let me tell you, I'd not been doing a lot of sleeping at that time.

Then I gathered up my courage and reached out to CWR re: my burning desire to bind this story. And the rest, well. Let's dig into it, shall we?

This was my first time typesetting 540k words. Considering I tend to prefer larger font sizes for increased legibility, it was immediately obvious that this was going to be a multivolume project. I settled on three, as it's the relationship between three individuals that forms the core of the story.

I also knew I wanted to keep the typeset in black and white, but play around with light and dark a lot. So I did. One of the first design idea I actually had was the way I wanted to handle projected speech. Mental link between Young, Rush and Destiny is THE most vital part of the story, and I wanted to make it immediatly obvious. I also wanted to be able to take one glance at the page and tell how much of the action is actually just two guys staring each other down :) Hence the blackout effect of thoughts being represented as light over darkness.

I also wanted to preserve as much of my reading experience as possible. So I saved all the chapter quotes/summaries in the TOC, and hid the chapter content warnings in the frame of the gate that marks the beginning of each chapter. For most of the chapter the warnings stay the same, so after a while you stop really noticing them, but then you open a new chapter and see that the familiar shape of the words has changed, and get this UH-OH feeling. Which, I think is very much how it works in my design, because when the warnings change there's usually another line of text added.

For flashbacks and dream sequences I switched from italics to a lighter shade of gray. I woudn't say it's more legible per say, but it's in keeping with the overall light/dark theme.

There are instances of people using handwritten notes in the story. I collected more than a dozen of assorted handwriting fonts, with each character having their own "handwriting". So when, for example, someone begins writing in someone else's hand, you immediately know it.

The most insane, labor-intensive part of the typeset, however, was the way I decided to handle the Ancient translations. CWR's gone through the trouble of setting up hover-to-discover for it, which gives you a very different reading experience than, say, having the translations in the endnotes. So, naturally, I said to myself that I want to replicate that, and footnotes just won't do the trick. So. Every instance of Ancient in the text has an underlay of light gray Ancient script. And an OVERLAY of paper vellum with the translation printed in blue. Now, not to toot my own horn too much, but if looks SICK AS FUCK. You also MAYBE SHOULD NOT LIVE LIKE THIS. For the two copies of this work I had to cut up 10 sheets of vellum into strips, and then spent from 20 minutes to an hour per volume tipping the strips in their proper places. I then had to wear kinetic tape on both my hands to help with the joint pain. (It was worth it.)

Now for the title spread. It is also paper vellum that you see as soon as you turn the first page (the half-title), and see it covering the title of the book and author's name. And then you turn it. And the shields sing the matter wave of Destiny through the black. And yeah, I think that's very, very clever of me, actually.

Then, of course, were the endpapers. All 12 of them are unique abstract paintings done on black cardstock by hand with brush pens and correction tape, I scanned a sample of each set for posterity. All of them are my interpretations of characters' midscapes. For volume 1 I went with the fire wind of Rush's thoughts. Volume 2 was for Young, and I went for the reverse blackout poetry effect (because for all the mental talking they do, the unprojected thoughts are opaque to their counterparts) and all the loops, hairpins and blocks he does. Volume 3 is for the combination - Rush's fire wind, changing its color to match the circuitry pattern of Destiny's AI.

The rest, in comparison, is easy. All volumes are stitched with 3 strands of embroidery floss, a combination of black, blue and silvery-gray. The French double-core endbands are sewn in the same color scheme (though with a different shade of blue and gray switched for white for added contrast). The edges are painted and splattered to look like space.

The covers feature my (signature at this point, I guess) half-cloth river pattern, with the base being dark blue linen and the printed parts being Spitzer telescope images of the W51 star forge, Jack-O'-Lantern Nebula and the Eagle Nebula (courtesy of NASA), waxed by hand for added sheen. The spines are foiled in silver with a foil quill.

Each set is 5 pound of solid hand-crafted book, with one set being my personal copy, and the other sent as a gift to the author.

And that's it, folks! This has been an incredible project to work on, and I'm very proud of what I achieved with it.

#mythril thread books #bookbinding #ficbinding #fanbinding #binderary2024 #stargate universe #sgu #force over distance #stargate

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paxaz535 · 2 months ago

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i threw a party 4 u

based on “party 4 u” by Charli XCX

second person POV / angst / no happy ending

pairing : paige bueckers x fem!reader

sorry it’s so short, i’m having an writer overload (i have way too many ideas that need to get out of my brain) but hopefully you enjoy this

You started setting up the party around noon.

Which was ridiculous—no one shows up until ten, maybe ten-thirty if they’re actually trying to pregame. But there you were, adjusting the angle of the string lights, placing drinks in perfect symmetry in the cooler, double-checking the playlist like it was a setlist for your own private concert.

No one knew how long you spent on that playlist.

Three hours. Fifty-seven songs. All curated with her in mind.

Songs she liked. Songs you two laughed to. And one song you weren’t sure she even knew—“party 4 u”—but you’d added it last. Quietly. Like a secret message at the bottom of a letter you weren’t brave enough to sign.

You cleaned the apartment top to bottom. Fluffed couch pillows no one would sit on. Made little snack plates you knew would be devoured within minutes and appreciated by exactly zero people.

You even picked out your hoodie carefully—something that made you feel like you might be seen. Not hot. Not flashy. Just… visible.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but this wasn’t a party for everyone.

It wasn’t even really for the team.

It was for her.

Paige.

Every light you hung, every drink you poured, every breath you took today—all of it was stitched together with her name running through it like thread.

⸻

At around 3:07 p.m., you texted her.

you

you still thinking of coming tonight?

She didn’t respond until 7:41.

paige

might

One word.

Five letters.

And it made your heart do a flip it had no business doing. You told yourself not to care. She was busy. She was Paige. She had other things going on. You weren’t her girlfriend. You weren’t even really her friend, the two of you really only talked when you needed to. (which is basically just on the court or team bonding days)

But she had smiled at you two days ago after practice, told you your spin move was “kinda filthy.”

That meant something. Right?

Right?

By 9:30, people had started to trickle in. You offered drinks, hugged a few people, smiled in all the right places.

No one noticed you checking the door every two minutes.

Or how you flinched every time a blonde girl walked in.

Or how your shoulders dropped when it wasn’t her.

They laughed, posed for pictures, snapped videos with flash, asked who made the playlist. You played host like a pro, but you were fading at the edges. Smiling on autopilot. Holding your cup like it might give your hands something better to do than tremble.

You stood near the door once, for a little too long. Someone joked, “Waiting for your sneaky link?”

You laughed. “Something like that.”

Only it wasn’t sneaky.

It wasn’t even mutual.

It was a quiet crush, stretching itself across every nerve in your body. A slow-burning obsession you pretended was casual. An entire party you swore was spontaneous—except you’d planned it with her in mind from the moment you bought the first bag of ice.

She wasn’t coming.

You were almost sure of it now.

But a part of you held on anyway. That little piece of you that couldn’t let go, that rewound conversations for clues, that read into glances that probably meant nothing.

You had no proof she felt anything for you.

But you’d built this night around her like she was your gravity.

⸻

“I only threw this party for you…”

The song was coming up in the queue soon. You could feel it. Like something waiting just around the corner.

And that’s when the door creaked open.

There she was.

Looking beautiful as ever.

Her hair was down, falling in those soft waves that always made you weak. She was stunning. Magnetic. You were struck — so struck that you didn’t even notice someone else standing just behind her.

Until you did.

And your face dropped.

The girl was about her height. Brunette hair pulled back into a neat bun. They were standing close — too close. You froze in the middle of the room, confusion tightening across your features. People still surrounded you, dancing, laughing, talking but they blurred into nothing. Background noise to the wreckage happening in front of you.

You watched them.

The way the girl leaned in toward Paige.

The way Paige tilted her head back with a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Watch me party on you, yeah…”

The lyrics hit just as your stomach sank.

Your eyes stayed glued to them. They looked so comfortable together. Like this wasn’t new.

Then—

Confusion turned to hurt. Fast. Violent.

Because they were kissing.

Paige’s hands found the girl’s waist. The girl’s arms looped around Paige’s neck like she belonged there.

And your breath caught in your throat.

“Party on you, party on you, party on—”

Your heart plummeted. Lips quivering. Fingers trembling. You felt the sting before the tears even formed.

She was kissing someone else.

Someone who wasn’t you.

And they didn’t stop.

It wasn’t a polite kiss. It was full-on, like they forgot the room around them existed. Like you didn’t exist.

Your throat tightened, hot with shame. Your eyebrows pulled together in silent pain. You wanted to look away — but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You just stood there.

Breaking.

The music pulsed on, cruel and ironic, haunting you:

“Party on you, party on you…”

Before she could notice the devastation written all over your face. Because God forbid she saw what she’d done to you and felt nothing.

You pushed past people, out of the room, through the hallway, into the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind you.

And then?

Silence.

Except for the faint pulse of music bleeding through the walls, and the sound of your own shaky breathing.

You gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, blinking at your reflection.

Eyes glassy. Lips trembling.

She didn’t love you. Maybe she never even noticed you.

But you had noticed her.

And now you’d remember this — the moment your fantasy crumbled — every time that song played.

Because that party?

It was for her.

But the heartbreak?

That was yours to keep.

#Spotify #paige bueckers #uconn huskies #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x reader #uconn women’s basketball

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alexanderlightweight · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! I’m a longtime reader of your work and love your writing!

If you are still open to taking prompts love a continuation of the long hair shadowhunters verse. Your work in that universe has left me thinking about what different braids mean and the many ways shadowhunters could potentially use their hair.

No preference on nsfw/sfw and absolutely no pressure at all.

thank you for the compliment and sticking around!

uh this did start from your prompt but may have veered a little off course? I would say it's Magnus' fault but the truth is it's Alec's fault this time.

last bit here and I actually had enough spoons to fill two prompts for this verse, so next bit here

I hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

my path is set

Alexander’s braids are simple to untangle despite how intricate they look. His hair slips free as Magnus fingers begin the first process of learning the braids through unweaving. Undoing the work but learning the pattern of the motions all the same.

Alexander hadn’t hesitated to offer his hair — or his back — to Magnus. From the moment he’d arrived — climbing up to the balcony rather than using the stairs — he’s been nothing but languid rather than laconic.

His words are few but he speaks without them all the same. There’s a casualness to the way he makes himself at home, taking up the space Magnus leaves for him and not seeming to mind that Magnus intends to keep him.

As Magnus untangles the last braid and summons a brush, Alexander begins to hum and leans back trustingly, letting Magnus stroke magic bound bristles through his hair. The bristle he made from crystallizing product helping to condition each strand.

Alexander’s hair is always deceptively long.

Magnus has witnessed it loose and touched it unhindered three times now. And yet each time he sees Alexander’s hair in its full glory is a wonder. It’s long and thick and viciously dark. A soft brown that catches the void of the shadow and mirrors it with mocking ease.

Alexander is practically purring.

Arching up and tilting to give Magnus better access to his scalp and he’s so docile, that Magnus isn’t sure quite what to do with him.

Magnus had known what to do with Alexander during the ritual.

Knows how to handle him in bed and in front of others, but like this? Vulnerable and almost soft, melting for Magnus with an ease that shouldn’t be possible?

It’s a confusing but precious gift and Magnus knows he should tread carefully, but Alexander is a sweet trap. Too tempting to resist and yet each time Magnus falls for it, the trap remains unsprung and Alexander stays malleable and his.

“Do they have names, these patterns of yours? I know they have various meanings but what of the braids themselves?”

It’s a question that threatens to shatter the calm yet Alexander merely hums, contemplative and serious. A little furrow forms between his brows and then he takes four strands of his own hair and quickly loops and interconnects them in something similar visually to fishtail chain, the links small and concise and delicate.

The word Alexander speaks is guttural, deep and so coarse that it scrapes against Magnus’ ears like sandpaper.

Alexander laughs at his wince, an almost silent whisper of humor at Magnus’ expression.

“We have no true translation for them in any tongue known to man. Some call the language Enochian or Angelica but that’s simply because like the language itself, the name of it has no true translation.”

Magnus can understand the idea of what Alexander said and the language itself cannot harm him, unpleasant though it may be to hear. In fact it’s rather similar in form but differing in dialect to the language of Edom that his own father taught him.

“Well, you say them to me as I learn and I’ll find my own translations then. Deal, pretty boy?”

Alexander smiles at him, the corner of his mouth turning up with delighted agreement.

AN:

Alec: *speaks angel language*

Magnus: ... do you need a cough drop? Or some tea and honey after that? Is your throat bleeding? Because my ears are.

—

Magnus: Alexander, you need to give me some limits or I’m going to start adding my own jewelry to your hair and i imagine there are rules about that.

Alec: there are, but they no longer apply to you

Magnus: ... alexander? Alexander, darling what does that mean? ALEC TELL ME WHAT THAT MEANS OR SO HELP ME!!!

Alec: you have a bracelet made of my own hair magnus. Putting your own jewelry in my hair is kind of redundant and mild at this point, it’s practically the least I’d expect from you

Magnus: did you just imply that i’m tame? Did you just insinuate that i’m FALLING BEHIND IN MY WOOING??? Me, Magnus Bane?

Everyone else seeing Magnus’ jewelry in Alec’s hair: What kind of fuckery is this? This is not normal? Does Bane realize how abnormal this is? Should someone warn him? No, that might draw Lightwood’s attention... no but really, shouldn’t someone warn Bane they’re nearly married at this point? Does no one else see this whirlwind romance?

Mirai: Bane’s smart enough that if he doesn’t already know then he’ll figure it out before it becomes a problem. This isn’t something any of you should endanger... i mean entangle yourselves with

(everyone knowing she said the right word the first time)

Shadowhutners: you could mention it to him. Lightwood wouldn’t care if it came from you.

Mirai: ... why in Raziel’s name would I do that? I haven’t had this much entertainment since Izzy exploded her lab last year and Alec decided that he would take everyone through the safety protocols personally.

Shadowhunters: we should have remembered anyone that can enjoy having tea with Lightwood is clearly a sadist.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #my path is set #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters

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harmless-variety-of-garden-snake · 6 months ago

Text

BuckTommy Fluffebruary Day Eight: Surprise. Tommy's had a really, really bad shift (off-screen), and he shows up to the greatest surprise ever: his boyfriend, pasta, and comfort. Edit: I just realized Tumblr somehow lost my tag for @bucktommyfluffebruary and my AO3 link. Why, Tumblr. Why.

It’s been a terrible shift, and Tommy is ready for it to be over. He’s going to plaster a million posters around the Hollywood sign that say: “If you fall/slip trying to climb on or around this, LAFD will no longer rescue your dumb ass and you’ll have to live with the fucking consequences.”

Lucy, Braun, and Melton agree with him, Cap thinks it’s a bad idea. They’re spitballing less extreme alternatives to keep their minds off the calls that came before the Hollywood sign incident, because if Tommy thinks about a couple of them for too long he’ll probably start crying.

When he pours himself into his truck, he drives home on autopilot and parks in the driveway, because he has the Chevelle on the car lift at the moment. He blinks at his front door, because the three small square windows at the top have light filtering through. There’s no way he left the lights on when he left for work two days earlier, but he also might have. He can’t tell anymore.

He unlocks the door and goes inside, and the house smells like food. He can hear a podcast or something in the kitchen and follows the sound just in time to see Evan close the oven door.

“Oh!” Evan says when Tommy sets his bag down on the island. He whirls around and grins, tapping his phone on the counter and cutting off the man who was talking about something related to the Manhattan Project. “Hey, baby. I wanted to surprise you with dinner.”

And the sight of Evan in his kitchen making him what smells like something with sauce and cheese and herbs and who knew what else after one of the worst shifts Tommy’s had in years is what breaks him. He covers his hand with his mouth to muffle a sob, and Evan’s arms are around him so fast it’s like he teleported across the room.

“Hey,” Evan murmurs in his ear, rubbing his back. “Hey, I know. C’mere, you’re okay, you’re home, everything’s okay here.”

He’s kissing the side of Tommy’s head and his hair and his forehead and whispering reassurances that Tommy actually believes, because Evan knows. Even if he doesn’t know exactly what happened, he knows, and it’s worth everything.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, but after a while they’re just hugging each other and Tommy has his cheek on Evan’s shoulder and his nose against the side of his neck. When he straightens up, Evan’s hands come up to his face and wipe away tears and brush over the scratch on his cheek. His eyes are so blue and clear and full of concern and love, and Tommy fights down everything inside him that wants to tell him he doesn’t deserve this.

“Are you hungry or do you want to go lay down?” Evan asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“I can eat,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds thick and nasally. He needs to blow his nose. “I should eat.”

“I’m making stuffed shells, and there’s some sprouts and stuff,” he says, massaging the back of Tommy’s neck with gentle squeezes of his hand. “And there’s cheesecake after. Or we can have it now.”

Tommy melts under Evan’s touch and smiles. “I can wait.”

He kisses the corner of Evan’s mouth and then gives him a soft kiss before stepping away. He really needs to blow his nose, but he’s back at Evan’s side as soon as he’s done. Evan’s putting a salad together, so Tommy doesn’t feel so bad about draping himself over him while he does it.

“Did you know?” he asks, his voice muffled against his stolen flannel that Evan’s wearing.

“I had a feeling,” Evan replies, pausing to reach up and hold Tommy’s hand where it’s resting over his heart. “You didn’t text back much, and I heard about last night before I left the station.”

Tommy shudders and squeezes his eyes shut, and Evan’s other hand comes up to also squeeze his forearm, and lips press against the inside of his bicep when Evan turns his head. Tommy will talk about some of it, probably, but it’ll be later. He needs to just not be immersed in horror for a little bit. He needs carbs and cheese and his boyfriend.

“This is ready, you wanna eat?” Evan asks, and Tommy nods. “Okay, let’s go, I’ll get your plate.”

They end up eating curled up on the couch so Tommy can turn on a movie. He’s been showing Evan some queer movies, because Evan’s actually been interested in those, and they watch Big Eden. Tommy needs something warm and fluffy, and it’s like the cinematic equivalent of a warm hug.

They pause about two thirds of the way through so Evan can grab them dessert, and he comes out with the entire cheesecake and two forks.

“We’re adults,” he says to Tommy’s raised eyebrows. “We could’ve had frosting for dinner if we wanted.”

He eats almost a quarter of the cheesecake—it’s a small cheesecake—and ends up stretched out on the couch with Evan on top of him until the movie’s over.

“I liked that one,” Evan says, rubbing his cheek against Tommy’s chest. “Tired?”

“No,” Tommy says, because he’s really not. He’s exhausted, but he doesn’t know when he’ll sleep next.

Evan looks up at him and reaches up to stroke his knuckles over Tommy’s jaw. “Want to watch another one?”

He leans into the touch and sighs. “Yeah.”

They make it through The Birdcage and halfway through Love, Simon before Tommy falls asleep. When he wakes up, Evan’s drooling on his chest and the Roku screensaver is on.

“Baby,” he whispers, kissing Evan’s curls and inhaling the smell of his shampoo.

Evan inhales sharply and slow blinks at him like a cat. “Mm. ‘Zit?”

Tommy looks at his watch. “It’s 3:30. We should go to bed.”

His boyfriend nods and sits up. They strip down to their underwear and crawl into bed, and Tommy pulls Evan’s sleep-warm body against his under the cool duvet.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you so-o much,” Evan mumbles back, stroking Tommy’s side.

“Thank you. For everything.”

He can see Evan’s smile in the dim light filtering in through the window. “Anytime.”

#bucktommy #bucktommy fluffebruary #my fic #someone give Tommy Kinard a hug and some pasta #and some di--#also seriously go watch Big Eden it'll heal your soul

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ghosthoard · 12 days ago

Note

spooks! this is a formal request for you to share the behind-the-scenes creator's commentary on the making of your war trio "porque te vas" animation! how'd you get the idea for your spin on it? how'd you decided which lines went to who and when they moved? which part was easy peasy? What gave you the most trouble? how dare you? anything about the process surprise you?

THE WRITER OF THE HOUR

request granted! thank you for asking, i love sharing my thought processes!

related links:

The fic in question:

MUST READ!

(the link widget finally decided to work!!!)

The art in question: war trio's porque te vas

this is how it happened:

Around April: so i'm scrolling tiktok and the porque te vas animation meme was trending and around the same time i had a brain worm named "Steel Can't Carry Me Now" by ElliotRosewater (you (yes, you) should read it btw)

and there were three versions of the porque te vas trend, the original in Spanish, the Portuguese, and the Russian. and all of them were devastating versions in their own way. BUT the original, spanish version threw that brain worm named steel a bone because it. was. PERFECT

All the promises of my love will leave with you You'll forget about me, you'll forget about me Next to the station I will cry just like a kid Because you're leaving Because you're leaving Because you're leaving Why are you leaving?

for context before i get into why this fits the fic so well:

the premise of steel is that after all the links die, they meet in a version of heaven. reunions happen and their shared spirit is singing and rejoicing because yay everybody is together! everything is as it should be! nothing is missing, the eight of them are finally together again.

but no, they weren't complete, (they're a set, do not separate), because someone is missing.

warriors isn't there? they forgot him??? how could they have forgotten him, even for a moment??? their brother??? it gets worse, bc when they start searching for him, they're told that a hero of warriors doesn't exist. his whole era doesn't exist.

dun dun DUN

so my theory is that warriors, the self-sacrificial, the bottom of the barrel self-esteem, mr. i-don't-deserve-any-of-this-in-fact-i-deserve-the-worst, hero of warriors is the cause of his own deletion from history, memory, and celestial being. it wasn't hylia or lana or cia, it was warriors who decided that nobody will miss him so actually, it's not even a sacrifice if he deleted himself from memory to save something or someone.

YOU SEE THE PERFECTION OF THE FIRST TWO LINES??? DO YOU SEE IT???

All the promises of my love will leave with you You'll forget about me, you'll forget about me

(but also if my theory isnt correct the lyrics can still apply which is great)

WARRIORS

i started drawing May 2nd at 8:20 pm, my procreate file says. and apparently i posted a wip the same day XD. this was after my family moved during my 2 week break and i only had a couple of days left to draw and i was so relieved to sit down and draw again.

i honestly feel like i have to draw to live, it was killing me not to

i had two goals for warriors's animation

i decided wars is going to smile while he's saying these devastating lines. he's going to have the saddest smile you've ever laid your eyes on with love in his eyes.

he's going to die. and he's going to die in a way that'll make your heart wail. i wanted his death to be awful and tragic and he's going to be dead for the majority of the video

i also just love the first line. the way i interpret it is that his love for them will stay with them, he's letting them and his love for them go, he'll be with them, his love will be with them, but they won't remember him or his love. but also, ultimately he's breaking the promise of his love by making them forget him.

(also i was inspired by @mirensiart to start adding a beauty mark under wars's right eye! and in japanese it's called a 泣きぼくろ, pronounced "nakibokuro," translating to "tear mole." and according to folk belief, it can mean someone is prone to crying, is crying on the inside, that they have a tragic life, etc. LINK TO WHERE I GOT THE QUOTE and i will be adding it on every warriors fanart from now on, thank you very much)

MASK AND TUNE

next lines were perfect for tune and mask

Next to the station I will cry just like a kid

in my head "station" was replaced by "portal".

and "i will cry just like a kid" makes me think of how both tune and mask grew up to be the men that they are because of wars and without wars. and that's their BIG BROTHER! WARS RAISED THOSE TWO RASCALS. so they're going to cry like a kid even with their years and their experiences because thATS THEIR BIG BROTHER SUFFERING AND DEAD AND GONE AND FORGOTTEN.

so this is when i made the damning mistake of thinking:

"wouldn't it be sad if they both turned to look at warriors (dead)?"

in the original animation meme, the main animations were the eyes and the mouth. characters would just move their eyes to look at each other and they would lip sync the lyrics. that's it. because animation memes have a set format and the format is usually simple bc THEYRE SUPPOSE TO BE DONE SIMPLY AND QUICKLY

BUT NO! MY DUMBASS WAS LIKE "wouldn't it be sad—" AND I MADE IT SO MUCH MORE COMPLICATED AND IT TOOK ME SO MUCH LONGER AND COLORING WAS MY ENEMY. ANIMATION TAKES SO LONGGGG

but it was worth it. i love what i made and i love that i could give back to elle.

the character acting for mask was fun to do. it's fun making that kid cry. mask looks away from wars first bc he doesn’t want to confront the truth of it but eventually forces himself to face it. And when he does, he’s looking at wars still for just a moment hoping he’ll look back. he's also the more angry looking of the two because he's angry this is happening, angry at warriors, angry at himself, angry angry angry. he's holding on to the scarf, he's holding on to wars, he wants him back, give him back.

tune is the braver one, he's the one who has more of an understanding of what's happening with wars, but he's trying to keep it together. for himself, for wars, for mask. which is why he turns to wars first, he says "because you left" directly to wars's corpse first, knowing what he’ll see and he still looks bc he owes wars that much and he needs to be brave for mask, but he’s still his captain’s baby tune and he can’t stop himself from breaking down.

Also I saw some people who were doing the trend change the last “bc you are leaving” into “why are you leaving?” And I loved that, I thought it really added more angst. I thought it might be something the Spanish language does where there can be two meanings of the sentence but maybe it’s just a mistranslation. if someone knows, educate me!

Finally, i wanted both of them to rest their heads against wars just to hurt people, just to be quirky

AMARANTHS

at some point in the process, i asked elle "do you have a specific flower that represents steel?" and elle said amaranths, specifically the "love lies bleeding" one

something like this:

and i looked up what amaranth meant in flower language and ugh! poetic! ELLE’S MINDDDDD!!!

an imaginary flower —(remember legend saying "I can't feel him. Not like he's too far away, but like he'd never been there at all." remember how they were told "There is no Hero of Warriors.")— that never fades (remember Time saying "If it weren't for my own memories of him, it would be as though he had never existed." remember how "Legend brushed softly over the bond with the captain, and he wasn't the only one" how sky claimed what's his "I want all of them – of us – together. I don't want what remains to be bigger or stronger. I want the people that should be here to be here")

"love lies bleeding" and "an imaginary flower that never fades" (remember how he did fade in their memory even for a moment, remember how they were told he wasn't real, remember how warriors left all of his love for his boys, remember how he lied bleeding, here I'll remind you)

LAST FEW QUESTIONS

the things that gave me the most trouble was the color and the background.

coloring because, i had the animation done! i got a wave of dopamine and it felt like i was done because hey! they were moving! it's done right? WRONG you gotta color, idiot! but i knew it would look better with color so i buckled down.

the background! a similar problem, i wanted to be finished so bad because if i didn't finish that weekend, it meant that i would have to wait until next weekend to finish and i could taste it, i could lick the finish line. i do think i rushed it, i at one point considered leaving the amaranths out because i wanted to keep the scarf because i love the idea of wars and his love still supporting and enveloping them as symbolized by his all-encompassing scarf,

but then bc of the scarf i had no room for the amaranths except for the gap between the two ends of the scarf. so it looks a bit unfinished and the blue definitely is ALL ENCOMPASSING. i think if i rendered the scarf better i would be more satisfied because it looks a bit odd to me.

And I also added the amaranths bc i honestly had no choice. they’re pivotal. they gotta be there.

A little thing I overlooked until it was too late was that tune and masks tears shouldn’t be going straight down their face when they’re laying down, they should be going to the sides. but I noticed late in the game and I said screw physics and continued on my way

Overall though! i still love it!

something that surprised me was that i did enjoy coloring! even if i would rather not have done it XD. I think i like the way i rendered the boys and i learned a new way to color!

also wars lost his color and warmth because the hero's spirit left him.

lastly:

how dare I??? HOW DARE YOU!

everybody, you got the wrong guy, it's elle you should be upset at! /joke.

*points in elle's direction* this is all her fault! it's her you want!

FINAL THOUGHTS

did you guys know elle leaves some of the best comments??? i remember elle first by how she commented on my first ever warriors and mask video and her comment really made an impression on me. and every time there was a whiff of mask and wars and tune she'd be there in the comments. finally i got curious enough to go look at her profile and found that she has an ongoing fic. I read it and it grabs me by the neck. I start yelling back at elle about her fic just like she yelled about my art.

i also love dropping hints in my wips. i love showing people a small puzzle piece and when the puzzle was done they point and say that's what that piece was for?!?! and i did this to elle for weeks, she got a bunch of sneak peaks and she says she didn't expect it in her comments but i don't know if i believe her honestly bc i thought i was being pretty obvious and she was just too nice not to point out that the jig was up.

elle has such a beautiful, painful understanding of these characters. every time she talks about them it opens my mind!!!

im glad you liked the animatic, elle! again thank you for writing and sharing steel with us <3<3<3

EXTRA & ITS GOING INTO BIGGER FIC SPOILERS:

the animation meme usually has all of the characters look up at the same time in the beginning of the video, but! for this one, I had wars look up alone and die before the other two looked up. because they were too late. they missed each other.

in the fic, what really stuck with me is a scene where wind yells at mask/time "I did the best I could, but I had to do it backwards!" both tune and time missed their chances to help wars for their own reasons and i wanted to convey that through how they look up after wars dies and also how they look at wars at different times, tune looks first, mask looks second, it doesn't matter in the end because wars is already dead.

also also, wars never looks at either one of them. he can't bear to. so ultimately he misses his chance.

isn't that fun :D

@shinobi-addiction @stqrmyskies @clarity-reblogs @alicewritingstories @hero-of-the-wolf @meiloorun-notthefruit @perereiii @aeghina @liamket @spheresr4cubes @kuraiarcoiris @bobasbag @graphx @perryelornitorrinco @poposusz @chiangyorange @lofy-tofy @lunarrrbug @captsirknight @bookie-the-reading-junkie @snartt @octopipeline @aisarcher @ihav2manyfandoms @torpetavantas @crazylittlejester @loz-chainsofcorruption @willowhibias @robothechicero @casual-emo-artist @pianooftime08 @longlivepie @oma-reblogs @shade-pup-cub @meenameeka16 @hotcheetohatredwastaken @fallen-knight @x-i-l-verify

#war trio’s porque te vas #this is about steel #lu fic rec #spooksbts #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #linkeduniversefandom #spookspeaks #lu warriors #war trio propaganda #lu war trio #war trio

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boredpotate · 7 months ago

Text

Happier Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Arcane or any links. I only own the concept for this story.

Concept: Isekai Fem Reader turns back time to fix her timeline, but has unforseen consequences.

Reader Pov

"Come on. I'm sure you look great. I wouldn't pick something that would make you look ridiculous." Powder says outside of the changing room I am in as I wear another set of clothing she chose for me.

After dragging me back to Zaun to give me a "tour", she immediately brought me straight to a clothing store since I didn't have any for myself currently and Isha needed more clothes after a paint bomb incident. Maybe back in my original world this wouldn't be a big deal, but it's been so long since I've actually went clothing shopping that I have no idea what to look for.

I tried to get out of it by saying I had no money, but she insisted on paying. I tried saying I could get some of my extra clothes back at my old place, but she wasn't having any of that. I tried voicing my concerns on not knowing what to even get, so she started picking out clothes for me. To be fair I did like some of them, but some just felt wrong on me. Especially the one I'm in now.

Meanwhile Ekko had the balls to just stand there and smirk with a knowing look; watching me suffer. At least Isha was having a good time and she even picked out some clothes for herself.

"I'm going to come in there myself if you don't come out." Powder says, not sounding like she's joking at all.

"Trust me. She's not joking." Ekko warns me and I can hear the smirk on her face.

"Okay! Okay! I'm coming out." I say before reluctantly stepping out of the dressing room and facing a smiling Powder and Ekko.

"There, you see? Look," she says as she grabs my shoulders and brings me to a full body mirror to look at myself with a smiling Powder now standing next to me. She picked out a blue and white striped shirt dress that ties around just above my waist, folded sleeves and the top three buttons undone, "You look good."

"I feel exposed." I say as I look at my reflection with hesitance.

'The last time I remember wearing a dress was in my original life. This is kinda weird.'

"Oh c'mon! It's good, plus you'll match with Isha." she says as she wraps an arm around my shoulder, making me confused before the child in question bursts out of her changing room.

I look over to see her in an unbuttoned long sleeved collared shirt with the same stripes and colors as mine with a white shirt underneath and dark blue shorts with white high socks to match. She runs over to Powder and I and stands in front of us to look at herself in the mirror.

"That isn't fair, why does she get pants and I get a dress?" I ask making Ekko and Powder laugh before Isha turns around and comes up to me and raises her arms to me.

"Because it wouldn't look as good if you two were wearing the exact same thing, soooo Isha get's the pants." Powder says which makes me roll my eyes as I pick up Isha, hold her in my arms and smile at how happy she looks.

"You didn't force this on her did you? Do you actually like it, Isha? Or are you two just conspiring against me?"

"Nope."

"MmMm" Isha denies with a shake of her head, but Powder gives her an obvious wink, making me roll my eyes again and Isha giggle.

"See! It looks good. Ekko come look," Powder asks Ekko who comes over and joins us, standing on the other side of Isha and I in the reflection of the mirror, "Oh yeah. This..... this looks great."

"I think it looks good on you." Ekko says while I take a moment to look at Isha and I's matching outfits in the reflection.

'I look like a mom from the suburbs."

"Isha seems to like it too." he adds on, and Isha nods her head rapidly; looking at the reflection.

*sigh* "......Okay, I guess it isn't that bad. I'll get it, if Isha likes it." I say, making Isha's smile brighter and hug me a tight hug.

"Nice." Powder says as she hold up a hand to Isha and they high five each other.

"Alright. I think that's enough clothes, right?" I ask Powder as I glance at the pile of clothes Isha and I have found to our liking.

"Fine, I guess that's enough for now." Powder says sounding dramatically reluctant, making Ekko huff.

"You're just upset you don't get to dress them up like dolls." Ekko says, getting a light slap on his shoulder form Powder as I set Isha down.

"I'm gonna get changed."

"Don't wanna wear it out?" Powder asks suggestively.

"I still have my gear to wear, maybe on another day Isha and I can match." I say as I head towards the changing room; Isha doing the same towards her.

"Don't think I can't see what you're doing."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I catch their conversation but ignore it and focus on getting out of this dress and into more comfortable attire and putting my gear back on. I step out and notice Powder and Ekko seemed to have stepped aside to have a private conversation; whispering to each other, so I wait for Isha to be finished to give them room. It only takes a minute or two before Isha is done and steps out.

"Do you like the clothes you and Powder picked out?" I ask while taking the clothes from her to put into the pile. She nods her head before going to put on her helmet, adjusting it so it sits right.

"Sorry about that, I'm going to go pay for these. You guys wait outside." Powder says as she grabs the pile of clothes and hauls it to the cashier.

"I'm guessing she likes to play dress up with you too?" I ask Ekko with a teasing smirk as the three of us go wait outside the store for Powder.

"Oh yeah, you got off easy. The first time she took me out to buy clothes I thought I'd be stuck for eternity," he says, but has this fond smile on his face that says he still enjoyed it, "Anyways, you have any idea what you wanna see next?"

"I have no idea," I say as I look around at the different stores and take just how.... normal it all feels, "Still getting used to it."

I feel a hand pat my shoulder I turn to Ekko.

"Hey, I get it. Well I kinda get it. We were here as Zaun was changing, so it was easier to adapt with it; still weird though. Trust me, you'll love it up here after a few days." Ekko says, reassuring me. I relax at the comforting gesture.

"Thank you."

"I'm back!," I suddenly hear Powder say and Ekko yelps as he is immediately dumped with two bags of clothes, making me hold in a laugh at the surprised look on his face, "So where to next?" she asks more to herself than us as she thinks to herself; looking up and down the streets.

"I was thinking," Ekko says as he steadies himself and holds the bags in one hand, "Maybe we can take them to our usual spots? Where you and I hang out together?" he asks her making her perk up at the suggestion before looking at Isha and I for confirmation.

"Hey, you're the tour guide. I'm the tourist." I say with a shrug.

"What about you kid? Wanna see our favorite places?" she asks Isha, who grunts and nods excitedly before grabbing my hand in one and holding Powder's hand in the other, "Alright, let's go. C'mon babe." Powder says as she grabs Ekko's free hand and we make our way through Zaun. Occasionally giving Isha a swing from between Powder and I.

It was moments like these that made life feel normal. Peaceful.

We went browsing through a couple stores and market places. I got to see the depths of this new Zaun and just how much better things were here. Powder and Ekko showed me the usual places they go to spend time together from places filled with the community and places where they can have some privacy like the library I saw earlier; Isha actually got a book for herself. We even ran into Vi, Cait and Sevika while on their patrol and got to hang out with them for awhile before moving on to our next stop. Eventually what felt like noon came around so Powder and Ekko wanted to take Isha and I to a nice cafe that they like to go to and sit down for lunch.

"Trust me. They make some great coffee. Ekko got addicted to it for awhile, so I had to monitor him."

"By monitor me, she means follow me to the cafe and also order herself some coffee and pastries," Ekko clarifies, getting a nudge from Powder, "I ended up being the one to cut us off from having it on the regular."

"I mean, technically, it still worked." Powder says as I laugh and hold Isha. I noticed her getting tired and only purely running on kid energy, making her legs wobble a little so I decided to carry her to the cafe.

"Well I can't.... wait..." I say as I slowly stop, now noticing where we were heading.

The bridge.

Now filled with little market stands and people, but memories come back. Enforcers guarding the bridge. The segregation of two classes of people. Finding Pow- No. Jinx. Finding Jinx on the bridge after not making it in time again. Silco taking her away.

"Y/n?" Powder calls out ahead of me. I snap out of the memories, but my hesitance is still here. Only ever crossing this bridge once before, when we rallied together to fight against Viktor, Ambessa and their army.

"U-Um, so-so the cafe is in Piltover?" I ask already know the answer to that, "We can go there?" I hold Isha closer and guarded to myself and she looks at me worried. My eyes locked and unwavering; looking down the bridge to the other side.

My thoughts too chaotic to notice Powder and Ekko give me looks of concern before approaching me until I feel a hand grab my free one. I look to see Powder and Ekko standing close to me.

"Hey, it's okay. It's not like before; we're allowed to go to Piltover now." Ekko says, and his comforting tone, Powder's hand and Isha holding me close grounds me enough to not panic, but still filled with nervousness.

"Y/n, it's okay. No one is gonna hurt you." Powder says, keeping my hand held in hers and tracing over my knuckles with her thumb as comfort.

"Promise?," I ask, though after a moment I realize how childish I sound now that I think about it so I go to correct myself, "Sor-"

"We promise. It's okay. No one is going to hurt you Y/n," Powder says now interlocking her fingers with my own, "Right, Ekko?"

"She's right. We won't let anything happen." Ekko says before Powder starts leading me onto the bridge.

We walk a slow pace on the bridge as I look back and forth between the small market stalls on either side of the bridge. Seeing both people from Zaun and Piltover just going about their day, talking, bartering and just....... living. To my surprise I even see Jericho about halfway through the bridge serving enforcers that looked to be on their lunch break; he gives us a wave as we walk by and Isha returns the gesture. My nerves start to lower as we slowly make our way across bridge and I just take it all in. It doesn't take too long before we reach the other side into Piltover.

"See it wasn't tha-..... Oh. Are you okay?" Ekko asks as I look back at the bridge and feel some tears slip down my cheek.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean t-"

"Hey, hey! It's okay. It's fine. We got you," Ekko says as he reaches towards me to wipe the tears away, "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks. Sorry about that." I say which makes Powder roll her eyes and groan.

"Stop apologizing. It's fine; you're still getting used to all of this." Powder says before taking second to brush some hair out of my face and behind my ear, "There. Now c'mon, we need to make you an addict like Ekko and I. Not you Isha, you get juice." Powder says as she pulls me along and I see Isha put on a little pout at not being able to try the coffee.

"I'll let you sip from mine." I whisper to her, making her immediately perk back up.

Powder Pov

"Not bad right?" I ask Y/n as she sips from her mug of coffee and looking to be enjoying her drink. A satisfied moan as she drinks the beverage and it sends a tingle down my spine.

"Greeeaaat. Now we gotta prevent another addict." Ekko says as he enjoys a pastry, and Isha having stars in her eyes as she enjoys one of the many pastries on her plate that we got for her.

"I'll be back. I need to use the ladies room." Y/n says as she stands up from her seat and walks away, now giving me time to address something.

"Hey, now that she's gone. What do you think that was about back at the bridge?" I ask, making him think on it for a few seconds before sighing.

"I don't know. Her hesitating to cross the bridge made sense since she's not used to it. But her crying? I have no idea. Maybe something personal? She might have some bad memories on that bridge," Ekko suggests, but I can hear in his tone that he's not sure about his own theory as much as I am, "Whatever it is, we can help her get used to it. She's still adjusting to everything."

'True, but she looked ready to run away from the damn thing.'

"You're probably right. Anyway I was thinking, maybe I can help you with your project for the Innovator's Competition?" I ask and Ekko chokes on his coffee which makes me immediately start patting him on the back.

"Re-*cough* Really!? Why?"

"What, don't want my help now?"

"No, that's not it! I'm happy you want to help. It's just, you seemed pretty hesitant before. Why do you want to help now?" he asks and I shrug my shoulders.

"I don't know. I'm just...." I trail off as I look at Isha enjoying herself and gaze at Y/n's empty seat, "I'm just in a good mood." I say before feeling Ekko wrap an arm around my waist and pull me closer; I lean my head on his shoulder as he does.

"I know what you mean. You think she might want to help too? I know Isha will, she seems to love messing with your old gadgets." he asks, and I can hear the hope in his voice. To be honest that brought an odd feeling of hope to me too; now imagining Y/n joining Ekko and I with our work, or just watching us work from the the side.

"I hope so. She's going be living with dad and I for awhile, so it will be a good way to spend her time than just sitting in bed or something," I admit with hope in my voice, "I don't know about you, but I meant what I said back at the bridge. Even if this whole thing is a little weird. We need to keep her safe, okay?" I ask and he holds my hand in his own.

"I know. Don't worry, we'll protect her. She needs help adjusting and feeling safe here in Zaun, and we will do that for her," he says and Isha grunts and raises her hand while nodding her head, making me laugh as Ekko reaches over to ruffle her hair, "Of course you will too, Isha. We all will." he says, making me smile before glancing back at Y/n's seat.

"I like her." I admit after a few seconds; not knowing what the full meaning behind those words are.

"Me too." Ekko says as well and I can tell there's a deeper meaning behind his words too.

'Whatever it is. I don't want this feeling to go away.'

Hope you enjoyed.

#arcane au #yandere arcane #yandere arcane x reader #yandere claggor #yandere ekko #yandere mylo #yandere powder #yandere silco #yandere vander #yandere vi

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libraryofloveletters · 1 year ago

Text

With Sweet Comes Sour

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Warnings: charles just wanted a peaceful valentines, so much drama and so many emotions, lots of tears, assumption of cheating (no actual cheating), weird ass exes, all the kids are in here, a few insulting terms, alcohol and the consumption of, being drunk, slight explicit content, bar brawls, blood and bruises, google translated french.

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: okay here's another piece to the series, sorry it took me forever to get this out but I didn't have any ideas until now lol. happy early valentines!

Daddy & Me + Three Masterlist

The rollers stacked on her vanity as you undo the curls in her hair. Eloise was doing the final touches on her makeup as it was her first Valentines with her boyfriend, Anthony. They're going for the full cliché; movie and dinner and a stroll by the pier when they are done.

This is the first Valentine in 17 years that you and your husband have the house to yourselves. You were going to make the most of it, spending some quality alone time without your children pestering you.

You leave her to finish getting ready before going down to check on your husband. You hear the doorbell ring, and you figure it was Anthony here to pick her up so you let the boy in. Eloise comes downstairs in the meantime and you could hear her speaking to her father.

"How do I look?" She asks him; her baby pink dress sat above her knees.

The man smiles, twirling a curl that sat on her shoulder. "Très belle, ma chérie." (very beautiful, my darling.) You smiled as you watched the interaction, Anthony steps past you towards his girlfriend. He had brought her chocolates and flowers.

She kisses his cheek; young love.

He had another bouquet of flowers, Eloise sets her gifts down in the kitchen as Anthony walks to you. "For you," he hands you the roses, you smile at him.

"Thank you, sweetheart. That's very thoughtful of you," you toss a glance at your husband who definitely forgot to get you flowers.

Eloise returns a moment later, linking arms with her boyfriend. "You two be safe," Charles tells them. Anthony nods, "I'll have her back before midnight."

"Just come home safe, you're both old enough to be responsible." You say, walking them to the front door and sending them off with a wave. Your husband comes up behind you the moment the door shuts, hugging you from behind before he carries you to the couch.

"So pretty lady, what are we going to do with our empty house?" He asks, you could practically hear the mischief in his voice.

"I'm gonna order takeout and drink a whole bottle of wine," you nudged him off of you, making him groan.

Charles was hoping he'd 'get some' so to speak, seeing that the house was in fact empty and would be for hours. Eloise and Anthony wouldn't be back until after midnight, Sofia and Christopher had gone up to Marseille for the night to spend time together and Gabriel and Oliver were at some club with Georgina and Adrian for the night, so you weren't expecting anyone back anytime soon.

"This is our first valentines together, alone, in a long time," Charles tells you, watching as you sit next to him with two glasses of wine.

"I know," you tapped your glass to his gently before taking a sip.

"It's odd," he whispers into your shoulder, kissing your skin softly. You nod, "but nice. Now hurry up and pick a place, I'm starving."

"Always so charming, my love." He rolls his eyes, earning a playful nudge as he reaches for his phone. You two settled on the Italian place that Charles liked.

He put on some random movie that the two of you had started watching a few days ago and never finished. You find yourself cuddled in your husband's side, his arm wrapped around you as you two tried to figure out what was happening where you left off. Eventually, Charles gives up on the movie and focuses his attention elsewhere.

Your husband pulls you onto his lap, his hands on your hips. "What do you want?" You asked him, your own hands on his shoulders, one sliding up to the nape of his neck; his hair had been growing out, all fuzzy and tickling his skin.

"I can't give my wife some love?" He whispers into your skin, lips peppering kissing along your neck as he pulls you into him. He reached your lips, you mumbled a no before kissing him.

His hands slip under your shirt, yours tangled in his hair; you make a mental note to call your mother in law to book him a haircut.

It's like you're teenagers again, all over each other with no room to breathe.

Hands make quick work of Charles's shirt, tossing it behind you somewhere as he goes to flip the two of you over, pinning you under him just as the doorbell rings.

You can't help the giggle when your husband groans, getting up to get the door as he assumed it was the delivery man with the food.

Except he's met with an annoyed Christopher, who just rolled his eyes when he saw his father shirtless and his mother on the couch. He pushes past Charles and goes to the kitchen.

"Chris?" You called after him, seeing Sofia walk in moments later on the verge of tears and you get up, tossing Charles's shirt to him.

The brunette follows her boyfriend, not saying anything until she reaches the kitchen. There's a screaming match, the two of them switching from English to Italian and then a mix of both. Something about a restaurant and a guy or something along those lines. Sofia's holding onto Christopher's arm and he gently pulled away, walking out the front door and slamming the door shut. Charles follows behind him, probably talking him down from doing something stupid.

These damn Leclerc's and their drama.

Getting up, you walk over to Sofia and sit with her in the kitchen. "Is everything okay? We weren't expecting you two back tonight, actually, we weren't expecting you back for the entire weekend."

The girl sniffles, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "I hate him."

"Me too," you nodded, rubbing her back. "What did he do this time?"

"It wasn't even him, well I mean, it was but it was me. Actually, well.. it's complicated." She says and you raise an eyebrow, unsure as to what she meant. She speaks, explaining herself. "I bumped into an old friend, and when I say old friend, I mean an old friend. I haven't seen him in like, maybe, six years because he moved from Madrid to London. He just happened to be in Marseille with his girlfriend for Valentine's Day as well."

"Okay... I'm still waiting for what was so bad about that."

"I was waiting for Christopher to get out of the bathroom when my friend noticed me and tapped me on the shoulder. We exchanged hello and exchanged pleasantries, then he kissed my cheek on the way out. Christopher being Christopher, automatically assumes the worst."

You made a face, "so Chris got mad because.. he kissed you on the cheek? Is he dumb?"

"Exactly," she grumbled and you handed her a tissue to clean up her face. "Honestly, that's how Spanish men are, though. They're always affectionate, your father is the same way. I'm certain your friend didn't mean it in the way Christopher took it."

"Even if he did, I didn't take it that way. He has a girlfriend, and regardless, I love Christopher and I would never do that to him."

"I know you wouldn't." You gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Why don't you get something to drink? I'll go see what's going on with them outside hm?" You leave her be for the moment, letting her settle her emotions.

Charles is listening to Christopher ramble, the younger Leclerc spiralling and getting himself caught up in some nonsense lie that his brain made up.

"Christopher," you call for him, stopping him from speaking. He looks at you. "What?"

"You need to apologize to her."

He makes a face, confused as to why you're telling him to apologize when he clearly did nothing wrong, or so he thinks.

"Sofia is a sweet girl, who has no control over the actions of others, and who loves you very much despite your nonsense and your dramatic flare. So you get your ass inside and apologize to your girlfriend for ruining Valentine's day. Either you drive back to Marseille or you figure out something here, because you aren't gonna ruin today for her."

"He kissed her!" He says, flinging his arms in the air. Charles's eyes widened, "what?"

It seems Christopher had left out that detail.

"On the cheek," you clarify, "and so what if he did? You kiss Georgina on the cheek all the time and Sofia doesn't get upset. This guy was just some friend of hers, you need to get over your shit and put your ego to the side because if you don't, you'll lose her."

Christopher huffed, taking in his mother's words before turning and heading inside. You and Charles followed a moment later, hearing bits and pieces of their conversation in the kitchen but eventually, they came into the living room, holding hands.

"Dad," Christopher calls for his father, the man looks over at his son. "Can you get us a hotel room? I tried to get one but everyone says they're booked."

"I can try but why would it be different for me?" He asks, clearly confused and as clueless as the day you met him. "Because you're the prince of Monaco, Charles. Now start calling." You tell your husband, getting up to answer the door - the takeout had finally arrived.

Charles tried his best to get a hotel room for the kids, and even pulled his prince of Monaco card but despite it all, it was Valentine's Day and everywhere was booked.

Sofia decided that she wanted ice cream and Christopher, doing anything to make it up to her, agreed - ignoring the fact that he hated ice cream just for tonight. You sent them off with a wave before returning to your husband on the couch. Charles was refilling your wine glass as you took the food out of the bag.

You two had barely gotten 5 minutes into eating when the door opened and in comes Eloise with her mascara running down her face. She ran straight to her father's arms, collapsing into him.

Anthony follows behind her, the front door slamming shut as he rambles out something in French. "Ce n'est pas à quoi ça ressemblait! Ellie, tu paniques pour rien!" (This is not what it looked like! Ellie, you're freaking out for nothing!)

Eloise had returned home on Valentine's, in tears and was now holding onto her father as if he was going to disappear. The look you saw in Charles' eyes was one you thought was only held for Ferrari and all their torment but it was now directed to his best friend's son, - his baby girl's - his daughter's boyfriend.

"What's going on?" You handed Eloise a tissue, moving to sit on the arm rest of the couch, making yourself the middleman between Charles and Anthony.

The anger on your husband's face made you giggle internally, you could never take him seriously when he was upset - but you understood it. He didn't like to see his kids hurt, especially not his baby girl.

Anthony sighed, passing a hand through his dirty blonde hair; fluffy and flat, much like his father's. "My stupid ex girlfriend saw us while we were at the pier. She came to say hello and she was way too friendly with me - all over me, kissing my cheek, her hand on my chest, all in my face." He groaned, clearly disgusted by this girl.

"Why would you let her do that when you know you have a girlfriend?" Charles asks him, you could hear the roughness in his tone. Your hand gently moves to his shoulder, rubbing it softly.

You spoke next; "did she know you had a girlfriend?"

He nods, "Eloise was taking a picture of something so she was a few feet away and I guess she took it the wrong way when she saw her all over me. I was trying to get her to leave me alone but god, she's like a fucking pest - sorry," he makes a face when he realizes he swore. You wave him off before he continues. "Ellie took it the wrong way, which I understand but she won't hear me out, she thinks I'm cheating on her."

"Are you cheating on her?" Charles asks him.

"No!" You and Anthony answer at the same time; the boy trying to defend himself and you couldn't believe your husband would even ask that.

Eloise finally sits up, her father wiping her cheeks clean. Her blue eyes rimmed with red and slightly puffy from the tears and she turns to Anthony. "Va-t'en, je ne veux pas de toi ici." (go away, I don't want you here.) She tells him, voice trembling.

"Je ne pars pas, Éloïse." (I'm not leaving, Eloise.)

"Ok, je le ferai alors." (okay, i will then.) The girl gets up, walking the other way around the living room and heads up the stairs to what you could only assume was her room. Charles was just as wrapped around her finger as he was when she was born, and followed her to make sure she was alright.

These damn Leclerc's and their drama.

You rolled your eyes at your daughter's dramatics.

Yes, she was upset but Anthony had explained the whole situation in front of you, her and her father. While Anthony might look exactly like his man whore of a father, he was everything like his mother; a sweet, kind and fiercely loyal woman.

It broke your heart to see her upset but it also hurt you to see Anthony in the same state. You get up, hugging the boy as he sniffles, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand.

"She just needs some time to cool off, she's dramatic like her father." You tell him, trying to lighten the mood. You walk him to the kitchen, getting him some water.

He sat in the breakfast nook. "I swear I didn't even see her until she walked over, otherwise I would have walked the other way."

"I know babe, is this the same girl that stalked you after you broke up?"

"Yeah!" He groans, sipping his water. "She's so - ugh." He says, making you laugh. You kiss the top of his head, leaving him there for the time being as you put away what was supposed to be dinner. The food sat on the coffee table, cold and unattended.

The door opens again and you groan, praying it's not another issue but it wasn't; Sofia and Chris come stumbling in, clearly having consumed something other than ice cream.

"Mama!!" Chris grins, untangling his fingers from Sofia's as he walks over to you, kissing your cheek multiple times like he did when he was little - slobbering on your cheek as he did then too.

You laughed, smelling the booze on him. Steadying him, you held his waist. "Hi baby, you okay?"

"Soooo good," he tells you, wobbling over to Sofia, who was also drunk but more steady than your son. You watch as they go upstairs, the sound of the door opening and closing before you walk back to the kitchen.

Anthony still sat in the breakfast nook. "You want something to eat? Something else to drink?" You asked him, wiping your wet cheek off with a tissue.

It takes him a moment to respond. "You know when we were little and you'd cut the apples and make the little peanut butter sandwiches with the slices?" He asks and you nod.

"Want some?" You were already grabbing the apple, peanut butter and honey. Anthony smiles, nodding like he was a kid again.

You washed and cut the apples, spreading the peanut butter and honey on them, sandwiching them together and handing the plate to him. "Thank you," he says, sinking into his seat as he takes a bite of the familiar taste from his childhood.

"Mhm hm," you smiled, hearing the footsteps from behind you. Charles was coming down, kissing your temple as he picked up an extra piece of apple you had on the cutting board.

"Ellie just needs some time." He says, staring daggers at Anthony; if looks could kill.

You huffed, smacking the back of your husband's head. "Stop it, he feels bad enough as it is."

Another set of footsteps come from the hallway and you assume it's Christopher looking for something but then the sound of the front door slamming shut caught your attention. This house was like a free for all, everyone coming and going as they pleased - you made sure to make a mental note to see who had keys to this place.

In came Gabriel who was being held by his boyfriend, Oliver. The two of them were covered in blood and Gabriel had cuts and bruises all over his face.

"What the fuck? What happened?" You say, Charles rushing over to help Oliver sit Gabriel down on a chair.

"He's so fricking hot headed," Oliver says, holding his boyfriend up straight.

It was clear that Gabriel was beyond pissing drunk, the boy swaying unless someone was holding him. Anthony takes over for Oliver, holding Gabriel up as Oliver goes to the bathroom to get the first aid kit.

"What happened?" Charles asks, passing you the cloth as you wiped the blood off your son's face. "I have no clue," you tell him, being extra careful not to hurt him; not like Gabriel would feel it anyways.

Oliver comes back a moment later, setting the kit on the counter and taking back his spot next to Gabriel.

"Ellie's asking for you, man." He tells Anthony, who glances at Charles before quietly making his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Before you could even ask, Oliver starts explaining the events of the night. "We met up with Georgina and Adrian at the club. We were all a little tipsy, and Georgina was trying to get a drink at the bar. Some guy came up behind her and he was getting all handsy, trying to touch her and Adrian was in the bathroom so he didn't see it happen, but Gabriel did and he stepped in." Oliver sighs, brushing his boyfriend's hair from his face.

"Basically, Gabriel told the guy to fuck off and said if he touched Georgina again that he would break his face. The guy took that as a sign to leave and once Adrian came back, the two of them decided that they were going to go get something to eat and just spend the rest of the night at home. But Gabriel being Gabriel, our night couldn't just end there of course."

You carefully patched up Gabriel, wiping his cuts clean and putting antibacterial ointment on what needed it , making sure he didn't need stitches or anything.

"The guy came back again a few minutes later. He was super drunk, as was Gabriel and you know how Gabe can be. They started fighting and next thing you know, they're beating the shit out of each other in the middle of the fucking club."

Oliver tells you the story, causing you to roll your eyes at your son's behaviour. You're proud of him for standing up for his friend but must he always get into a fight for stupid reasons?

"I tried to stop him but I forget how strong Gabriel is sometimes." He huffed and you looked at him, seeing the blood on him. "Are you okay?" You asked, moving over to check him.

"I'm fine," Oliver smiles. "It's Gabe's." He says, gesturing to the blood on his shirt.

Charles was making up the guest room downstairs while you patched Gabriel up. In his drunken state, you all knew he wouldn't be making it up the stairs. Your husband comes back to help Oliver get Gabriel into bed and you threw out the bloody mess that had developed on the counter.

You put the plates in the sink, tossing the garbage out and headed up to check on your oldest and youngest.

There were noises coming from Christoper's room and you figured it best not to investigate further. Eloise's door was open, you knock softly and peek in when you don't get an answer. Her head resting on Anthony's chest, the two of them cuddled up and fast asleep. Switching off the light, you pulled the door shut quietly and made your way back downstairs.

As you reach the bottom step, Charles appears from around the corner. He hugs you, squeezing you tightly.

"What?" you asked him, cupping his jaw.

"Our kids are insane," he tells you, sighing. You can't help the laugh, leaning down to kiss your husband. "Those are your genes."

Charles rolls his eyes and takes your hand, pulling you behind him.

"Where are we going?" You asked, following him. He leads you to the car, opening the door for you to get in before getting in himself. It was a short drive and you two ended up on the pier, Charles parks the car and looks over at you.

"What?" You asked him again.

"Just wanted some alone time with my wife," he whispers, leaning over to kiss you. "I can't have that?"

"No," you shook your head, leaning in your seat to reach him. Charles smiles against your lips, as you melted into each other, lost in the moment.

With a soft smile and a lingering touch, you reluctantly pulled away with your cheeks as red as the first night he kissed you. "What was that for?"

"Nothing," he says, smiling. "Happy Valentine's Day babe."

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love."

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#daddy & me + three series #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 one shot #f1 series

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